FIC: Thicker Than Water (6/7) - Brothers 'verse
Title: "Thicker Than Water - Chapter 6/7"
Fandom: The Avengers/The Bourne Legacy
Characters: Clint Barton, Aaron Cross, Phil Coulson, mentions of Natasha Romanoff and Marta Shearing
Pairings: background Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff, background Aaron Cross/Marta Shearing
Rating: PG-13
Length: 2088 words
Genre: Family / Adventure / Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: some language, movie grade violence, blood, mention of canonical child abuse (non-sexual) in later chapters
Summary: Aaron and Clint learned of each other’s existence a few months ago when Natasha brought Aaron and Marta into SHIELD on Fury’s behest. Now the brothers go on a mission together and get to really know each other when faced with a struggle for survival.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story, though I would like to appreciate a Clint and an Aaron of my own, thank you!
Author's notes: This fic was written for a prompt by my friend soncnica, who asked for brotherly bonding after we watched The Avengers and The Bourne Legacy together :) I hope you like it, babe!
Lots of love to my betas!!! To anuna_81 for helping me figure out the characters. And to missm0neypenny, your comments cracked me up and made my day, thanks so much for your help fixing my grammar and for making sure the thing was readable. And a special thanks to venitinmentem for helping me stay sane and cheering me on.
You can read this chapter and all previous ones also on
FFN and AO3
Minute tremors course through Clint’s muscles and he’s either cold or burning up and sweaty. He’s about to lose himself in his thoughts, not even the banter with Aaron enough to keep him in the here and now. His injured leg is throbbing, though the bandage is holding this time. His other leg is sore from limping, the strain traveling through his butt into his back and, if he’s honest with himself, it’s only Aaron’s strength and his own determination holding him up. Having Aaron with him is soothing, he’s reminding Clint more and more of Natasha the longer they are alone together. Same quick mind and inherent strength, though Aaron’s moral code seems more along Clint’s own than Natasha’s more flexible one.
Suddenly a small explosion from the direction they’re headed has Clint snapping his head up and finding his brother’s eyes.
“What the hell?” Clint breathes out as dust rains down on them from the ceiling.
“Do you think that’s a rescue squad or…” Aaron asks quietly, his left hand securely wrapped around Clint’s own, and Clint is glad for the added support.
“I hope so, but I don’t really think so. Fury said we’d be on our own until we make it to extraction. But maybe? Coulson can be persuasive,” Clint muses as he watches Aaron’s brows draw together in thought.
“What can you tell me about the mine layout ahead of us?” Aaron asks, and Clint thinks he can almost hear the thoughts rush through his brother’s head.
“No more turnoffs, just a few bends.”
Aaron nods, saying, “The way I see it we have two, or well, three options. We can go on, see who we run into and hope for the best. We can also go back to the last turnoff and wait for them there, it would offer us a bit more cover if they’re hostiles. But it would also take us back towards anyone coming from the collapse. Or,” and here he looks at Clint and squeezes his wrist, “we stay here, make a stand, see who’s coming. But whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”
A sudden lump in his throat, Clint takes a deep breath and tries to clear his jumbled thoughts and emotions. Aaron won’t leave him; he won’t be alone in the dark again. He’s not alone. That realization makes it easier to breathe and allows him to focus.
It’s a no-brainer, really, Clint thinks. “Third option is the most viable. I can’t draw my bow if we’re walking towards them. And it’s too long back to the last turnoff. I’ll never make it until whoever’s coming reaches us.”
Aaron nods his assent; a grim smile gives his face a predatory look in the flashlight’s pale light. “Will you be okay to stand and draw if you have the wall as support? I’d need my hands free in case they’re hostiles.”
Clint’s muscles protest at the idea, but he bites his tongue and nods, “Mind over matter, right?”
Aaron scoffs, “Well, birdbrain, we’ll see how that goes.”
Clint chuckles and leans against the cool earth of the tunnel wall. “Get my bow, will ya, asshat?”
Aaron lets go of Clint who immediately misses his brother’s support. His right leg is shaky and his left throbs relentlessly, the painkillers slowly wearing off. He can feel Aaron free the bow from its holster and then the familiar grip is pressed into his hands. Clint unfolds it with a quick snap of his wrist, the sleek recurve bow like an extension of his self. He nocks an arrow and draws the string. The muscles in his arms tremble as if he had shot for hours already. Fuck.
“Probably won’t be good for more than one shot, kiddo,” he admits as he gently releases the tension from the string, his hands shaking.
Aaron looks at him from where he readies his gun, his brow furrowed.
A wicked smile plays over his lips and he says, “Then make it count, old man.”
Clint mirrors Aaron’s smile, thinking You’re a Barton alright. Then Aaron turns off the Mag-Lite and plunges the tunnel into absolute darkness.
Aaron is soundless on the other side of the tunnel. Only a few feet separate them but Clint can’t hear him breathe. It may be drowned out by the blood pulsing loudly in his ears, or it may be Aaron’s ability to remain absolutely still if he has to and Clint suddenly remembers the leopard he killed. His brother is so much like the large feline that a chill runs through him and clammy sweat coats his body as his fevered mind replaces the spotted fur with tanned skin.
Spots of light dance over the tunnel walls ahead of Clint and for a moment he thinks he’s imagining them, the whole situation a nightmare. Then a black clad figure rounds the corner, M-4 at the ready and Clint draws his bow with trembling hands, his arms stiff and his breath labored. The person at the bend is wearing a headlamp and a second one clad the same way joins it momentarily. The light is blinding, yet too far away to catch Aaron or Clint in its beam yet. Clint hears voices, but his ears are nowhere near as good as his eyes and he can’t make out what they’re saying over the rush of blood in his ears. His bowstring pulled tight, he musters his last reserves. The headlamps’ lights dance and multiply in front of him, coming closer. His whole body is shaking, but he’s determined to take at least one of them out when a familiar voice calls his name.
“Hawkeye! Stand down.”
“Coulson?” he mutters and relief sweeps through him, taking with it the adrenaline he’s been running on. His muscles go slack, the drawn arrow releases as his vision blurs and fades. He hits the floor a second after his bow.
<><><><><><>
“Clint!” Aaron yells and lunges as time slows to a crawl when his brother crumples and falls. Aaron’s bruised back shrieks as he dives forward, but despite the close quarters he’s not fast enough to prevent Clint from hitting the floor. Sliding forward on his front, Aaron feels the skin on his knuckles split as he reaches to at least get his hands under Clint’s head and then there’s a sharp pain as the weight of it slams his hands against the dirt floor. He pays it no mind; only focused on Clint’s slack face he immediately searches out the pulse point. Relief floods him when he finds a good one, too fast and a little too shallow, but there. Clint’s skin is sweaty and warm beneath his hands, and Aaron can hear his strained breathing now.
Aaron feels the floor shake with the impact of heavy soled feet approaching at a trot and then a hand on his bicep squeezes once.
“Let him go, son, we’ve brought help. Carter here needs space to work,” Coulson says.
A latex-gloved hand settles over Aaron’s underneath Clint’s head and he takes it as permission to let go and slowly straightens up.
“What happened,” the medic, Carter, asks as he opens his pack and starts his exam.
“A piece of lumber pierced his thigh, jagged edges, about two inches in diameter at the widest part. We had to remove it so we could get moving. I applied the field bandage, but it came loose, he started bleeding again,” Aaron explains, self-loathing slipping into his voice. “I couldn’t get it to stop by applying pressure, so I cauterized.”
“You what?” Carter replies, incredulous.
“There was no other choice. I was careful, and he hasn’t bled since.”
Carter checks the bandage and presses his fingers against Clint’s ankle before he replies, “Looks solid now. Not too tight, good pulse. He’ll need debridement and cleaning in surgery in any case.”
Aaron relaxes slightly and watches as Carter cuts Clint’s shirt open and slaps electrodes on his brother’s chest before he hooks him up to a small portable EKG. He watches the line dance fast and a little irregularly across the display, the number for the pulse too high and Aaron’s chest clenches.
“Did he hydrate since it happened?” Carter asks Aaron.
He shakes his head, “Hardly, we lost almost all provisions in the blast. We had a liter between the two of us. I made him drink most of that.”
The beam of Carter’s headlamp finds Aaron’s face and the medic simply states, “Yeah, you don’t look so good either, buddy.”
He’s hardly finished his reprimand when Coulson presses an open bottle of water into Aaron’s hand. He takes it with a tight smile of thanks and greedily chugs it down while Carter inserts an IV into Clint’s hand and starts a saline drip.
“Did he have painkillers?” the medic asks next.
“Yeah, I had two ibus in my pack. I gave them to him about two hours ago.”
“Alright, then we can wrap him up to go now and get the hell out of Dodge,” Carter says with a smirk, then addresses the other two agents with him and Coulson. “Perry, Cline, bring the stretcher.”
Aaron throws his empty bottle aside and joins Carter by his brother, his hands on Clint’s legs.
“We’ll roll him on his side, then Perry and Cline can maneuver the stretcher behind him and we’ll roll him back on,” the medic instructs and Aaron nods his assent.
They do as instructed, and Carter straps Clint onto the stretcher then moves to the head of it and Aaron gets to the foot.
“You up for it, bud?” Carter asks him as he’s about to pick up the handles. “You seriously don’t look too good.”
“He’s my brother. I can and will get him out of here. I promised,” Aaron says with determination.
His shoulders twinge, pain flashes through his head with every beat of his heart and he winces as he and Carter pick up his brother. Coulson appears next to him like he was conjured there, a feat Aaron has come to admire in the senior agent. He’s carrying Clint’s bow and quiver in one hand and has Aaron’s pack slung over his back.
“The mission was a success, by the way,” Coulson explains as they walk. He smirks, “Except for you two, well, almost buried alive.”
“Clint was convinced that SHIELD wouldn’t come for us,” Aaron says, and tries to keep his voice level despite the pain in his back.
“Clint’s an idiot,” Coulson deadpans, affection bleeding through. “Of course we’d come for two of our best assets.”
Aaron smiles and breathes easier at the knowledge that someone has his back now. But there is something he has to know.
“How did you find us?”
Coulson’s face is back to his perfect public servant mask when he answers. “We never lost you. We just lost communication when you went into the mine. But we tracked you with the same tech we used to map the tunnels in the first place. And I know Clint. I know he memorized the whole layout. We saw where you were headed and I thought we’d give you a lift.”
“Thanks, I really appreciate it. Clint needs a doc asap,” Aaron replies, his voice husky with worry for his brother.
“The exit is just around the corner. We brought a chopper. Clint will be in med bay in no time.”
Aaron breathes a sigh of relief; Clint is no lightweight, and Aaron feels the strain of the night now. Despite the water he’s had, he feels more and more lightheaded, the hot and humid air in the tunnel making deep breaths near impossible.
They round the corner and Aaron can see light at the end of the tunnel. The chopper is silhouetted against the morning sky and they increase the pace. The first breath of fresh air finds them right before the tunnel’s opening and Aaron inhales deeply. His shoulders seize and he groans as they cross the last few paces to the chopper.
“Agent Cross, are you alright?” Carter calls in front of him as they lower the stretcher onto the ground.
Aaron can only shake his head as lights dance in front of his eyes and he falls to his knees.
He hears Coulson say something he thinks is “Fucking pigheaded Bartons” and then there’s an arm around his chest and another cradles his head. Coulson’s voice in his ear says, “You did good kid, let me take it from here.”
Aaron lets go.
Fandom: The Avengers/The Bourne Legacy
Characters: Clint Barton, Aaron Cross, Phil Coulson, mentions of Natasha Romanoff and Marta Shearing
Pairings: background Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff, background Aaron Cross/Marta Shearing
Rating: PG-13
Length: 2088 words
Genre: Family / Adventure / Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: some language, movie grade violence, blood, mention of canonical child abuse (non-sexual) in later chapters
Summary: Aaron and Clint learned of each other’s existence a few months ago when Natasha brought Aaron and Marta into SHIELD on Fury’s behest. Now the brothers go on a mission together and get to really know each other when faced with a struggle for survival.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story, though I would like to appreciate a Clint and an Aaron of my own, thank you!
Author's notes: This fic was written for a prompt by my friend soncnica, who asked for brotherly bonding after we watched The Avengers and The Bourne Legacy together :) I hope you like it, babe!
Lots of love to my betas!!! To anuna_81 for helping me figure out the characters. And to missm0neypenny, your comments cracked me up and made my day, thanks so much for your help fixing my grammar and for making sure the thing was readable. And a special thanks to venitinmentem for helping me stay sane and cheering me on.
You can read this chapter and all previous ones also on
FFN and AO3
Minute tremors course through Clint’s muscles and he’s either cold or burning up and sweaty. He’s about to lose himself in his thoughts, not even the banter with Aaron enough to keep him in the here and now. His injured leg is throbbing, though the bandage is holding this time. His other leg is sore from limping, the strain traveling through his butt into his back and, if he’s honest with himself, it’s only Aaron’s strength and his own determination holding him up. Having Aaron with him is soothing, he’s reminding Clint more and more of Natasha the longer they are alone together. Same quick mind and inherent strength, though Aaron’s moral code seems more along Clint’s own than Natasha’s more flexible one.
Suddenly a small explosion from the direction they’re headed has Clint snapping his head up and finding his brother’s eyes.
“What the hell?” Clint breathes out as dust rains down on them from the ceiling.
“Do you think that’s a rescue squad or…” Aaron asks quietly, his left hand securely wrapped around Clint’s own, and Clint is glad for the added support.
“I hope so, but I don’t really think so. Fury said we’d be on our own until we make it to extraction. But maybe? Coulson can be persuasive,” Clint muses as he watches Aaron’s brows draw together in thought.
“What can you tell me about the mine layout ahead of us?” Aaron asks, and Clint thinks he can almost hear the thoughts rush through his brother’s head.
“No more turnoffs, just a few bends.”
Aaron nods, saying, “The way I see it we have two, or well, three options. We can go on, see who we run into and hope for the best. We can also go back to the last turnoff and wait for them there, it would offer us a bit more cover if they’re hostiles. But it would also take us back towards anyone coming from the collapse. Or,” and here he looks at Clint and squeezes his wrist, “we stay here, make a stand, see who’s coming. But whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”
A sudden lump in his throat, Clint takes a deep breath and tries to clear his jumbled thoughts and emotions. Aaron won’t leave him; he won’t be alone in the dark again. He’s not alone. That realization makes it easier to breathe and allows him to focus.
It’s a no-brainer, really, Clint thinks. “Third option is the most viable. I can’t draw my bow if we’re walking towards them. And it’s too long back to the last turnoff. I’ll never make it until whoever’s coming reaches us.”
Aaron nods his assent; a grim smile gives his face a predatory look in the flashlight’s pale light. “Will you be okay to stand and draw if you have the wall as support? I’d need my hands free in case they’re hostiles.”
Clint’s muscles protest at the idea, but he bites his tongue and nods, “Mind over matter, right?”
Aaron scoffs, “Well, birdbrain, we’ll see how that goes.”
Clint chuckles and leans against the cool earth of the tunnel wall. “Get my bow, will ya, asshat?”
Aaron lets go of Clint who immediately misses his brother’s support. His right leg is shaky and his left throbs relentlessly, the painkillers slowly wearing off. He can feel Aaron free the bow from its holster and then the familiar grip is pressed into his hands. Clint unfolds it with a quick snap of his wrist, the sleek recurve bow like an extension of his self. He nocks an arrow and draws the string. The muscles in his arms tremble as if he had shot for hours already. Fuck.
“Probably won’t be good for more than one shot, kiddo,” he admits as he gently releases the tension from the string, his hands shaking.
Aaron looks at him from where he readies his gun, his brow furrowed.
A wicked smile plays over his lips and he says, “Then make it count, old man.”
Clint mirrors Aaron’s smile, thinking You’re a Barton alright. Then Aaron turns off the Mag-Lite and plunges the tunnel into absolute darkness.
Aaron is soundless on the other side of the tunnel. Only a few feet separate them but Clint can’t hear him breathe. It may be drowned out by the blood pulsing loudly in his ears, or it may be Aaron’s ability to remain absolutely still if he has to and Clint suddenly remembers the leopard he killed. His brother is so much like the large feline that a chill runs through him and clammy sweat coats his body as his fevered mind replaces the spotted fur with tanned skin.
Spots of light dance over the tunnel walls ahead of Clint and for a moment he thinks he’s imagining them, the whole situation a nightmare. Then a black clad figure rounds the corner, M-4 at the ready and Clint draws his bow with trembling hands, his arms stiff and his breath labored. The person at the bend is wearing a headlamp and a second one clad the same way joins it momentarily. The light is blinding, yet too far away to catch Aaron or Clint in its beam yet. Clint hears voices, but his ears are nowhere near as good as his eyes and he can’t make out what they’re saying over the rush of blood in his ears. His bowstring pulled tight, he musters his last reserves. The headlamps’ lights dance and multiply in front of him, coming closer. His whole body is shaking, but he’s determined to take at least one of them out when a familiar voice calls his name.
“Hawkeye! Stand down.”
“Coulson?” he mutters and relief sweeps through him, taking with it the adrenaline he’s been running on. His muscles go slack, the drawn arrow releases as his vision blurs and fades. He hits the floor a second after his bow.
<><><><><><>
“Clint!” Aaron yells and lunges as time slows to a crawl when his brother crumples and falls. Aaron’s bruised back shrieks as he dives forward, but despite the close quarters he’s not fast enough to prevent Clint from hitting the floor. Sliding forward on his front, Aaron feels the skin on his knuckles split as he reaches to at least get his hands under Clint’s head and then there’s a sharp pain as the weight of it slams his hands against the dirt floor. He pays it no mind; only focused on Clint’s slack face he immediately searches out the pulse point. Relief floods him when he finds a good one, too fast and a little too shallow, but there. Clint’s skin is sweaty and warm beneath his hands, and Aaron can hear his strained breathing now.
Aaron feels the floor shake with the impact of heavy soled feet approaching at a trot and then a hand on his bicep squeezes once.
“Let him go, son, we’ve brought help. Carter here needs space to work,” Coulson says.
A latex-gloved hand settles over Aaron’s underneath Clint’s head and he takes it as permission to let go and slowly straightens up.
“What happened,” the medic, Carter, asks as he opens his pack and starts his exam.
“A piece of lumber pierced his thigh, jagged edges, about two inches in diameter at the widest part. We had to remove it so we could get moving. I applied the field bandage, but it came loose, he started bleeding again,” Aaron explains, self-loathing slipping into his voice. “I couldn’t get it to stop by applying pressure, so I cauterized.”
“You what?” Carter replies, incredulous.
“There was no other choice. I was careful, and he hasn’t bled since.”
Carter checks the bandage and presses his fingers against Clint’s ankle before he replies, “Looks solid now. Not too tight, good pulse. He’ll need debridement and cleaning in surgery in any case.”
Aaron relaxes slightly and watches as Carter cuts Clint’s shirt open and slaps electrodes on his brother’s chest before he hooks him up to a small portable EKG. He watches the line dance fast and a little irregularly across the display, the number for the pulse too high and Aaron’s chest clenches.
“Did he hydrate since it happened?” Carter asks Aaron.
He shakes his head, “Hardly, we lost almost all provisions in the blast. We had a liter between the two of us. I made him drink most of that.”
The beam of Carter’s headlamp finds Aaron’s face and the medic simply states, “Yeah, you don’t look so good either, buddy.”
He’s hardly finished his reprimand when Coulson presses an open bottle of water into Aaron’s hand. He takes it with a tight smile of thanks and greedily chugs it down while Carter inserts an IV into Clint’s hand and starts a saline drip.
“Did he have painkillers?” the medic asks next.
“Yeah, I had two ibus in my pack. I gave them to him about two hours ago.”
“Alright, then we can wrap him up to go now and get the hell out of Dodge,” Carter says with a smirk, then addresses the other two agents with him and Coulson. “Perry, Cline, bring the stretcher.”
Aaron throws his empty bottle aside and joins Carter by his brother, his hands on Clint’s legs.
“We’ll roll him on his side, then Perry and Cline can maneuver the stretcher behind him and we’ll roll him back on,” the medic instructs and Aaron nods his assent.
They do as instructed, and Carter straps Clint onto the stretcher then moves to the head of it and Aaron gets to the foot.
“You up for it, bud?” Carter asks him as he’s about to pick up the handles. “You seriously don’t look too good.”
“He’s my brother. I can and will get him out of here. I promised,” Aaron says with determination.
His shoulders twinge, pain flashes through his head with every beat of his heart and he winces as he and Carter pick up his brother. Coulson appears next to him like he was conjured there, a feat Aaron has come to admire in the senior agent. He’s carrying Clint’s bow and quiver in one hand and has Aaron’s pack slung over his back.
“The mission was a success, by the way,” Coulson explains as they walk. He smirks, “Except for you two, well, almost buried alive.”
“Clint was convinced that SHIELD wouldn’t come for us,” Aaron says, and tries to keep his voice level despite the pain in his back.
“Clint’s an idiot,” Coulson deadpans, affection bleeding through. “Of course we’d come for two of our best assets.”
Aaron smiles and breathes easier at the knowledge that someone has his back now. But there is something he has to know.
“How did you find us?”
Coulson’s face is back to his perfect public servant mask when he answers. “We never lost you. We just lost communication when you went into the mine. But we tracked you with the same tech we used to map the tunnels in the first place. And I know Clint. I know he memorized the whole layout. We saw where you were headed and I thought we’d give you a lift.”
“Thanks, I really appreciate it. Clint needs a doc asap,” Aaron replies, his voice husky with worry for his brother.
“The exit is just around the corner. We brought a chopper. Clint will be in med bay in no time.”
Aaron breathes a sigh of relief; Clint is no lightweight, and Aaron feels the strain of the night now. Despite the water he’s had, he feels more and more lightheaded, the hot and humid air in the tunnel making deep breaths near impossible.
They round the corner and Aaron can see light at the end of the tunnel. The chopper is silhouetted against the morning sky and they increase the pace. The first breath of fresh air finds them right before the tunnel’s opening and Aaron inhales deeply. His shoulders seize and he groans as they cross the last few paces to the chopper.
“Agent Cross, are you alright?” Carter calls in front of him as they lower the stretcher onto the ground.
Aaron can only shake his head as lights dance in front of his eyes and he falls to his knees.
He hears Coulson say something he thinks is “Fucking pigheaded Bartons” and then there’s an arm around his chest and another cradles his head. Coulson’s voice in his ear says, “You did good kid, let me take it from here.”
Aaron lets go.