Avengers - Persistence
Title: Persistence
Genre: Gen, Team/Friendship
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~5,770 words
Warnings: Gore, violence, language
Synopsis: Pulled across the galaxy to battle to the death - yeah, in no way was the situation ideal.
Author's Notes: For the "arena" square at
hc_bingo.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available at AO3.
“Get him a bow,” Thor ordered. And it was an order, full on, prince of an entire planet, knows how to order and expects people to listen type of thing.
To her credit, Sif barely paused for breath before she promised, “I will see what I can do.”
Fandral, however, felt the need to question the situation in the polite, but pointed, way he had. “Not to demean what I am sure is a worthy warrior of Midgard, but the only weapons available on the field are made for Asgardian levels of strength,” he said with a diplomacy that would have done Coulson proud. He winced before he dared to glance over to where Clint currently paced, the top of his head not quite reaching where the bottom of the larger man's beard would end. “Your friend here may not be able to wield such a weapon.”
“There is a smaller bow, intended for our youths though I believe they assume the females will use them as well,” Sif said, only slightly dismissively. From her tone, it was more that she disliked the thought of such allowances being needed than that Clint would need such an item. He had to admit, the thought of teens, even Asgardian teens, being in their current situation was not something he really wanted to think about. “I will attempt to obtain this for him. Barring that, I will try for the darts as you have spoken of his talents with all projectile weaponry. Regardless, if all goes well, he should need neither as he will have every protection I can afford.”
“And mine as well,” Volstagg promised, voice managing an odd sort of resonant growl. He clapped Clint on the back the way Thor always did, either a shared habit or something he thought would bring comfort.
“That is all I can ask,” Thor said with a dip of his head. To Clint, he turned and said, “I trust these two with my life, and must now trust them with yours in my absence.”
“I understand,” Clint replied. He tried to ignore the heavy hand on his shoulder, tried not to think of how the Volstagg was nearly small in comparison to those they were about to face, tried not to think of how B-movie ridiculous things had become.
The whole situation sucked, when it came right down to it. The sad thing was that there was no other way around it. The sadder thing was that they had already tried. They had pushed and pulled and finagled and this was the best they were going to get. Considering they, both the Midgardian Avengers Team and the Asgardian Friends or whatever they called themselves, had been pulled into this debacle against their will and the only chance of escape lay on the field of battle, it was still less than ideal. Especially since the field contained some truly heinous and hideous monsters standing between them and any potential exit back to their own reality.
A Hulked-out Bruce, Natasha, and Thor’s buddy Fandral had made the first group. Their hosts/captors had been more than slightly surprised by Bruce’s transformation, but actually seemed pleased by the deception, which was a scary little insight into their mindset. Thor, Hogun, and Steve made the second, with Sif, Volstagg, and Clint comprising the final team. Of course, there was no way of telling what order they would be called in, or if everyone would be sent out at once, or even what the rules were once they got there.
Stark, the lucky bastard, was free and clear. Or at least they all hoped he was. When the portal opened during their little party with the Asgardians, his armor had prevented him from being sucked through with the rest. He was undoubtedly healthy and hale and actively looking for them, or at least that’s what everyone kept telling each other.
The three teams were currently separated by both bars and a forcefield that allowed communication, but no physical items to pass. The setup as a whole reminded Clint of the time he snuck in a visit to the Colosseum during an op in Rome - they were in the pits, the big open area before them, and a crowd of some sort around and above them. They had awoken sans weapons of any kind versus being sent out with them already in hand though, and all attempts for Thor to call Mjolnir - or the other Asgardians to call for their own weapons - had failed. Clint had spied the weapons cache that awaited them smack dab in the middle of the dirt field, but knew better than to think they would be allowed to simply walk up and take what they wanted before the battle began. He was tempted to say something along the lines of, "Hey, wait, I read this one," but figured the joke would fall flat and at most only one or two of the people present would get it in the first place.
A shrill sort of bell drew him out of his thoughts. They had no idea what they were getting themselves into, to be honest. Their abductors had told them they needed to prove themselves worthy on the field of battle, and that said battle would be on their terms, not of those unlucky enough to be thrown into the pits. The only thing they had been promised up to this point was that they would be released if they won - specifically won and not just survived - and that they would not be made to fight each other. That left far too many variables to consider, not the least of which being just what and how many bad guys they would be up against and if they would be aided in their return home or were to just wander around and hope for the best should they make it through.
One of the variables was resolved for him when only one of the three barred doors opened. Natasha nodded at him once, muttered something in Russian that was undoubtedly profound or profane, and headed out with Fandral and the Hulk at her side.
What he could see of the resulting melee was far from pretty. The big guys attacked the big guys, which allowed Nat to slip through and arm herself with more than a single blade. She tossed something vaguely sword shaped to Fandral, who went to town with it. By the time their opponents realized she was a threat, one was down and out completely, one seriously injured, and the other unable to get near her as there was something huge and green in his way. He figured her team had the battle in hand, right up until the three guys lurking in the background stepped up and joined the fun.
“Six against three?” he asked with disbelief.
Sif shook her head, long hair swishing in a dark wave behind her. “Nine,” she corrected, pointing to where another trio approached. “In no way are the odds on our side.” She tightened her fist the way she had ever since they had taken her spear away, a motion he tried not to replicate when he thought of his bow. Regardless as to whether or not it had any powers like Mjolnir, she seemed extremely troubled by the lack of its presence. Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg had suffered similar fates with their own weaponry and seemed just as pissed as a result. Whether or not that pissed-offed-ness proved to their benefit or detriment remained to be seen.
“Awesome,” he muttered. The info was passed on to Steve and the others, who set to planning. He knew he should be doing the same, but he was more than a little distracted watching his best friend and partner bob and weave and fight for her life. Her current associates were doing their best to keep the attention off of her, but their opponents had learned their lesson by now and knew she was far from an easy win. Her usual gauntlets were gone, but she had enough sharp objects to take one more bad guy down in a truly less than comfortable looking way. A climb up the side and a garrote later, and it seemed the battle was finally over.
There were cheers from high above in stands that he could not see from his current position, and an echo of the same from their confines. He released a breath that he hadn’t fully realized he had been holding and felt his shoulders slump with physical relief. Said relief was, of course, short lived as Natasha, Fandral, and a de-hulking Bruce disappeared in a shimmer of silver and white.
“Where did they go?” he demanded. He rushed against the bars of his cell, only to belatedly remember they were charged and to get knocked on his ass for his troubles. Volstagg hefted him to his feet while Steve echoed his earlier inquiry, wisely away from the voltage.
“Hush,” Sif directed. He had learned to listen to beautiful and dangerous women over his time, so he did as he was told for a change, watching as she cocked her head to the side as though listening to something that sounded like not much more than muted mumbling to him. The AllSpeak or whatever it was called must have kicked in as she relaxed her posture slightly and explained, “They have been taken to the winner’s chambers where they will receive provisions and await our arrival.”
“And can we be guaranteed that they are not being slaughtered horrifically for daring to withstand their warriors or some such thing?” Clint asked, voicing his fear as well as his anger.
“If they are honorable...” Thor began, but was cut off by Steve.
“Let’s assume, based on their current treatment of us, that not everything may be on the up and up,” he said with a wince.
Hogun approached the bars, carefully back, and gazed upwards at something that Clint himself could not see. “They are projecting an image of our three friends in a new location, riches surrounding them,” he said. He paused, blinked, and added, “Many of these riches being destroyed by Doctor Banner in his green form, though the Lady Natasha is also assisting in the destruction.”
“And Fandral?” Thor prompted.
“Has offered the Lady Natasha his blade to further her efforts,” Hogun confirmed.
There was a voice, booming and incoherent, and it made Sif raise her eyebrows. "Our captors are most amused by their behavior, and have offered them a choice," she relayed.
Both Steve and Clint winced at the same time. "She wouldn't..." Steve began, but was cut off by a shake of Clint's head. Yeah, she totally would.
It came as a surprise to absolutely no one when their three friends reappeared on the battlefield. Fandral still held his sword, and Natasha immediately ran to the cache to re-arm herself, pulling blades from bodies along the way. Before anyone could berate her, or question if the trio offered themselves for the next round in replacement for the others, there was another shrill bell and the gate in front of Clint and his group slid open.
He wasn't sure how many goonish monsters he saw on his way out, but he knew it was a hell of a lot more than nine. Whether it was because of Nat and her impulsivity, or because they were the next round and therefore needed something extra for the crowds, he wasn't sure. He was sure, however, that Nat heard him when he berated, "Stupid, Romanov! You were free and clear!"
She shrugged, and he could see a fire in her eyes, the way her arm was held at a slightly unusual angle as though her muscles already ached from the strain of the first wave. "You weren't," she replied as though it were as simple as that. To her it probably was.
He didn't get a chance to lay into her much more because many of the goons were attacking, now knowing the little ones were just as dangerous as the big ones and making no allowances for either. He dodged one, climbed up and over another that Fandral had tossed to the side, and then ducked and covered as another made a leap for him, only to be stopped by a slice across its chest and down its side. Something that may or may not have been vital organs spilled free, and he tried not to retch from the smell or the spatter across his arms, and instead managed to look up when a voice called, "Archer, your weapon."
True to her word, Sif had obtained a bow in the mass confusion of the ongoing melee. She tossed it to him, and Volstagg had a second quiver shouldered should he need it. The weight of it was unfamiliar, and he would have loved more time to test its accuracy, but instead he tied on a belt with an attached quiver of his own, and then he just started firing.
The first shot was off by three degrees, but the guy he aimed for was huge and vaguely purple so it really didn't matter in the long run. He was going to be feeling the draw in his arms for days but he could manage for now, adrenaline a wonderful thing. He had no idea if he had been given the kiddie bow, nor did he care. The only thing that mattered was the grip in his hand, the string against his fingers, the feather-like appendages of the shaft brushing against his cheek.
He took down the first four opponents before the others realized just what type of threat he actually was. Sif tried to protect him even as Fandral continued to watch over Natasha, but he knew they put themselves at far too much risk to do so, splitting their attention instead of focusing on survival. He saw a man-like thing with a mace approaching Fandral from his blind side, and knew if the Asgardian went down, so did Nat's primary defense. It wasn't that he just wanted to protect her, he'd prefer if everyone, Midgardian and Asgardian alike, made it out of there in relatively one piece, and so he knew he needed to do something other than cower behind living shields and pick off potshots when he could.
"Big V, I need a lift," he called out, not really giving Volstagg much of a chance to refuse him as he made a run right at him. The massive man looked less than amused but, to be fair, had yet to be a jovial guy on this little outing, and he responded by bending low and boosting Clint high into the air. He managed two shots mid-toss, and a third as soon as his boots hit the dirt. Unfortunately, he was now front and center and ahead of everyone else - not exactly part of his plan. Either was the part where he lost another two arrows from the quiver just from the sailing part alone.
"Who's stupid now, Barton?" Natasha growled and, yeah, he deserved that one.
He started firing and backing up to regroup with the others. His arms were slick with sweat and what he was fairly certain was not his own blood given its iridescent glow. He dodged a slice to his thigh, but almost lost his footing along the way. He expected to find himself in the dirt but instead there was a hand on his collar pulling him upright.
"Your aim is impressive, Archer," Sif advised him. She then threw off that aim, and possibly threw him physically as well considering he didn't think his feet touched the ground for a moment, as she pushed him behind the protective barrier of Fandral and herself.
He would have been offended, but Nat was practically sandwiched between Volstagg and the Hulk. It pretty much prevented her from having any form of attack whatsoever, so he was not surprised in the least when she tucked and rolled between Big and Green's legs to take out something big and violet before it could cause any harm.
"You Midgardians are very persistent," Fandral commented, and Clint was not quite sure if it was meant as a compliment or an insult.
The battle continued and Clint was down to his last arrow sooner rather than later, despite the protective barrier around him keeping the worst of it out of his path. The barrier also prevented him from collecting the used arrows to refill his quiver, which left only one option as far as he could see. "Hey, Volstagg! How are you at piggyback rides?" he called out before making another run at the man.
The Asgardian looked confused at the terminology, but must have understood his intent because he ducked far lower to the ground than before when he made his next slice at an attacker, giving Clint plenty of opportunity to climb aboard. He did just that, but the larger man remained kneeling, serving more as his own personal, and armed, parapet than mobile tank.
"You could have just asked him for the quiver," Nat sighed from behind him.
That wasn't the point though. He didn't just need weaponry, he needed line of sight as well, something sadly lacking while he was stuck behind the others' bulk and the damn near impenetrable veil of Sif's hair. If he couldn't see the target, at least as a passing glimpse, the chances he could hit the damn thing were severely reduced.
What he could see now was far from pretty. There were fallen bodies, some struggling to stand, gaping wounds and sharp objects - some of them his - protruding at odd angles from their bodies. He would have felt for them, given them sympathy or quarter if allowed, but they were firmly of the mindset of kill or be killed, and he forced himself to meet them on that level. He would have injured them only if he could, especially after seeing how a gash on Natasha's cheek had disappeared before her return to the arena floor, but the rules of the game appeared to be you were in it until you weren't, and he'd rather be the one to survive versus lay bleeding on the sand with his supposedly new ally's blade coming down to finish him off.
So he continued to shoot and shoot and try to balance when Volstagg would lunge or grapple with the rare stray that close enough. He was distracted when a light above him flickered and faded, and he looked up to see a blast of white streak down only to collide and disperse in a dome-like shape. He looked again and gave a whoop of approval. "Fuck yeah, calvary is here!" he shouted.
Natasha followed his gaze and shook her head. "Stark can't get in any easier than we can get out," she corrected.
"Fuck no," he said with far less enthusiasm. Sif, Fandral, and the Hulk were finishing off the last three beast-like opponents remaining, so he stepped back from Volstagg warily, wondering if more madness was to be unleashed against them, and mused, "How the hell did he get here anyway?"
"The Bifrost was activated nearby," Volstagg replied. "I could feel its call."
Fandral joined them now and nodded. "There was an attempt to enter several of your minutes ago, I believe you were otherwise engaged with an opponent at the time," he explained with a pointed look at the scrape along his aching thigh, visible through the ripped fabric of his cargo pants, from apparently when his enemy hadn't missed as much as he thought it had. Clint took the comment to mean Stark's arrival had happened while he was being manhandled by Sif. "I believe the attempt to enter the arena proper was unsuccessful, and your armored friend redirected the attempt to a location nearby."
Sif drove a blade deep enough into a fallen thing of the orange variety that it was well and truly pinned to the ground, and the crowd erupted into cheers again, finally signaling the end of the round. The mumbling voice sounded no more clear for being closer to the source, and the three Asgardians looked to each other before they shrugged amiably.
Clint had a fair idea that they had just agreed to sign on for what would hopefully be the final battle, and took the moment's respite not to actually rest or catch his breath, but to gather as many arrows as he could to rearm himself in preparation for what was to come. Without a trip to the Winner's Circle or whatever it was called, his wounds remained, and even the simple action of bending low made muscles twinge and sing with more than a little pain, cuts and scrapes both ebb and bleed that much more. He was distracted from that pain when one of the beast-things made a feeble attempt to raise a claw-like weapon in his direction when he reached towards it, but a kick sent it rolling towards Volstagg. Clint did not want to know what the largest Asgardian did in retaliation, but the crunching noise that followed was definitely a clue.
The silver-white light that had signaled transport previously blinked bright and painful, and any body that was not at least twitching was removed from the playing field. While he appreciated the cleanup, he had a feeling it was less for aesthetics and more to allow additional combatants room to fight. Sure enough, there was a rumbling from the cages at the far end that were very similar to the ones his own team had been kept in while waiting.
To be fair, Thor, Steve, and Hogun were damn near right up against the bars of their own, so there was that. Thor was flexing his hand in a way that usually signaled the want for a weapon, and one weapon in particular. Sif held out her own hand, eyes closed for a moment as she concentrated, Volstagg and Fandral closing ranks beside her in an almost protective manner, likely assuming it would be a prime time for the attack to begin. She dropped her hand soon enough though, and shook her head. "Despite the Bifrost so nearby, I am unable to call my spear to me," she said regretfully.
The others frowned, except for the Hulk, who grabbed something large and spear-like from the decimated weapons cache and offered it to her. She took it gratefully, tucking her sword into a scabbard at her side, and smiled her thanks. The smile turned to a frown of her own, or perhaps it was simply her battle face, as the bell rang and the next round began.
If Clint thought there were a lot of baddies before, he was severely mistaken. He was willing to bet the organizers dug deep into their ranks to find this many at once, and was also willing to bet they were either pissed about doing so, or counting their alien equivalent of cash for the effort. He shot at the first one he saw, and noticed a second go down with a knife to the throat that he credited Natasha with. Thor roared his outrage when one made the mistake of making a beeline towards him, and physically tossed him to the side, knocking out yet another man-like thing at the same time.
Then something unusual happened. Well, unusual for a situation that already involved fighting alien monsters in a do-or-die scenario. Thor held out his hand in a way Clint had seen countless times before, and in an identical manner to how Sif had only moments ago. The entire place echoed with a crash and the light of the protective dome flared white-hot before it sizzled and sparked. Thor grinned, dark and feral, and kept his hand outstretched, the other Asgardians circling around as they figured out what he was doing. Several more crashes and a shower of cinders later, and Mjolnir soared through to his waiting grasp.
"We have done things your way long enough," he announced to the area at large. Sif, Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun raised their arms and their respective weaponry sailed through the opening Thor had made to be reunited with their owners, leaving only the human members of the group team with borrowed gear. "Now we do this my way."
He spun the hammer by the strap, picking up speed and charging the area with a palpable current that made the hairs on Clint's arm and the back of his neck stand on end. Only one beast was foolish to make a move while everyone else stood around in shock at what was happening. Clint took him down easily enough, only to find another blade embedded just below his arrow and a shrugging Cap at his side.
"Protect the Midgardians," Thor ordered and, yeah, Clint found himself suddenly in the protective embrace of Hogun, while Nat and Steve each had a living armor of their own. Volstagg made a move towards the Hulk who grunted and seemed to even raise an eyebrow, and he wisely backed off with hands raised in supplication.
Even with the protection, Clint felt a jarring to his very bones when Mjolnir collided with the arena floor. He risked a peek to find nearly two-thirds of their would-be attackers now unconscious or worse, with the remaining portion looking rightfully worried. "Must I repeat myself?" Thor asked, hammer already circling once more.
Clint really wanted to know what the aliens had on the beasts, or how they were trained to be so loyal in something that would mean their death under any circumstances, because at least four of them lunged forward, over the bodies of their fallen comrades, in a last ditch attack. Thor simply huffed out a breath and threw the hammer at the largest, shattering him to pieces. It returned to his hand as always, and he did not even pause before he struck the ground, sending the last of their opponents flailing. They were still moving, which meant less than victory for all involved by the standards asserted so far. Clint couldn't bring himself to kill them though, not when his own life was no longer in danger, not when several flung themselves upon the forcefields in an attempt to either escape or finish themselves off and not have to face their owners' wrath.
It turned out that none of it mattered anyway, not when a column of light shot through the center of the arena, leaving a platoon of Asgardian guards and the telltale knotwork in the sand in its wake.
One of the figures who was large and imposing - even by Asgardian standards - stepped forth, eyes trailing over the fallen bodies, blood, and destruction. He stopped just in front of Thor and gave a shallow bow of respect before he said, "Though our aid is clearly not needed, we offer it just the same."
Thor switched Mjolnir to his other hand and offered the handshake/arm grip thing Clint had finally learned to expect from him. "Your offer is welcome as always, brother," he said. He looked to the beasts, both fallen and scattered, and to the stands where the spectators appeared torn between witnessing a potential culmination of their entertainment or running for the hills. "There is much to do here to ensure the likes of this never occurs again."
Clint was fairly certain they had more to say, and that they probably said it, but his own attention was drawn by the figure in the red suit of armor flying down to land beside him. The faceplate shot up to reveal a slightly panicked looking Stark, who eyed them all with palpable relief and huffed out, "You're alive!"
"We could have the same revelation about you," Natasha returned, but Clint could see the subtle slouch of her shoulders, the release of tension of knowing their final teammate was healthy and whole, if a little late for the party.
Tony pointed a gauntlet- bedecked finger in her direction, though his gaze refused to settle on just one face. "You have... I have no idea what you went through. I mean, the bodies speak for themselves and wow, but I don't know the specifics yet and there is a lot of high-end bottles at home for us to go through to get there. But I do know what I know, what I saw and that you survived that, that you are here and..." He seemed to lose himself, not knowing what to say but still letting plenty of words have a go at it. It was almost sweet, in a decisively Stark way, but Clint was too damned tired to think about it right now. Too damned tired to think about much, really, including the proper appreciation of the rare instance of making Tony speechless.
He half-listened to ramblings about subspace and Jane and the Bifrost and searching and finding only to be stuck on the outside, of Asgard's help and just how the hell they got Mjolnir near through space itself to reach Thor in time, of how Reed Richards and over half of SHIELD's scientists worked to both trace and close the portal to make sure no more unwilling travelers were caught in its pull. Mostly he watched his teammates hover and Hulk shrink down to a very exhausted Bruce, who stumbled over to them and let Volstagg wrap an arm around his shoulders in both congratulations and support. The other Asgardians from the battlefield did the same to the other Midgardians, and he felt like a teddy bear the way he was passed around, smushed under well-meaning arms and patted heartily on shoulders that felt detached from misuse.
With the portal closed, the only way home was via Asgard, which meant Asgardian terms, which meant a trip to Thor's place for celebration and feasting and telling tales and repeating the same ad nauseum. Coulson was waiting for them there, incredibly out of place in his standard black suit against the gleam and gold, as were a half dozen SHIELD scientists and, of course, Jane. At that point though, Clint was dead on his feet and slumped arm in arm with Natasha who may have been slumped arm in arm with Sif. He actually kind of hoped so because she fought a whole extra round before him and it simply wasn't fair if she was still that mobile while he struggled to put one foot in front of the other.
To give Coulson credit, he looked to his two agents, then to where Volstagg still bodily supported Bruce, and motioned Thor to the side. There was a near silent conversation, or at least one Clint couldn't make out, before Thor spoke in his usual booming demeanor, "Of course! There shall be a period of rest and then we shall feast!"
When a prince of a planet declares such a thing, it happens. Clint had no idea if Thor had put things on hold or it had been the plan all along, but he did strongly suspect by the way the guy looked almost pleadingly at Jane that at least one member of their group was getting less than rest for the prescribed time period.
The obvious wounds were cleaned and patched and recorded for SHIELD's posterity and thankfully there was nothing more than bruising and the occasional shallow slice that didn't even need stitches, a testament to their Asgardian protectors as much as to their own skill. He knew his leg was a near thing on the stitches front, but also knew Coulson wouldn't push the issue, at least not yet, and not while some fancy space-aged bandaid was wrapped around it. They were then led to something that looked like a barracks and Clint would have questioned why, in a place so large, they were not granted rooms of their own, especially what with knowing a bigwig, but then he remembered this was a warrior culture with warrior needs. For all intents and purposes, they had just returned from battle, shield brothers and sisters putting their lives on the line for each other and all that. A closeness borne of battle binding tighter than that of blood, he remembered Thor reciting on more than one occasion. The closeness now was actually quite welcomed, whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not. The ability to pry open his eyes and see Natasha fighting with her boots beside him, Bruce simply laying down and beginning to snore, and Cap doing his usual stretch and yawn thing was actually quite the wonderful and welcomed thing.
He faceplanted into a really comfortable pillow, disrupted from instantly falling asleep by a slight noise at the foot of the bed. He was still a bit jumpy from too much adrenaline coursing through his system for too long to ignore it, and so he grunted and turned to see Fandral brace the bow and quiver he had used up against the frame and grant him a respectful tilt of his head before he sauntered away again. Natasha and Steve had both been gifted with the simple knives they had used in the fight, and Bruce was wrapped in an elaborately embroidered coverlet having no weapons earned but comfort clearly warranted. Sif, Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun each took up positions around the room, interspersed amongst the others in a way that showed they were probably not actually needing the rest but were there for support and/or protection detail as needed.
Coulson claimed a bunk of his own, stockinged feet propped up on something silk-like, tablet in his lap. "Stark is sending a message to Director Fury, and will join us shortly," he explained even though no one had directly asked.
Clint snorted and corrected, "Yeah, if he's not distracted by something pretty along the way."
Coulson shrugged as if that had gone without saying, which it probably had, and then switched his attention to the data before him. Satisfied that things were as close to normal as they were going to get on an alien planet after fighting gladiator-style for their lives, Clint gave in to the softness of the pillow and the aching in his bones not yet abated by the painkillers he had swallowed down, and finally drifted off to sleep, knowing the safety and comfort of friends both new and old would still be there when he awoke.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.
This entry was originally posted at http://cat-77.dreamwidth.org/436486.html. Current comments
Genre: Gen, Team/Friendship
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~5,770 words
Warnings: Gore, violence, language
Synopsis: Pulled across the galaxy to battle to the death - yeah, in no way was the situation ideal.
Author's Notes: For the "arena" square at
hc_bingo.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available at AO3.
“Get him a bow,” Thor ordered. And it was an order, full on, prince of an entire planet, knows how to order and expects people to listen type of thing.
To her credit, Sif barely paused for breath before she promised, “I will see what I can do.”
Fandral, however, felt the need to question the situation in the polite, but pointed, way he had. “Not to demean what I am sure is a worthy warrior of Midgard, but the only weapons available on the field are made for Asgardian levels of strength,” he said with a diplomacy that would have done Coulson proud. He winced before he dared to glance over to where Clint currently paced, the top of his head not quite reaching where the bottom of the larger man's beard would end. “Your friend here may not be able to wield such a weapon.”
“There is a smaller bow, intended for our youths though I believe they assume the females will use them as well,” Sif said, only slightly dismissively. From her tone, it was more that she disliked the thought of such allowances being needed than that Clint would need such an item. He had to admit, the thought of teens, even Asgardian teens, being in their current situation was not something he really wanted to think about. “I will attempt to obtain this for him. Barring that, I will try for the darts as you have spoken of his talents with all projectile weaponry. Regardless, if all goes well, he should need neither as he will have every protection I can afford.”
“And mine as well,” Volstagg promised, voice managing an odd sort of resonant growl. He clapped Clint on the back the way Thor always did, either a shared habit or something he thought would bring comfort.
“That is all I can ask,” Thor said with a dip of his head. To Clint, he turned and said, “I trust these two with my life, and must now trust them with yours in my absence.”
“I understand,” Clint replied. He tried to ignore the heavy hand on his shoulder, tried not to think of how the Volstagg was nearly small in comparison to those they were about to face, tried not to think of how B-movie ridiculous things had become.
The whole situation sucked, when it came right down to it. The sad thing was that there was no other way around it. The sadder thing was that they had already tried. They had pushed and pulled and finagled and this was the best they were going to get. Considering they, both the Midgardian Avengers Team and the Asgardian Friends or whatever they called themselves, had been pulled into this debacle against their will and the only chance of escape lay on the field of battle, it was still less than ideal. Especially since the field contained some truly heinous and hideous monsters standing between them and any potential exit back to their own reality.
A Hulked-out Bruce, Natasha, and Thor’s buddy Fandral had made the first group. Their hosts/captors had been more than slightly surprised by Bruce’s transformation, but actually seemed pleased by the deception, which was a scary little insight into their mindset. Thor, Hogun, and Steve made the second, with Sif, Volstagg, and Clint comprising the final team. Of course, there was no way of telling what order they would be called in, or if everyone would be sent out at once, or even what the rules were once they got there.
Stark, the lucky bastard, was free and clear. Or at least they all hoped he was. When the portal opened during their little party with the Asgardians, his armor had prevented him from being sucked through with the rest. He was undoubtedly healthy and hale and actively looking for them, or at least that’s what everyone kept telling each other.
The three teams were currently separated by both bars and a forcefield that allowed communication, but no physical items to pass. The setup as a whole reminded Clint of the time he snuck in a visit to the Colosseum during an op in Rome - they were in the pits, the big open area before them, and a crowd of some sort around and above them. They had awoken sans weapons of any kind versus being sent out with them already in hand though, and all attempts for Thor to call Mjolnir - or the other Asgardians to call for their own weapons - had failed. Clint had spied the weapons cache that awaited them smack dab in the middle of the dirt field, but knew better than to think they would be allowed to simply walk up and take what they wanted before the battle began. He was tempted to say something along the lines of, "Hey, wait, I read this one," but figured the joke would fall flat and at most only one or two of the people present would get it in the first place.
A shrill sort of bell drew him out of his thoughts. They had no idea what they were getting themselves into, to be honest. Their abductors had told them they needed to prove themselves worthy on the field of battle, and that said battle would be on their terms, not of those unlucky enough to be thrown into the pits. The only thing they had been promised up to this point was that they would be released if they won - specifically won and not just survived - and that they would not be made to fight each other. That left far too many variables to consider, not the least of which being just what and how many bad guys they would be up against and if they would be aided in their return home or were to just wander around and hope for the best should they make it through.
One of the variables was resolved for him when only one of the three barred doors opened. Natasha nodded at him once, muttered something in Russian that was undoubtedly profound or profane, and headed out with Fandral and the Hulk at her side.
What he could see of the resulting melee was far from pretty. The big guys attacked the big guys, which allowed Nat to slip through and arm herself with more than a single blade. She tossed something vaguely sword shaped to Fandral, who went to town with it. By the time their opponents realized she was a threat, one was down and out completely, one seriously injured, and the other unable to get near her as there was something huge and green in his way. He figured her team had the battle in hand, right up until the three guys lurking in the background stepped up and joined the fun.
“Six against three?” he asked with disbelief.
Sif shook her head, long hair swishing in a dark wave behind her. “Nine,” she corrected, pointing to where another trio approached. “In no way are the odds on our side.” She tightened her fist the way she had ever since they had taken her spear away, a motion he tried not to replicate when he thought of his bow. Regardless as to whether or not it had any powers like Mjolnir, she seemed extremely troubled by the lack of its presence. Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg had suffered similar fates with their own weaponry and seemed just as pissed as a result. Whether or not that pissed-offed-ness proved to their benefit or detriment remained to be seen.
“Awesome,” he muttered. The info was passed on to Steve and the others, who set to planning. He knew he should be doing the same, but he was more than a little distracted watching his best friend and partner bob and weave and fight for her life. Her current associates were doing their best to keep the attention off of her, but their opponents had learned their lesson by now and knew she was far from an easy win. Her usual gauntlets were gone, but she had enough sharp objects to take one more bad guy down in a truly less than comfortable looking way. A climb up the side and a garrote later, and it seemed the battle was finally over.
There were cheers from high above in stands that he could not see from his current position, and an echo of the same from their confines. He released a breath that he hadn’t fully realized he had been holding and felt his shoulders slump with physical relief. Said relief was, of course, short lived as Natasha, Fandral, and a de-hulking Bruce disappeared in a shimmer of silver and white.
“Where did they go?” he demanded. He rushed against the bars of his cell, only to belatedly remember they were charged and to get knocked on his ass for his troubles. Volstagg hefted him to his feet while Steve echoed his earlier inquiry, wisely away from the voltage.
“Hush,” Sif directed. He had learned to listen to beautiful and dangerous women over his time, so he did as he was told for a change, watching as she cocked her head to the side as though listening to something that sounded like not much more than muted mumbling to him. The AllSpeak or whatever it was called must have kicked in as she relaxed her posture slightly and explained, “They have been taken to the winner’s chambers where they will receive provisions and await our arrival.”
“And can we be guaranteed that they are not being slaughtered horrifically for daring to withstand their warriors or some such thing?” Clint asked, voicing his fear as well as his anger.
“If they are honorable...” Thor began, but was cut off by Steve.
“Let’s assume, based on their current treatment of us, that not everything may be on the up and up,” he said with a wince.
Hogun approached the bars, carefully back, and gazed upwards at something that Clint himself could not see. “They are projecting an image of our three friends in a new location, riches surrounding them,” he said. He paused, blinked, and added, “Many of these riches being destroyed by Doctor Banner in his green form, though the Lady Natasha is also assisting in the destruction.”
“And Fandral?” Thor prompted.
“Has offered the Lady Natasha his blade to further her efforts,” Hogun confirmed.
There was a voice, booming and incoherent, and it made Sif raise her eyebrows. "Our captors are most amused by their behavior, and have offered them a choice," she relayed.
Both Steve and Clint winced at the same time. "She wouldn't..." Steve began, but was cut off by a shake of Clint's head. Yeah, she totally would.
It came as a surprise to absolutely no one when their three friends reappeared on the battlefield. Fandral still held his sword, and Natasha immediately ran to the cache to re-arm herself, pulling blades from bodies along the way. Before anyone could berate her, or question if the trio offered themselves for the next round in replacement for the others, there was another shrill bell and the gate in front of Clint and his group slid open.
He wasn't sure how many goonish monsters he saw on his way out, but he knew it was a hell of a lot more than nine. Whether it was because of Nat and her impulsivity, or because they were the next round and therefore needed something extra for the crowds, he wasn't sure. He was sure, however, that Nat heard him when he berated, "Stupid, Romanov! You were free and clear!"
She shrugged, and he could see a fire in her eyes, the way her arm was held at a slightly unusual angle as though her muscles already ached from the strain of the first wave. "You weren't," she replied as though it were as simple as that. To her it probably was.
He didn't get a chance to lay into her much more because many of the goons were attacking, now knowing the little ones were just as dangerous as the big ones and making no allowances for either. He dodged one, climbed up and over another that Fandral had tossed to the side, and then ducked and covered as another made a leap for him, only to be stopped by a slice across its chest and down its side. Something that may or may not have been vital organs spilled free, and he tried not to retch from the smell or the spatter across his arms, and instead managed to look up when a voice called, "Archer, your weapon."
True to her word, Sif had obtained a bow in the mass confusion of the ongoing melee. She tossed it to him, and Volstagg had a second quiver shouldered should he need it. The weight of it was unfamiliar, and he would have loved more time to test its accuracy, but instead he tied on a belt with an attached quiver of his own, and then he just started firing.
The first shot was off by three degrees, but the guy he aimed for was huge and vaguely purple so it really didn't matter in the long run. He was going to be feeling the draw in his arms for days but he could manage for now, adrenaline a wonderful thing. He had no idea if he had been given the kiddie bow, nor did he care. The only thing that mattered was the grip in his hand, the string against his fingers, the feather-like appendages of the shaft brushing against his cheek.
He took down the first four opponents before the others realized just what type of threat he actually was. Sif tried to protect him even as Fandral continued to watch over Natasha, but he knew they put themselves at far too much risk to do so, splitting their attention instead of focusing on survival. He saw a man-like thing with a mace approaching Fandral from his blind side, and knew if the Asgardian went down, so did Nat's primary defense. It wasn't that he just wanted to protect her, he'd prefer if everyone, Midgardian and Asgardian alike, made it out of there in relatively one piece, and so he knew he needed to do something other than cower behind living shields and pick off potshots when he could.
"Big V, I need a lift," he called out, not really giving Volstagg much of a chance to refuse him as he made a run right at him. The massive man looked less than amused but, to be fair, had yet to be a jovial guy on this little outing, and he responded by bending low and boosting Clint high into the air. He managed two shots mid-toss, and a third as soon as his boots hit the dirt. Unfortunately, he was now front and center and ahead of everyone else - not exactly part of his plan. Either was the part where he lost another two arrows from the quiver just from the sailing part alone.
"Who's stupid now, Barton?" Natasha growled and, yeah, he deserved that one.
He started firing and backing up to regroup with the others. His arms were slick with sweat and what he was fairly certain was not his own blood given its iridescent glow. He dodged a slice to his thigh, but almost lost his footing along the way. He expected to find himself in the dirt but instead there was a hand on his collar pulling him upright.
"Your aim is impressive, Archer," Sif advised him. She then threw off that aim, and possibly threw him physically as well considering he didn't think his feet touched the ground for a moment, as she pushed him behind the protective barrier of Fandral and herself.
He would have been offended, but Nat was practically sandwiched between Volstagg and the Hulk. It pretty much prevented her from having any form of attack whatsoever, so he was not surprised in the least when she tucked and rolled between Big and Green's legs to take out something big and violet before it could cause any harm.
"You Midgardians are very persistent," Fandral commented, and Clint was not quite sure if it was meant as a compliment or an insult.
The battle continued and Clint was down to his last arrow sooner rather than later, despite the protective barrier around him keeping the worst of it out of his path. The barrier also prevented him from collecting the used arrows to refill his quiver, which left only one option as far as he could see. "Hey, Volstagg! How are you at piggyback rides?" he called out before making another run at the man.
The Asgardian looked confused at the terminology, but must have understood his intent because he ducked far lower to the ground than before when he made his next slice at an attacker, giving Clint plenty of opportunity to climb aboard. He did just that, but the larger man remained kneeling, serving more as his own personal, and armed, parapet than mobile tank.
"You could have just asked him for the quiver," Nat sighed from behind him.
That wasn't the point though. He didn't just need weaponry, he needed line of sight as well, something sadly lacking while he was stuck behind the others' bulk and the damn near impenetrable veil of Sif's hair. If he couldn't see the target, at least as a passing glimpse, the chances he could hit the damn thing were severely reduced.
What he could see now was far from pretty. There were fallen bodies, some struggling to stand, gaping wounds and sharp objects - some of them his - protruding at odd angles from their bodies. He would have felt for them, given them sympathy or quarter if allowed, but they were firmly of the mindset of kill or be killed, and he forced himself to meet them on that level. He would have injured them only if he could, especially after seeing how a gash on Natasha's cheek had disappeared before her return to the arena floor, but the rules of the game appeared to be you were in it until you weren't, and he'd rather be the one to survive versus lay bleeding on the sand with his supposedly new ally's blade coming down to finish him off.
So he continued to shoot and shoot and try to balance when Volstagg would lunge or grapple with the rare stray that close enough. He was distracted when a light above him flickered and faded, and he looked up to see a blast of white streak down only to collide and disperse in a dome-like shape. He looked again and gave a whoop of approval. "Fuck yeah, calvary is here!" he shouted.
Natasha followed his gaze and shook her head. "Stark can't get in any easier than we can get out," she corrected.
"Fuck no," he said with far less enthusiasm. Sif, Fandral, and the Hulk were finishing off the last three beast-like opponents remaining, so he stepped back from Volstagg warily, wondering if more madness was to be unleashed against them, and mused, "How the hell did he get here anyway?"
"The Bifrost was activated nearby," Volstagg replied. "I could feel its call."
Fandral joined them now and nodded. "There was an attempt to enter several of your minutes ago, I believe you were otherwise engaged with an opponent at the time," he explained with a pointed look at the scrape along his aching thigh, visible through the ripped fabric of his cargo pants, from apparently when his enemy hadn't missed as much as he thought it had. Clint took the comment to mean Stark's arrival had happened while he was being manhandled by Sif. "I believe the attempt to enter the arena proper was unsuccessful, and your armored friend redirected the attempt to a location nearby."
Sif drove a blade deep enough into a fallen thing of the orange variety that it was well and truly pinned to the ground, and the crowd erupted into cheers again, finally signaling the end of the round. The mumbling voice sounded no more clear for being closer to the source, and the three Asgardians looked to each other before they shrugged amiably.
Clint had a fair idea that they had just agreed to sign on for what would hopefully be the final battle, and took the moment's respite not to actually rest or catch his breath, but to gather as many arrows as he could to rearm himself in preparation for what was to come. Without a trip to the Winner's Circle or whatever it was called, his wounds remained, and even the simple action of bending low made muscles twinge and sing with more than a little pain, cuts and scrapes both ebb and bleed that much more. He was distracted from that pain when one of the beast-things made a feeble attempt to raise a claw-like weapon in his direction when he reached towards it, but a kick sent it rolling towards Volstagg. Clint did not want to know what the largest Asgardian did in retaliation, but the crunching noise that followed was definitely a clue.
The silver-white light that had signaled transport previously blinked bright and painful, and any body that was not at least twitching was removed from the playing field. While he appreciated the cleanup, he had a feeling it was less for aesthetics and more to allow additional combatants room to fight. Sure enough, there was a rumbling from the cages at the far end that were very similar to the ones his own team had been kept in while waiting.
To be fair, Thor, Steve, and Hogun were damn near right up against the bars of their own, so there was that. Thor was flexing his hand in a way that usually signaled the want for a weapon, and one weapon in particular. Sif held out her own hand, eyes closed for a moment as she concentrated, Volstagg and Fandral closing ranks beside her in an almost protective manner, likely assuming it would be a prime time for the attack to begin. She dropped her hand soon enough though, and shook her head. "Despite the Bifrost so nearby, I am unable to call my spear to me," she said regretfully.
The others frowned, except for the Hulk, who grabbed something large and spear-like from the decimated weapons cache and offered it to her. She took it gratefully, tucking her sword into a scabbard at her side, and smiled her thanks. The smile turned to a frown of her own, or perhaps it was simply her battle face, as the bell rang and the next round began.
If Clint thought there were a lot of baddies before, he was severely mistaken. He was willing to bet the organizers dug deep into their ranks to find this many at once, and was also willing to bet they were either pissed about doing so, or counting their alien equivalent of cash for the effort. He shot at the first one he saw, and noticed a second go down with a knife to the throat that he credited Natasha with. Thor roared his outrage when one made the mistake of making a beeline towards him, and physically tossed him to the side, knocking out yet another man-like thing at the same time.
Then something unusual happened. Well, unusual for a situation that already involved fighting alien monsters in a do-or-die scenario. Thor held out his hand in a way Clint had seen countless times before, and in an identical manner to how Sif had only moments ago. The entire place echoed with a crash and the light of the protective dome flared white-hot before it sizzled and sparked. Thor grinned, dark and feral, and kept his hand outstretched, the other Asgardians circling around as they figured out what he was doing. Several more crashes and a shower of cinders later, and Mjolnir soared through to his waiting grasp.
"We have done things your way long enough," he announced to the area at large. Sif, Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun raised their arms and their respective weaponry sailed through the opening Thor had made to be reunited with their owners, leaving only the human members of the group team with borrowed gear. "Now we do this my way."
He spun the hammer by the strap, picking up speed and charging the area with a palpable current that made the hairs on Clint's arm and the back of his neck stand on end. Only one beast was foolish to make a move while everyone else stood around in shock at what was happening. Clint took him down easily enough, only to find another blade embedded just below his arrow and a shrugging Cap at his side.
"Protect the Midgardians," Thor ordered and, yeah, Clint found himself suddenly in the protective embrace of Hogun, while Nat and Steve each had a living armor of their own. Volstagg made a move towards the Hulk who grunted and seemed to even raise an eyebrow, and he wisely backed off with hands raised in supplication.
Even with the protection, Clint felt a jarring to his very bones when Mjolnir collided with the arena floor. He risked a peek to find nearly two-thirds of their would-be attackers now unconscious or worse, with the remaining portion looking rightfully worried. "Must I repeat myself?" Thor asked, hammer already circling once more.
Clint really wanted to know what the aliens had on the beasts, or how they were trained to be so loyal in something that would mean their death under any circumstances, because at least four of them lunged forward, over the bodies of their fallen comrades, in a last ditch attack. Thor simply huffed out a breath and threw the hammer at the largest, shattering him to pieces. It returned to his hand as always, and he did not even pause before he struck the ground, sending the last of their opponents flailing. They were still moving, which meant less than victory for all involved by the standards asserted so far. Clint couldn't bring himself to kill them though, not when his own life was no longer in danger, not when several flung themselves upon the forcefields in an attempt to either escape or finish themselves off and not have to face their owners' wrath.
It turned out that none of it mattered anyway, not when a column of light shot through the center of the arena, leaving a platoon of Asgardian guards and the telltale knotwork in the sand in its wake.
One of the figures who was large and imposing - even by Asgardian standards - stepped forth, eyes trailing over the fallen bodies, blood, and destruction. He stopped just in front of Thor and gave a shallow bow of respect before he said, "Though our aid is clearly not needed, we offer it just the same."
Thor switched Mjolnir to his other hand and offered the handshake/arm grip thing Clint had finally learned to expect from him. "Your offer is welcome as always, brother," he said. He looked to the beasts, both fallen and scattered, and to the stands where the spectators appeared torn between witnessing a potential culmination of their entertainment or running for the hills. "There is much to do here to ensure the likes of this never occurs again."
Clint was fairly certain they had more to say, and that they probably said it, but his own attention was drawn by the figure in the red suit of armor flying down to land beside him. The faceplate shot up to reveal a slightly panicked looking Stark, who eyed them all with palpable relief and huffed out, "You're alive!"
"We could have the same revelation about you," Natasha returned, but Clint could see the subtle slouch of her shoulders, the release of tension of knowing their final teammate was healthy and whole, if a little late for the party.
Tony pointed a gauntlet- bedecked finger in her direction, though his gaze refused to settle on just one face. "You have... I have no idea what you went through. I mean, the bodies speak for themselves and wow, but I don't know the specifics yet and there is a lot of high-end bottles at home for us to go through to get there. But I do know what I know, what I saw and that you survived that, that you are here and..." He seemed to lose himself, not knowing what to say but still letting plenty of words have a go at it. It was almost sweet, in a decisively Stark way, but Clint was too damned tired to think about it right now. Too damned tired to think about much, really, including the proper appreciation of the rare instance of making Tony speechless.
He half-listened to ramblings about subspace and Jane and the Bifrost and searching and finding only to be stuck on the outside, of Asgard's help and just how the hell they got Mjolnir near through space itself to reach Thor in time, of how Reed Richards and over half of SHIELD's scientists worked to both trace and close the portal to make sure no more unwilling travelers were caught in its pull. Mostly he watched his teammates hover and Hulk shrink down to a very exhausted Bruce, who stumbled over to them and let Volstagg wrap an arm around his shoulders in both congratulations and support. The other Asgardians from the battlefield did the same to the other Midgardians, and he felt like a teddy bear the way he was passed around, smushed under well-meaning arms and patted heartily on shoulders that felt detached from misuse.
With the portal closed, the only way home was via Asgard, which meant Asgardian terms, which meant a trip to Thor's place for celebration and feasting and telling tales and repeating the same ad nauseum. Coulson was waiting for them there, incredibly out of place in his standard black suit against the gleam and gold, as were a half dozen SHIELD scientists and, of course, Jane. At that point though, Clint was dead on his feet and slumped arm in arm with Natasha who may have been slumped arm in arm with Sif. He actually kind of hoped so because she fought a whole extra round before him and it simply wasn't fair if she was still that mobile while he struggled to put one foot in front of the other.
To give Coulson credit, he looked to his two agents, then to where Volstagg still bodily supported Bruce, and motioned Thor to the side. There was a near silent conversation, or at least one Clint couldn't make out, before Thor spoke in his usual booming demeanor, "Of course! There shall be a period of rest and then we shall feast!"
When a prince of a planet declares such a thing, it happens. Clint had no idea if Thor had put things on hold or it had been the plan all along, but he did strongly suspect by the way the guy looked almost pleadingly at Jane that at least one member of their group was getting less than rest for the prescribed time period.
The obvious wounds were cleaned and patched and recorded for SHIELD's posterity and thankfully there was nothing more than bruising and the occasional shallow slice that didn't even need stitches, a testament to their Asgardian protectors as much as to their own skill. He knew his leg was a near thing on the stitches front, but also knew Coulson wouldn't push the issue, at least not yet, and not while some fancy space-aged bandaid was wrapped around it. They were then led to something that looked like a barracks and Clint would have questioned why, in a place so large, they were not granted rooms of their own, especially what with knowing a bigwig, but then he remembered this was a warrior culture with warrior needs. For all intents and purposes, they had just returned from battle, shield brothers and sisters putting their lives on the line for each other and all that. A closeness borne of battle binding tighter than that of blood, he remembered Thor reciting on more than one occasion. The closeness now was actually quite welcomed, whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not. The ability to pry open his eyes and see Natasha fighting with her boots beside him, Bruce simply laying down and beginning to snore, and Cap doing his usual stretch and yawn thing was actually quite the wonderful and welcomed thing.
He faceplanted into a really comfortable pillow, disrupted from instantly falling asleep by a slight noise at the foot of the bed. He was still a bit jumpy from too much adrenaline coursing through his system for too long to ignore it, and so he grunted and turned to see Fandral brace the bow and quiver he had used up against the frame and grant him a respectful tilt of his head before he sauntered away again. Natasha and Steve had both been gifted with the simple knives they had used in the fight, and Bruce was wrapped in an elaborately embroidered coverlet having no weapons earned but comfort clearly warranted. Sif, Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun each took up positions around the room, interspersed amongst the others in a way that showed they were probably not actually needing the rest but were there for support and/or protection detail as needed.
Coulson claimed a bunk of his own, stockinged feet propped up on something silk-like, tablet in his lap. "Stark is sending a message to Director Fury, and will join us shortly," he explained even though no one had directly asked.
Clint snorted and corrected, "Yeah, if he's not distracted by something pretty along the way."
Coulson shrugged as if that had gone without saying, which it probably had, and then switched his attention to the data before him. Satisfied that things were as close to normal as they were going to get on an alien planet after fighting gladiator-style for their lives, Clint gave in to the softness of the pillow and the aching in his bones not yet abated by the painkillers he had swallowed down, and finally drifted off to sleep, knowing the safety and comfort of friends both new and old would still be there when he awoke.
End.
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