FIC: Thicker Than Water (2/7) - Brothers 'verse
Title: "Thicker Than Water - Chapter 2/7"
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: 1937 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!
My sincerest gratitude to my wonderful beta missm0neypenny, your comments had me squeeing and laughing like a madwoman ;) Love to anuna_81 who also greenlit this for posting and to venitinmentem for cheering me on :D I love you all :D And I forgot to thank inkvoices for the awesome icon last time, so I do so now!
You can also read it and the first chapter on AO3
and FFN
Thicker Than Water - Chapter 2
Clint comes to slowly. His ears are ringing and his head throbs. His whole body feels like one giant bruise, one pain bleeding into the next. He coughs the dust of the cave-in from his lungs and groans as his quiver presses into his back. The hot, stale air smells faintly of smoke and he remembers the explosion, shoving Aaron ahead of him, a blast of hot air and then nothing.
“Aaron,” he breathes and his throat constricts.
He winces as he chucks his quiver, flexes his fingers and reaches for the Mag-Lite in the right pocket of his cargo pants. He flicks it on, the halogen beam falls on stones, red earth, splintered railroad ties heaped a good ten feet from him - and Aaron. He is lying face down underneath it all, everything from his shoulders up hidden by a large splintered support beam and fallen rocks.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Clint curses as he heaves himself up.
A sharp pain stabs through his left leg as he puts weight on it, tearing a strangled yell from him and he falls right back on his ass. He looks down and there’s a long, bloody piece of wood protruding from his thigh. He follows its form with his eyes and sees its opposite, less soiled end sticking out behind him. Instantly the dull pain he felt all over his body a minute ago separates into individual bruises, cuts and the throbbing mass that is his thigh. Fuck, he thinks as his stomach clenches and he starts to shiver, fuckfuckfuck.
No time for this, Clint thinks. He takes a deep breath and bites his lip when he hauls himself up with a growl that’s equal parts pain and determination. Sweat covers him instantly as he uses the tunnel wall for support and limps to where he can see Aaron’s head and right arm protruding from the pile of debris. Clint’s heart hammers against his ribs like a herd of horses on the run when he notices his brother’s absolute stillness. The few steps separating them are torture to cross, his leg screams at him as he bends awkwardly and touches his trembling fingers to his brother’s neck. The pulse is strong and Clint releases his pent up breath when Aaron clamps his hand around Clint’s wrist and inhales deeply.
“Hey, it’s me. Aaron, it’s me, I’ve got you,” Clint soothes. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“Clint?” Aaron faces away from Clint, a fact that the older man is thankful for, and his voice sounds distant and harried as he says, “Head hurts, but otherwise I’m good. Just my shoulders, they’re stuck. Please, get me out. I -“ he swallows audibly and starts to squirm, ”I just really, really want out.”
“I’ll get you out, don’t worry. I’ll just have a look, alright?” Clint answers.
He tries to keep his voice even as he inspects the pile of debris for a way to free Aaron without injuring him or burying him further. The fallen support beam pins Aaron’s shoulders, a couple of larger boulders are wedged in between the wood and the mine’s wall. Clint breathes a sigh of relief that none of the stones have hit Aaron’s head and quickly recognizes a pattern to the seeming chaos. He groans as he heaves the first stone off and lets it fall where it can’t do more damage.
“Are you okay?” Aaron asks with concern.
Clint takes a deep breath to steady himself and shakes his head in an attempt to keep the encroaching nausea at bay.
“I’m fine. Dude, seriously though, what’s with you and falling stuff?” he snarks and breathes out harshly as he removes another stone.
“Must be my natural charm,” Aaron quips back. “Nature’s just fucking attracted to me. Have I told you about that wolf pack up in Alaska?”
Clint scoffs and tries to suppress a groan as he lifts another boulder out of the way. He wants to respond, but his leg almost gives out beneath him and he can’t contain the pained grunt that slips out.
“Clint? What’s going on?” Aaron asks as he tries to wiggle free. “You’re not okay, are you?”
White spots dance in front of Clint’s eyes and he breathes heavily. This does not look good, he thinks.
“Just need to… catch… my breath.”
“Fuck you! Tell me what’s going on,” Aaron demands.
“Got a… a splinter… in my… my leg,” Clint pants out and pushes at the next boulder. He dislodges it and it rolls into the tunnel. Almost done, he notes with relief as the muscles in his damaged leg start to spasm.
“A splinter? Seriously? That’s the problem? A fucking splinter?” Aaron scoffs.
“Shuddup, almost done here,” Clint grounds out as he slides down the tunnel wall, unable to stay up anymore.
The pain from his leg pulses through him, he can feel it in his fingers as he claws and pushes at the debris lodged between the beam and the wall. He breathes heavily, sweat coats his body, but finally there is enough space for the beam to dislodge. Clint slumps to the side, spent.
<><><><><><>
Aaron heaves a sigh, pushes up and slides out from underneath the four-by-four. His head throbs and his shoulders protest every move as he shakes the dust from his short hair. He winces when he stretches before he turns to Clint and gives him a quick once over in the glow of the flashlight. His stomach drops and his eyes grow large as he takes in Clint’s thigh.
“Fuck, THAT’S what you call a splinter?” Aaron asks, incredulous as he grabs the flashlight from where it has fallen and hurries to Clint’s side. “That’s a fucking tree, you ass!”
“Semantics,” Clint huffs and Aaron wants to head slap him.
“Stupid fucker,” Aaron mutters and yanks his knife from its sheath, his shoulders scream at the sudden move. “Never heard of the first rule of first aid, huh?” He cuts open Clint’s pants leg with a little more force than necessary and Clint groans. “Always take care of your own injuries first.”
“It didn’t seem that bad,” Clint presses out through clenched teeth.
“You can’t save anyone if you bleed out, Clint,” Aaron says as he bares Clint’s leg.
The fabric splits easily and Aaron’s stomach jolts when he sees the full damage for the first time. The beam of the flashlight reflects off a dark piece of wood roughly the length of one of Clint’s arrows, about two inches in diameter. Its jagged edges glisten with blood where it protrudes in the front, marking it as the exit wound. Blood sluggishly wells out of the torn flesh, it has left thin crimson trails over the spasming muscles of Clint’s leg and down into his boot.
“Fuck,” Clint grounds out.
Aaron fully agrees and takes a deep, calming breath before he speaks again.
“We need to stop the bleeding,” Aaron says in a steady voice as he looks around them for their supplies.
“First aid kit’s in my backpack,” Clint grounds out when Aaron carefully palpates the wound.
Clint’s muscle spasms intensify, a sheen of sweat coats his face as Aaron levels his gaze on him.
“And where’s your pack?” Aaron demands as he digs his fingers into Clint’s groin, searching for the vein in an attempt to slow the bleeding.
Clint groans and he clamps his hand around Aaron’s wrist. “The nest, had to leave it.”
“Fuck,” Aaron swears, then pats his cargo pants until he finds what he was looking for and smirks. “Good thing I always carry an Israeli, huh?”
He brandishes the battlefield tested emergency bandage at Clint who gives him a thumb up.
“You’re awesome,” Clint huffs and digs his fingers into Aaron’s arm again and tugs. “Do you still have your comm?”
Aaron reaches for his ear and finds it empty. He shakes his head and asks, “You?”
“No, lost it in the fight with those goons.”
“Fuck,” Aaron says and looks at Clint.
The older man’s face is set in grim determination as he demands, “Take it out. The splinter, you have to take it out. I won’t be able to walk while it’s in there.”
Aaron stiffens and shakes his head, “You can’t be serious. If it’s damaged a major vessel you’ll bleed out before I can do anything to stop it. I can’t risk that.” I can’t risk you is left unsaid.
Clint swallows visibly, then insists, “Listen, kiddo. SHIELD won’t dig us out. We can’t sit around. I need a doc. There’s a back exit, saw it on the scans.”
A back exit? He raises an eyebrow as he looks at Clint, who seems to take it as acquiescence.
“Not gonna bleed out, promise,” Clint rasps out, his face set. “But either you yank it or I will.”
Aaron shakes his head and exhales slowly, “You really are nuts, aren’t you?”
“Runs in the family,” Clint replies with a grimaced smile that shows way too many teeth. Aaron can see his lip tremble.
Aaron takes a deep breath and asks, “You’re serious about this? You really want me to pull it out?”
Clint huffs, “No. I want a shitload of painkillers and my bed. But I need you to pull that thing out.”
Aaron nods and says, “Need my pack first, there’s water in there. Gonna have to clean that fucker.”
He turns and closes his eyes for a second to push down the apprehension that threatens to swallow him whole. Aaron lets the flashlight’s beam ghost around the space they’re in until it lands on the pack, half-buried under the rubble he’d lain beneath earlier. His shoulders ache fiercely when he stretches and tugs the pack to him.
He takes a deep breath before he turns and arranges his features into his ‘mission face’. It worked on Marta when he had to get her to cooperate at first. He had tried to look calm and reassuring, non-threatening and in control and Marta had responded well to it. His gaze is watchful but warm when it alights on Clint’s face, which is glistening with sweat. Aaron takes a bottle of water from his pack and offers it to his brother.
“Fuck, I’m screwed,” Clint says and declines the drink with a shake of his head.
“What? Why?” Aaron asks, dumbfounded.
“You have the same look as Nat right now,” Clint replies with a shaky smile. “Never bodes well.”
Aaron smirks, “Speaking of Natasha, you should probably bite down on something, wouldn’t want to damage those pearly whites, huh? Natasha would skin me alive if I brought you home damaged. Well, more damaged.”
His eyes settle on Clint’s shooting glove and the archer nods and lifts his shaking hand. Aaron gently takes his brother’s wrist and peels off the glove with steady fingers. Clint’s pulse beats rapidly beneath the clammy skin and when the well-worn leather finally comes off it is soaked with sweat. Aaron swallows hard around the lump in his throat and holds the glove out to Clint who opens his mouth and cringes as he bites down.
Aaron’s heart thumps wildly as he straddles Clint’s legs and wraps his hand around the woodchip at the back of Clint’s leg. It is nearly dry there, only a few red rivulets mar its surface. Clint groans when Aaron touches it and he slams his eyes shut and coils his muscles.
“Don’t forget to breathe, Clint,” Aaron says calmly, his left hand steady on Clint’s hip, while his right grips the wood tightly. He inhales deeply and pulls.
Clint screams.
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: 1937 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!
My sincerest gratitude to my wonderful beta missm0neypenny, your comments had me squeeing and laughing like a madwoman ;) Love to anuna_81 who also greenlit this for posting and to venitinmentem for cheering me on :D I love you all :D And I forgot to thank inkvoices for the awesome icon last time, so I do so now!
You can also read it and the first chapter on AO3
and FFN
Thicker Than Water - Chapter 2
Clint comes to slowly. His ears are ringing and his head throbs. His whole body feels like one giant bruise, one pain bleeding into the next. He coughs the dust of the cave-in from his lungs and groans as his quiver presses into his back. The hot, stale air smells faintly of smoke and he remembers the explosion, shoving Aaron ahead of him, a blast of hot air and then nothing.
“Aaron,” he breathes and his throat constricts.
He winces as he chucks his quiver, flexes his fingers and reaches for the Mag-Lite in the right pocket of his cargo pants. He flicks it on, the halogen beam falls on stones, red earth, splintered railroad ties heaped a good ten feet from him - and Aaron. He is lying face down underneath it all, everything from his shoulders up hidden by a large splintered support beam and fallen rocks.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Clint curses as he heaves himself up.
A sharp pain stabs through his left leg as he puts weight on it, tearing a strangled yell from him and he falls right back on his ass. He looks down and there’s a long, bloody piece of wood protruding from his thigh. He follows its form with his eyes and sees its opposite, less soiled end sticking out behind him. Instantly the dull pain he felt all over his body a minute ago separates into individual bruises, cuts and the throbbing mass that is his thigh. Fuck, he thinks as his stomach clenches and he starts to shiver, fuckfuckfuck.
No time for this, Clint thinks. He takes a deep breath and bites his lip when he hauls himself up with a growl that’s equal parts pain and determination. Sweat covers him instantly as he uses the tunnel wall for support and limps to where he can see Aaron’s head and right arm protruding from the pile of debris. Clint’s heart hammers against his ribs like a herd of horses on the run when he notices his brother’s absolute stillness. The few steps separating them are torture to cross, his leg screams at him as he bends awkwardly and touches his trembling fingers to his brother’s neck. The pulse is strong and Clint releases his pent up breath when Aaron clamps his hand around Clint’s wrist and inhales deeply.
“Hey, it’s me. Aaron, it’s me, I’ve got you,” Clint soothes. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“Clint?” Aaron faces away from Clint, a fact that the older man is thankful for, and his voice sounds distant and harried as he says, “Head hurts, but otherwise I’m good. Just my shoulders, they’re stuck. Please, get me out. I -“ he swallows audibly and starts to squirm, ”I just really, really want out.”
“I’ll get you out, don’t worry. I’ll just have a look, alright?” Clint answers.
He tries to keep his voice even as he inspects the pile of debris for a way to free Aaron without injuring him or burying him further. The fallen support beam pins Aaron’s shoulders, a couple of larger boulders are wedged in between the wood and the mine’s wall. Clint breathes a sigh of relief that none of the stones have hit Aaron’s head and quickly recognizes a pattern to the seeming chaos. He groans as he heaves the first stone off and lets it fall where it can’t do more damage.
“Are you okay?” Aaron asks with concern.
Clint takes a deep breath to steady himself and shakes his head in an attempt to keep the encroaching nausea at bay.
“I’m fine. Dude, seriously though, what’s with you and falling stuff?” he snarks and breathes out harshly as he removes another stone.
“Must be my natural charm,” Aaron quips back. “Nature’s just fucking attracted to me. Have I told you about that wolf pack up in Alaska?”
Clint scoffs and tries to suppress a groan as he lifts another boulder out of the way. He wants to respond, but his leg almost gives out beneath him and he can’t contain the pained grunt that slips out.
“Clint? What’s going on?” Aaron asks as he tries to wiggle free. “You’re not okay, are you?”
White spots dance in front of Clint’s eyes and he breathes heavily. This does not look good, he thinks.
“Just need to… catch… my breath.”
“Fuck you! Tell me what’s going on,” Aaron demands.
“Got a… a splinter… in my… my leg,” Clint pants out and pushes at the next boulder. He dislodges it and it rolls into the tunnel. Almost done, he notes with relief as the muscles in his damaged leg start to spasm.
“A splinter? Seriously? That’s the problem? A fucking splinter?” Aaron scoffs.
“Shuddup, almost done here,” Clint grounds out as he slides down the tunnel wall, unable to stay up anymore.
The pain from his leg pulses through him, he can feel it in his fingers as he claws and pushes at the debris lodged between the beam and the wall. He breathes heavily, sweat coats his body, but finally there is enough space for the beam to dislodge. Clint slumps to the side, spent.
<><><><><><>
Aaron heaves a sigh, pushes up and slides out from underneath the four-by-four. His head throbs and his shoulders protest every move as he shakes the dust from his short hair. He winces when he stretches before he turns to Clint and gives him a quick once over in the glow of the flashlight. His stomach drops and his eyes grow large as he takes in Clint’s thigh.
“Fuck, THAT’S what you call a splinter?” Aaron asks, incredulous as he grabs the flashlight from where it has fallen and hurries to Clint’s side. “That’s a fucking tree, you ass!”
“Semantics,” Clint huffs and Aaron wants to head slap him.
“Stupid fucker,” Aaron mutters and yanks his knife from its sheath, his shoulders scream at the sudden move. “Never heard of the first rule of first aid, huh?” He cuts open Clint’s pants leg with a little more force than necessary and Clint groans. “Always take care of your own injuries first.”
“It didn’t seem that bad,” Clint presses out through clenched teeth.
“You can’t save anyone if you bleed out, Clint,” Aaron says as he bares Clint’s leg.
The fabric splits easily and Aaron’s stomach jolts when he sees the full damage for the first time. The beam of the flashlight reflects off a dark piece of wood roughly the length of one of Clint’s arrows, about two inches in diameter. Its jagged edges glisten with blood where it protrudes in the front, marking it as the exit wound. Blood sluggishly wells out of the torn flesh, it has left thin crimson trails over the spasming muscles of Clint’s leg and down into his boot.
“Fuck,” Clint grounds out.
Aaron fully agrees and takes a deep, calming breath before he speaks again.
“We need to stop the bleeding,” Aaron says in a steady voice as he looks around them for their supplies.
“First aid kit’s in my backpack,” Clint grounds out when Aaron carefully palpates the wound.
Clint’s muscle spasms intensify, a sheen of sweat coats his face as Aaron levels his gaze on him.
“And where’s your pack?” Aaron demands as he digs his fingers into Clint’s groin, searching for the vein in an attempt to slow the bleeding.
Clint groans and he clamps his hand around Aaron’s wrist. “The nest, had to leave it.”
“Fuck,” Aaron swears, then pats his cargo pants until he finds what he was looking for and smirks. “Good thing I always carry an Israeli, huh?”
He brandishes the battlefield tested emergency bandage at Clint who gives him a thumb up.
“You’re awesome,” Clint huffs and digs his fingers into Aaron’s arm again and tugs. “Do you still have your comm?”
Aaron reaches for his ear and finds it empty. He shakes his head and asks, “You?”
“No, lost it in the fight with those goons.”
“Fuck,” Aaron says and looks at Clint.
The older man’s face is set in grim determination as he demands, “Take it out. The splinter, you have to take it out. I won’t be able to walk while it’s in there.”
Aaron stiffens and shakes his head, “You can’t be serious. If it’s damaged a major vessel you’ll bleed out before I can do anything to stop it. I can’t risk that.” I can’t risk you is left unsaid.
Clint swallows visibly, then insists, “Listen, kiddo. SHIELD won’t dig us out. We can’t sit around. I need a doc. There’s a back exit, saw it on the scans.”
A back exit? He raises an eyebrow as he looks at Clint, who seems to take it as acquiescence.
“Not gonna bleed out, promise,” Clint rasps out, his face set. “But either you yank it or I will.”
Aaron shakes his head and exhales slowly, “You really are nuts, aren’t you?”
“Runs in the family,” Clint replies with a grimaced smile that shows way too many teeth. Aaron can see his lip tremble.
Aaron takes a deep breath and asks, “You’re serious about this? You really want me to pull it out?”
Clint huffs, “No. I want a shitload of painkillers and my bed. But I need you to pull that thing out.”
Aaron nods and says, “Need my pack first, there’s water in there. Gonna have to clean that fucker.”
He turns and closes his eyes for a second to push down the apprehension that threatens to swallow him whole. Aaron lets the flashlight’s beam ghost around the space they’re in until it lands on the pack, half-buried under the rubble he’d lain beneath earlier. His shoulders ache fiercely when he stretches and tugs the pack to him.
He takes a deep breath before he turns and arranges his features into his ‘mission face’. It worked on Marta when he had to get her to cooperate at first. He had tried to look calm and reassuring, non-threatening and in control and Marta had responded well to it. His gaze is watchful but warm when it alights on Clint’s face, which is glistening with sweat. Aaron takes a bottle of water from his pack and offers it to his brother.
“Fuck, I’m screwed,” Clint says and declines the drink with a shake of his head.
“What? Why?” Aaron asks, dumbfounded.
“You have the same look as Nat right now,” Clint replies with a shaky smile. “Never bodes well.”
Aaron smirks, “Speaking of Natasha, you should probably bite down on something, wouldn’t want to damage those pearly whites, huh? Natasha would skin me alive if I brought you home damaged. Well, more damaged.”
His eyes settle on Clint’s shooting glove and the archer nods and lifts his shaking hand. Aaron gently takes his brother’s wrist and peels off the glove with steady fingers. Clint’s pulse beats rapidly beneath the clammy skin and when the well-worn leather finally comes off it is soaked with sweat. Aaron swallows hard around the lump in his throat and holds the glove out to Clint who opens his mouth and cringes as he bites down.
Aaron’s heart thumps wildly as he straddles Clint’s legs and wraps his hand around the woodchip at the back of Clint’s leg. It is nearly dry there, only a few red rivulets mar its surface. Clint groans when Aaron touches it and he slams his eyes shut and coils his muscles.
“Don’t forget to breathe, Clint,” Aaron says calmly, his left hand steady on Clint’s hip, while his right grips the wood tightly. He inhales deeply and pulls.
Clint screams.