Clintasha- The beginning

Nightmares

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Either way in a few weeks I will have more time and hopefully more to read for you in this Story, my One-Shots and the AU-Verse stuff. The Wild-West-Book is also coming along so stay tuned!

The bunk room was empty just like I thought but I noticed some weapons and his takedown bow were missing. After a cup of coffee, I decided there was still enough time to search for Coulson before my next lesson and made my way to his office. Only to find it and every other space I checked vacant.
Shrugging, I went to my super boring strategic class. I would ask when he came back. The thought of him not returning didn’t even cross my mind.
I was awoken by the sound of the front door opening and closing. So, he was back. That was faster than expected. A soft groan was audible from the other room and made me twitch. He never even complained over his gunshot wound a few weeks back.
Slowly, I got out of the bed and walked towards where I though Barton was. I found him in the bathroom, hands braced on the sink with a white knuckled grip. He had already torn his shirt apart, leaving it in a bloody mess on the floor. And he was pale, so pale.
“Hey” I managed and carefully reached out to him. Even though he flinched at my touch, he didn’t turn away. Instead, stormy blue eyes looked at me with an unsettling intensity. There was a haunted look to his features and for a short moment I could make out pain in his eyes just before he went to complete lockdown.
With a few looks I quickly assessed his wounds. Nothing major on his front but a long and nasty gash that went from his right shoulder down until it disappeared in his waistband. Only when I looked down, I saw the blood pooling around his feet.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang at the door “CLINT” I could hear Coulson’s voice “The fuck open the door this instant Agent, that’s an Order!” The addressed however didn’t even lift his head in response. The choice was easy for me and a few seconds later, Coulson stormed the Room with four agents on his tail. All of them built like professional heavyweight boxers. For a minute, Coulson tried it with reasoning “Barton, Clint. Please get your ass in the infirmary.” When the reply was a simple “No” from his Agent, he gestured the other men to grab him and take him by force.
The young Archer fought like a crazed animal. His arms and legs flailing when they picked him up at ever limb and practically dragged him out of the door. It took all four of them to restrain him properly even though he was still loosing a trail of blood.
Coulson walked behind them, shouting orders in to a walkie talkie. Slightly disturbed, I followed them, still in my sport shorts and tank top. Halfway to the infirmary, two nurses and a doctor came running in our direction with a hospital bed in tow. Barton was more or less slammed into the bed while shouting various insults. Although his movements got slower and his voice became sluggish. They even restrained him before carrying him back to the infirmary.
Finally, I was able to reach Coulson “What happened?” I asked, concern creeping in my mind. What if he didn’t make it?
“He was meant to retrieve a hostage. It went somehow south and he appeared half an hour late with the hostage in peak condition and him spilling blood like a damn Fountain.” Coulson sounded more pissed than concerned. It was nothing fatal then.
“I will expel you from training tomorrow if you keep an eye on him and make sure he takes the painkillers and relaxants after they are done.” He said, more an order than a question “He won’t take them from me when I brought him here.” With that he stepped into the room Barton had been brought to and left me standing in the hallway.
I waited. Maybe an hour before the door opened again and Coulson stepped out, a royally pissed Barton in tow. A nurse tried to give him two crutches but the pure rage in his eyes let her back away before anybody could say a thing. There was a bandage around his torso and several butterfly stitches on his head and shoulders. One of the legs of his cargo pants were cut open so you clearly make out the impeccable white bandage around his calf.
Without a word to any of the present, he half stalked, half limped towards his bunk room with as much grace as one could muster with an injured leg. Coulson watched him disappear around the corner, dressed in a tidy suit as always. Not even his tie seemed to have suffered from the struggle with his Agent.
The older Agent let out a sigh and turned towards me again. “He doesn’t know we gave him a sophoric. Considering his metabolism, he will probably be out in half an hour.” He handed me a small paper bag with various pills in it “Make sure he takes one of the painkillers every three hours and some antibiotics every six hours. He should preferably not leave his bed but try to keep him at least in his quarters. If he sneaks out contact me I will come and bring him back.” Before Coulson could turn completely I quickly asked him “What happened exactly? If I am supposed to watch him, I should know his injuries.” And added “Sir” after a brief moment. I needed him to like me. Barton had said as much.
“He fell from a roof, hit the fire escape with his back and cut his calf while smashing through a window. There are also some injuries from the collision with the building wall. Additionally, one of his arrows almost exploded in his hand, being damaged by the fall.” The summary was brief and professional, but I could hear a faint mark of worry and annoyance in his voice. “Oh, and he might fight you concerning the pain killers.” He remarked before vanishing into another room.
Great now I will have to babysit a crazed assassin for the next days. Considering the way he had fought the medics, it would surely prove to be an interesting task.
Once back in the bunk room, I could see that Barton had changed his ruined pants for black under armour shorts. He was still lacking a shirt and sat on the couch staring to the empty wall when I entered, turning his head towards me when I sat next to him, holding up the paper bag. “Coulson told me to give those to you and make sure you rest enough.” I said in an attempt to sound collegially.
“Not gonna happen.” The blonde stated firmly and leaned back into the cushions, closing his eyes. A fresh bruise was forming on his cheekbone and forehead. The other men had probably smashed him into a wall on their way to the infirmary.
“It is going to happen Birdbrain. And if I have to force them into you.” It was time to cut this crap. He was obviously seriously injured and had to get some rest.
The retort was a little slower already “I would like to see you try.” The anaesthetics seemed to set in. “You are going to take them because if you don’t, Coulson will be angry at me for not giving them to you and then he won’t help me with Fury. And then fury will be pissed at you for bringing me in in the first place.”
“Damn it you are right” he realised “Fuck you Coulson, this asshole planned it.” Now there was a slight slurring in his voice. Just like if he had drunk too much. “Nat?” Barton asked looking at me seriously “What did they gave me? Sedatives?” His eyes already went droopy.
I just nodded. “Shit” Confused at the sudden fear in his eyes I reacted too late when he practically leaped from the couch and began to stumble in the direction of the air duct. He managed almost a complete pullup before my arms forced him down into the room again. “Don’t run.” I instructed firmly, still holding onto his hips so he couldn’t pull himself up again. The blonde struggled a little more but his movements grew slower by the second until he was half leaning on me for support.
I nudged him towards the bedroom “Come on” but he only shook his head and collapsed on the floor. Unable to support his weight, I let him slide to the ground before crouching down beside him. “Take… k-knifes aw..ay.” Was everything he managed before going completely limp.
Great, now I had to carry him to his bed.
He was so much heavier than I expected by his size and rather lean appearance. Looks like he wasn’t only bragging about being ‘all muscle’. “Barton, I swear you should lay off the pizzas.” I muttered after my fourth attempt to pick him up. Since I was unable to lift him up completely, I half dragged half pushed him over the floor towards the small bedroom. Lifting him on the bed proved to be difficult. Either his legs or his upper body didn’t cooperate, and it took me over ten minutes before he was finally on the mattress in one piece.
A quick look to the alarm clock told me it was 6:17 am by now. I didn’t dare to go to sleep as well in case he woke up and began to run around and stress his wound more. Instead, I made a new pot of coffee and sat on the opposite bed, mug in hand, while reading a Shield manual about field strategies.
My patient slept soundly for roughly twenty minutes before he began twitching slightly, sweat forming on his forehead. Carefully not to startle him, I sat next to him on the edge of his bed and felt for his temperature. Normal. No fever. His agitation grew worse when he began to furrow his brows in what looked like agony and screamed. Screamed like he was stabbed multiple times with a burning knife. I tried to ease him by stroking through his hair carefully and whispering soothing. It did nothing to calm him down. A nightmare most likely, probably a very bad one if he was screaming like that. I’ve only ever heard him pant or whimper during the nightmares he woke up from at night but never scream, never displaying that much weakness.
The distraction nearly cost me my neck when Barton suddenly pulled a boey knife from his pillow and slashed out around him aimlessly. I avoided cut to the throat, but the tip fazed my cheek, cutting a thin line into my skin.
Swearing, I jumped back and finally took the knife from him. Just now I remembered what he had said before he went out cold “Take the knifes away.” He tried to warn me. He knew this would happen. The realisation struck me like lightning; that’s why he fought against getting in the infirmary and stitched himself up the last time. Only that he lost too much Blood today to fight back. The wound in his calf hadn’t looked serious but it had bled a lot.
When he calmed down again and was only shifting uncomfortably on the sheets, I quickly searched his surroundings for weapons. A rather small knife was strapped to his lower back, concealed by the wide waistband of his shorts. Carefully, I took it away and threw it over to my bed.  The rest of his bed was empty besides the wicked hunting knife that he had taped to his headboard. I took it, too in case he managed to reach it.
The cut on my cheek wasn’t deep and barley more than a scratch so I only wiped the blood away with a tissue and let it be.
It turned out to become a long four hours. Barton screamed three more times and didn’t seem to rest in between, always shuffling uncomfortably on his bed. Then, slowly but surely, he woke up. His eyes fluttered open and he looked around in confusion. He attempted to sit up but was still too groggy from the relaxants he had been given. “Tasha?” he managed to say before his head hit the pillow again.
To calm him down, I took my seat on his bedside again and waited. The next time he opened his eyes he looked a little less stressed out but still confused. I made soothing noises and stroked though his fluffy hair. This time, it worked and he began to calm down, his muscles slowly relaxing from where he had cramped them. “It’s okay.” I assured. “You are in your Shield quarters.”
“How?” he asked “How did I get to bed? I remember standing up from the couch and falling.”
A soft chuckle escaped my lips “I carried you here. You are damn heavy by the way. Lay it low on the fast food, yeah?” The archer scoffed, pretending to be offended. “It’s..” he began but I cut him off “..all muscle, yeah I know.” He smiled fondly apparently still affected by the drugs. Otherwise I am sure that he wouldn’t allow me to see his emotions that easily.
“If you behave and stay here I will bring you coffee.” I offered. Maybe he could be coaxed into staying in bed a little longer. “Hm” he nodded slowly.
It was a pleasant surprise to see him still laying where I left him when I returned with the promised coffee and some granola bars. He was probably hungry. Hell, from my experience he was always hungry. He propped himself up against the wall and accepted the mug with a smile. “Thank you” inhaling the smell of the hot beverage, he closed his eyes and looked like he tried to relax.
Feeling out of place standing in the middle of the room, I chose to sit next to his legs on the edge of the wooden frame. Patting the mattress next to him, he asked me to sit beside him. I took my own refilled mug and sat down, drawing my legs to my chest.
I could feel his now sharp eyes examine the cut on my cheek. “That was me wasn’t it?” it was more a statement than a question and the quietness of his voice startled me. He had never shown hesitation to hit me in sparring why now? “It’s nothing” I assured quickly “Doesn’t even hurt.”
Carefully, as if he was afraid of breaking me, he stroked his thumb over my cheek right under the cut. “Sorry” Clint said, taking his hand back. “should have warned you to take my knifes away before I blacked out. I could have killed you by accident. “
I shook my head quickly, not wanting him to think it was his fault “You did.” 
“What?”
“You did warn me before you went out cold. I just didn’t think any of it before you were slashing the air with that thing under your pillow.” I opened one of the granola bars and handed it to him.
“Still” he insisted between two bites “I told them not to sedate me. Last time I almost choked a nurse to death because they didn’t strap me down enough.”
Now it was my time to be confused. Why would they sedate him even though they knew it was dangerous? When I asked him the same thing he guiltily looked down in his coffee again. “Well, uh, maybe because I have a certain reputation to escape the infirmary before I am cleared to leave. They probably just want to assure I don’t move too much.”
Regarding his ‘careful’ behaviour during the time the gunshot wound healed, I understood immediately. “Then that’s exactly what you are going to do.” I decided promptly.
The blonde arched his eyebrows sceptically “Excuse me?”
“You are going to stay in this very bed until I allow you to leave. You will take your painkillers and in two days your leg will be much better.”
“I don’t like to be scooped up somewhere. I heal better when I move.” He tried to argue putting empty cup down.
“Look” I explained “If you stay here like you are supposed to, Coulson will be happy and that’s exactly what we want right now, ok?” when he didn’t answer I offered “And I will get you food from the mess hall and keep you company.”
The mention of food finally got his attention “I can try but I promise nothing.” Barton finally allowed with a deep sigh.
“Can you at least get me my fletching stuff? It’s in the drawer under the weapons. If I have nothing to do I will crawl up those walls in no time.” After a look at the clock, 10:45, he added “And breakfast maybe?” with a hopeful look on his face. Like he didn’t just eat two protein bars.
Rolling my eyes, I went to get the things he asked for. The mess was unsurprisingly empty since everybody was already on duty. It took me less than ten minutes to pick up the food and carry it back to the bunk room. After I explained to the woman at the counter that I was collecting breakfast for Barton and myself since he was injured, she made me two plates with various things to share. The shier amount of it let on that she knew the Archer as well.
My blonde patient was still sitting in the exact same spot where I left him, apparently trying to prove that he could keep still if required. Again, I took my place beside him and placed the tray on his lap together with a new mug of coffee.
We ate in silence, each contemplating what to do next. Once we were finished, I returned the tray before bringing him the fletching supplies.
With practiced hands, he placed the feathers on the shaft and wrapped a thin rope covered in glue around to keep them in place. For half an hour, I just watched him finishing one Arrow after the other. Occasionally, he would throw one away if something was wrong. I admired the care and skill he portrayed. His hands moved with practised ease, cutting the feathers into shape or examining the shafts for faults.
Not long after Barton had finished his second dozen, a sharp knock on the door disturbed the silence when I went to open it. Coulson was standing there, in a neatly pressed suit as always. It was a different one than he had worn tonight. The tie had stayed the same.
“How is Barton?” he asked seemingly bracing himself for the worst. I smiled winningly, gesturing for him to enter and poured him a coffee before answering, “The Hawk is in his bed fletching Arrows for a whole Army, Sir.”
Coulson’s face portrayed amazement. “We talkin’ about the same person Romanoff?” He asked me reluctantly. My hand pointed to the door “See for yourself, Sir.” I quietly walked in after him.
“How is the leg?” the older Agent asked diplomatically, not wanting to address the uncommon behaviour. “Better. I guess.” The Archer answered. The atmosphere shifted somehow into awkwardness when everything Coulson answered was a single “Great”
“I will leave you alone then.” He finally managed and turned to leave. Barton however wasn’t finished “Don’t think I will forget that you got me sedated again.”
Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose asking, “Would you have rested otherwise?” before leaving the room without waiting for an answer.
Outside, he turned to me once again before stepping out in the hallway “Thank you.” His voice was sincere “I don’t know what you did but it worked.” And he was gone again. 
I continued to supply Barton with coffee and food until he had used up all his fletching supplies, sitting between two boxes full of new Arrows. He must have finished more than 60 by the time he ran out of feathers. Dutifully, I brought the Arrows back and carefully placed them in some of the tubes the Archer had standing around with his other Arrows. The rest of the supplies were stored where I found them.
Now, Barton was looking for a new distraction. I could practically see him growing more and more bored. To prevent him from leaping off the bed I asked “What do you want for lunch? They have Broccoli soup and fish ‘n chips.” Unsurprisingly, he decided for the Fish and promised to stay put until I return.
I took the soup for myself and placed an extra blueberry muffin on my tray.
Barton had held word once more and was still sitting on his bed, carving patterns in the headboard. ‘Where the hell did he get that knife?’ I thought shaking my head before I placed the tray between us on the bed. He nodded his thanks and began to dig into his food, knife and carving completely forgotten.
“I will have to change the bandage on your leg soon.” I told him after finishing my soup “You should take some painkillers before that.”
Barton shook his head at the mention of the meds “It doesn’t hurt much.”
“Coulson told me to give them to you. You are taking them.” I wouldn’t start an argument again. “Just take some out and flush them down the toilet. That’s what I do usually.” A frown formed on my lips. ‘why did he have to make it complicated?’
“Let’s make a deal.” He offered “I will take the antibiotics and stay here until you allow me to leave but I don’t have to take the painkillers. I hate the way they make me feel.”
Pretending to think about it, I took my time before holding out my hand “Deal?” he shook it “Deal” It was more than I could have hoped for.
Carefully, I placed a towel under his leg to prevent the bed from getting blood on it. Barton watched me with interest. He had taken his antibiotics, as promised and now nursed his half empty coffee mug.
After unwrapping his leg, I got the first clear look on his wound. Like I thought, it wasn’t serious but had opened a lot of venes. Therefore, the high blood loss.
I cleaned the stitched cut and gingerly placed a new patch of gauze over it before rewrapping it again. “Looks good to me” I said conversally “Might even leave without a scar.”
He chuckled gesturing towards his scarred chest “Do I look like I care about another scar?”
“Actually,” I began “If you would care you had less in the first place.”
“Probably” Barton allowed “But they remind me to not do the stupid shit again that made me get them. And they look dangerous.” While wiggling his eyebrows at me “Win-Win right?”
Shaking my head, I collected the first aid supplies and stored them back into their box. Suddenly, I had an idea to both, keep him occupied and learn more about him. His mood was good, he might actually agree. “Let’s play a game.” I announced, “I pick a scar and you tell me the ‘stupid shit’ you did to get it ok? You have enough of them to pass some time.”
He nodded slowly in agreement, apparently not sure what to think of it. Absently, his hand wandered to a long faded scar on his collarbone. It seemed old but still stood out prominently. Once it must have been quite the injury I thought, making a not to not ask about that one. I had the feeling he connected some bad memories with it.
“How about the last one I just patched up? Coulson said you fell?” Barton huffed, crossing his arms “I never fall. I got pushed.”
“Alright what happened? They didn't tell me anything.”
“We were on a rooftop, I had just secured the hostage and a helicopter was meant to pick us up outside of town. A few of the captors went after us once we reached the fire escape ladder and I was forced to take them out before we could climb down. The Hostage panicked and accidentally pushed me over the edge while he ran for the stairs. I managed to fire a grappling hook that prevented me from falling down completely but I crashed into the fire escape ladder and the wall before the hook took hold. The remaining two guys on the roof were still shooting at me so I was forced to re-enter the building through a window on the first floor. That's where the glass cut my leg. At least my hostage had the mind to wait for me at the entrance instead of running off again.”
I frowned in sympathy, “That's a lot of bad luck for one day.” The blonde chuckled a little “Yeah well bad luck is kind of my super power.”