Echoes

The heart monitor had become a comforting mantra in the back of Clint Barton's mind over the last forty eight hours. He'd been in and out of consciousness for the last eight, listening for familiar sounds. For awhile Natasha had been there to keep him company but they hadn't actually spoken. Someone had removed his breathing tube once it had been made clear he no longer needed it which he was more than thankful for. It had gagged him more than once.

Clint had never been so thankful for modern medicine in all his days. He barely felt the pain in his side, in his stomach. He knew the wounds were still there, he had no illusions of them being healed up already but everything was blissfully numb and allowed him to find rest. Now, however, Clint was hungry. He probably wasn't allowed to have the amount of pizza he really wished he could have, but he should at least eat something. Even if that something was sad hospital pudding.

There was a sound outside his door and he slowly opened his eyes. Nothing. Just darkness and shadows passing through the hallway. Maybe it was a nurse peeking in on him. Damn, if they had been, they hadn't seen him awake and he couldn't ask for some food. Where was that damn buzzer again? Glancing left and right Clint searched for the button that would summon a nurse but that proved to be far more effort than his ailing body was ready for.

Though the medicine helped with the amount of pain that he was sure he would suffer later it was also making him drowsy and left him feeling stiff. Food could wait, the nurses could wait. Clint closed his eyes again and allowed the sweet surrender of sleep to take him. Still, he remained at least half conscious. Couldn't help it. Old habits would die hard, especially after being undercover for so long.

When he'd snuck away to meet with Natasha to report the terrorist attack in Manhattan he had been paranoid when he'd gone back under. That S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent, the one who had begged him not to go back under and had warned him with her bad feelings had really saved his life. He'd have to thank her and Scarlett when he was feeling better. Without them, he would have been plain old dead. When he'd been taken he had been sure that the only way out was in a body bag. Every breath he now took he was eternally grateful for.

It had only been a few days before Clint had known his cover was completely blown. Still, he didn't want the whole time spent infiltrating MedCo's security to be for naught. He'd taken a calculated risk to steal files, to break into records in offices he had avoided going into to keep his cover and when he had finally managed to get some valuable information he'd been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

Clint was good at pretending he was a fool. Sometimes he said stupid things simply because he wasn't thinking. Just because he liked bad jokes didn't make him stupid, though, that's for sure. Thankfully in the situation of prisoner, of being beaten and harmed in exchange for information playing the fool had very much played to his advantage. Time and time again he'd fed MedCo false information, had even nearly convinced them that he worked for the CIA and not for S.H.I.E.L.D. at all.

Unfortunately they'd found him out in the end but Clint had known that would happen eventually. Using him against Scarlett had wound up being the best route imaginable for him. He was sure that if they had thought he had little to no value they simply would have left him for dead. While he hadn't wanted to put anyone else in harm's way he'd heard enough stories about Scarlett from Natasha to know that she could handle her own. Part of him had hoped she would come with more backup than just herself but it was likely she had no idea what she was walking into that fateful day.

Still, in spite of it all, in spite of being as ill as he knew she was, in spite of her distrust of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the arguments that had arisen between the collective group of agents as of late, Scarlett had refused to leave without him and had risked her neck to save him. She had done so admirably and while he still had been near death when she'd found him he had very much still survived because of her. Hell, he had half expected Scott to torture him right in front of Scarlett just to get her going, to make her do something drastic.

Instead, she'd been level headed, collected, poised and had gotten him well out of harm's way before any further damage could be done. Then he'd almost drowned and she had the decency to save him even though he knew she wasn't well. From what he knew, breathing was a chore for her and he was sure that the task of swimming even without his added weight was a task and a half. How far had he set her back, health wise? Still, he was grateful.

Clint shifted from side to side, uncomfortable in his slumber. His thoughts were far too loud for him to sleep soundly. However he did finally succumb to his exhaustion at the very least.

A shadow passed in front of the hospital room again but this time it didn't disappear completely. A man, tall, lumbering and hunched over, covered by a long coat and a hat tilted low stood in the doorway, casting a menacing shadow. He checked left then right before looking back in the room. This time Clint Barton didn't stir the way he had earlier.

Erick Reno had been lucky not to be discovered on his first attempt. His breathing was haggard and in spite of his disguise, his presence very rarely went unnoticed. Once a tall, thin man with glasses and a conniving smile, Erick had since changed. The drugs had been what done it and while he couldn’t remember why he was on them he very distinctly remembered his death. It had been painful and unexpected.

What had brought him to his death? Why had his partners killed him? These were questions he didn't have the answers to and no longer had the willpower to ponder for very long. Every so often he had to hold his head as these rebellious thoughts attempted escape. These moments of clarity passed quicker and quicker these days as the little that was left of his free will was replaced by his mission, by his loyalty to Mikhail.

Positive that Clint Barton was asleep the half deformed, limping form of a man in the hat and coat lumbered slowly into the room. Despite his deformities, the changes the medicine had made to his being, he was completely silent. Within his coat he reached and removed a syringe full of a sickly green liquid. Next to the bed he stopped and stood. If he killed Clint Barton here and now quietly the heart monitor attached to him would go off. The only way to stop that from happening was to disable it.

He had repeatedly been taught how to do just that before being sent on this mission. It had taken over an entire day to setup with the help of the guards who had shadowed him to make sure he continued to be loyal. There had been incidents that he didn't quite remember where he had been subdued, held down, and injected with something equally as toxic as what was in the syringe in his hand.

This needle however was not designed for loyalty or change, not even mutation. No. This needle was filled with poison that would kill Clint Barton within a matter of seconds. They would leave nothing to chance. Further action would be taken to make sure that the Avenger wasn't going to survive this incident. Walking around the bed, Erick fiddled with the heart monitor that read Clint's vitals. He was surprisingly stable given all he'd been through. These S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents were resilient - like roaches.

Closing his eyes he remembered the training that had been repeatedly drilled into his mind. Then without hesitation he fiddled with the buttons on the machine and disabled it entirely. Leaning over Clint Barton once again he placed the syringe closer and closer to his neck. Just as he was about to pierce flesh, Clint raised his hand, gripped at Erick's wrist and his eyes snapped open.

Erick Reno didn't even have a chance to retaliate. Clint twisted his wrist and shoved the syringe hard into Erick's neck and pressed the plunger. Erick stumbled backwards in surprise but didn't fall or remove the syringe. Instead he stared at Clint and then a smile curved over his wicked, elongated lips. When he spoke, his voice was no longer severe sounding, but rather a guttural roar of the voice he once had before they had changed him.

"It doesn't matter." His laugh was smooth at first but then liquid collected in his throat as the poison took effect. "It is already too late." Erick choked on something horrible in his throat before a terrible green foam passed through his lips and dripped onto the floor. Then he collapsed against the bed and sunk slowly to the floor, dead.

Clint removed the heart monitor and pulled his IV free quickly with a wince. Testing his stamina he stood carefully on both feet and decided that he would be fine until he could get to safety somewhere else. Whatever was happening he had to move quickly. This man had once been one of the three founders of MedCo and when his betrayal had been discovered Clint had guessed he had been killed as a result.

Now he knew there were fates far worse than just death or torture. The obedient monster Erick had become was far more terrible than any fate Clint had suffered. Carefully he walked around the bed and found the clothing that Natasha had left for him and changed quickly. He winced at once as he buttoned up his pants. There was that horrid pain he remembered. Just like yesterday.

What were the odds that they had something else planned for him? Surely there were other guards, backup nearby. Clint nudged the door closed and dragged the body of Erick Reno carefully over to the far corner of the room, out of sight and out of mind. He patted over the coat in search of any radios, of any sensors that would alert anyone else of his failure but found nothing.

Inside the coat he found a silenced gun and a sheathed knife, both which Clint took with him. He stood back up carefully and slipped on the hoodie that Natasha had left for him and pulled the hood low over his face. If the doctors saw him they would drag him back into a hospital room and he had no time to waste. Pocketing the phone that Natasha had left for him, Clint braced himself for the pain that would greet him the moment the adrenaline would wear off.

He'd dealt with worse, he kept reminding himself of that. It didn't mean he looked forward to it, just that he knew he would survive.

The moments that followed were a blur. Clint snuck past the first nurse's station only to discover that there was another and these men and women were very serious about their jobs. Every stolen glance, Clint was worried he'd be recognized or worried he would be met with an agent of MedCo. But paranoia had turned out to be just that. Clint walked through the hospital and found a side entrance where patients and visitors would walk outside to have a cigarette break. He didn't want to draw any other unnecessary attention to himself if he could help it.

Carefully he meandered through the parking lot and removed the cell phone from his pocket before immediately dialing Natasha's number which he knew by heart. He had to warn someone that MedCo had something planned. While he had been working undercover for S.H.I.E.L.D. he was sure that there was someone also working undercover for MedCo in the exact opposite situation. Everyone was in danger. Someone had found out where he'd been moved to in the hospital, had managed to sneak in past security with both weapons and poison.

Just as he heard the familiar ring in his ear the world went quiet all around him. He pulled the phone away and just as he was about to turn around there was an ear splitting thud and then a blast so loud he could hear nothing but ringing. The explosion was so immense that he was thrown straight off of his feet and forward onto the asphalt. Crawling beneath one of the nearby cars Clint felt the heat of the fire and the explosion that brought the hospital to its knees and prayed that it wouldn't get any worse before he could call for help.