Not Going Down Without a Fight

It has been a long ten days. Between worrying over Steve as he’s gone out on mission after mission and spending nearly every second of the day (and night) in the chair by Clint’s bed, Bucky is feeling the mental strain and exhaustion in every one of his cells. He’s slept – two or three hours a night – but it’s been subpar to the deep sleep he got while in Clint’s bed. The only reprieve he’s gotten from his constant vigil has been for quick showers in the attached bathroom. Natasha brought him a duffel bag of clothes the second night he was there; the nurses who check Clint’s vitals seem to be more comfortable with Bucky when he looks and smells like a human, so he doesn’t dwell on the fact that at least ten minutes of his waking hours are spent away from Clint. One nurse in particular, Kelly, sneaks food and drinks into the room during her shift; he likes her best because, besides the food, she doesn’t linger. She doesn’t act scared of him. She doesn’t ask meaningless questions. She checks on Clint, makes sure Bucky isn’t going to fall over dead from sleep deprivation or starvation, and leaves. If she was a waitress, he would be tipping her at least five times the total bill amount. But she isn’t, so he won’t.

Tonight is Ruth’s shift. Bucky doesn’t like her. At. All. She fawns over Clint’s still form, pretending Bucky isn’t even in the room. She’s good at her job, though, and Hill’s vetted every staff member who comes in contact with the SHIELD archer, so Bucky does an equally-impressive job of pretending Ruth doesn’t exist. As if on cue, the nurse comes in and passes him without a second glance. He picks up his book, opening it to a random page, and watches Ruth move from over the edge of the book. She’s humming an unfamiliar tune; he grits his teeth at the off-key sound but stays quiet. He can’t question the gentleness with which she manoeuvres around the bed, can’t find fault in her thorough examination of monitors and IV drips. He stops feigning interest in his book when she turns to him, her blue eyes narrow with thought.

“Doctor Bryant wants to bring Mr Barton out of the coma starting tomorrow morning. His ribs are healing nicely, so there’s no reason to keep him under any longer.”

“Oh.”

“They’ll talk more with you before they do it. You are his proxy, after all.” She pauses, flicking a stray thread from the sleeve of her scrubs. “I just wanted to give you warning so you weren’t blindsided by the suggestion.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks.”

“No problem, Mr Barnes. Would you like me to get you something from the vending machine?”

“If you’d like, I guess.”

“Okay. Anything specific you’d prefer?” When he shakes his head, she smiles brightly. “See you in a few.”

Her footsteps fade down the hall, and he’s left dumbfounded. While he was certain she didn’t hate him, he never thought she would offer him food or a warning about impending changes in Clint’s condition. He chuckles softly to himself. Maybe he had her pegged all wrong. Or maybe… Maybe she’s been in his shoes, forced to watch a loved one be so unresponsive to the world while in a hospital bed. He opens his book once more and starts to read.

By the time she returns, he’s finished Call of Cthulhu and is halfway through another short story. She hands him a packaged cream cheese Danish and Styrofoam cup of coffee, and Bucky nods in thanks. His hand pauses, the drink hovering in front of his mouth, when she sits in the plastic chair beside him.

“I knew Clint for a while, a few months back, before I transferred here. Nothing personal or anything, we’d just always manage to hit the same Starbucks at the same time every so often, once or twice in a two-week period. We’d talk about stupid things while we waited. Literally stupid things – not the weather or small talk like that. No. Stuff like how many dogs would it take to reach the moon if they were stacked together, the worst kind of food that we hated but could never turn down, stuff like that.” She laughs quietly and turns in the chair to face him. “I finally got up the nerve to ask him out one day. I was so nervous, I nearly shouted it in the middle of a fucking coffee shop after a twelve-hour shift. He looked really surprised that I’d done it, but… He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even have that smile, the one people give you when they don’t want you to know they’re laughing at you, even though you know they’re totally judging and mocking you.

“Instead, he kind of ducked his head and said ‘Sorry, but I’m kinda waiting for someone else.’ I said she must be something special, and he replied with ‘Yeah, he is. He really is. Thing is, I don’t think he notices I even exist.’ Then his phone rang, and it was Captain America – I mean, Captain Rogers, asking where he was. Clint asked if Barnes was going to be there, and his face… I swear to God, his face lit up when Captain Rogers said yes. And I knew he was telling the truth: This Barnes guy really was something special. You are something special.

“I was afraid to say anything to you until now, because, well, I don’t have a valid excuse. The Avengers trust you, so I should, too, right? But… I just wanted to say that Clint is lucky. I mean, who else would have someone, just one someone, sit by their bed twenty-four-seven? Not many, I can tell you that. And I know you don’t owe me a damn thing, but please take care of him. He needs you, more than either of you know.”

His throat is tight, dry; his eyes are burning. His words are raw whispers when he says, “Thank you for telling me this. And I will, even if I have to put him in a damn bulletproof, shockproof, fireproof, Clint-proof bubble.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” laughs Ruth as she stands. “Have a good night, Mr Barnes.”

“Bucky.”

She doesn’t falter in her steps toward the door. “Of course. Good night, Bucky.”

He eats the Danish unhurriedly; his thoughts circulate around what Ruth said, and a rush of warmth slams into his chest. Clint said he was waiting for him? His mouth twists into a smile, but it slowly fades as he stares at Clint. What the Hell is going to happen now, especially if the accident has caused Clint to forget? What if… What if Bucky is left alone again?



Light footsteps wake him. He opens his eyes to see a dark-skinned nurse wearing pale blue scrubs, standing beside Clint’s bed. Bucky stays still, watching the unfamiliar newcomer. When the man reaches into a pocket and withdraws a needle, Bucky’s muscles tense.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The nurse freezes, then pastes a smile on his face. “The doctor wanted to give Agent Barton a few more days so that his ribs can finish healing.”

“Why was I not notified of this? I’m his proxy. I make any and all decisions regarding medical care.”

“I’m not sure, sir, but I can assure you that this is what the doctor ordered.”

Bucky stands, a measured movement that causes a flash of panic to cross the other man’s eyes. “What is the doctor’s name?”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to sit down –”

“What is Agent Barton’s doctor’s name?”

“– and let me do my job, or I’m going to call security.”

“The. Name.”

“Sir –”

“The name! Give me the fucking name!”

“Mr Barnes, is everything okay?”

Lyle skids to a stop right inside the door; his eyes widen when he sees Bucky holding the impostor against the wall, metal hand clenched in the collar of the thin scrubs. Bucky barely glances away from the man as he kicks the discarded needle toward the doorway. Lyle, to his credit, manages to hide his confusion well. He swiftly pulls on a latex glove, picks up the syringe, and leans out of the room to yell for security. Bucky refuses to release the man in his grip until three guards rush in, followed closely by a handful of SHIELD agents. Even once the impostor is outnumbered, it’s difficult for Bucky to command his hand to unclench. Finally, the room is empty except for its usual inhabitants, Lyle, and a slight, dark-haired man with eyes hard as ice. The man smooths down invisible wrinkles in his impeccable navy suit before holding out a hand to Bucky.

“Mr Barnes, my name is Phil Coulson. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”

“No, I don’t think we have.”

Coulson glances at Clint, and something crosses his face; it’s gone in an instant, but Bucky recognises the pain on someone’s behalf. “Usually, we’d request a conversation in a more private location, but given the circumstances, I don’t think it’s necessary But I do have to ask some questions.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Thank you.” Coulson sits in the recliner. “Can you tell me what happened? Exactly as it happened?”

Bucky recounts everything from the past ten minutes. The agent remains quiet during the retelling, brow furrowed, as he writes in a small spiral-bound notebook. When Bucky finishes, the man gives him a sharp look.

“Did he manage to inject anything into the line?”

Bucky’s shaking his head before Coulson finishes asking his question. “No. I caught him before he could.”

“Good. I’m sure it doesn’t need said, but I highly doubt it was saline solution that he was carrying. Thank you, Mr Barnes. There will now be agents stationed outside the door to prevent this from happening again. Have a great day, and please, when he wakes, tell Agent Barton he has to fill out his own paperwork."

Coulson’s lips curve upward in a slight smile, then he’s gone. Lyle watches him go, turns to Bucky.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Barnes. I’m not sure how he got past the nurse’s station.”

“Not your fault, kid. Believe me. People intent on killing other people will always manage to find a way.”

“Right. Uh, I’ll go get Doctor Bryant.”

Bucky nods, phone in hand. He types out a text to Stark: Whenever you’re not busy, call. Important. Not emergency. Once done, he lowers his body into the chair and rests his forehead against the edge of the bed. He swallows down the remnants of panic and fear, struggles to control his breathing. Thankfully, he manages to calm down by the time Doctor Bryant enters the room. She forces a smile at him, but her face is tight, sharpened with anger.

“Good morning. I apologise on behalf of the hospital. It –”

“It’s been taken care of. What’s going on?”

She sighs, relief at his lack of reaction evident in her brown eyes. “Well, I wanted to bring up the idea of bringing him out of the coma. His body is healing to the best of its abilities, and the longer he’s under, the harder it could be to get him back.”

“Do it.”

“Fair warning, he might not remember much for a while. He’s taken quite a beating, so it wouldn’t surprise me at all if he doesn’t have very many recent memories.”

“I understand. Do it.”

She nods and adjusts the drip. “It’ll take some time for the Midazolam to wear off. We’ll have nurses come in periodically to lower the dosage, so it’s not a shock to his system. Midazolam can be addictive, which means he might experience withdrawals. He could show signs of aggression, confusion, agitation. Or he could be perfectly stable. We’ll keep a close eye on him.”

“Thank you.”

Her smile this time is genuine. Bucky watches her go, then answers his vibrating cell phone, signalling yet another phone call. Before he can even give a greeting, Stark is talking.

“ – send me a text like that then not answer when I call him like he requested. Four times I’ve called him, Rogers. Four times! And he doesn’t answer any of the calls. What the Hell is up with that? Don’t give me that look. The Terminator is your friend, not mine. Well, I figured you’d be able to tell me why he didn’t answer!”

“Because I was talking to the doctor, asshole,” interjects Bucky, and Tony pauses with a hiss of breath.

“Oh, hey, Barnes. So you heard that, huh? Okay, okay, so that happened. What did the doctor say?”

“They’re gonna bring him out of the coma.”

“Good. That’s good. Definitely good.”

“Did JARVIS find anything?”

“Did JARVIS – Did you really ask that? Of course JARVIS found something. He’s my AI, isn’t he? Apparently, our villain du jour decided to be an asshole and blow out a very integral part of the building’s stability. Says he saw Barton up top, figured he’d make his escape while we were busy dealing with the fact that our number-one birdbrain was under half a fucking building, and… Well, he didn’t expect the Big Guy to actually give a shit about Barton, if the fact he nearly shit himself is anything to go by.”

“What did the Hulk do?”

“What didn’t the Hulk do, is the real question. He realised Barton was in danger and went all Hulk-smash on the bad guy. Damn near killed him. Natasha managed to subdue Hulk while Sam helped SHIELD agents subdue the very injured bad guy. She didn’t look happy about it, but Bruce would’ve hated us if we’d let the Raging Green Giant kill someone, even a dick like Villain McVillainpants. So is Barton going to be okay?”

Bucky sighs, letting the sound carry down the line to Stark’s ears. “The doctor seems to think so.”

"Uh, Barnes? Mind explaining why there’s a gaggle of SHIELD goons standing like lost ducklings who learned parade rest outside of Barton’s room? Really, Cap? You’re honestly surprised that I hacked into the hospital’s pathetically simple security network? Wow. It’s like you don’t even know me. I’m hurt. Genuinely hurt. So?”

“Oh, you’re talking to me again,” says Bucky after a few seconds’ pause, slightly dumbfounded by the rapid switch in conversational partner that Stark manages to do so effortlessly. “There was a problem. It’s been taken care of.”

“What kind of problem?"

“Minor attempt on Barton’s life.”

“Wait. Let me get this straight. Barton is currently in a medically-induced coma, strapped in a fucking hospital bed, and someone attempted to kill him. Did I get that right? Of course I did. I’m a genius. Cap – Steve! Oh, shit. Gotta go, Barnes.”

The call drops before Bucky can say another word. He shakes his head, shoves his phone into his pocket, and resumes his post by the bed. The bruises on Clint’s face and arms are no longer black and blue, but an ugly shade of yellow-green with lavender epicentres. The small cast on his right hand has Kelly and Ruth’s signatures, along with an intricate drawing of an arrow piercing a Starbucks cup. Bucky laughed when a nurse explained that Clint broke his pinkie finger; he called Natasha, left a three-minute voicemail of unbridled laughter and, toward the end, strangled crying. She hadn’t called back but sent a text with only I know in the message. And he knows she does. It still amuses Bucky that somehow, only one finger was broken in the accident, and it’s one that isn’t even one that’s required for shooting. Small miracles, Bucky thinks as he pulls the blankets up tighter around Clint.

“You better make it out of this, Clint, or else I’ll bring you back to life just to kick your ass. And don’t think I won’t do it. Stark will help.”

“Like Hell I will. Have all the lover’s spats you want, but leave me out of it.”

Bucky doesn’t so much as twitch at the sound of Tony’s voice loudly announcing his arrival. He and Steve must be staying nearby. Speaking of…

“Where’s Steve?”

Tony leans a hip against the foot of the bed and crosses his arms. “Out there on the phone with Fury, trying to figure out why he wasn’t notified about the attempted murder of a teammate.”

>“Someone named Coulson was here earlier, right after it happened. He said it would be taken care of.”

“Yeah, Coulson’s pretty good about cleaning up messes. He’s shockingly scary for a man who has no expressions.”

“Does… Does Natasha know yet?”

“Probably. She somehow knows everything. But she’s on some mission for SHIELD, so we won’t feel her wrath for a few more days.”

Steve slams into the room, then, all Captain-America aura in his posture, shoulders set in a straight line, but his jaw is clenched tightly, his blue eyes electric with his anger, and it’s all reminiscent of sixteen-year-old, Brooklyn-born-and-raised Stevie Rogers itching for an alley fight with whatever bully wronged him this time. He sets a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, fingers digging into the flesh there.

“Please tell me he’s okay.”

“He’ll be fine.” Bucky shakes his head when Steve opens his mouth. “Trust me, Stevie, he’s going to be okay. The attempt on his life was just that – an attempt. It wasn’t successful in any degree.”

Steve pauses then nods. “Good. And the guy who did it?”

“SHIELD dragged him out of here in cuffs. Coulson said they’d handle it.”

“They’d better do it before Natasha comes back, or there’ll be nothing left to handle.”

“Is… Is Steven Grant Rogers actually okay with the idea of excessive force and torture?”

“He tried to kill Clint, if you hadn’t noticed, James."

“Yeah, I know. I was here when it happened,” snaps Bucky, and when did he stand up?

Steve steps closer, nearly nose-to-nose with Bucky. “Yeah, you were. So how did the asshole manage to get so close to succeeding?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Rogers? You know what –”

“And that’s my cue to step in before someone says naughty words that they’ll definitely regret.” Tony places himself between the two angry supersoldiers; he pushes gently at their chests. “C’mon, boys, break it up. Don’t make me be the voice of reason. Look, Steve, Barnes is stressed to the max. He’s been here for almost two weeks. No breaks, nothing. And Terminator, Cap’s stressed because one of his teammates is already inured and still somehow managed to have an attempted assassination against him.”

“What’s your point, Stark?” Bucky growls through gritted teeth, eyes never straying from the stone set of Steve’s face.

“My point, you idiots, is that right now, you’re both under a lot of stress, and you’re taking it out on each other, because you know each other so well. You know exactly which buttons to press. Well, I’ve gotta tell you, fighting with each other is only going to make things worse. Because, on top of the worrying about Clint and anger at this whole fucked-up situation, you’ll feel guilty as Hell for hurting each other.

“So on that note, Barnes, I’m going to take my idiot back to the hotel, get him away from here so he can calm down. Call us if anything else happens. Let’s go, Cap.”

Steve keeps his feet where they are, glaring at Bucky, until, with a hiss of breath, he turns on his heel and storms out of the room. Tony shrugs in Bucky’s direction before following at a more reasonable pace. One of the agents standing guard peers into the room, nodding to let Bucky know that the security is under control. Bucky lets himself flop into the recliner. The ceiling is bland, white, but it allows his brain to wander enough for him to get a grip on his emotions as he counts the holes in the tiles. Fighting with Steve has always been draining on Bucky; it’s worse today. He suspects it’s the stress. Stark is right. Bucky hasn’t been able to relax since before Clint went on the mission; hasn’t felt anything other than panic, fear, uneasiness, and anger for two weeks; hasn’t slept properly in thirteen days. He runs a hand through his hair, settles back in the chair for a long night.

By the time he manages to doze off, Bucky has watched two nurses as they checked on Clint, witnessed shift change, and absently eaten a doughnut that Kelly brought him from the nurse’s station. She doesn’t mention the incident as she lowers the steady stream of Midazolam. When she moves to leave the room, her hand lands gently on his shoulder, squeezing with a tender sort of affection.

“Get some rest, Bucky. You guys are in good hands.”

He nods, though he has no actual intention of sleeping. She smiles, not calling him out on it, and pushes past the two guards standing in the hall. He sighs, shifts in his seat, and resumes staring at Clint, watching his chest rise and fall with the breaths being pushed into and pulled from his lungs by the machines.



Loud alarms blaring jerk Bucky from his fitful doze. His eyes snap open to see a nurse rushing into the room, toward the bed – toward a flailing Clint. Clint, who’s awake. Bucky immediately moves back to give the nurse room to work. Her low voice is loud in the suddenly-quiet room, but it’s comforting as she assures Clint he’s safe, he’s in the hospital, but he’s safe and on the mend. Clint’s eyes flick around the room, wide and panicked; he catches sight of Bucky leaning against the wall, and his body slowly relaxes, his gaze locked firmly on Bucky. The nurse leaves once she’s checked vitals, assessed Clint’s pain levels, and removed tubes from his nose and throat. Clint holds out his undamaged hand, and Bucky takes it immediately. He knows he’s on the verge of crying, that Clint will see, but it doesn’t stop him from getting as close as possible.

“You have no idea how great it is to see you awake,” whispers Bucky, fingers tightening slightly around Clint’s hand.

“What the Hell happened?” Clint asks, and Bucky winces at his raw, scratchy voice.

“What do you remember?”

Clint swallows. “Nothing. Why am I in the hospital?”

“You got injured, sweetheart, while on a mission.”

Clint nods but doesn’t respond. Instead, his body relaxes further into the bed as his eyes flutter closed. Bucky slowly releases his hand and stands. Once he’s sure Clint won’t wake for at least a few minutes, he steps into the hall, pulling out his phone.

“What happened?”

“He just came out.” He presses his free hand to his temple, lets the unforgiving metal cause an ache. “He’s asleep, but it’s… He’s out of the coma, Nat.”

“Thank God.”

She must be alone if she’s allowing that much emotion to flood into her voice. Bucky clears his throat. “Can you let the others know?”

“Of course, Barnes. Thank you.”

Natasha hangs up first, and he turns back toward the room only to find his way blocked.

“Agent Coulson.”

“Mr Barnes. I heard Agent Barton is now awake.”

How the Hell can he know already? "Yes, sir. He’s sleeping right now, though.”

Coulson’s lips twitch minutely. “That’s good. Please let me know when he’s awake for more than five minutes, so that I can get a summary of what happened to land him in here."

“Of course.”

Coulson walks away, his steps light on the linoleum; the shorter guard avoids looking at Bucky, but his partner is less skittish as she shrugs.

“We were under strict orders to alert Agent Coulson once Agent Barton woke up, sir.”

Bucky nods. He makes his way to the recliner where he’s spent the last two and a half weeks, and waits for Clint to open his eyes again.

By the time he does, he’s been moved from ICU to a private recovery room, and Natasha has arrived, followed closely by Steve and Tony. Steve barely glances at Bucky until Stark not-so-subtly digs an elbow into his side. The supersoldier sighs, sends a halfhearted glare to his boyfriend, and drags his feet toward Bucky.

“Sorry, Buck. I really am. I… I wasn’t think of how hard this must be on you. So…I’m sorry.”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate, responds with, “Ah, I’m sorry, too. I was being a dick. We good?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re good.” Steve flashes him a quick grin. “But don’t let it happen again, jerk.”

“Bite me, punk.”

The tension immediately disintegrates, and Bucky relinquishes his chair to Natasha. She presses her lips to Clint’s temple, gently, then flicks the spot with a fingernail.

“You’re a dumbass, you know that, right? I told you, you’re not allowed to die on me.”

“I didn’t exactly ask for whatever happened, Tasha.”

Steve steps forward. “What do you remember, Clint?”

“Not much,” admits the archer, scratching idly at his cheek, grimacing when his nails disrupt a bruise. “The last thing I remember is…watching TV on my couch. I don’t even remember getting a call for a mission.”

“So no recollection of what landed you in the hospital.” Tony shrugs. “Way I see it, Katniss is lucky in that regard.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely lucky.”

“I only meant that you won’t remember a building deciding you made a good foundation.”

Clint’s gaze swings toward Bucky. “Please tell me he’s joking.”

“No, he’s telling the truth,” replies Bucky apologetically.

“Don’t worry, Clint. We’ll help you out, every step of the way.”

Points to Steve for heading off any panic and freak-outs. Bucky inhales, slowly, deeply, before letting the air out in a rush. Natasha catches his eye, but he ignores her. Does Clint remember their time together? Or did that memory get beaten out of him? Tony says something, but Bucky can’t hear over the roaring in his brain. The only thing that stops him from leaving right now is the fact that, no matter what, he cares for Clint and doesn’t want to hurt him.

The nurse comes in an hour later to tell the group that visiting time is over. Steve claps a hand to Clint’s uninjured shoulder, Natasha kisses his temple again, then they’re gone. Stark stops at the door, turns to face Clint with a smile.

“Really am glad you survived, Barton. Mainly because dealing with a grief-stricken Natasha and guilt-ridden Steve is not my idea of fun.”

“Yeah, I knew you loved me, Tony,” laughs Clint hoarsely, prompting Stark to wave off his words and leave. “Are… Are there guards outside my door?”

Bucky nods succinctly. “Uh, yeah.”

“Why?”

“We’ll talk about it later. Get some rest, Clint.”

Clint narrows his eyes at Bucky. “Have you eaten recently?”

“Don’t need to. Besides, you’re more important.”

“Go eat, Buck. You may be a supersoldier, but that’s all the more reason to keep yourself fed.”

“Clint –”

“No. Go to the cafeteria and eat, or I won’t sleep.”

“They have medication for that.” At Clint’s flat, unimpressed stare, Bucky sighs and relents. “Fine. I’ll go. If you need anything, yell for one of the guards, and they’ll get me.”

“Okay.”

Bucky stands, leans over, and kisses Clint’s forehead. “I’ll be back. Stay out of trouble.”

“I’m stuck in a hospital bed. How much trouble can I get into?”

“Trust me,” mutters Bucky, remembering a needle with a dark surge of anger, “you’d be amazed.”