For Thor (stopmjolnirtime)

[cognitive_recalibration]

From here

It’s not every day you get someone promising to beat down death’s door to rescue you from it, so please excuse Clint’s shocked, mooneyed face for the next several minutes.

He’s been living his life wrong, he decides, only slowly returning to chewing so that he doesn’t choke on the lump of pizza in his mouth. Why has he never gotten to know Thor outside of Avenging? The guy is beyond sincere and obviously a pretty great guy under the princely visage.

Maybe that’s because Clint Barton is not a good guy. He’s been doing his best to change that for years now but you don’t just clear a slate of evil deeds overnight. He honesty never may. Until a few moments ago, he’d been sure that the only person he honestly matters to was Tasha.

Phil’s gone after all.

Damn.

Damn, he doesn’t like feeling itchy like this. He decides it’s the dried blood and drops any other thought or reason for the sudden tingle.

“Uh. Wow. You know, that’s the coolest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Comments

aw clint buddy

[stopmjolnirtime]

"You and Stark have the same expression on your face when things veer to the sentimental." Thor mimics it- a pinched brow, a grimace. "As though the words would prompt a sneeze."

He says so without judgement because- honestly? He understands it.

"Which is better than pretending I hear Heimdall calling for me when I do the same." Sometimes things are just- a bit much. And Thor knows fairly well that he is, in fact, quite a lot, even when he means not to be.

Sometimes he's more when he's trying not to be.

"What I mean is- I have no doubt you'd end up in the halls of Valhalla for your skill, valor, and bravery- but I'm glad we don't have to worry about that for awhile more." A beat. "Midgardians live, what, a hundred years? And you're...twenty?"

[cognitive_recalibration]

“Uh. Hey. I thought we were friends. Don’t compare me to Tony Stark!” Do they make the same faces? That’s unfortunate.

At least Clint doesn’t need to address it further. He made his joke. They can move on.

Until, damn it, they can’t.

Jesus Christ, Thor! Can he get through a meal without choking? Evidently not. He’d been so very content to listen to Thor ramble in an accent he can only place as Asgardian English (and secretly pleased to have the quiet bit he had been feeling said out loud by someone else who evidently thought the same way) but no. No Thor can’t leave well enough alone.

“Doubt I’m gonna make it that far,” he says, swallowing. “And I’m like double that. Sorry, Thor, let’s just don’t live that long.”

[stopmjolnirtime]

The bright, gleeful energy that radiates from a well fed and watered god of thunder dims immediately, shoulders slumping, blue eyes going wide. "You're halfway through your life already?"

He knew, abstractly, that he'd outlive his shieldbreathren. That time is fleeting for midgardians, that they are fragile but fiercer for it- but he thought he would have at lest five decades with them.

This? This will not stand.

"...I need to find the garden of Indunn." Today was nothing if not a closer brush with death than Thor finds comfortable. "You are going to live a long and joyful life or else."

Poor baby!!!!

[cognitive_recalibration]

Or else…

Clint uses his fork to tap the table because he’ll be damned if Thor almost kills him on pizza again. He puts the slice down before he takes another foolish bite in the middle of this conversation.

“I thought your neighbor with the garden is Sarah—?” He doesn’t get the reference. Phil had spent a lot of time reading up on Norse mythology after their first encounter with Thor but Phil is gone now and Clint had been too good for books. “Hold on there, Thor. Let’s not get— I’m not going to die tomorrow. Probably. No more random robbery thwarting for at least a week okay?”

his friends are NOT ALLOWED TO DIE YET 9^9

[stopmjolnirtime]

"Sarah is my neighbor, Idunn's golden apples are part of what grants Aesir their long life, their youth, their vitality." A normal apple a day won't keep the doctor away, but an apple from Idunn's tree once a fortnight? Would keep an Aesir well fed and well prepared for any battle, fresh and in their prime in perpetuity.

Or until they hit whatever age Odin was to become a wrinkled raisin of a man. Thor's not sure, but they have been given as boons to Midgardians before.

Giving one to Clint will be more than acceptable. But- in deference to Clint's comfort, he sighs, slumping as he chews sullenly on his slice of pizza. "Body armor. And call when you get shot, don't text flippantly."

[cognitive_recalibration]

Clint can actually picture the heist in his head. Climbing into an Asgardian orchard, playing Adam and Eve by stealing apples, getting found out and cast back down to Earth— He knows the story. It ends pretty bad. Clint doesn’t need all of Asgard out for his blood because their prince was sad his mascot would die soon.

Clint reaches across the table but comes just short of patting Thor’s hand. Would that be weird? He’s not sure the etiquette. Most humans men would find it weird. So he pauses, and then draws back.

“Thanks for the thought. I don’t think anyone’s cared about my life enough to steal immortal fruit for me before. So big win there for me,” he says, offering Thor a smile. “I promise to call though. But you’ve got bigger fish to fry. You don’t have to worry about me.”

[stopmjolnirtime]

He'd been unprepared to lose Coulson so abruptly- he knew it was inevitable, but that has him, perhaps, a little more self critical of not paying attention to the rest of his comrades. For all they are accustomed to and resigned to shorter lifetimes-

Midgardians seem to feel things much deeper, such loss more keenly than he can grasp.

Noticing the hand, the withdrawal- Thor huffs and reaches out to mirror the gesture, resting a broad hand on Clint's. "I worry for all my friends, Clint. It does not matter the cause, if you have need of aid? I would offer it. The nine realms have many wonders and miracles- and many heroes. But there is only one you."

[cognitive_recalibration]

“Are you trying out to write for Hallmark?”

Clint knows Thor won’t understand what he means, but that massive hand covering his own, both flaked with dried blood that used to be inside his body, makes him feel flushed. Or maybe that’s still the blood loss and Clint is just being an awkward child because he’s not as annoyed as he should be at being the damsel in distress that night.

He huffs at Thor’s confused expression and smiles almost fondly.

“I’m at a disadvantage. I’ve only got the one realm under my belt to draw from. But you’re not exactly like anything we’ve got here on Earth either. Guess I’m trying to say thanks and right back at you?”

Ah damn it. Heimdall are you listening? Send help!

[stopmjolnirtime]

"I am- what?" His brows do furrow because the name is not unfamiliar, he's heard it before.

Specifically in this context.

Maybe he should look into it in greater detail, but what it means is still entirely beyond him. He speaks plainly and honestly and sincerely in a world and time where that isn't much the norm anymore and it- isn't that confusing. It makes sense. In Asgard everyone has known everyone else for so long that trying to hide anything is an exercise in futility.

Flippancy is called out immediately- and Thor's friends are all nosy bastards.

"Good. Eat your pizza and I'll text Natasha to let her know you are well. She found the thread on twitter." And had opinions.

Then again, most of the team did, Stark certainly made mention of something about his blood pressure? Thor's uncertain.

[cognitive_recalibration]

Oh jeeez. Clint thought he felt a buzz in his back pocket but from the flying to the pizza he hasn’t had a lot of time to check out his texts. Nat was supposed to have been busy on a mission so he hadn’t wanted to bother her. She’s probably mad he didn’t text her. Especially if Thor had been posting screen shots of their texting to Twitter.

He wants to smother himself in the cheese fries.

“Oh no,” he groans. “Well. I’m going to be dead after all once she gets her hands on me. No more Twitter, Thor. This stuff is our business. You didn’t respond to her that we were eating pizza did you?”

Because this shop is about to get very crowded with more Fangirls than the waitress.

[stopmjolnirtime]

"No? I thought it best to give you a head start, once you were sufficiently recovered." Natasha is also a friend of his, a favored ally, an excellent warrior-

Terribly frightening in all the ways she reminds him of Loki sometimes, and all the more reason to try to avoid her ire as long as possible. He's been on her shitlist all of once and oh- it was not a good time.

It was, he'd go so far as to say, a bad time.

"And myself one for not taking you directly to a hospital. We could...finish eating and find somewhere to hide until she tires of searching for us? That is an option." A very brave and noble potion, discretion is the better part of valor, all that.

[cognitive_recalibration]

“Ah, Jesus Thor. Year, we had better.” He loves Nat but each time he almost does, she tries to kick his ass. Unhelpful. Clint presses his fingers against his eyelids and then shoved another slice of pizza down his throat.

He needs to teach the guy about the internet. Stuff he puts on Twitter can and does get out. Especially because Natasha expects it to.

Clint finishes a few more fries and drops some money on the table. It’s too much but the waitress deserves a good tip for not immediately phoning her friends to come over and gawk at the pair.

Standing up, though? That’s not a good idea. Clint is still lightheaded from the blood loss and he hasn’t had any time to recover. He grimaces as he heads to the door. He’s fine. He’ll be fine. He’s been through worse.

[stopmjolnirtime]

Thor quickly finishes his share of their meal, standing to steady Clint without being too obvious about it- pride is something with which he is intimately familiar- and following along. At least until they're outside.

Then he steps up to rest an arm around Clint's waist, no matter how he might fuss. Might as well get ready to carry him to the nearest safe house, if Clint has one.

He hopes Clint has one.

Norns, let Clint have one. "Where can we hide that she will not find us?"

[cognitive_recalibration]

This has suddenly turned into a chase and Clint is here for it. He’s a little loopy from the blood loss but that somehow makes it more fun. Is he genuinely afraid of Natasha? No. She’ll baby him and he secretly likes it. He also kind of hates it too because it reminds him that he’s the toddler infant Thor sees him as too.

How they all must see him as.

It’s amusing to know Thor is also worried. The guy is invulnerable and he’s afraid of Natasha? Clint can’t wait to tell her that. It’ll be an ego boost.

Thor’s arm is a strange thing, but also a welcome one when Clint’s knees buckle. “Oops,” he groans, clinging onto the flannel. “Do you still keep a place at the Tower or HQ? She’d never think I was staying with you.”

Which is accurate. Thor and Clint aren’t usually a duo.

[stopmjolnirtime]

"I do still have my room at the tower- Friday will be able to provide additional security if we ask her nicely to help hide us." Friday may also insist on proper medical treatment but can be reasoned with, he's learned.

Thor steadies Clint as best he's able, considering their location, the tower, and adjusts his grip- how best to hold Clint without making him feel like a damsel?

On his back? No. Over his shoulders? No. The hug and fly is the most equal option available to them so that is what he does, gently tugging Clint into position and ducking into an ally for the usual windup with Mjolnir. "Hold fast- it won't be a long flight."

[cognitive_recalibration]

That’s it. No more walking. He’s going to get a Thor for his birthday and ride around in style.

Clint can tell he’s getting to the point of delirium, which does not bode well for him to hold fast to anything. He does his best, fingers wrapped around Thor’s shirt. Hopefully he doesn’t catch any of that long Loriel hair.

Then again, would Thor even feel it?

“Do you have a scalp of steel too?” he yells into the wind. It’s not important, but it speaks volumes to his general state of exhaustion.

Maybe Thor had been right. Red Wine fixed blood loss after all?

[stopmjolnirtime]

"No-" Thor rumbles, trying not to yell. The flight is, as promised, short, and he's much more careful on the landing (Stark has feelings about cracks on balconies, rooftops, and the sigil left behind by the Bifrost and is not afraid to express them loudly and often.) "I got over being tender headed when everyone learned it was a good way to get me to break a grapple when I was...ten?"

Aesir fight honorably, sure but children?

Fight dirty.

Careful in steadying Clint, Thor guides them from the roof to the nearest lift, one hand texting Friday to please, please, please send up what a non medic can offer a patient with bloodloss and also could she be so kind as to not inform anyone that he has Clint?

It takes some haggling- promising to get Clint to clean up and rest but- "Ha! An alliance has been secured."

A beat.

"Friday won't snitch on us."

[cognitive_recalibration]

“Are you friends with FRIDAY too?” Clint asks, actually pretty impressed. He’s surprised he walking on his own, considering he can’t feel his legs, and he hasn’t really let go of Thor. “You have this whole secret life I never knew about.”

No Clint. You’ve kept your own secret life and you never open up to anyone and you make jokes to protect yourself and keep everyone else away.

Thor has never been anything but open and honest. To a fault.

“Gardens. Friends with Stark’s AI. You’re kind of great. Also, I think my feet are numb.” He knows he’s punch drunk. He can feel how crazy he’s getting.

[stopmjolnirtime]

"Yes. She's very helpful." Explaining cat memes, twitter, and references to movies that Thor has not yet seen, helping him curate a playlist of music to listen to while he tries to relax or work out-

Helping him remember where and when he is when dreaming of the Bifrost or Loki or Svartelheim rattles him by the spine-

She helps. Much like now, keeping their trip to Thor's suite very much on the down low and sending an ETA for a runner with fluids. He'll have long enough to get Clint cleaned up before that arrives. "You are as well, Clint. I'm going to carry you now-"

Easier that way, no matter Clint's pride, to lift him entirely and simply set him back on the sofa, frowning at their mutually bloody clothing. With a comforting squeeze to Clint's shoulder he grabs fresh shirts for them and a washcloth, more worried about Clint than himself. He's finished many a battle still covered in blood, this is no different.

[cognitive_recalibration]

Pride isn’t one of those things that really bogs down the archer. He is the typical punching bag, the guy that needs to get all the stitches after a mission, and he’s basically come to terms with that. Now, would he rather walk? Ideally, yes. But he had absolutely no fear of Thor dropping him.

And it helps that he’s still so wonderfully warm. And he smells good too. Rogers and Stark always smell like sweat and body odor after a mission, but Thor constantly has a sort of bready scent.

Clint tries to tell him about it but the words come out wrong.

He barely notices being placed on the couch, but having his shirt peeled off of him pulls uncomfortably at his skin and he opens eyes he didn’t realize he’d shut. “Aww, no, sorry man. I’m ruining your sofa!”

[stopmjolnirtime]

"I can have it cleaned." Thor shrugs, entirely unbothered as he starts wiping the dried blood off of Clint's skin, brow furrowed. This is something he's done for his friends more times than he cares to count- folding Clint into what is a centuries old post-battle ritual is something done easily enough. "Friday is sending fluids up, I may have to give you an IV so you are less dizzy."

He could have the runner do it but- it's a question of trust and vulnerability an they're both a little wary while wounded; Friday can walk him through it, he's sure.

It can't be that difficult. "Are you still having trouble feeling your feet?"

[cognitive_recalibration]

“Please don’t ask Twitter how to give an IV,” Clint mewls, trying to follow Thor’s hand with the cloth. He’ll be embarrassed about all of this tomorrow but right now he’s just trying not to be a nuisance. He’d been doing all right until the fries came and he’ll think back later that carbing up with low blood pressure and anemia might not have been the right thing to do. Oh well. He’d been shot! And flown around! And denied purple threaded stitches!

At Thor’s mention of his feet, he wiggles both in his boots.

“Still there. I feel em. But please don’t give me an IV.”

[stopmjolnirtime]

"I won't. Friday will assist, or send for a medic that will likewise be sworn to secrecy." In fact the only reason the fluids aren't here yet is she's likely waiting for some kind of sign Clint will accept that treatment.

Which is, situation being what it is? Sixty forty that he won't.

Maybe closer to eighty twenty.

"...we would both prefer you have the anemia seen to, but if you do not want it? We cannot force it." He'll just sit back on his heels and stare up at Clint on the sofa, offering his saddest, most worried of all possible eyes.

[cognitive_recalibration]

“Can’t I just drink some Gatorades?” Clint mumbles, no longer fighting (weakly) back against Thor. It actually feels good to have that blood wiped from him. As it dried, it pulled at his skin in the worst sort of way. He kept expecting it to hurt, but the wound, the bullet, everything had been fixed by that magic rock.

Of course, the moment Thor stops, Clint opens one eye and glances at the big blond.

Oh no. He kicked the puppy.

“Ugh, Thor, stop, fine, whatever you want,” he groans.

[stopmjolnirtime]

He couldn't claim that wasn't his intention- Thor can't remember who it was on the team that said his sad eyes were a weapon of mass destruction, but using them sparingly does enhance the effect. Clint relenting wipes away that somber expression and replaces it with relieved joy, just as the medic arrives with the line and IV stand.

Thor steps aside to let them sweep in, prep the skin of Clint's arm, insert the catheter and set the IV to drip. All in all it takes-

Very little time Thor will have to wonder about that, but the medic sweeps right out again without saying a word aside from promising to keep this to themselves, and Thor's significantly more at ease knowing Clint will be feeling better soon.

"Thank you, Clint." Like the archer's done him some great favor- and he has.