Chapter Text
Clint’s body ached as he once more dragged himself on top of his six by six inch platform. He had tried to just sit and sleep but that hadn’t worked, his body had been unable to balance and he had fallen. He’d tried, again and again, to balance and sleep but nothing was working.
When he had first been taken he had snorted in derision when they said they were going to get information out of him. They would let him sleep but he wasn’t sure for how long, his clothes were still completely soaked when he woke so it couldn’t have been long
He hadn’t even been on a mission or op. He’d been going down to the store, he and Thor had had a Pop-Tarts binge and he had elected to go to the store to pick up more, rather than subject the public to Thor. It had been a good trap; they had had him penned in by the time he had realized the trap was closing around him. He had stupidly not called for back up right away and he had been drugged into unconsciousness only to wake up as he was dropped into a pool. That had been the last bit of sleep he had had.
He was edging into too many days of no sleep. He had tried everything, forcing himself to stay awake by keeping his eyes open but by day eight, or was it five, he hadn’t been able to force his brain to cooperate anymore, his eyes slipped closed and then his brain slipped shut and he hit the water.
Every time he fell he was forced to climb back onto his platform or risk drowning. The first day he had tried swimming to the edge of the tank and climbing the tank wall but he had been electrocuted. The electricity and the water had not been a good combination; he had lost control of his bladder and had shivered in the water until he managed the muscle control to climb onto his platform.
Clint had tried to climb the wall three times after that, each time he had been electrocuted to the point of senselessness. He had stopped trying by day four, mostly because he couldn’t really get to the edge anymore. Swimming was too hard. Over and over in his brain he had mapped out the dimensions of the tank, a 16-foot with an 8-foot radius, a 50.27-foot circumference. The water was approximately 7 feet deep, meaning a volume of 351.9 cubic feet of water and the overall volume of the tank (with an approximate fourteen foot height) had a volume of 703.8 cubic feet. Meaning an empty volume of 351.88 cubic feet.
He had calculated it out in yards, meters, inches, and centimeters but now he had forgotten. He couldn’t get his brain to work. It was frustrating. He had tried so hard and he just couldn’t think.
Clint sobbed under his breath when he tried to keep his brain straight but he just couldn’t do it anymore. They had asked him so many questions, questions he knew better than to answer, even at his most insensate. When Tony had started asking the questions he hadn’t known what to think, he had asked Tony why he was doing this? Why didn’t he just hack in? Had something happened? Tony didn’t like his answers. He slapped him and put him back in the water. Thinking back on it he wasn’t sure if it was actually Tony.
He had tried floating on his back in the pool but his captors hadn’t liked that, a simple water balloon to the face had made him sputter awake. Twenty or more water balloons later his eyes were swollen shut and he was curled on his platform. The salt water was stinging anywhere it touched.
They had thrown in a few water bottles, letting him drink on occasion. He sipped slowly but the bottle always emptied before he was ready. The few cereal bars that had been tossed into the tank had tasted like salt water. Everything tasted like salt water. He had been forced to dive and grab the food from the bottom of the tank.
Even perched on his platform he couldn’t sleep, every time his eyes closed he jerked awake and he would end up in the water again. Sometimes the jerking is what sent him into the water. He just… needed to sleep.
His arms were heavy and his body ached in ways it hadn’t ever before. His skin was cracking. He wasn’t sure how long this had been going on but he felt as if he was boneless, like his skin had soaked in so much water his bones had become liquid and fleshy like the rest of him. A rope around his chest hauled him out of the water. And he was laid on the floor, his body collapsing to sleep. He awoke pretty quickly, his body twitching awake while water ran down his skull.
Thor was there! Thor grabbed his face; his accent different from it’s normal loud but kind timbre. Thor grabbed his head and shook him. “Thor, stop!” he said, or he might’ve said, he wasn’t sure. The blonde shook him anyway. Why was he doing this? Thor wanted codes? Didn’t he have his hammer? Ask Coulson. Coulson could get him his codes for the tower. Or ask Tony. Clint had a hard time keeping his own code straight. Why did he have to give his code to Thor? Thor needed his own codes. Clint shook his head, and realized that Thor might not be Thor when he hit him. Thor hit a lot harder than that.
They returned him to his tank.
He let out a slight sob and waited until the little bit of energy he had gained from his few minutes of sleep had worn off.
He kept falling in the water. He finally screamed in frustration, breaking down a little when he just couldn’t maintain his balance anymore and kept falling in again and again. His skin hurt from gripping things, his skin ripped up from friction.
“Clint? Clint?” a thick arm wrapped around his waist and he slipped unconscious again.
“I have the Hawk, he is unwell,” Thor intoned.
“How unwell is unwell?” Tony questioned, where he was still demolishing the AIM base.
“I am unsure. He is alive and there are only a few wounds.”
“Capture one of the AIM agents, find out what they did to Hawkeye,” Coulson urged over the com-lines. “Thor return with Hawkeye to quinjet. Dr. Banner, be ready.”
Steve piped in then, “AIM scientists are in custody and Widow and I are in reroute to SHIELD vehicles.”
“Good job, Avengers. Clean up teams are deployed, debrief an hour post arrival to the Helicarrier.”
Coulson counted to ten to get himself under control and turn around to go find his agent.
He was already on the medical table in the back with a SHIELD medic and Bruce hovering. Clint looked better than he had anticipated. He was unconscious but his skin was mostly unmarred, even if it was too pale and had a faint waxy sheen to it. The first thing he noticed most was Clint was soaked, his pants were wet, his hair matted down, and he smelled like he had been fished from the sea.
“I need a finger stick and lets get some lines in,” the medic, Shawn, urged. “Be careful with his skin, it looks broken in a few places and I don’t see any blood.”
Clint jerked awake then suddenly, his arms and legs kicking out suddenly. He looked around blearily, before meeting Bruce’s face. “Don’ smack me,” he said before he passed out again.
“What the Hell?” Bruce wondered.
“He’s insensate,” the medic concluded.
Shawn pinched Clint’s skin, rubbing away a layer in a way that made Coulson’s stomach roll. It took a long while to snap back. The finger stick must’ve relayed something to Shawn because he looked slightly unnerved, as close to panicked as the man ever got.
They hooked in an IV line and Shawn pulled Clint upright to dry his back. The archer flailed awake again, his head seemed like it wasn’t balanced properly on his shoulders, rolling wildly as he tried to pull it up. His breathing was so loud and labored Coulson feared he would stop breathing altogether.
“Stop, stop, Clint,” Coulson urged. He walked to the other side of the bed and grabbed the archer’s head gently in his hands, holding it steady and upright. “Stop.”
Clint’s gaze turned in his direction. “Tha…s, Colon.” And he passed out again.
Then Clint seized, his body jerked wildly as Natasha and Steve forced the jet to fly faster. Bruce held on doggedly as Clint was forced onto his side to ride out the seizure. Phil held his feet, while Shawn counted under his breath, timing out the seizure.
It was the longest minute and forty-nine seconds of the Avengers’ life. Steve and Tasha had asked once what was going on and then gotten very gone very quiet. Tony had continued to chatter in their ears, talking to Jarvis about seizures and what the possible cause was as he streaked ahead to the Helicarrier. They landed two minutes after Tony, Clint unconscious as they prepared to unload him. He awoke again, as they began to roll towards the med bay. His legs jerked in and his arms seemed to arms waved, he looked around him.
“Stev?” he questioned, looking at the big blonde. “I don’ know. Ax, Tony,” he slurred.
“I will,” the Cap confirmed, patting Clint’s bare shoulder. He appeared soothed and his eyes fluttered closed again.
They refused the Avengers entrance into the med bay room to watch over Clint. They ran a few tests and Clint woke up at random but soon even Agent Coulson was held back as they rolled him away for scans.
“I want an update as soon as possible,” he ordered.
Shawn waved back at him. “I’ll go with them Agent Coulson.” He jogged after the rolling gurney.
Coulson shrugged off the nurse and turned around to find the waiting Avengers. They were all gathered in the conference room to debrief.
“How’s Clint?” Bruce began before he’d had a chance to sit.
“They aren’t sure what’s going on yet. They’ll make us aware after they’ve run more scans.”
Tony, for once, was silent, his eyes darting around the room.
“Let’s debrief,” Steve began.
Coulson nodded and mentally tightened up his Agent persona. “Agent Barton, codename Hawkeye was recovered, missing twenty-three days. AIM personnel were recovered having captured Agent Barton for unknown reasons. What did you experience Iron Man?”
He went one by one through the Avengers, noting their contributions and observations. Thor’s was the hardest to get through.
“Upon removing the roof of said warehouse, I noticed the smell of the sea and running men in white jackets, fools that proclaim themselves scientists. There was a large container of water, a morbid pool of sorts with a pale man adrift on an island in the middle. When I came closer I saw my comrade and friend, Hawkeye, poised on the island. I set myself on the edge of the container and felt the curl of lightning about my feet. I feared my friend electrified and called to him. He did not respond so I came closer. When there was no answer I picked him up, he awoke briefly, I think he feared he would fall but he slept. He struggled to breathe at some points. Wherein I brought him to you, Agent Coulson.”
Coulson sighed and nodded his head, saving his report. “Thank you, all. I am heading to see more about Agent Barton. You are dismissed.”
Coulson didn’t try to stop the other Avengers as they followed him to the med bay y. They waited a short twenty minutes before Shawn came in with the doctor.
“You are Agent Barton’s medical proxy, Agent Coulson?” the doctor asked.
Coulson nodded, climbing to his feet. “How is he?”
The doctor hesitated. The Avengers had learned that was never a good sign. “I’m going to be honest with you, he’s struggling. We are not quite sure what’s wrong with Agent Barton; he’s in and out of consciousness. His blood panel shows he’s very dehydrated and he has some caffeine in his body but surprisingly little else. He’s spent a lot of time in the water, which means some of his skin is peeling. He inhaled a lot of water and it’s causing mucus in his lungs. He’s on the fast track to pneumonia. What I am most concerned…
“Most concerned?” Tony interrupted. “That sounds all pretty concerning to me!”
“What I am most concerned about is his state of consciousness. He’s not really asleep but he’s not cognitively awake. He’s having micro sleep occasions and suffering hypnic jerks, where his body is trying to force itself awake.”
Steve shook his head, “So he can’t sleep? Won’t that just stop when he gets tired?”
The doctor shook his head. “No, his brain is simply not going to sleep. It’s putting him into an extremely stressed state; his organs could start to shut down. I can force him into unconsciousness but his immune system is already compromised and I would rather not unless I had too. He could stop breathing.”
“Right now we are hoping that stabilizing his condition through painkillers, fluids, and oxygen will help. He’s struggling and mentally he’s destabilized. He’s hallucinating and we are just hoping he doesn’t seize again. We don’t know why he seized.”
The Avengers were very quiet.
“We need to know what the AIM agents did to him to reverse it.”
Natasha unsheathed a knife and stood. “I’m on it.”
“Widow, we can’t…” Captain began.
“No, YOU can’t.” Natasha said turning on him, her look positively venomous. “You won’t. But I can and I will. You can sit up here, watch Clint fall apart and hope SHIELD can get the answers but I am going to do something.”
She left when there was no further protest, Thor behind her.
Tony badgered, bartered, and besought medical’s permission to see Clint. Coulson didn’t try to stop him. Eventually, after many warnings from medical about how Clint wasn’t in his right mind and in poor condition, they were granted entrance.
It was worse than they expected.
Clint had been restrained around his chest. His eyes were closed when they came in.
“Why is he restrained?” Steve asked.
“He’s hallucinating, he’s fallen out of bed three times.”
A second later Clint jerked, his eyes flying wide as he coughed and wheezed.
“Tasa?” he coughed, looking at nothing, his hands reaching out.
Steve stepped forward, taking Clint’s hand in his own, trying not to stare at the bruises on Clint’s face. “She’s downstairs, Clint. She’ll come see you in a minute. But Tony, Coulson, Bruce, and I are all here. Can you understand me?”
The archer’s chin dropped to his chest, pulling his hand away from Steve’s. “Tasa, Tasa, Tasa,” he mumbled.
It appeared he said her name enough times because she came in a second later, kneeling on the bed and pulling Clint’s hands into her lap. She leaned in and whispered into his ear. Clint fell asleep again, or seemed to anyway, before jerking awake again. When he was “awake” he was delirious. When he was asleep, he wasn’t still, jerking, twitching, and grunting.
“They told us what they did. We need to go outside.” Thor was waiting outside, pacing.
She continued once Clint couldn’t hear them anymore. “They were testing sleep deprivation’s efficacy in getting him to tell them codes. He lasted eight days before they felt he snapped. They would let him sleep five to twenty minutes once a day or so, and pull him in for questioning. He stopped legitimately understanding them so they gave up trying to get information about him. When they found they wouldn’t get answers, they were trying to see how long it would take him to die. They were concerned he would die from the lung infection first. They modeled the test after tests done on animals.”
Natasha nodded at the doctor as he stood to listen. “They used a large tank with a platform just big enough for him to balance on but not to sleep on. When he would fall asleep he would fall in the water, salt water. That’s why his eyes are swollen. He tried to get out of the tank but it was electrified, he tried a few times. After a few days he stopped, they think he forgot where the edge was. He tried floating face up but they would pour water on his face and he would be forced to wake up. They fed him with cereal bars and water thrown in the tank. It was an experiment for them in acute sleep deprivation. A big pointless experiment.”
Dr. Seb nodded. “Any medications? Drugs?”
She nodded. “They shot him up with things to keep him awake and laced his water with caffeine.”
The doctor nodded. “That explains why his immune system is so off.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Coulson began.
“We need to get him to sleep. We’re going to suction his lungs later, normally we’d wait for medication to do it’s work but there’s too much built up to allow him to sleep right now.”
Coulson looked up concerned. “I thought you said you can’t sedate him?”
She shook her head. “We’re not. He’ll be awake. We will go in through his nose and then suction. Agent Coulson and Agent Romanoff I would appreciate it if you were there, a familiar voice might help.”
“You mean, you might need help restraining him,” Natasha corrected.
“That too. I don’t think he’s rational enough right now to realize this if for his own good.”
Steve looked concerned. “Are we sure that’s humane?”
She nodded. “Right now, he’s suffocating on the mucus. Even if he could sleep the lack of oxygen will force him awake. It’s inhumane to wait it out.”
Later, Thor, Tony, and Steve were sent to change and eat while Natasha and Phil prepared themselves to help Clint through this.
When they entered the room, Clint was still awake, his eyes blinking slowly.
“Hello, Clint,” Phil started, patting Clint’s bare shoulder.
“Phil,” Clint whispered, unmoving. He shook his head hard, like he was trying to clear it. It unbalanced him and he tipped over onto Phil, his head on Phil’s chest. He drooled a little onto Phil’s shirt, coughing mucus. The doctor was right. This was cruel.
Dr. Seb came in then, a small team trailing her. “Okay, people. This is our respiratory specialist; he’s going to be handling the procedure. We’re going to do this quick and carefully. We oxygenate, send a tube down, saline and suction him, and then we’re out. Five minutes, tops. Agent Barton is NOT going to be comfortable once we lay him flat, he’s still jerking a lot. Realize this will be uncomfortable for him, anyone that can’t handle this now, get out. Keep an eye on his oxygen levels; we don’t want him going hypoxic. Agent Romanoff and Coulson will be here to calm Agent Barton. The rest of you know your jobs… Let’s start.”
The nurse laid Clint’s bed back and gently guided Clint down on his back. When the younger man tried to sit upright again, coughing, the nurses stepped into hold him back down and used a strap around his chest. The respiratory expert took Clint’s head in his hands, spraying anesthetics and concentrated on searching for an airway down into Clint’s lungs.
“It’s okay, you’re okay,” the therapist cajoled, under his breath, as Clint’s eyes widened. “You need to swallow Clint.”
Coulson took the hand Clint was using to reach for the tube and pulled it into his own, while Natasha took the other one. “Clint, it’s Coulson. Tasha is here. You’re okay. Swallow.” The archer’s strong but no longer callused hands flexed and clenched.
“Okay, one hundred percent oxygen, no sparks people.” One of the nurses handed him an oxygen supply to put on Clint.
Clint struggled to cope with the tube but he seemed to be listening to Natasha and Coulson’s voice, coaching him.
“Okay, here we go,” the therapist said, grabbing a few tools from a sterile tray. A male nurse took Clint’s head in his hands, firm but gentle. “Clint, you’re going to be fine okay? This is going to help you. We’re not trying to hurt you.”
Coulson and Natasha weren’t sure what they did exactly but there was saline and suddenly Clint was trying to cough, harder than before. He struggled harder and both agents gripped Clint’s hands. A small machine clicked on and Clint struggled harder.
“It’s bile, pulling back from his stomach. His airways are pretty swollen,” the doctor murmured.
“Clint swallow,” the nurse holding Clint’s head ordered. “You need to swallow.”
“I know you’re freaked out right now, but you’re really okay,” Coulson tried to calm him, looking at the side of the archer’s face. “Swallow and we can be done.”
A few tears slipped from Clint’s red eyes and Phil’s heart rate sped up. “He’s in pain,” Coulson said urgently, reaching forward to thumb away the tears.
“He’s just panicked,” the therapist said. Coulson noticed mucus slipping down the suction tube, even a bit of blood, the therapist didn’t appear worried so Coulson continued to murmur to Clint while the archer coughed and wheezed.
It was a long thirty seconds before the suction was pulled back and the tube came with it. They sat Clint back up, leaning him over a pillow to let him cough.
“I will go update the others,” Natasha said, walking out. Watching her best friend and partner struggle had upset her.
“I’ll wait with Clint,” Coulson said. He held Clint’s head against his shoulder, letting the man cough. “You’re fine, Clint. You’ll be okay. Just breathe. In and out. In and out.”
He felt Clint get heavier and heavier, relaxing onto Coulson’s chest. “Let’s get an oxygen mask on him.”
Phil took the mask and held it over Clint’s nose. The man’s eyes were half lidded and he didn’t move, seeming to concentrate on breathing.
“Coul… son,” the man breathed.
“It’s me, Clint. You’re okay.”
“Tired,” he breathed again.
Coulson wrapped an arm around Clint’s back, rubbing the taut muscles; he could feel where Clint had lost weight. “I know, go to sleep.”
“Can’t. Can’t sleep.” Clint’s arms tightened around him, like he was trying to climb Phil before he suddenly slumped, his eyes closed.
The Avengers shuffled in, refreshed. Bruce was in the lead with Natasha right behind him.
“He’s breathing better,” Bruce started, looking at the monitors and taking Clint’s chart. “He’s getting more oxygen.”
Steve gave him a faint smile, sitting down on a chair. “He’s sleeping.”
Coulson’s back was cramping, holding Clint up at an awkward angle wasn’t comfortable. Fortunately, or unfortunately, that’s when Clint chose to jerk awake, his hands going to his legs, like he was going to pull his gun.
“My gun… ‘s gone,” Clint slurred, patting the sheets. Clint’s arm reached over his shoulder, to grab an arrow from a quiver that wasn’t there. “’S all gone.”
“You don’t have your weapons,” Coulson sighed. “It’s not here.”
Clint’s head whipped up, he looked around him for a second, zeroing in on Steve’s face. “Thor?”
Steve gave him a kind smile, “Why don’t you take a break, Agent Coulson? Agent Romanoff? I’ll keep watch for a while.”
Coulson reluctantly released Clint, letting him slump back against the bed. “Tony?” Clint wondered, looking around. “I gotta sleep.”
“I know, Katniss,” Tony said, stepping forward, his voice abnormally… pleasant. “Close your eyes for a bit. We’ll be here.”
He flinched but held steady when Clint’s hand reached out and tapped the arc reactor in the center of his chest. “You’re Tony…” the man confirmed to himself before his eyes slid closed all the way.
“Have the doctors figured out a way to get him to sleep, yet?” Steve asked. Even though Clint was technically asleep now, they knew it would be a few minutes before he jerked awake again.
“Nothing,” Coulson answered. “Apparently, his body has conditioned itself to think it’s falling when he falls to sleep at a certain point. Clint adapts quickly, unfortunately so in this case. The psych department is trying to see if it can do anything. Sedating him, while his immune system is off and his breathing is labored is a bad idea and they’re reluctant to do it. Right now, we are keeping him comfortable.”
“Keeping him comfortable?” Tony inquired, his voice had taken on a dangerous timbre. “That sounds like we are waiting for death.”
Coulson shook his head. “If we can’t get this solved, he could die. But that’s not going to happen.”
“Get changed, Phil,” Bruce told him. Phil looked down, his suit was rumpled, mucus stained, and had drool on it.
Phil nodded; he rubbed Clint’s hair once before walking away, Natasha on his heels after she leveled Bruce with a long look. It said, “Watch him” without having to open her mouth.
Clint jerked awake a second after they left. “Phil!” he shouted, his eyes roaming.
“He’s gone to change, Clint.” Bruce stepped to Clint’s side, checking his IV lines.
The blonde didn’t seem to hear him; he grabbed the corner of Bruce’s jacket, holding tightly. He mumbled something about Phil’s hair, staring at the wall.
“Tony, do you have an extra tablet? I’m going to start coming up with some more ideas.”