Sing Me to Sleep

Harry stared down at the chains that were secured around his ankles, letting out a soft sigh. It was obvious that he would not be able to stand, pointless to even try. All he wanted to do was to be freed from this cage. It seemed not a day had passed without him staring out the window; either he was hating someone or longing for a release. Well, there weren't any windows in his cell, or chains, for that matter. There were only steel holdings on the sides of the metal table he lay on. Harry had a feeling that his plea had been answered as there was an electrifying sound towards the wall behind him, soon tumbling to the ground with a solid kick.

"About time."

Osborn craned his head to look back at the wall. A man stood there, close to six foot, a bow held loosely in his hand as his pale-grey eyes scanned the room. A hiss escaped Harry's lips as his teeth began to sharpen. The archer drew back his bow, watching the man; if he could call him that; the hiss having put him on edge. He quirked his brow at his appearance, taking in the restraints. The archer slowly lowered his bow when he realised that the cell's inhabitant could not stand, let alone harm him. Clint Barton slowly edged around the chained man as he looked around the cell, frowning a little before looking back at the prisoner. Was this seriously the guy Fury had sent him to free?

"What's your name?"

The chains were suddenly pulled out of their sockets, a sly grin on Harry's face.

"Wouldn't you like to know? No personal disrespect or anything, I think you are an extremely nice man. But I have a job to do. And it involves you being six feet under."

The goblin pitched forward slowly, dragging his claws through the wall.

"Have you ever been in a cell before, archer? It is quite claustrophobic. I dislike small spaces too."

Clint let out a humourless laugh as he slowly walked circles around the goblin, his bow twitching a little in his hands as he watched him.

"Oh believe me I know. I used to do cage fighting. Also, I've been held in a cell similar to this. Quite often actually."

He stopped in front of the opening so the goblin couldn't get away, talking more to his ear piece.

"Yea anytime would be great guys."

He stood straight, offering a small smile to the goblin.

"Come now. What's to say I'm your enemy? I'm here to bust your ass out. Don't make me hurt you. I won't hesitate if you threaten me."

"Out?"

The green creature seemed taken aback and confused, scraping his claws away from the walls.

"You're lying. Everyone is my enemy. Including you; which I am not afraid to crush without breaking a sweat."

"I'm with the Avengers. I'm not here to hurt you."

He put the loosely drawn arrow back into its quiver, the bow on his back and raised his hands.

"I do not wish to hurt you, Harry. We know who you are and we want to help you. I promise."

"Hah! Hilarious. You want to help me."

He says, chuckling falsely. Then the laugh would fade, taking on a darker tone as he quickly grabbed Barton's collar.

"Listen to me, Avenger. I don't need help; I have never needed help. I highly suggest you remove yourself from my cell before it ends up closing in on you."

Harry narrowed his emerald eyes at the hero.

"Honestly, what did you expect when you got here? I'd throw my hands up and play for a tea-party? Don't be foolish."

Clint slammed a small dagger into the goblins stomach, pushing him back and brushing his collar off.

"You wanna do this the hard way? Shame. Thought you were smarter than that."

The dagger hardly did anything but merely scrape the surface of his skin, but he was pushed back by the force, hissing at the other.

"You are trying my patience. Truly."

Harry says, flexing his wrist as he attempted to slash across Clint's face, leaving a long red mark that would be there for weeks if successful. The pain erupted in Clint's cheek, causing him to grit his teeth. He realised the dagger had done no damage, frowning as he drew his bow. He fired a strengthened arrow at the other, stumbling back before letting his hand fly to his cheek to massage it gently. Harry yelped in pain as the arrow pierced his shoulder, huffing as he ripped it out, breaking it in half and then throwing the pieces on the ground.

"You are starting to annoy me greatly."

He murmurs, holding the wound then trying to swipe at him again, this time his stomach to repay the blow. Clint saw the blow coming and fell to his stomach, kicking out and knocking the goblin's legs from underneath him before he jumped up. He drew his bow in seconds, aiming an arrow for the centre of the goblin's eyes, panting softly.

"Now then. You wanna just come with me or we gonna carry this on..?"

The creature had an agitated expression on his face, before letting out an angered grunt, but knowing he had no defences.

"Disappointing. I thought we might do a little dance without the bow."

Despite having the urge to punch someone right now, he was somewhat curious as to why they would need him. I mean, the Green Goblin? Honestly, staying away from the monster inside him would be best. Clint slowly put the bow down before holding his hand out to the creature, feeling relief wash over him as he heard the sounds of the helicopter landing.

"Come on dude...”

He breathed hard as he waited to help the creature up. Harry hesitantly helped himself up, letting the rage die down as he slowly turned back to his humanoid form, the metal falling from his wrists and ankles with ease.

"I don't use that name anymore, by the way."

He crossed his arms against his chest.

"Don't get me mixed up with the past."

"Then what name do you go by?"

He led him outside and onto the helicopter before collapsing into a seat, letting a medic check his cheek, watching Harry closely.

"I don't have a preference. Just not Harry. I don't like that name. It's too..."

He looked up, musing on his thoughts.

"...too nostalgic, should I say."

The smaller finished, sitting nearby with his hands in his lap.

"And what would you like me to refer to you as?"

Clint hesitated before shrugging a little.

"Clint. Agent Clint Barton of SHIELD."

He leant back and glanced over at Harry before buckling himself in.

"Well you might want to strap yourself in. Gets pretty shaky half way there."

"I'd guess."

Harry barely responded as he pulled the seatbelt on before closing his eyes, inhaling and exhaling softly.

"I haven't been out of there in so long. It feels like I was just reborn. Then again, that'd make me a hairless ugly green baby."

"Believe me I know how you feel. Although it wasn't a jail cell."

Clint ignored the last part of what Harry had said, looking up at the ceiling, his fingers gently massaging his cheek, thinking back before looking over at him.

"Seriously though what do I call you?"

"You probably won't know me for very long. My co-workers just prefer to call me Goblin, since it is much easier to say than the long alternation."

The younger's eyebrows quirked, his eyes opening, curiosity claimed his mind.

"If not a jail cell, then where?"

He continued staring at the ceiling.

"Abuse. A long load of it. Once you're free... It feels amazing. To know that no one can hurt you like that again. To know if it does happen you can defend yourself. You feel free... Like a hawk free of a cage."

"I can replicate the feeling, trust me. My father was definitely not the type of man to sit around and let me do as I please. Boarding schools so on. I felt betrayed in the end; even today I feel no grief for him."

"Oh believe me you can't. Your father wasn't there for you. There's a difference between that and your father beating you to unconsciousness every night."

He shifted a little, playing with his bow as he spoke.

"...Perhaps not."

Harry answered bluntly, ultimately silencing the conversation until they reached wherever they were going. He felt he understood the other, but he'd never admit that. Never. Not after the accident that happened to himself.

...

Clint took Harry straight to see Fury, dodging Cap's shield as he threw it at him, tugging Harry down with him. Laughing and joking with the rest of his team, they headed down to the athletics pitch. Harry stared after them before his gaze turned to Fury. The two talked for close on to an hour before Harry came out, irritated as it was obvious he was close to transforming; the veins on his neck were a green colour as he leant against the wall to recollect himself. A sigh escaped the young billionaire's lips as the slowly calmed himself, more irritated that he knew the green was going to stick for a short while. He hugged his stomach, which seemed to be twisting a little, as he slowly stood. An agent came out of the room.

"I'll take you to your chambers, Mr. Osborn."

He flinched at the name as he followed the woman. He waited until she left before he entered, collapsing on the bed straight away.

"Not liking, indeed..."

He muttered into the dark room as he closed his eyes, trying to at least will himself to sleep.

...

Clint waved the others off as he collapsed on a bench, panting hard. Steve always worked them hard when they trained together and Clint was sure his heart was going to pound out of his chest at this rate. He spotted an agent walking over, her gaze fixed directly onto him. He groaned. Was he being sent on a mission already? He already got the leprechaun for Fury, he just wanted to go and rest.

"Mr. Osborn has been placed in the spare room on your corridor. Director Fury has requested that you look after him."

Clint snorted and nodded, dismissing the agent as he stood. Better make sure the spoilt brat wasn't causing havoc. He liked that corridor. It was as far away from Tony as it could be. He stretched and headed back to the main building, planning to just curl up in his nest and pass out.

…

Clint hesitated when he reached the door that lead into Harry’s room. Something felt off. He groaned and turned, knocking on the door.

“Oi, you alright?”

No reply. Clint frowned and opened the door, poking his head around it. The bed was empty. He heard someone gagging before being what sounded like violently ill. The frown got deeper and he headed into the bathroom. Harry was clutching the toilet, chucking up his stomach contents and, by the sound of it, sobbing as he did. Clint slowly sunk to his knees, holding Harry’s hair back and rubbing his back gently. The younger let out a startled yell, obviously uncomfortable being this close to Clint as he struggled to stop being sick.

“W-What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you… Come on, let it up. It’ll help.”

Harry whine before leaning back over the toilet, heaving hard.

…

Eventually, his stomach seemed to settle and Clint helped Harry sit up, getting a face cloth for him to wipe his mouth, getting him a drink.

“Why are you helping me..? You should be running from me. I’m a ticking time bomb.”

“If I was scared of ticking time bombs, I would be in the wrong line of work.”

Clint easily picked Harry up, carrying him to his own room, much to the protest of the younger.

“I can stay in my own room, I am not that sick!”

He squirmed, weakly kicking out before letting out a small yelp as Clint dropped him onto his bed.

“But then, we have no idea how you’re doing. Shut up and focus on getting better, how’s that?”

The look Clint gave Harry was enough to keep him quiet as Clint tucked him into the bed.

“Get some rest. I’m going to let Fury know you’re sick. I’ll be back in about half-an-hour.”

Harry nodded and closed his eyes, listening to Clint leave. The sound of a lock clicking made him swallow. There goes his idea to sneak back to his own room. He tried to sleep for a little while before getting up and groaning. He held his head and slowly stood up, looking around. The walls were painted dark purple, black inlay designs with gold going through them decorated the plain colour. Numerous horror movie posters were stuck on the wall; Zombie Land, Resident Evil, Evil Dead; music posters on the wall, bands Harry did not recognise; whitechapel, Motionless in White, My Chemical Romance, Paramore. He shrugged and walked over to the corkboard hung up on the wall opposite the bed. Mainly archery techniques, a picture of two of people about to shoot an arrow. A picture stuck up in the corner caught his eye. Two boys standing outside of a circus, one about 18, the other about 13. They seemed so happy.

“That’s me and my brother.”

Harry jumped and the picture floated from his grip to the floor. Clint walked over and picked it up, sniffing a little bit as he picked it up, slipping it into its slot.

“You two were close?”

“Yea, we were. He went off to the army well over thirty years ago.”

“Do you still speak with him?”

Clint was silent as he picked up his dirty washing from his floor, chucking it into the laundry basket.

“He died seven years ago. Terrorists shot him in his own home.”

Harry stared at the floor. Probably not the best subject to have chosen.

“You like horror movies?”

“Pretty much. And anything Tim Burton. I’m all over his stuff.”

“The bands?”

“Rock, punk, metal, you know.”

No, Harry didn’t know. He shrugged and weakly slumped back to the bed, curling up under the covers.

“You seem a bit better.”

“My condition lessens the worse effects at times. It’ll come back stronger soon.”

Clint nodded and pulled a spare bed down from the wall, sitting down.

“So what does Fury want you for?”

“He wants me to join the Avengers. I have no idea why. He would be much better off leaving me to rot in the cell you took me from."

Clint looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.

"And I know you agree, archer, so why argue it?"

Harry simply closed his eyes and curled up tightly under the duvet, falling asleep.

...

Clint woke up and rolled over to the sound of Harry being sick. Again. 3:47am. The red digits shone on the wall and Clint got up, turning the lights on dim as he stumbled through to the bathroom, refilling the glass of water for Harry when he was finished. The younger collapsed against Clint's chest, weak and whimpering as Clint gently cleaned his face, helping the younger pour cold water into his mouth before flushing the toilet.

"Why a-are you helping me?"

"Because you need it. I know I seem like an arrogant asshole but I'm really not."

Harry peered up at Clint in the weak light and smiled softly.

"You're gonna be fine Harry. Come on. Get some rest."

He helped him back into the bed and kissed his temple before tucking him in.

"Thank you... Clint."

...

Over the next few days, Harry slowly felt himself getting better. He shot awake on the fourth day of sleeping in Clint's room, watching the older man typing away on a laptop.

"Whatcha doing?"

Clint's eyes flicked up, his hands still typing away furiously.

"Morning. Writing an article for a blog I'm a part of. How'd you sleep? How you feeling?"

"Good morning. I'm doing pretty good thank you. Feeling a lot better."

"You want something to eat?"

Harry nodded and Clint reverted his attention back to his laptop, the speed of his fingers increasing as he finished off his article. He clicked a few times before setting the laptop on the bed, heading into the kitchen. Harry slowly got up, peeking at the laptop. 'How to Write a How to Article'. His eyebrows rose and he turned around to look at Clint, leaning in the doorway.

"'How to Write a How to Article'?"

"You'd be surprised at how many people really have no clue what to do."

Harry shrugged.

"I thought it was quite self explanatory."

"Nope. Or, it is and people just don't understand it. I'm just hoping the site publishes it. It'll seriously help their admins out with the weird articles that get sent in. They can just link the article to the writers."

Harry chuckled.

"Shooting down one article with another. How lovely."

"Yea well it'll help people."

Harry shrugged and jumped when he heard the toaster pop. Clint headed back into the kicthen and came back with a plate of dry toast. He chuckled as Harry wrinkled his nose.

"Hey, it'll be good if your stomach isn't quite settled yet."

The younger rolled his eyes and took the plate, slowly chewing through the toasted bread on the plate.

"Thank you."

"It's no problem."

Clint put his iPod on his dock, turning it down so that the music filled the room and yet did not disturb others at 8am.

"Who is this?"

"This is My Arcadia. They're pretty kick-ass. And the singer's pretty."

Harry smiled softly as he listened to the music, watching Clint hum and sing along. Maybe becoming an Avenger wouldn't be so bad after all.

Notes