Colombia

Caden Graley stepped into the small room that his friend and his agent were occupying, smiling slightly when he caught sight of Phil bent over Barton’s bed, snoring rather loudly. He quietly stepped around his friend, going to check the kid’s vitals, amazed when he saw how much they had improved from only a few hours before.

A quick glance at his watch told him that it had been over twelve hours since Phil had stepped off the plane, and if he were a betting man he would have bet that Coulson hadn’t even thought about eating. He reached out and gently shook the shoulder of the older man, nearly jumping out of his skin when Phil sat upright and he found himself staring down the barrel of Phil’s Glock.

“Jesus Phil! Put that shit away! You about blew my head off!!” Graley’s hands shook slightly as he took a short step back and extended his hands, revealing he wasn’t a threat to Phil or the agent asleep in the bed. Damn, sometimes he forgot that Phil had been in the field for nearly ten years and still had the hair-trigger that all good agents had.

“I’m sorry Caden.” Phil’s voice was quiet and a little guilty as he lowered the gun, thumbing the safety back on and placing it back in its holster on his thigh. Graley nearly cursed when he saw the shadows in his friend’s eyes, something had gone royally wrong back in Bogota, something that went even beyond the sleeping archer.

“I was thinking that you needed to take a break and get something to eat.” He watched as conflicting emotions crossed Phil’s face as he looked down at the pale face of his agent. “As both your friend and a medical professional I insist.” He reached out and placed a hand on Phil’s shoulder, steering him away from the bed and towards the door.

“Just a quick bite to eat, I need to be here if he wakes up.” There was something in his voice that Graley wasn’t able to decipher, so he settled instead on reassuring the restless handler, something he had perfected over his years as a doctor.

“We’ll just go real quick, you really need to eat, and Clint will be just fine. I have most of this area cleared as per your orders. You’ll be back in no time, but you’re no good to him if you are running on fumes. Now c’mon, they have fajitas down in the mess hall.”

They were having a serious discussion about the latest group of recruits, laughing about the handler’s betting pool on the success of the recruits. Right now most of the handlers were betting on how many recruits Barton was going to send to the medical bay before he was finished with general training. He had sent 34 recruits to the infirmary all in various states of injury, the most common injury being a concussion, followed closely by bruised ribs.

“I swear the look on Lynch’s face when Barton took down his ‘top’ three recruits was priceless.” Graley nearly choked on a bite of his fajita as he laughed at Phil’s comment. Zane Lynch was one of the newer trainers the Security Council insisted on having, as they were ‘dissatisfied’ with the ‘insubordination’ of the other handlers, and nobody could stand the prick who seemed to have it out for Barton.

“Good for the kid, I love seeing that guy shown up.” Phil nodded his agreement. It had been because of Phil’s decision to bring Romanoff in that had prompted the Security Council to bring Lynch in. The sudden buzzing of his pager caused him to look down and his face paled. He looked back up to meet his friend’s suddenly anxious eyes.

“It’s Barton, something is happening.”
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As the shadows cleared again Clint opened his eyes slowly, straining to see in the dim light of the room. His heart beat quickened when he was able to make out a dull grey brick wall in front of him, smeared with bright red bloodstains. He looked down and saw his cut and mangled torso and wasn’t able to hold back the sob that broke free. It had all been a hallucination, his escape, Phil, the hospital, all a fucking figment of his mind as he tried to escape the prison he had created in his head.

Footsteps echoed across the stone floor, and he could feel his heart racing beneath his skin. Campos was coming back, and he wasn’t sure this time he wouldn’t beg for the insidious man to put an end to his miserable life.

The door opened quickly, and Campos moved quickly to his side. A hand gripped his bicep, pressing against a deep cut, and he couldn’t stop the cry of pain that escaped his lips. The normal stoic calm that he could usually rely on to get him through pain gone, the dream of freedom had well and truly broken him. Campos had broken the Hawk.

Campos’ mouth was moving but he wasn’t able to make out the words, he thrashed harder against his hold, he would not go without a fight. A sharp pain ripped across his chest, he could feel the blood dripping down his torso, adding to the puddle underneath his body. He cried out again, his voice breaking, begging for the end. Warmth suddenly rushed through his veins, and the shadows raced up and drug him down into the abyss. He kept falling, falling, spiraling apart, faster and faster, then finally blessed silence, peace at last.
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Phil pushed into the dimly lit room, his eyes used to years of training, quickly assessing the situation unfolding in front of him. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary other than the heart monitor beeping incessantly, too fast for his liking. Next his eyes sought out the archer lying in the bed in the middle of the room and he could almost feel the distress rolling off of him in waves. He crossed the room as he heard a low whimper from Clint, speaking in a low and soothing tone, trying to get through to the kid.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright. Clint you’re okay.” Once he was close enough he gently gripped the archer’s bicep, hoping to ground him and chase away whatever nightmares were plaguing him. He wasn’t prepared however for the immediate cry of pain that Clint gave as his blue-grey eyes shot open, hazy with panic. He began to struggle weakly against the grip Coulson had on his arm.

As he thrashed several of the stitches holding the deep cut running down his side popped, and blood began to run down the archer’s torso, soaking into the pristine white bedsheets. The crimson a stark contrast to the snow white linens.

“Ahhh…. Please. Puhhleasee.” Clint’s sobbing voice broke through the beeping of the heart monitor. “Just do it. Kill me. Please, just end it.” He begged, his voice was rising, the hysteria evident in his tone, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the blood on his chest

Graley had walked in the door as Clint sobbed. Hallucination, that’s what was happening, the kid had to be flashing back to whatever had happened during his captivity. His heart broke as Clint continued to scream, a painful, shattered sound. He quickly made his way over to the IV drip still connected in the archer’s hand and pressed a button, instantly delivering a high dose of morphine to sedate him.

Within moments Clint’s head fell back on the pillow, his body relaxing into the deep pull of unconsciousness. The room fell silent except for the now steady rhythm of the heart monitor for several minutes, each man absorbed in their own thoughts. Caden looked to his friend, whose shoulders were slumped, one hand still wrapped around his agent’s bicep.

“Phil, it’s not your fault. I tried to tell you, there was a chance that he would still experience hallucinations until we are able to completely flush the drugs from his system” He placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder, shocked when he felt the shaking of soft sobs.

“What did Campos do to him? He begged, fucking pleaded to die. Clint does not beg, for anything.” Coulson’s voice was rough with emotions as he tried to hold back more tears. His heart ached for the archer, and he prayed that the kid would be able to pull through this and with help put himself back together.

“With these kinds of hallucinations it’s possible he won’t remember them.” Graley offered, grasping at straws to give his friend a little solace. He caught Phil’s nod as he walked out of the room, trying to give the older agent some time to sort through his emotions without a witness.

The soft click of the door echoed through the room and Phil put his head in his hands and wept.

Notes