i.

Three arrows left.

Clint went for a grim and mirthless laugh and let out a hysterical giggle. It had to be ninja robots. Not just robots. Not just ninjas. Ninja robots.

'Barton...' Cap's exasperated voice sounded in his ear.

'...Did I say that out loud?'

Maybe forty-eight hours was too long to go without sleep. If they could just finish up mopping up the mess left by the latest-wannabe mad scientist, Clint would be more than happy to crash anywhere available. Unfortunately, that was taking longer than intended. The things just wouldn't die. The only way to kill them seemed to be wrenching their heads off or stabbing their faces. That, and electrocuting them. Though Thor had a monopoly on that one.

Though he had to question the utility of crafting deadly, glowing-eyed androids, programming them to exterminate humanity, and then bulking them down in layers of what could only be described as ninja costume, their laser guns, black knives, and grenades were wickedly affective. Hence the fact that the Avengers had been assembled to save Cleveland just hours after completing another mission. C'mon, it was Cleveland, for crying out loud! What kind of half-wit excuse for a villain would waste his time in the middle of Ohio?

'Tasha! On your right!' He barked, rubbing at gritty eyes and watching with satisfaction as his partner downed the metal monstrosity that had been trying to pull a fast one on her.

'Cap, behind you!' The star-spangled Avenger dispatched the android that had been creeping up on him with a muted cry.

From his rooftop perch, all the other Avengers looked like tiny toys, dealing death as they danced through the swarms of their opponents.

One arrow left. The archer cursed under his breath. At least the robo-ninjas hadn't seen who was raining down death from above. There seemed to be less than thirty of the things left now, and Iron Man's repulsors combined with the Hulk's brute power were slowly, but surely turning the tide. Maybe he could convince Cap to let them get shw-

A faint thrumming in the air was all the warning he got.

Then they were all over him: three of the androids swarmed him at once, climbing on his arms, weighing down his legs, reaching for his head. He cried out as one stabbed him in the thigh. Cursing, Clint rammed his last arrow into the eye of the droid trying to choke him. It went down with a sizzle. They were tall but spindly under their trappings, and it was fairly easy to overpower them once you got the hang of it.

Clint aimed a solid kick at the second and it went sailing over the roof's edge. If it didn't die -or whatever AI did – Hulk would probably make a plaything out of it. He got in the grim laugh this time as he set about checking his injured leg. At least the would was cauterized. A smell of burning flesh mingled with the scent of smoke and thunder in the air. His hands stung, scraped and lacerated from the fray. As Clint took a moment to catch his breath, he wearily eyed the bruises blooming all over his arms. This would hurt in the mor-

A black blade stuck out of his side.

The world spun lazily on its axis as he crashed to the concrete, cursing his exhaustion.

Always watch for the last one, Natasha's voice rang in his ears. How careless could he be?

Scrawny, iron arms bit into his back and he heard the dull whine of a plasma gun winding up. He swore again as blood ran everywhere.

'Hawkeye! What's your status? Do you need assist?' The Cap barked in his ear.

He tried to speak and choked on the blood in his mouth, coughing.

'Barton! Respond!' Steve sounded panicked. He'd better do something.

'I'm down,' Clint gasped, kicking at his assailant. His arms were caught fast behind him in its many limbs, but he managed to score a hit with his left boot.

'Clint!' That was Tasha.

He coughed again, and then the pain hit. Oceans and deserts and galaxies of white-hot fire crawled through his body. He jerked reflexively and the android fell from him with a whine. Clint rolled away, gasping and shuddering. He had no idea what the blade had hit or what was on it, but he was bleeding buckets and coughing up more. The concrete was stained crimson, specks of dust running sludgy in the dark tide. When he coughed, a mist of red hung in the air.

It hurt so bad he could barely breathe. He sucked in shallow pants that tasted metallic as black spots swam in his vision. It felt as though his lungs were collapsing. The robo-ninja charged and he laughed again, this time with a sickening squelch. This was how the famous Hawkeye would go down: shot and/or stabbed to death by a wanna-be supervillian's robot ninja in the middle of north-eastern Ohio.

Then a sheet of lightning split the wind. A whirl of red and silver spiraled above him and the all-consuming crack of thunder swallowed the sky. He curled in on his wounded side, feeling the blood slip through his fingers over the hurt on his thigh. His eyes squeezed closed. And right when Clint thought his brain would explode, the sound ceased and a long shadow fell over him.

A scent of soldered metal hung in the quiet air.

'Easy, Barton,' Thor said, his large hands turning Clint over. The archer stuttered out a breath.

'I've got you.'

Thor unhinged his cloak from its shoulder-clasps and flung it over him, pressing the crimson cloth over his side. So much red, Clint thought, just like Nat's hair. In spite of all the blood on his hands, it was still his favorite color. Red reminded him of her. Her perfect eyes, her secret smile...

'Stay with me,' the Asgardian commanded, a frown settling over over his brows. 'Man of Iron, come quickly. Our comrade is hurt and the would is poisoned.'

Clint would never, ever get used to the sight of a Norse god pressing his finger to the comm in his ear like a seasoned field agent. That should have gotten another mirthless laugh, but it hurt too much.

A side wound shouldn't hurt like that, something in his head told him. But his tongue was lined with wool, and his teeth chattered to hard to get it out. He was so dang cold.

'You're going into shock,' Thor told him, his voice deep and steady. The Asgardian curled his cloak tighter around Clint and that felt a little better.

He felt his head come to rest against the golden god's chest.

'You need to stay with me, Clint.' Thor kept his voice low and even as the archer drifted. He could feel a steady pressure against his side and a solid warmth on his back. The pain was dimming, too; he could breathe again. Everything was dimming.

Thor was talking to him, calling his name, urging him to wake, but the cloak was so warm...

. . .

Clint didn't hear Stark land beside them in a shower of sparks. He didn't feel himself being lifted into Iron Man's arms. He didn't see Steve and Natasha's worried eyes. He did get a death grip on Thor's cloak, though.

Thus it was that Clint Barton awoke eleven hours later to eight stitches in his side, two sets of dressings on his body, five vigilant Avengers fast asleep around him, and one scarlet cloak tucked around him like a godly cocoon.

This time, the laugh was neither grim nor mirthless.

Well, what do you think of this hair-brained little thing? I had a lot of fun writing Clint and I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Next up: Jane and the Tunic.

-RandomCelt