Peterson didn't wait for the phone to finish it's first ring when he answered it. "Is it done?"

"Yes." His brother answered plainly.

"Good, I'm sick of hiding in this shit hole."

"She'll have to go to you for the antidote, so there won't be much more of a wait. He won't last a week without it." His brother paused before continuing on with a concerned tone. "Are you sure we should be doing this? The boss won't be happy that we've taken things into our own hands."

"The boss shouldn't have told me that the Black Widow killed my son then. There was nothing else I could have done after finding out that information. Whatever happened after that is their fault, and everything that happens now is in our hands. So send the message to the Widow. I'm tired of waiting."

"Again with the orders. You do remember that I'm older than you, right?" His joking tone broke through the ex-Councilman's grief and rage for a moment. Just like it always had.

"Just get it done." He said again, this time a slight smile could be heard through his order. They exchanged a quick goodbye before ending the call. He set down the phone and twirled the small vial of antidote in his hand.

"I think he's waking up."Said the voice that broke through the darkness that was Clint's mind. The voice was familiar. Clint could remember it giving him orders and sarcastic remarks. Phil, it was Phil's voice that woke him up.

Typical, Clint thought as he tried to drift back to sleep. Just as he was about to fall back into unconsciousness a hand gripped his, not Phil's it was too small to be Phil's, and another brushed his hair back. It confused Clint enough for him to open his eyes. At first there was just a blur of colors, but as soon as he could make out that the copper hue saw was hair he smiled.

"We gotta stop meeting like this." His words came out in a whisper, and god was his throat sore. He was about to complain about it when Natasha silenced him.

"Try not to talk, okay?" She grabbed him a cup of water and helped him sit up for him to drink; something he did almost desperately which resulted in him coughing harshly. "Take it easy. You've just been through the wringer."

"Feels like I'm still in the wringer." Clint muttered lying back and feeling every ache and pain in his body that were starting to come back to him. His throat hurt terribly as did his abdomen and lungs. Not only did his body ache but it felt like an elephant was sitting on him, making it hard to breath and move.

"I don't doubt that." Said Phil from the other side of his bed.

As Clint turned his head to look at the handler he noticed that he was no longer in the custom hospital room that he had been a reluctant patient in the past few weeks. It looked like he, and all of his hospital equipment, were moved into some kind of warehouse.

"We moved you off base. After what happened with Hall we couldn't be sure that there weren't other agents working for Peterson in SHIELD." Phil explained though the look of confusion didn't wear from Clint's face. "You were poisoned; we aren't sure what Hall gave you was yet, but whatever it was seems to have stopped. For now at least."

Clint still couldn't wrap his head around that it was Dr Hall that hurt him. He had confided in the man for years; many of his darkest memories and thoughts were shared with his once trusted psychiatrist. How hadn't he seen that Hall was the enemy.

"He knows everything about me." Clint's voice was quiet and filled with rage. The man he once trusted could easily sell all of his secrets. "I can't believe I fucking blindly trusted that guy. He knows everything." If he felt like he had enough strength he would be hiding his face with his hands. The feeling of embarrassment and betrayal was as paralyzing as whatever poison was in his veins; a feeling he wasn't unfamiliar with.

"Clint," Natasha tightened her grip bringing his attention back to her. "There was no way you could have known. He probably had no intention of betraying you when he met you."

"Yeah, but he still did." Clint's voice was dripping with the venom of being deceived and not noticing until he was spitting up blood. He was probably good as dead right now and it was all his fault. "I should have known," he turned to Coulson, "you knew. You never trusted him."

Phil put a comforting hand on his agent's shoulder and looked him dead in the eye. "I didn't know. I may have not trusted him completely, but I trusted him enough to look after you. And you are not someone that's safety I take lightly. Besides I didn't think that I'd ever get you to find another shrink you felt comfortable enough around to talk to."

"Well good luck ever getting me to trust another one after this." Clint shared a drowsy, fake smile. His vision was going blurry with exhaustion. Fighting the sleepy was his first instinct. as he weakly tossed his head from side to side.

Natasha shushed him and his thin efforts to resist sleep. "It's okay. We'll be right here when you wake up; you don't have to worry about that."

He wasn't worried they wouldn't be there. Clint was worried he wouldn't wake up again. But sleep was something he just wasn't able to fight.

He did wake up. That he was grateful for, what he saw made him wish to go to sleep again.

Standing at the foot of the mobile bed that he was laid on was his father. The worn, red plaid shirt he wore had a deep stain on the front around the small knife that laid in his heart; handle poking out of his chest. There was also the seemingly ever present anger on his face.

"You died." That was all Clint could think to say. It was definitely a good point to make in his confused startled mind. The man who had scared his childhood and terrorized his adulthood in memories and dreams was standing in front of him. He knew it wasn't a dream, everything was too real for it to be a dream. "How,"

"How am I still alive?" His father asked with a rumbling and furious tone of voice that scared him when he was young.

It apparently had the same effect as an adult, for his heart was beating like he had run a marathon. There was a distant beeping that accompanies the beating, but it is quickly ignored as his father rounds the bed to his left.

"Well it's no thanks to you and that piece of shit brother of yours." He pointed an accusing finger at Clint with new found adrenaline scooted away as far as the bed would let him, which was only about a few inches. "You left me for dead. Imagine how your mother felt watching her youngest become a murderer."

A hand landed on Clint's shoulder making him jump and turn around to see the worn expression on his mother's face. He let out a shuddered breath before finding his voice again. "Mom?"

"Why did you do it Clint?" Her voice was thin and tired, just like he remembered. "We weren't a perfect family by any means, but what you did was unforgivable. Your father was very angry about it."

Words escaped Clint, but unluckily for him his father had plenty.

"Angry doesn't begin to cover it. You spoiled shit's were always trouble. I tried to show you some respect and what did you do; you used me as a god damn dart board. Didn't even check to see if I was dead you just left with your piece of shit brother. Where is he now, huh? He get the sense to leave you too, or did you shove a knife in his heart also?"

That was the line that couldn't be crossed. Rage filled Clint and he swung wildly at his father who easily blocked his punch. The thin, yet strong, arms of his mother wrapped around him from behind and he bucked against them. There was no give as he fought against the arms wound his torso. He went to his last resort of screaming every foul word in every language he could think of, which was a long list of obscenities.

There was nothing he could do as Clint watched his father pull the knife out his chest and hold it up so Clint could see the blood dripping down the silver blade. "Do you want to know how it felt to have a knife stabbed in your chest by your own family? 'Cause I can show ya."

The knife was lifted in the air and Clint wrestled even harder against the arms restraining him, but there was little he could do as his mother's strength was equal to his in this weakened state. All he could do was scream. There was a small pinch on his thigh that was barely registered; all he could focus on was the knife that was still held in the air as his father grabbed the collar of his shirt.

"You deserve this." His father sneered.

The intense look of hatred Clint saw did something that now terrorist or interrogator ever did to him. He was afraid of death, so much so that he closed his eyes and turned his head away from the impending swing of a knife into his chest.

"Clint! Calm down, you're fine." Strange, that wasn't his father's rough voice, or his mother's dead toned one. It was still firm as it ordered him to calm down, but there was concern and a gentleness mixed in as well.

"Nat?" He asked; opening one eye just enough to see if he was right. Part of him suspected to see his father in front of him, but instead stood the beautiful Natasha Romanoff. Phil was behind him with his arms wrapped around Clint's chest. Had he just hallucinated that entire thing? Had he just noticed a doctor who stood to the side; Clint barely caught the sight of the syringe that the Doctor put in the bio-hazard box. Probably some kind of drug to stop the crazy images his mind decided to show him. Had he been that out of touch with reality? "Shit."

"'Shit' would be right." Phil's arms fell away now that he was sure that Clint was back with them; he helped Clint lay back down before speaking to him again. "It was your parents." It wasn't a question, but an acknowledgement that Clint met with a vague nod. "We gave you a small amount of a mild anti-psychotic. It's all we can give you until we figure out what's in your system."

Clint nodded his understanding. He reached to Natasha and grabbed her hand, he didn't even care that there was a man who he didn't know standing a few feet away with the perfect view of what would be grounds for termination if he told anyone.

"Nat, and don't hate me for being so cliche, but if I die,"

Natasha pulled her hands out of his and grabbed his jaw, not to bruise, but to keep his attention on her. "Fuck you, Clint Barton. This isn't some daytime drama that you can give your heroic speech like it will do a damn to make me feel better. This is real, we are real. And I am going to get you out of this or kill everyone who ever had a part to play in killing you."

Clint didn't reel back in the slightest; he hadn't expected any other reaction to be honest. A weak attempt was made to take her hand off her face and into his. The movement was sloppy and uncoordinated, but he still ended up with her hand entwined in his again. "I just wanted to tell you to be happy."

Their eyes had stayed connected, oblivious to any of the other occupants of the room at this point. Natasha was standing strong and fierce, ready to sink her nails into Hall or Peterson's eyes as justice as what had happened to someone she cared so deeply for. While Clint just looked at her with resignation in his eyes, the look of someone who had almost died a million times before and no longer feared it. But there was a glimpse of something in him that didn't want to die. Something that was new.

For a moment Natasha softened and brushed his sweaty hair back then rested her forehead on his. "Stay, and I will be."

Clint wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, just being close to one another, but soon enough he fell asleep again. He just hoped he would wake up to see that hair with a color that showed her fury and her passion. Eyes that locked the world away, but started to let him. And he thought to himself as he drifted off into another unwanted slumber that Natasha Romanoff was definitely worth living for.

(A/N) Who has two thumbs and wasn't gone for two months. You can't see but I'm pointing at myself like a freakin nerd.

Okay cringe worthy note aside I am now officially in school again... yay. This is good for cause now when bio gets boring I think of different heartbreaking stories I want to write because I am evil, so maybe not good for you.

Oh the actual important part of this authors note is that I'm thinking about adding the Young Avengers into this universe. I just read a freak ton of the YA comics and now I'm obsessed with those tragic nerds. Let me know if you're interested, if not I'll probably just post any YA centered works on my AO3 and the characters will only be in crossover events but it won't be connected to the main story line.

Still I highly suggest you all read the Young Avengers comics they are so diverse and wonderful. There's a lot of representation for the LGBT+ community which I love, and the characters are so relatable. So that's my official recommendation, there are a few triggering things which you can PM me about or google if you want to read the comics but need a warning. I'm always here to help so message me if ya need to.

Now I'm going to go read way later then I should and wake up for school at stupid hours of the morning.