Chapter Text
The door swung open and Clint brought up his bow, ready to deal with whatever was on the other side, only to drop it as he took in the sight in front of him. The room was cavernous, bare rock walls a strange antithesis to the faded carpets and off-white walls of the corridors that had led him there. The entire back wall was taken up by a bank of out-of-date looking machinery, a vast array of blinking lights and switches which seemed to vibrate slightly under the influence of some unseen force. But most arresting were the bodies. Clint stood frozen in the doorway for a second until Agent Smith lifted his head with a slight groan, eyes rolling back into his head as he slumped back onto the floor. Most of the agents assigned to the mission were lying around on the floor in various states of unconscious, a couple vaguely moving their eyes as he passed while others drooled silently onto the concrete. They weren’t dead as he’d initially feared but, as he surveyed the sea of ashen faces and crumpled limbs, they looked halfway there. All of their equipment seemed to be missing, many of the dazed agents sporting ripped clothing where pockets had been torn open and none of them boasting so much as a paperclip left, let alone any weapons worth a mention.
He moved over to the nearest semi-conscious agent, Anderson, who stared hazily past him with unfocused eyes even when he slapped his face with a gloved hand, before spotting Coulson. Heart hammering out of his chest Clint rushed over to him, repeating his name with as much force as he could in the hope that the man would wake up, would see him, would do anything other than blink slowly into the middle distance. The noise, he had to find and stop the noise and hope whatever it was wasn’t permanent. He glanced over at the machines at the back and decided to test his hunch, dialling down the volume on his left aid and lifting it gingerly into his ear. A wave of nauseas lethargy swept over him as he immediately pulled the aid away from his ear. Whatever it was was a hell of a lot stronger down here and that was enough to persuade him to play his hunch.
It was on his way over to the machines that he saw it. A single arrow, shaft bent and fletching partially missing, lying in the middle of an empty patch of floor. Not just any arrow. Specifically one of his, one of the first, actually, that he’d bought after leaving the circus. Clint carefully stepped round it, picked up an old office chair that lay abandoned against the back wall and used all of his strength to bring it round on the machines in front of him. Again and again and again. Once all the lights had flickered off, he retried his hearing aids, re-inserting both when it became clear the noise had ended. On his journey back across the floor, with only a slight hesitation, he collected the abused arrow, sliding it into the bag that held his other arrows.
The agents seemed to be recovering slightly in the absence of the noise, a few starting to blink more, breathing evening out slightly, but Clint was concerned generally at the lack of change. He was certain that there were far too many people in the room for him to carry out. Moving back over to Coulson he tried calling his name again, but there was still no response. So, in a fit of desperation, he reached out again, and removing his gloves, placed his finger-tips on his face. He pushed into his mind and yelled ‘Coulson!’ again, simultaneously out loud and in the other man’s head and watched as he jerked back into life, careering forwards with sudden energy before overbalancing into Clint’s waiting arms.
‘Cl-CL- Clint!’ Coulson slurred triumphantly from his new angle. A moment later he flushed, recovering himself slightly and Clint helped him up, trying not to focus on the traitorous part of his mind that was just repeating the way Coulson had said his name.
In a moment, Coulson had straightened himself admirably and was surveying the room with almost a convincing amount of focus, if you ignored the slight shake in his limbs. Clint watched as Coulson assessed the room, before volunteering their location and the source of the fatigue. He didn’t mention his brother. Seemingly reluctant to speak after his previous outburst, Coulson silently went over and started to rouse the drowsy agents, some of which had progressed to jerky, half-aborted movements whilst Clint had been attending to Coulson, whilst many of the unconscious agents appeared to be waking up. Clint copied him, although he refrained from reaching out with his mind again, instinctively shying away from the idea of contact with that many people. Nonetheless, within a few minutes all but a few of the agents were upright, Coulson carrying one and Hand - who unlike the others had been found handcuffed to a table, with the only sign of violence printed on her cheek - supporting another. Clint, as the only truly alert agent, went unencumbered in front, bow in hand. Maria Hill was nowhere to be found.
So, in a slightly drunken caterpillar, the procession of SHIELD agents slowly made its way up the stairs and back up to the surface, finding not a single member of staff or hostile agent on their way up. Instead, they traversed what seemed like mile after mile of deserted corridor and stairwell, emerging into the weak afternoon sunlight without having met a single conscious other person. Still, they made it out, Clint half expecting the building to blow up with every person they didn’t meet.
Once out, they bundled into taxis, too crippled to do much else, and made their way to the previously agreed meeting point, where they were met with what looked like the full might of SHIELD.
…
Coulson was exceedingly glad, if somewhat confused, to see SHIELD waiting for them when they arrived. What looked like two entire teams, complete with an irate looking Assistant Director Fury, were buzzing around the hotel in a state of frantic activity complete with a vast array of communications devices which he suspected were being used to coordinate even more resources. He smiled to himself as his taxi pulled up, Fury catching sight of him and moving quickly from anxious to pissed as he quickly ascertained that Coulson was well enough to yell at. Coulson stepped out of the taxi, one part of his mind still quietly checking and counting the agents stumbling out of the other vehicles to check everyone from the basement had made it, and moved over to where Fury was standing impatiently.
“What the hell happened Cheese!” Fury growled, “I had some agent telling me that you’d set off the emergency beacon and then when I ask none of your comms have been online in the last half hour! And why the hell do you all look like you’ve been roofied and mugged this is a godamn intelligence agency not a poorly organised frat trip!”
Coulson opened his mouth to reply, remembered he knew very little about what had actually happened, briefly considered the massive amount of paperwork this was going to entail, and looked around for Clin- Agent Barton. He was nowhere to be seen.