Chapter Text
As the only human member of the team who wasn’t an assassin or a genetically engineered superhero, or who had a rage monster hiding inside of him, Tony Stark had the tendency to be the number one target for kidnapping. Clint was not particularly proud of the fact that he was the number two target, mostly because the Black Widow’s reputation was definitely preceding her and, ever since that mission in Paris, was making more than one potential bad guy give her a wide birth.
But this was the first time that he and Tony had ever been captured together, and it was starting to get on Clint’s nerves. He knew Tony was there, could hear the screams whenever Hydra decided that it was time for Tony to have a turn at some torture, but the guards were doing an excellent job of keeping them apart. Threats weren’t working, and all attempts at an escape got Clint no further than the hall outside the door.
Now, they had the tendency to gas his cell before they opened the door. And while Clint was good, not even he was good enough to stay conscious through powerful sedatives.
He flinched again when he heard the familiar hissing sounds, fully expecting to pass out and wake up on that fucking chair. But he didn’t. He was still conscious twenty minutes later when the gas stopped being pumped into his cell. A little confused and a lot wary, he backed into the furthest corner from the door and crouched down to wait. There was no way of telling what the gas would do. Slow suffocation, increased sensitivity to pain, poison… the options were endless.
Clint was still sitting there, and had been for at least three hours, when the cell door finally opened. He looked up as the guards shoved a familiar figure into the cell. Tony stumbled and nearly fell to his knees, but just managed to catch himself on the bed. At a glance, he was breathing hard and his pupils were dilated. Blood had soaked the fabric of the once blue t-shirt he was wearing, turning it black, and most of his visible skin was covered in bruises. In short, he didn’t look that much better off than Clint himself, but at least the light of the arc reactor was still visible.
“Have fun,” one of the guards said with a mocking smile. Clint made a rude gesture in response, not bothering to move until the guards had all retreated. Then he stood up, wincing, and took a cautious step towards Tony.
“Tony?”
Tony blinked, as though just realizing Clint was there, which was worrying in itself, and shook his head. “Hey Legolas,” he said finally. “Great meeting spot, huh? Next time we’ll have to aim for somewhere nicer. Fury’s bedroom, for example.”
“Well, you can still be sarcastic, so I guess they haven’t done anything too horrible,” Clint said, though he was pretty sure that Tony would be able to wisecrack right up until he actually stopped breathing. “Sorry the accommodations aren’t great, but feel free to sit on any inch of disgusting floor you like. I can even offer you stale water for refreshments.”
“I’m good,” Tony said, sinking down onto the ground on the spot. But not like he had made any conscious decision to sit, but more like his legs had given out on him and his options were to either sit down or fall over. Clint sat down beside him, so close that their shoulders were brushing, and stared at the opposite wall. He wondered if Tony had worse damage hidden under his clothes. He wondered if Steve was freaking out. He wondered if Phil was searching for them.
After a little while, Tony leaned against him. The contact felt nice and warm – the cell was cold to the point where Clint couldn’t help shivering every once in a while – and Clint sighed, letting his head tip back against the wall. He stared up at the only source of light: a single light bulb that was concealed behind glass thick enough that Clint couldn’t break it. He’d tried, hoping for a weapon that he could use against the guards, but all that got him was bruised fists and being knocked out when he ignored the guards yelling at him to stop.
Tony shivered, breaking Clint out of his stupor. He blinked away the spots that came from staring at a light for too long and automatically wrapped an arm around Tony’s shoulders to share their body warmth. The subtle shaking of Tony’s shoulders didn’t stop, though, and gradually Clint started to realize that Tony wasn’t shivering. He was trembling, the way he did when he was crying and trying not to let Steve or Phil know, even though that was silly. That was what babies did. They cried.
The thing about Tony was that he wasn’t very good at hiding things when he was a baby, and it usually wasn’t longer than a couple of minutes before Phil or Steve would come over and figure out was the problem was: whether it was needing attention, sleepiness, a diaper change, hunger, not feeling well. Or boredom even, though that was rare because baby Tony didn’t seem to suffer the same problem adult Tony did of needing and/or wanting to have his brain occupied at virtually every moment.
“Daddy,” Clint muttered, when the minutes had dragged by and the hitches in Tony’s breathing were becoming more audible. He frowned a little when no one answered, momentarily confused, and looked around. Reality slammed back into him. He wasn’t sitting on the floor beside Tony in the safety of the tower. They’d been kidnapped by Hydra, and this was the absolute last place where Clint should be feeling this little.
But he did. Trying to hold onto his adult headspace was like grabbing water; it trickled through his fingers, leaving behind the paralyzing fear that he’d managed to push down until now. He bit his lip hard against the urge to cry. He suddenly felt very helpless, and he desperately wanted his daddy to come and make things right. Or Uncle Steve, either one of them would do, but someone, an adult, who could take control of the situation.
“Tony,” Clint said, fighting to keep his voice calm and not sound like he was two seconds away from tears. He gently gripped Tony’s chin and lifted his head so that their eyes met. As he’d thought, Tony was crying. Tears were sliding down his thin, bruised cheeks, and he was sucking his thumb. The same fear that Clint was feeling was reflected in Tony’s eyes.
The lump in Clint's throat got bigger and his eyes started to burn. This was bad. This was so bad that he couldn't even think of the right words to describe it. On some level Clint knew that he was still Hawkeye, the avenger, and that meant he should be capable of acting like an adult. He should be the one taking charge, even if that meant nothing more than figuring out a way to calm Tony down before the guards decided to come back. Because this was not something that Hydra could know about.
But... he was scared. Really scared. He wanted his blanket and his stuffed puppy and his bed and his daddy. He didn't want to be big, because he wasn't. Not right now. He whimpered, wrapping his arms around Tony as best he could, and squeezed his eyes shut as a couple of tears slipped down his face. The pain in his chest and arms seemed a lot worse now, but he remembered having had worse. Just not like this, in a tiny cell where he couldn't even run or properly hide.
Tony made a small sound and grabbed onto Clint's torn shirt with his free hand. He was shaking harder now as he lowered his head against Clint's collarbone. It was the way Tony usually sat with Phil and Steve, and it made Clint feel really protective but also even more frightened. He was the big boy between the two of them, even if he wasn't very big right now. Tony was just a baby, and Clint had never been a big brother before. He didn't know what to do, and the thought of all this responsibility made his head hurt.
"It'll be okay," he whispered haltingly, licking his lips, tasting salt and blood. He wanted to suck his thumb too, but his hands were covered in blood and dirt and besides, only babies did that. He missed sucking on a corner of his blanket. It always made him feel safe. More tears welled up in his eyes, and he was glad that Tony wasn't looking up at him anymore, because he wasn't being very brave.
"It's okay," he said again, remembering how Barney used to try and comfort him when their parents would fight. Clumsily, he patted Tony's head. "Don't cry, Tony. Daddy and Uncle Steve will be here soon. They'll come rescue us." His lower lip trembled a little, because no one had ever rescued Clint before. Not until he was Hawkeye and actually meant something. No one bothered to rescue Clint.
He looked down into Tony's tear-streaked face. No one had ever rescued Tony, either.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe their daddies weren't coming after all. Clint tried not to cry, screwing his face up and gulping in air, but he couldn't help it. Little boys were supposed to have daddies to take care of them, but right now they didn't. And Clint didn't know what to do anymore. He knew he was supposed to be doing things, but trying to remember what made his head hurt, and he just knew that there were monsters outside the cell that were going to come and hurt him and Tony, and he really wanted his daddy.