Big Fic Ch 18 Snippet:
He shouldn’t be able to move, really. It takes a few seconds to understand why his limbs are actually responding. A few more to parse that apparently, divine blood, straight from the source, is a great high on top of healing him faster than he’d been aware is possible. Wrists that had been sandbags take solid form again; his spine snicks once, twice. Khonshu’s surprise is evidenced not by any expression but in the way he’s so easily thrown off. Two boots just under the ribcage seem to do the trick.
“Foul cur! You think to-”
Clint rolls. He makes sure it’s out from under the angry god. Red eyes flick up to the balcony- Thor's not there, and he panics for a beat too long before finally spotting the incoming missile. Shit, too fast, too fast-
Marc watches Clint’s face. He thinks about helping, but really... he’s just exhausted. He could probably take Clint on if he had to, but he really doesn’t want to test it. It’s obvious the vampire’s fighting himself. The fallen deity between the two Avengers goes still, shimmery ichor dripping from cracks in his beak like a fountain splitting at the base. “Fine,” Clint finally spits, crushing grip tightening one more time before he shoves the moon god toward his captor with a look of disgust. The archer brings the blood-covered hand to his mouth, glaring over his fingers as he licks it clean. “You fucking step out of line again, this won’t be the last time you feed me.” To add insult to injury, he doesn’t even finish cleaning up what he took.
He just wipes his lips with the back of his hand and scrubs the rest off in the half-melted snow.
‘Well, that’s hot as fuck,’ Jake blurts.
A quick rummage in the linen closet yields a med kit. Needle, suture thread, alcohol, bandages. It’s all simple to lay out, to focus on. Kneeling on the floor used to hurt; he switches to cross-legged next to Marc’s knee for sheer recognizable routine. Fuck, that hand is busted up. “You know, they make jackhammers for when you wanna pull up tile,” Clint quips as he starts digging marble chunks out of the brunet’s knuckles. He ignores the wet chuckle, the hiss of breath through gritted teeth, the scent of fresh blood. “Fuck, forgot to wet the cloth.” Clint starts to get back up, but Marc shakes his head, pointing.
“Oh. Of course you have a mop sink in here.” So much for raptor-level attention to detail. Clint’s exhausted too, after fighting down a god. There’s a little faucet within reach on the floor, and Clint’s plenty long-limbed enough to stretch for it. Wiping the red away reveals more damage than he’d thought. “Gonna need some stitches, man. You want...?” Purple eyes travel up, glancing over the other wounds as he seeks out Marc’s eyes.
“Hey, Moonshine, calm down,” hits his ears and nearly makes him dizzy with relief. Well, more than nearly, as when his head whips to the voice -to the bed, he realizes- he ends up stumbling. Strong, cold arms catch him and drag him under a blanket. There must be another one tucked between them, because firm muscle against his back doesn’t bring more chill. Clint’s shaking, though, and Marc immediately rolls to face him.
The bandaged hand comes up to card through damp spikes. The other one joins it, and a laugh bubbles up. He has no idea what the fuck is wrong with him; the hell they went through tonight doesn’t call for laughter. The multiple injuries he’d sustained only make him feel... less. Like he didn’t do enough. He didn’t do anything but be stuck to the floor while his god tried to kill his boyfriend. It’s more of a rasp when he forces out, “You need to feed, Barton.” Purple eyes scan his face, and the avatar watches the pupils dilate. “I-it’s okay. I’ll be okay.”
“You lost a lot. I can wait.”
Sifting Through the Ashes full fic
