[ SOAKED ]: after a sudden downpour/being in water, the sender hastens to help the wet receiver out of their clothes to prevent hypothermia. ( from bucky to clint )
Clint had been cold before. This was different. The crack had split the air before he understood what it meant. One wrong step and the ice vanished beneath him, the world dropping straight down into black water that swallowed him whole. The shock stole everything — breath, thought, sound — replaced with a violent, suffocating cold that felt like it was inside his bones. He’d clawed his way back up, fingers tearing against jagged ice until he’d been dragged out, soaked through, lungs burning.
Now the rain only made it worse. It plastered his clothes to him, heavy and relentless, dragging what little heat he had left out into the open air. By the time they reached cover, his hands barely responded when he told them to move. His jaw wouldn’t stop shaking. The world felt tilted, wrong.
“I’m—” His teeth clicked together mid-word. “I’m fine.”
Hands were on him again—steady, fast—his jacket being stripped off before he could muster the energy to protest. Wet fabric peeled away from his shoulders, then another layer, then another. The air felt sharp against his skin, but the cold underneath it was worse, deeper, lodged somewhere behind his ribs like it intended to stay.
He tried to focus on the movement, on staying upright. But the tremors were slowing now, not stopping—just… dulling. That scared him more. His eyelids felt heavy, like someone had added weight to them without asking permission. He blinked hard once. Twice.
“Hey,” he murmured, though it came out softer than he meant it to. “Don’t… rush.”
He swayed, catching himself a second too late, vision narrowing at the edges. The exhaustion was sneaking in where adrenaline had been, wrapping around him like something warm and inviting. Too warm. Too easy. His body wanted to give in to it.
Clint’s head dipped forward. Opening his eyes took effort now. Keeping them open took more.
