1. Chapter 1

Sometimes, Clint thought their enemies really weren’t worthy of the title. But then, the Avengers had formed to fight Loki’s alien forces in a battle for the fate of the whole planet, so it made sense that after that, things were a bit of a letdown.

Nonetheless, even second-rate villains in old manufacturing plants in New Jersey could make robots that killed people, and that was enough reason for SHEILD to send in the big guns. The robots were making themselves, welding and assembling and programing new ‘bots almost as fast as Hulk could smash, so Cap had ordered Clint and Natasha to infiltrate the building and shut down the factory while he, Hulk and Iron Man kept destroying as many ‘bots as they could as a form of distraction.

“You found the main switch yet?” Clint was creating a smaller diversion to corral the robots on security detail away from where Natasha was creeping towards the master electrical board.

“Couldn’t Stark just shut down the grid?” Natasha grumbled on the comm.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Clint jumped out of the way as one robot reached out for him, grabbing a railing to launch himself up onto a higher walkway over the production line. The robots had leveraged every square foot of room inside the building, and it was more like a labyrinth of arc welding robots and large buckets of weird robot parts. They were, overall, fairly clumsy and reminded Clint of daleks, but they were converging on him efficiently so he kept jumping walkways to stay ahead of them.

“I’m there. Have one to take out, then shutting the place down,” Natasha whispered, then clicked the comm twice to request radio silence. Clint kept jumping, calling on his trapeze skills more than his marksmanship abilities to distract the robots. He ended up on a strange platform where some parts were being assembled by at least five robots working together. They all turned as one and pointed their welders rights at him. They were too far away to hit him but the combined flash whited out his world for a second before everything went dark and quiet. He blinked a few times, but it was just silence all around him.

“I think the master switch killed everybody,” Natasha said.

“Which is just stupid, I mean really, do our enemies get dumber by the week? Who puts all their robots on one kill switch? Really?” Stark sounded genuinely affronted. Clint figured he probably was.

Clint rubbed his eyes, the spots finally clearing away. The factory was dark but enough sunlight crept in from the grimy windows overhead to reveal all the dead robots surrounding him. “No arguments here, I was outnumbered. I’m pretty far inside the complex, but I can work my way out.”

“Injuries?” Coulson’s voice clipped in on the comm. Clint smiled as he started working his way out at a leisurely pace.

“No, sir. Just got some good exercise, could’ve been worse.”

“Glad to hear it, Barton. Rendezvous with Romanov, we’ll arrange pick up when you get outside.” Coulson’s voice sounded relieved, although most people would have missed it. Coulson had been Clint’s handler almost exclusively for nearly ten years, so Clint heard it, and it soothed him. He never allowed himself to think too much about what he had invested in hearing Coulson’s voice at the end of an op, telling Clint he had done a good job. It was more than a little pathetic, but Clint accepted that. He craved approval and he knew it; it was a weakness that could be held against him, and had been, by his brother first and others after him. Clint had become an expert at hiding that need deep inside, to the point that possibly only Nat knew it even existed. He was a brash, arrogant jackass by nature but it was also the best defense his insecurities ever found, and Clint took special care to knit that defense very tight when it came to Coulson.

It helped that Coulson was more than a little untouchable. He was not only Clint’s handler but the Avenger Initiative liaison and, as far as Clint could tell, completely uninterested.

Coulson had dated Leslie, a cellist, for several years. Clint met her once. She reminded him of a brunette Pepper Potts: crisp, beautiful, smart and leagues above Clint. She wore dark suits and Coulson had not seemed to mind that her sharp heels put her several inches up on him. They looked perfect together, and Clint had been happy for them despite himself. But Leslie moved to Portland right before Loki’s attack, and Clint actually felt bad for Coulson since it was pretty clear that they decided to call it off instead of doing the long distance thing.

Mostly, though, Clint was glad that Coulson had not transferred to the West coast to follow her. Clint needed the smooth, confident tones of Coulson’s voice in his ear during an op; after so many years, Clint was not sure how well he’d handle being in the field without that voice on the comm. He didn’t want to find out.

They met up with the others and SHEILD brought in a helicopter to evac Clint, Natasha, Coulson, Bruce and Steve back to Avengers’ Tower in NYC. Tony and Thor flew separately, of course, which Clint counted as a blessing because his nerves after an op were always strung tight, and Tony had a way of plucking at them. And his eyes were hurting.

They all got back, cleaned up, and met in the briefing room within an hour. Nat caught him rubbing his eyes but he shook his head. His eyes were burning a little but nothing serious, so he figured he would soldier on and then just crash. He had probably over taxed them, which had happened before, and he knew a good night’s sleep would fix that.

That was his plan, until the pain hit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He curled forward, his head nearly banging into the conference table, as the stabbing pain lanced through his eyes. It took his whole body under in the wash of agony. He thought he was going to puke, right there, but he didn’t give a damn. His hands covered his eyes although that did nothing. The white light was back and it felt like the welders were burning his eyeballs out of his skull. His body convulsed, fighting the pain. He felt large hands on him, pulling him out of the chair and setting him on the floor. He figured it was Steve or Thor.

“Clint, what’s wrong?” Steve’s voice broke into Clint’s screaming brain, his hands holding him down.

“Eyes…eyes!” Clint gasped, keeping his face covered.

“Barton, we’ve got medical en route,” Coulson said from somewhere above him. “Did you get sprayed with chemicals? Dosed with a drug? We need to know what we’re dealing with.” Part of Clint registered the tension in Coulson’s voice.

“No! No, fuck,” Clint curled up on his side, trying to push his head into the floor. “Welders!”

“Welders?” Coulson repeated, sounding confused. Clint nodded but that hurt too. It felt like his eyes were melting out of his head and he could not stop the whimper.

“The light? From the welding?” Steve’s voice broke in again.

“Maybe! Fuck, I don’t know! No chemicals, oh, oh, shit!”

There was a sudden clatter and lots of talking that Clint could not track through the pain. He wanted to die, the pain was worse than any torture he had ever been through, a deep and agonizing burn inside of his eyes that did not stop. He finally gave into the panic and vomited as several sets of hands moved him off the floor onto a gurney. He felt a prick in his arm and everything finally went mercifully, beautifully dark.