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xp_logsClint wakes up, realizes something is wrong, and attempts to get help from Natasha... only she's not there, so he turns Darcy, who doesn't appreciate being awoken so damn early... then... things go downhill. (backdated a bit)
Clint woke up a little sore after the mission the previous day, but otherwise feeling pretty good. Blearily, he climbed out of bed and made his way through his room to the bathroom, eyes mostly closed. Once finished, he walked into the suite's kitchenette and rubbed his eyes away to clear out the gritty sleep grime. It always seemed to be worse after he traveled, whether inside the US, internationally, or interuniversally.
Opening his eyes a moment later, Clint blinked. Then he blinked again. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and opened them a third time before taking a slow breath. Everything was... still bleary. Anxiety clenched in his chest -- he refused to call it panic -- as he slapped his hand down to turn on the coffeemaker.
He missed the button.
"What the fuck," Clint whispered, hand groping a little further along the counter. He literally never misjudged distance and speed and -- wait. "Oh fuck," he whispered, finally admitting to a little bit of panic. "Uh... Tasha," Clint yelled. He didn't brace himself against the counter, that was ridiculous. He wasn't blind. He could... see. Maybe. Probably. "Tasha, can you c'mere real quick? But uh... stay over by your door. You might need to make a window exit."
Shit, he'd left his phone in his room. This was stupid. Of course he could see. Obviously he could see. There was the counter. There was the fridge. There was the couch and the television and the closet and the coffee table. He just... there was no... clarity. Everything was dulled around the edges. He couldn't focus. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit," he half-chanted.
And then he remembered Tasha wasn't in the suite that morning, something to do with work, and the small bubble of panic he'd felt earlier turned into an eruption like someone had dropped Mentos into a Coke bottle. "Breathe, Barton," he muttered, moving out of the kitchen and back toward his bedroom. He'd made it all the way there without looking, he was fine. Everything was fine -- except when he got to his door and reached for the knob, he got a jolt of static electricity so strong it actually stung.
"Jesus fuck," Clint muttered, shoving his door open and blearily locating his phone. That zapped him, too, but to a much lesser extent. He dialled Darcy's number by muscle memory.
Darcy groaned as she reached across Matt's chest to grab her phone, her face still buried against his side as she swiped her phone open. "Whzzat callin 'searly?" she mumbled, bringing the phone closer to her face. "Izzat 'mergenc?"
"Darcy," Clint hissed. "Darcy, something's wrong with my eyes."
"No colors," Darcy grumbled into the phone. "s'not news." She was waking up slightly now, still grumpy at being awoken from her snuggly cocoon of blankets and body heat. "Somethin else? I need t'wake Matt up?"
"No focus," Clint said. "Everything's... it's all fuzzy around the edges." He tried to focus on his comforter, tried to count threads from his place between the door and his bedside table, but he couldn't do it. He thought he might actually be getting a stress-induced headache. "Fuck fuck, check on Matt. I think it might have something to do with the mission yesterday."
She came fully alert at that, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs. "Oh balls. Wait. Didn't you say the mission yesterday had something to do with powers?" She didn't want to wake Matt yet, so she very carefully maneuvered over him until her feet were touching the floor. "Okay, so. Your eyes are fuzzy. Anything else weird? Wait, hold that thought, I need to pull a shirt on." The shirt was actually one of Matt's hoodies, but well. It was warmer than a t-shirt. She slipped into the living room, curling up on the couch. "Alright. Other weirdness?"
"Uh..." Clint stalled for a moment, train of thought derailing from 'shit, is Matt okay' to 'wait there's still something wrong with me.' Scrounging on his bedside table, he came up with a quarter, which he attempted to flip through the air to land on the bedpost at the end of his bed. The quarter most certainly did not land there, though it did whack the wood before bouncing off and rolling somewhere else. "Fuck. Spatial awareness and ability to innately compensate for gravity as well as distance and aim are fucked."
Reaching for the knob on the drawer on his bedside table, Clint started cursing in Russian when a jolt of visible static electricity jumped from the metal to his finger. "Fucking - fuck. Why is everything shocking me?"
"That's a good question, but thankfully one I have a solution for before you blow up any electronics. Come down to my room and I'll make sure you've got a pair of anti-static bracelets and a case that'll stop some of it from mucking up your phone. We can experiment. Until then, I suggest long sleeves and touching anything metal with your shoulder or forearm first." Darcy let out a loud yawn at the end of her sentence, but she was too curious to go right back to sleep now. And Clint actually needed her help. "I'm letting Matt sleep, though."
"He was on the mission with me yesterday," Clint said, shaking his head even though he knew Darcy couldn't see him. "If nothing's wrong with him -- and you, since you've been in close contact with him -- I can't risk the potential for this to spread. I haven't had a chance to do a whole mission report for the other teams, but there was a virus in the alternate universe, one that fucked with powers. I mean, stacked them. People were seriously jacked there. I don't -- this doesn't seem like that, since I don't have my powers and someone else's on top of them, so I don't know what the hell's going on, but if this is communicable -- "
Clint broke off, head still foggy from lack of caffeine but mind more than capable of connecting the dots. "Shit, the whole fucking -- Meggan's injury. It perfed her hazmat suit in the alternate reality. We got her back and most everybody else went through decon, but we had to rush her to the medlab. Oh shit. Are your powers working?"
"Haven't used them this morning, but that doesn't mean anything." She never really did, first thing in the morning, at least not unless she was at work and interacting with Lemon. "Gonna put you on speaker, just a sec." She tapped the button, setting her phone on a little stand. "Alright, I'm gonna take my anti-static bracelets off and grab a lightbulb." She shuffled to the drawer she kept spare bulbs in, leaning her forearm against the metal of the sink to offload any static. No shock, but as she'd gotten better at using her powers, shocking others or constantly being shocked had lessened greatly.
Once she was settled back on the couch she focused on pulling the energy through her fingertips and lighting the bulb the way Jean-Phillipe had taught her. Nothing. "So uh... Houston? I think it's too late to worry about whether or not this is communicable..." She trailed off, trying again. Nothing, not that she could tell. "Yeah, so. Get your ass to my room, Clint. We've got some testing to do."
"Yeah, alright," Clint said, frowning around his room as he searched for his pants. The lack of clarity was going to drive him mad. Still, he found them, pulled them on, and shoved his phone in his pocket before finding one of the N95's he used when working with chemicals in the lab. Pulling that on and adjusting the straps, Clint walked carefully out of the suite he shared with Tasha and down toward Darcy's.
He knocked on her door, trying to ignore the headache he still had because his eyes kept trying to focus and apparently weren't actually able to. "Fucking Christ," Clint muttered, rubbing at the space between his brows.
Darcy opened the door, frowning at Clint's squinting. "Head, eyes, or both?" she asked kindly as she let him in, holding out a pair of anti-static bracelets. "And d'you actually want me to go wake Matt up for this?"
"Just my head, but it's because of my eyes," Clint grumbled, taking the bracelets from Darcy and then trying to figure out how to put them on. "I'm gonna crash on your couch for a few minutes and keep my eyes closed. Make Matt put on pants, at least. We gotta see if he's got any effects, too."
"I can guarantee underwear and maybe a shirt, not pants," Darcy replied as she slipped into her bedroom, pulling the door mostly shut behind her. She took a seat on the bed next to Matt, shaking his shoulder gently. "Time to wake up, hon, we've got a Clint and powers shaped problem in the living room."
Waking slowly, Matt made an annoyed sound at the interruption before sitting up and almost falling out of bed. Flailing, with a cry of surprise, he and Darcy hit the floor with a thud, "Darcy?" he asked, reaching out carefully. Did she say Clint was in the other room? "Clint?" he screamed, scrambling away and hitting the side of the bed hard.
Clint bolted upright off the couch, practically flinging himself across the room and possibly fucking up his shin on Darcy's coffeetable but who gave a flying fuck? Not Clint Barton, that was for sure. Cause all Clint could think about was the sheer terror he'd just heard in his little brother's voice - a kind of terror he hadn't had to hear since Matt was first brought to live with him and his dads.
"Matt," Clint called back, bursting through the bedroom door Darcy had disappeared through. He stubbed his toe on something, he didn't bother to check what, and he completely disregarded whatever state of nakedness might or might not be happening in the bed because -- well. Family first.
"Matt, it's okay, hold on," Clint said, tripping over a shoe next and faceplanting on the end of the bed. He righted himself, then crawled up and over to where his younger brother was huddled against the side of the bed on the floor. "Hey, hi, Matty-Matt, I gotcha." Reaching out, he pulled Matt into his chest. "C'mon, it's okay. I gotcha. What's wrong? I can't fix it if you don't tell me."
Darcy's head throbbed from where she'd hit the floor, neck and shoulders sending additional shots of stinging pain to join in. At least Matt and Clint weren't screaming anymore. "Ow," she managed to get out, forcing herself to relax her jaw and muscles.
"I can't see, I can't..." Matt reached for where Clint's voice was, grabbing him and holding on tight, like he might somehow float away if he let go or even just loosened his grip, "Everything's...I can't hear your heartbeat..." He tucked his head against his brother's chest trying to find it. "It's all.... gone."
"Okay," Clint said, nodding slowly against the top of Matt's head. "Okay, take some deep breaths for me." Reaching down, he pried one of Matt's hands out of his shirt and pushed it up to his own neck, right over his jugular. "It's a little fast, cause you scared the shit outta me, but there it is, okay? Heartbeat acquired."
After giving himself a second to take a breath, Clint turned his head a little so he could see Darcy, vague though she was in the dark and with his eyes all wonky, then asked, "You okay, Darce?"
"No screaming or sudden movements." She'd be fine. Eventually. When the idea of moving didn't make nausea rise in her stomach, she'd get up and take an Excedrin, take a nap with her heated throw. "Probably text medical. Everyone?" The pain made her brain a little fuzzy.
"Shit," Clint muttered. "Concussion?" He asked her, still holding Matt's hand against his pulse. He had his phone. It was in his pocket. He could send a text, just not right that moment. "Can you -- Darce, do you think you could get my phone to text Medical? Or Clarice specifically, since she can 'port us down and do the exams or whatever? I would, but my eyes are for shit right now and I honestly don't wanna leave Matt long enough to try and type out something coherent."
Darcy started to shake her head, then groaned. "Nope. Gimme Matt?" She wiggled her fingers a little in their direction. "Shit, I don't think he brought his cane down to my room. We keep the suite clean enough that he doesn't usually have to bother." Maybe if she waited a few minutes and moved really, really slowly, she could at least turn to her side.
Shaking his head, Matt didn't want to be separated from his brother. Part of him recognized that Darcy was safe and good and he trusted her, but he hadn't been this terrified of his powers, or of not having them as the case apparently was, since before he started puberty. Taking some deep, calming breaths the way he had been taught back in therapy, because today was apparently Matt is 10 again, his head began to clear. "Clint? Darcy? Do you have your powers?"
"Nope," Clint said. "Darce, were you noping to the concussion or noping to the texting thing? Or both? Shit wait -- powers. Goddammit."
"Moving," was Darcy's short reply. "Hurts. Nausea."
If he could have thunked his head against something hard without worsening his headache, Clint would've. As it stood, he simply synced his breathing with Matt's instead and said, "Okay. Okay, new plan. Matt, you hold onto me, okay? I need to grab a trash bin for Darcy, then I'll pick her up and we're all going to the MedLab. Sound reasonable?"
"Not picking me up." She would definitely barf on him. Matt too, and then her room would be a disgusting mess that she couldn't do anything about in her current state. Better to just stay on the floor, not moving. "You two go. Send Amelia." It hurt that Matt didn't want to stay, but she tried to push it away. There were more important things than her hurt feelings right now.
"Cane?" Matt asked, reaching for Darcy and using a light touch following her arm to her shoulder and then jaw before giving her a kiss. "It'll be okay," he murmured with more certainty than he felt, though if he was referring to her simply not feeling like puking or this entire situation, he didn't say.
Darcy moved just enough to lean into the touch. "Upstairs, I think. Clint'll have to guide you."
"We'll get Amelia up here for you ASAP, Darce," Clint promised, letting Matt hold onto him however he was most comfortable.
At 12, Matt used to hold Clint's elbow, their height difference making the shoulder impractical until Matt caught up in height a few years later. Now, the shoulder was best and he leveraged himself up, trying to stay in contact with the other man at all times. Not being able to feel how large a space was was disconcerting. Not being able to hear everything and feel the vibration against his skin made him think he was alone. That was terrifying. "You'll be okay," he tried to be reassuring, though the words were probably anything but.
"Always am," Darcy muttered, flapping one hand in a shooing motion at Clint. She knew she couldn't sleep. But once they left, she might be able to do an embarrassing crawl to at least the nearest trash can. Better yet, the bathroom. She wanted - well. What she wanted wasn't important, because she couldn't have it right now. So what she needed was the two of them to leave. "Go."
"This is a bad plan," Clint muttered to himself, then carefully led Matt around Darcy's prone form. His concern for Matt buried his reservations about Darcy's situation. He trusted her enough to believe her when she said she'd be okay as long as they sent someone, but it didn't sit well with him, leaving her concussed on the floor. "Fucking - fuck," Clint said, leading Matt out of the suite and down the hall, eyes open despite the pain lancing through his skull.
Clint woke up a little sore after the mission the previous day, but otherwise feeling pretty good. Blearily, he climbed out of bed and made his way through his room to the bathroom, eyes mostly closed. Once finished, he walked into the suite's kitchenette and rubbed his eyes away to clear out the gritty sleep grime. It always seemed to be worse after he traveled, whether inside the US, internationally, or interuniversally.
Opening his eyes a moment later, Clint blinked. Then he blinked again. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and opened them a third time before taking a slow breath. Everything was... still bleary. Anxiety clenched in his chest -- he refused to call it panic -- as he slapped his hand down to turn on the coffeemaker.
He missed the button.
"What the fuck," Clint whispered, hand groping a little further along the counter. He literally never misjudged distance and speed and -- wait. "Oh fuck," he whispered, finally admitting to a little bit of panic. "Uh... Tasha," Clint yelled. He didn't brace himself against the counter, that was ridiculous. He wasn't blind. He could... see. Maybe. Probably. "Tasha, can you c'mere real quick? But uh... stay over by your door. You might need to make a window exit."
Shit, he'd left his phone in his room. This was stupid. Of course he could see. Obviously he could see. There was the counter. There was the fridge. There was the couch and the television and the closet and the coffee table. He just... there was no... clarity. Everything was dulled around the edges. He couldn't focus. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit," he half-chanted.
And then he remembered Tasha wasn't in the suite that morning, something to do with work, and the small bubble of panic he'd felt earlier turned into an eruption like someone had dropped Mentos into a Coke bottle. "Breathe, Barton," he muttered, moving out of the kitchen and back toward his bedroom. He'd made it all the way there without looking, he was fine. Everything was fine -- except when he got to his door and reached for the knob, he got a jolt of static electricity so strong it actually stung.
"Jesus fuck," Clint muttered, shoving his door open and blearily locating his phone. That zapped him, too, but to a much lesser extent. He dialled Darcy's number by muscle memory.
Darcy groaned as she reached across Matt's chest to grab her phone, her face still buried against his side as she swiped her phone open. "Whzzat callin 'searly?" she mumbled, bringing the phone closer to her face. "Izzat 'mergenc?"
"Darcy," Clint hissed. "Darcy, something's wrong with my eyes."
"No colors," Darcy grumbled into the phone. "s'not news." She was waking up slightly now, still grumpy at being awoken from her snuggly cocoon of blankets and body heat. "Somethin else? I need t'wake Matt up?"
"No focus," Clint said. "Everything's... it's all fuzzy around the edges." He tried to focus on his comforter, tried to count threads from his place between the door and his bedside table, but he couldn't do it. He thought he might actually be getting a stress-induced headache. "Fuck fuck, check on Matt. I think it might have something to do with the mission yesterday."
She came fully alert at that, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs. "Oh balls. Wait. Didn't you say the mission yesterday had something to do with powers?" She didn't want to wake Matt yet, so she very carefully maneuvered over him until her feet were touching the floor. "Okay, so. Your eyes are fuzzy. Anything else weird? Wait, hold that thought, I need to pull a shirt on." The shirt was actually one of Matt's hoodies, but well. It was warmer than a t-shirt. She slipped into the living room, curling up on the couch. "Alright. Other weirdness?"
"Uh..." Clint stalled for a moment, train of thought derailing from 'shit, is Matt okay' to 'wait there's still something wrong with me.' Scrounging on his bedside table, he came up with a quarter, which he attempted to flip through the air to land on the bedpost at the end of his bed. The quarter most certainly did not land there, though it did whack the wood before bouncing off and rolling somewhere else. "Fuck. Spatial awareness and ability to innately compensate for gravity as well as distance and aim are fucked."
Reaching for the knob on the drawer on his bedside table, Clint started cursing in Russian when a jolt of visible static electricity jumped from the metal to his finger. "Fucking - fuck. Why is everything shocking me?"
"That's a good question, but thankfully one I have a solution for before you blow up any electronics. Come down to my room and I'll make sure you've got a pair of anti-static bracelets and a case that'll stop some of it from mucking up your phone. We can experiment. Until then, I suggest long sleeves and touching anything metal with your shoulder or forearm first." Darcy let out a loud yawn at the end of her sentence, but she was too curious to go right back to sleep now. And Clint actually needed her help. "I'm letting Matt sleep, though."
"He was on the mission with me yesterday," Clint said, shaking his head even though he knew Darcy couldn't see him. "If nothing's wrong with him -- and you, since you've been in close contact with him -- I can't risk the potential for this to spread. I haven't had a chance to do a whole mission report for the other teams, but there was a virus in the alternate universe, one that fucked with powers. I mean, stacked them. People were seriously jacked there. I don't -- this doesn't seem like that, since I don't have my powers and someone else's on top of them, so I don't know what the hell's going on, but if this is communicable -- "
Clint broke off, head still foggy from lack of caffeine but mind more than capable of connecting the dots. "Shit, the whole fucking -- Meggan's injury. It perfed her hazmat suit in the alternate reality. We got her back and most everybody else went through decon, but we had to rush her to the medlab. Oh shit. Are your powers working?"
"Haven't used them this morning, but that doesn't mean anything." She never really did, first thing in the morning, at least not unless she was at work and interacting with Lemon. "Gonna put you on speaker, just a sec." She tapped the button, setting her phone on a little stand. "Alright, I'm gonna take my anti-static bracelets off and grab a lightbulb." She shuffled to the drawer she kept spare bulbs in, leaning her forearm against the metal of the sink to offload any static. No shock, but as she'd gotten better at using her powers, shocking others or constantly being shocked had lessened greatly.
Once she was settled back on the couch she focused on pulling the energy through her fingertips and lighting the bulb the way Jean-Phillipe had taught her. Nothing. "So uh... Houston? I think it's too late to worry about whether or not this is communicable..." She trailed off, trying again. Nothing, not that she could tell. "Yeah, so. Get your ass to my room, Clint. We've got some testing to do."
"Yeah, alright," Clint said, frowning around his room as he searched for his pants. The lack of clarity was going to drive him mad. Still, he found them, pulled them on, and shoved his phone in his pocket before finding one of the N95's he used when working with chemicals in the lab. Pulling that on and adjusting the straps, Clint walked carefully out of the suite he shared with Tasha and down toward Darcy's.
He knocked on her door, trying to ignore the headache he still had because his eyes kept trying to focus and apparently weren't actually able to. "Fucking Christ," Clint muttered, rubbing at the space between his brows.
Darcy opened the door, frowning at Clint's squinting. "Head, eyes, or both?" she asked kindly as she let him in, holding out a pair of anti-static bracelets. "And d'you actually want me to go wake Matt up for this?"
"Just my head, but it's because of my eyes," Clint grumbled, taking the bracelets from Darcy and then trying to figure out how to put them on. "I'm gonna crash on your couch for a few minutes and keep my eyes closed. Make Matt put on pants, at least. We gotta see if he's got any effects, too."
"I can guarantee underwear and maybe a shirt, not pants," Darcy replied as she slipped into her bedroom, pulling the door mostly shut behind her. She took a seat on the bed next to Matt, shaking his shoulder gently. "Time to wake up, hon, we've got a Clint and powers shaped problem in the living room."
Waking slowly, Matt made an annoyed sound at the interruption before sitting up and almost falling out of bed. Flailing, with a cry of surprise, he and Darcy hit the floor with a thud, "Darcy?" he asked, reaching out carefully. Did she say Clint was in the other room? "Clint?" he screamed, scrambling away and hitting the side of the bed hard.
Clint bolted upright off the couch, practically flinging himself across the room and possibly fucking up his shin on Darcy's coffeetable but who gave a flying fuck? Not Clint Barton, that was for sure. Cause all Clint could think about was the sheer terror he'd just heard in his little brother's voice - a kind of terror he hadn't had to hear since Matt was first brought to live with him and his dads.
"Matt," Clint called back, bursting through the bedroom door Darcy had disappeared through. He stubbed his toe on something, he didn't bother to check what, and he completely disregarded whatever state of nakedness might or might not be happening in the bed because -- well. Family first.
"Matt, it's okay, hold on," Clint said, tripping over a shoe next and faceplanting on the end of the bed. He righted himself, then crawled up and over to where his younger brother was huddled against the side of the bed on the floor. "Hey, hi, Matty-Matt, I gotcha." Reaching out, he pulled Matt into his chest. "C'mon, it's okay. I gotcha. What's wrong? I can't fix it if you don't tell me."
Darcy's head throbbed from where she'd hit the floor, neck and shoulders sending additional shots of stinging pain to join in. At least Matt and Clint weren't screaming anymore. "Ow," she managed to get out, forcing herself to relax her jaw and muscles.
"I can't see, I can't..." Matt reached for where Clint's voice was, grabbing him and holding on tight, like he might somehow float away if he let go or even just loosened his grip, "Everything's...I can't hear your heartbeat..." He tucked his head against his brother's chest trying to find it. "It's all.... gone."
"Okay," Clint said, nodding slowly against the top of Matt's head. "Okay, take some deep breaths for me." Reaching down, he pried one of Matt's hands out of his shirt and pushed it up to his own neck, right over his jugular. "It's a little fast, cause you scared the shit outta me, but there it is, okay? Heartbeat acquired."
After giving himself a second to take a breath, Clint turned his head a little so he could see Darcy, vague though she was in the dark and with his eyes all wonky, then asked, "You okay, Darce?"
"No screaming or sudden movements." She'd be fine. Eventually. When the idea of moving didn't make nausea rise in her stomach, she'd get up and take an Excedrin, take a nap with her heated throw. "Probably text medical. Everyone?" The pain made her brain a little fuzzy.
"Shit," Clint muttered. "Concussion?" He asked her, still holding Matt's hand against his pulse. He had his phone. It was in his pocket. He could send a text, just not right that moment. "Can you -- Darce, do you think you could get my phone to text Medical? Or Clarice specifically, since she can 'port us down and do the exams or whatever? I would, but my eyes are for shit right now and I honestly don't wanna leave Matt long enough to try and type out something coherent."
Darcy started to shake her head, then groaned. "Nope. Gimme Matt?" She wiggled her fingers a little in their direction. "Shit, I don't think he brought his cane down to my room. We keep the suite clean enough that he doesn't usually have to bother." Maybe if she waited a few minutes and moved really, really slowly, she could at least turn to her side.
Shaking his head, Matt didn't want to be separated from his brother. Part of him recognized that Darcy was safe and good and he trusted her, but he hadn't been this terrified of his powers, or of not having them as the case apparently was, since before he started puberty. Taking some deep, calming breaths the way he had been taught back in therapy, because today was apparently Matt is 10 again, his head began to clear. "Clint? Darcy? Do you have your powers?"
"Nope," Clint said. "Darce, were you noping to the concussion or noping to the texting thing? Or both? Shit wait -- powers. Goddammit."
"Moving," was Darcy's short reply. "Hurts. Nausea."
If he could have thunked his head against something hard without worsening his headache, Clint would've. As it stood, he simply synced his breathing with Matt's instead and said, "Okay. Okay, new plan. Matt, you hold onto me, okay? I need to grab a trash bin for Darcy, then I'll pick her up and we're all going to the MedLab. Sound reasonable?"
"Not picking me up." She would definitely barf on him. Matt too, and then her room would be a disgusting mess that she couldn't do anything about in her current state. Better to just stay on the floor, not moving. "You two go. Send Amelia." It hurt that Matt didn't want to stay, but she tried to push it away. There were more important things than her hurt feelings right now.
"Cane?" Matt asked, reaching for Darcy and using a light touch following her arm to her shoulder and then jaw before giving her a kiss. "It'll be okay," he murmured with more certainty than he felt, though if he was referring to her simply not feeling like puking or this entire situation, he didn't say.
Darcy moved just enough to lean into the touch. "Upstairs, I think. Clint'll have to guide you."
"We'll get Amelia up here for you ASAP, Darce," Clint promised, letting Matt hold onto him however he was most comfortable.
At 12, Matt used to hold Clint's elbow, their height difference making the shoulder impractical until Matt caught up in height a few years later. Now, the shoulder was best and he leveraged himself up, trying to stay in contact with the other man at all times. Not being able to feel how large a space was was disconcerting. Not being able to hear everything and feel the vibration against his skin made him think he was alone. That was terrifying. "You'll be okay," he tried to be reassuring, though the words were probably anything but.
"Always am," Darcy muttered, flapping one hand in a shooing motion at Clint. She knew she couldn't sleep. But once they left, she might be able to do an embarrassing crawl to at least the nearest trash can. Better yet, the bathroom. She wanted - well. What she wanted wasn't important, because she couldn't have it right now. So what she needed was the two of them to leave. "Go."
"This is a bad plan," Clint muttered to himself, then carefully led Matt around Darcy's prone form. His concern for Matt buried his reservations about Darcy's situation. He trusted her enough to believe her when she said she'd be okay as long as they sent someone, but it didn't sit well with him, leaving her concussed on the floor. "Fucking - fuck," Clint said, leading Matt out of the suite and down the hall, eyes open despite the pain lancing through his skull.
