Clint surfaced and slid back into a drugged sleep several times before he was able to keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds. He finally woke and stayed that way as a nurse was changing one of the IV bags. She bustled out and moments later a barrage of doctors descended. They at least put in his hearing aids which helped.
He waited through the poking and prodding, silent. He ignored the questions they asked as they checked his bandages and explained his injuries. Phil was supposed to be here. They had a system thanks to a kidnapping that had kept him drugged while trying to fake him being in Shield medical.
Phil or Natasha were supposed to be here. They were supposed to give him their codes before he escaped medical on principle. A few escapes had led to the rumor around Shield that Clint hated Medical but the problem was that he could not relax until he was sure it was real. The last thing he was expecting was for Director Fury to sweep into his room with a scowl.
“I don’t have time for your PTSD moments, Agent.” He snapped, coming to a stop a few feet away from the bed. “What do you need, Agent Barton? I don’t have all day.”
“Authorization code, sir.” Clint said, voice rough. If someone was faking at being the Director they were doing a hell of a job.
“And Agent Coulson would have this code?”
“I need you to give me some time, Agent. The Avengers are currently protecting Chicago from orange slime monsters. Agent Coulson is with them dealing with the ground crews.”
Clint gave a short nod and sank back into his pillows. He wasn’t sure he could escape anyway. The doctors had put in an epidural and he was numb from the waist down. Fury eyed him with a frown before sweeping back out.
Clint fought to stay awake as a nurse came back in and turned on the TV, showing the news broadcast of the team fighting slime monsters. She offered to give him a bolus of pain medication before she changed his dressings but he refused. He needed to stay awake until he received the code. He watched as she cleaned and bandaged his body from just below his ribs to his knees. The wounds were a criss crossing mass of swollen red flesh and stitches.
“You were lucky not to need skin grafts.” She murmured as she pulled his blankets back up and cleaned up the soiled bandages.
Lucky; right. He had lost about six inches of intestine and had most of his groin and thighs mutilated. He’d almost bleed to death before he was found, another thirty minutes or so and the team would have been body bagging him. He was going to have months of rehabilitation just to get back to sparring practice, much less missions. He was going to be on desk duty for at least a year until the doctors were certain he would not be spilling his intestines across the mats.
Fury came back in as the cleanup of the fight was being announced. Clint watched as the doctor stopped him for a moment. Probably making sure that the Director knew that he was refusing additional pain meds.
“Sir.” Clint said, his voice thick with exhaustion.
“Bravo Uniform Delta Delta Hotel Alpha.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Take your damn pain meds, Agent.” Fury said gesturing for the nurse to proceed.
“Yes, sir.” Clint agreed, his voice already slurring as he stopped fighting the darkness edging his vision. He watched as the nurse adjusted the pain pump before letting the wash of drug pull him under.