Marvel Imagines

Don't Blame Yourself (Clint Barton X Reader)

A/N: Don't even ask me what this is, because I don't even know. But all I know is that I'm crying and is late for me. This is sad. Just sad. That's it. I don't even know if it makes sense, but all I know is that it's sad. I am so sorry.

****

A cold wind bites at your exposed shoulders, only half covered by a thin blanket that's huddled tightly around you, the warmth from the fireplace in front of you vanishing for a moment as you turn towards the source of the chilly draft.

The door to the safehouse you're currently cooped up in creaks as your Partner slams it shut, locking it against the freezing winter wind howling against it and rattling the windowpanes.

"There isn't a single thing alive out there," The newcomer grumbles with a stomp of his feet to remove the excess snow from them, before slinging his bow from over his shoulder and setting it by the now firmly shut door, along with his almost empty quiver of arrows.

You count four to be exact.

Sighing softly with a nod, you hug the blanket tighter around your gradually re-heating figure, hands extending out towards the crackling flames.

"So I guess that means we're eating our last MREs?" You hum lowly from where you're still seated on the floor, the sound of a kettle whistling meeting your ears.

"I guess so," Comes the slightly gruff reply, followed by a set of light footsteps nearing your side.

Raising your gaze to meet his, you attempt to muster a small smile of thanks as he hands you a warm cup of tea along with your food packet, which you internally grimace at the sight of.

"To think our last meals are gonna taste like sawdust," You chuckle half-heartedly, your Partner joining in as he joins you on the floor. "But hey, at least I'm not dying alone somewhere."

"You can say that again," The man at your side agrees, tearing open his own packet of food and adding a bit of his tea to the contents - something you'd both been doing to add a bit of extra flavour, or at least attempt to.

All you can do is chuckle softly once more, digging into your own meal while the flames in front of you dazzle your vision, making your already exhausted body long for sleep even more.

You can feel everything in your body crying out against the lull, but you're too fatigued to listen against it, and soon enough, you find your head meeting someone's shoulder.

That someone being your Partner, your best friend, and maybe even in some other future, your lover.

That someone being the man sitting beside you in whatever safehouse you're cooped up in, sheltering from the brutal snowstorm that has been lasting for days on end.

That someone by the name of Clint Barton.

"You know," You begin wearily, your own voice echoing back at you riddled with fatigue. "I'm really glad you're here, Clint. I really am."

The shoulder your head is resting on raises slightly, only to almost instantly relax seconds later.

"Me too," Is all the former SHIELD agent murmurs, a supportive arm being wrapped around your waist as your eyelids become increasingly heavier.

"Do you still think they'll get to us?"

A thick beat of silence passes, a heavier gust of wind shaking the nearby windowpane and sending a chilly draft your way which makes you shiver.

"No," Clint practically whispers, gaze flicking to meet yours, a shine of guilt evident in his blue eyes. "No, I don't think they will."

His words just spur the growing fatigue onwards, your eyes finally shutting, your hearing beginning to dampen.

"That's okay."

With those words, you feel your body go limp, unable to support itself anymore.

Your Partner feels this too, and softly lays you down against the uneven wooden flooring, the weight of blankets falling upon you.

"Hey, hey, hey," You hear him murmur urgently, emotion growing increasingly thick in his wavering tone. "It's okay. You're alright."

"I don't really want to go this way," You muse aloud, voice suddenly thick with the rising fear that engulfs you as you lay there blind, all other senses failing slowly. "I would've thought I'd die from a bullet wound, an explosion... something heroic, you know?"

A soft "yeah," reaches your ears, the warmth of your Partner's breath on your cheek raising a sadness along with the fear.

"But this? This is-"

Your voice cracks once more, a sudden flurry of hoarse coughs shaking your fading figure.

Silence settles within the safehouse, the pressure of Clint's hand grasping yours barely resonating with you.

"I don't want to go..." You whisper, breaths becoming increasingly slower, your thoughts following along.

"I don't want you to go either."

The absolute pain in your Partner's voice earns a choked sob from you, a shaky sigh sounding from above you and something damp landing on your cheek making your heart ache even more.

"I'm sorry I couldn't have gotten us out of this mess," Clint sighs heavily, a no likely watery frown upon his lips, his blue eyes likely shining with tears.

The same blue eyes that you could always find yourself getting lost in.

The same blue eyes you always felt at home with.

"It's not your fault. Don't do that to yourself, Clint," You rasp, feeling that nagging feeling of nothingness creeping up on you too quickly for your liking.

"If we hadn't have stayed the extra day none of this would've-"

You wheeze in an attempt at a sigh, straining all your muscles in your body to squeeze his hand firmly placed in yours.

"You've got to promise me you won't blame yourself for this," You urge, words beginning to slur, the inky darkness of the unknown rushing towards you now, faster than before.

"I-"

"Promise me."

"I..." Your Partner pauses, yet another shaky sigh falling from his lips along with a strangled cry. "I promise, Y/N."

And as your name distantly meets your now failing senses, you force your lips to twitch into one last thin smile, the looming darkness now springing upon you and taking you down with it.

"Thank you."

The man holding your limp figure bites his lip, utter agony and something beyond grief chorusing through him as a silent cry of pain is pulled from his lips.

The tears fall freely now, staining the material of the thin blankets wrapped around her lifeless body, his hand instinctively retreating from hers and back towards him, hugging himself in vain.

"It's all my fault... It's all my fault."