Warnings: none
Characters: Clint, Natasha
Genres: alternate universe, hurt/comfort | Smut: none
Word count: 2188 | Status: work in progress
The irony tastes like copper in his mouth, like dust and ashes: if he only had his wings, he could fly out of this mess. But he can’t because he’s lost them, because they’ve been torn from his back and the scars have never quite healed; because for twenty years he’s only had bloody designs dripping down his back, had the mockery of reality, of the past. The car starts to tip farther over the edge even as Clint makes it to the window, makes it out from under the crumpled roof with hands slashed with glass and a heart lashed by fury.My comment: Another beautiful Clintasha AU. Ever wonder what it’d be like if one of them has wings?
It’s still not going to be enough.
The valley is wide below him, deep and welcoming and echoing, and he thinks almost absently of a sea he cannot cross over, of knowing at last he is sinking instead of swimming. Maybe he has been, all along.
With a metal-tearing groan his car shifts again, rocking forward as its rear wheels scrape against the loose rocks. Those are sent tumbling down in a mockery of an advance guard, a demonstration of gravity, and still Clint refuses to close his eyes. He doesn’t want to see his life flash before them; he remembers it all, all too well.
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