Chapter Text
Of all the things Clint had planned to do that day, waking up with a fat ass headache and propped up against a metal pole with a searing pain down his wrists certainly was not one of them. There was that sluggish, floaty feeling in his head that made him suspect he might have stumbled into the wrong party and ended up in the wrong person's bed with the wrong kind of happy drugs. His nose was blocked and he had passed out with his mouth open so he could feel a puddle of drool soaking the front of his favourite shirt.
The worst part out of it all was the complete lack of memory of anything that might have happened prior which wasn’t the usual case when it came to spending too much time in bed with that hot chick he met at the bar. Maybe he’d gotten drunk? No that couldn’t be it, Clint didn’t drink. He’d spent nine years of his life being used as a living punching bag by his alcoholic dad, he wasn’t sure if he ever would. He’d had one sip of Natasha’s vodka at new years a couple years back, discovered he was a lightweight. Like a really, really, light, lightweight. Spent the rest of the night terribly tipsy and wondering why the hell his dad had even started drinking the vile stuff. Worst night of his life. Zero out of ten, do not recommend.
Clint ran his tongue feverishly over his dry, crusty ass lips and shivered. He hadn’t been joking about the drool. It felt like he’d been swimming in the stuff with how wet his shirt was. It took a long moment of puzzling out where he was with his eyes closed before he realised that his eyes were not actually closed. A thick layer of what he could only guess was wrapped tightly around his eyes. The fabric was thick enough that there was no light hitting his eyes whatsoever but thin enough that he could feel a soft breeze from wherever he was. Blindfolded? Damn, the chick must’ve been kinky.
“Ah, the Hawk is awake, hmm? Was wondering when you’d come back to me.”
Clint stiffened at the sudden drawling voice in his ears. Every bone in his body went from relaxed and content to alert and panicked within a matter of seconds. That definitely wasn’t the fun sexy time kind of voice. This one was significantly more threatening and Clint felt even the hair on his arms prickle in unease. He did a quick second rundown of what he could tell from his surroundings by his hearing alone. Mentally skipping a beat in relief when he realised his hearing aids were still sitting securely in his ears.
His arms were stretched uncomfortably above his head, something tight and painful was wrapped several times around his wrists and secured to what he could only figure was a rusty metal hook jutting out of the pole he was secured to. He’d just been unconscious so his head was resting, nestled in between his outstretched arms. His legs pretzeled awkwardly beneath him. He could feel more of the strange restraints entwining his shins where they met at the cross of his legs.
A hand cupped his chin and pulled his head out of his arms, running a finger along his lip. Clint could practically feel the delighted smile they gave him. He made a mental note of where he figured his captor was sitting, the harsh calluses on his hands. The chewed fingernails.
“Ah yes, and what a specimen you are Mr. Barton. What a specimen you are.”
A shiver ran down his spine and Clint found his fingers clenching automatically but he immediately cringed away from the movement when whatever was restraining his hands sliced painfully into his skin. The slow, sludgy feeling of blood began to trickle down his arms.
“I wouldn’t move too much if I were you, Mr. Barton.” His unseen captor tutted him condescendingly. “You see, we’re on a little bit of a budget here with what I had on hand to keep you here. I hope you understand.”
Clint grit his teeth as he shifted his hands into a more comfortable position that was less strain on whatever was restraining them. A groan of pain still managed to escape his lips and he jerked his chin out of his captors grip to slam it hard against the pole in response.
A hand cupped his forehead before he could slam it into the pole again. “Woah there, Mr. Barton. No more concussions on my watch.”
And then that same hand gripped the hair at the nape of Clint’s neck and backhanded Clint’s face so hard that his neck cracked sideways from the impact. Clint grunted at the pain, his teeth sinking into his lip in an effort to keep himself grounded.
“Stop moving so I can get the blindfold off. Goddammit Mr. Barton.”
Clint twisted in his captor's grip as they too gently for their previous interaction began to unravel the layer of fabric that was wound around his eyes. He blinked in frustration as he tried to get his eyes to adjust to the dim light that hit them when the blindfold fell away completely. Once they’d adjusted he began taking in his surroundings for possible escapes.
They were in what Clint could only describe as someone’s wine cellar, or a type of really small basement. There was a small staircase which Clint assumed led out of the place and on the far right hand corner was a thick barred steel door with several bolts holding it closed. It reminded Clint of a safe. Like a really big safe with bars instead of walls, but a safe all the same.
He continues searching the room until he finds his captor, stuttering at how normal they look. Brown hair cropped business short, clean shaven face, pale sickly looking skin in stark contrast to his piercing dark eyes. He’s wearing a business suit with a lab coat tied hastily over the front of it, even a stethoscope was hanging around his neck adding to the creepy doctor effect that his round metal framed glasses gave. On top of this, the guy is short. Like really short, Clint could easily be at least a foot taller than him if they were both standing.
“Who are you?” Clint rasps, surprised at how steady his voice is despite the dryness of his lips and throat.
His captor looks over the brim of his glasses at Clint, the creases beside his eyes crinkling. It makes Clint uneasy. This guy was just… a guy. He didn’t look anywhere close to the evil Clint had fought before. His jittery fingers yet calm voice…
“I am a doctor, Mr. Barton. That is all you need to know.”
“Is that some kind of Doctor Who reference?” He asked, jokingly. Cutting off however at the withering stare he received in response.
Clint scrambled for something to say, vaguely aware of his mouth being slightly parted in shock. This guy is just… a guy. Some regular boring ass doctor and here Clint is, tied up in his cellar.
“What do you want?” he tried instead, perhaps if he can reason with the man he can convince him that what he’s doing is very, very bad and maybe he’ll let Clint go.
“That is, unfortunately, classified information Mr. Barton. Although you seem rather perceptive so I wouldn’t put it against you to figure it out eventually.”
Clint found himself clenching his hands into fists again as the Doctor cupped his chin rather harshly and pulled his head to the side once more.
“Now, Mr. Barton. I am going to begin asking you a series of questions that it would be well within your best interests to answer me truthfully. Do we have an understanding?”
Clint grit his teeth, unsure how to respond. Biting back on the urge to shout fuck you and then deal with whatever the guy was going to do to him regardless of his cooporperation.
The doctor sighed ominously and Clint once again began to feel that shiver down his spine when his captor suddenly and without warning grabbed his pinky finger, sending pain lancing down his wrist and twisted it to its limit.
Clint couldn’t stop the groan of pain that he unwillingly gave the Doctor as his bone creaked in protest, very nearly breaking under the pressure. Pressing his head against the pole, both in frustration and in a desperate attempt to take his mind off of the growing pain in his finger. It was his right hand. He could still shoot with a broken pinky, this would be fine.
“Do we have an understanding Mr. Barton?”
Oh.
Clint gave him a shaky nod, half concealed by the way his head was buried in his arms. He heard the Doctor sigh, a split second before his grimy hand was being pressed against Clint’s mouth, cutting off his one supply of air due to his nose being blocked and trapping his shout of protest. The Doctor then twisted his finger until his hearing aids picked up on the crunch his bone made when it finally snapped. It hurt. It really fucking hurt, more than it should have and Clint let that be known by the choked noise of pain he let out from behind the guys hand. It didn’t matter, the sound barely made it past the guys makeshift hand gag, let alone the thick cement walls of the basement.
He curled his remaining fingers into a ball and jerked his face out of the Doctor’s grip, trying, and failing to pull against his bonds. Another sharp pain, this time lancing down his wrists brought his attention back to what exactly his restraints were. Upon first glance they just seemed to be regular metal handcuffs but upon closer examination Clint could see they were not handcuffs at all. The thing holding his wrists together was layers upon layers of thin metal wire bent in a figure eight around his wrists and then curled around the pole and then around all three again. As he had discovered while blindfolded, the metal was also hooked onto a hook that was welded to the pole holding Clint’s arms high above his head.
The wire was so tight that the thin strands of it sliced into Clint’s skin every single time he shifted, worse when he struggled and Clint could see trickles of blood dripping in patterns down his arms like spiderwebs. Or ink from an exploded pen. The lack of circulation in his fingers had caused them to go an ugly shade of blue which also explained why his broken pinky finger hurt so fucking much.
Then the Doctor was gripping Clint’s arms and holding them still while Clint jerked against him.
“Goddammit, Barton, keep still or you’re going to sever an artery.”
Clint bit down hard on his lip as the Doctor backhanded him again, his head cracking sideways at the hit and banging the tiniest semblance of rational thought into him again.
“Calm down, Mr. Barton. You’re hurting yourself.”
What the Fuck?
Clint gaped at the guy, almost in complete shock as he pulled out a dirty cloth and wiped the blood from his arms. Coaxing the bloody wires out of the way ever so slightly and then dripping some sort of liquid onto them.
“This’ll sting,” the Doctor warned a little too late as the antiseptic pulsed like fire through the lacerations in his wrists. Clint’s teeth sunk back into his lip and he pressed his head back against the pole in pain as the Doctor began fiddling around with his broken finger, strapping some kind of medical tape around his pinky and his ring finger to splint the two together.
When the pain had dulled down to a manageable throb, Clint pulled his head out his arms to stare the Doctor down. “What do you want?” He rasped, pulling his tongue sickly off of his teeth as he spoke.
The Doctor frowned, as if confused. “I have already told you that, I want you to answer my questions truthfully. I would much rather not have to go through what we just did again. So I suggest just doing as I say, I would prefer you in one piece by the end of the day.”
Clint carefully stored the information that it was hopefully still daytime away and pressed his lips together, “alright. Go ahead.”
The Doctor smiled, criss crossing his legs comfortably in front of Clint like they were preschoolers about to start an activity in group work.
“Okay.” The Doctor began. He reached behind himself to pull out a notebook and pen before continuing. “How old were you when you started losing your hearing? Or were you born deaf?”
Clint was, for the millionth time that night, lost for words. He’d been expecting some sort of demand for SHIELD codes, or Nick Fury’s whereabouts. There was nothing in his SHIELD training for torture and questioning for personal questions.
“Do you need new batteries for your hearing aids?” The Doctor questioned. “Or are you choosing again to ignore me.”
Clint’s eyes immediately flickered to his fingers and then back to the Doctor’s face, the Doctor almost seemed to smirk. Clint shook his head, “I’m not ignoring you. I’m just trying to figure out how to respond.”
“It is a simple question.”
“It could be a trick question. One doesn’t usually go to the effort to kidnap a highly trained assassin and then torture him just to ask when he went deaf. It’s not exactly the type of stuff I’m used to.”
The Doctor sighed, “there is no trick to the question. I am simply a doctor, trying to conduct research to expand my field. Does that answer your question?”
“Can I call you David?” Clint asked suddenly. Twisting his hands in their bonds, trying to regain the feeling in the tips of his fingers. Wincing when the metal sliced into his wrists once more. “You know, like the actor. David Tennant? Because he plays The Doctor?”
The Doctor. David, Clint decided on, sighed in exasperation when he caught sight of the new addition to Clint’s sticky, bloody arms. “I wish you would stop moving and making yourself bleed, Mr. Barton. It is not my wish to deal with metal poisoning. The restraints were not meant to harm you. They are merely a result of my low budget, what I had lying around my house at the time or your arrival.”
Clint wished his memory hadn’t failed him. He wished he could figure out when or how exactly he had ended up in the stupid ass situation, tied to a pole with the strangest choice of restraints he had ever seen and being asked personal questions about his hearing that he really didn’t want to answer.
David gripped one of his fingers again, this time on his left hand and Clint hitched in a breath of fear as this time it was his index finger. He needed that one.
“It is not my intention to torture you Mr. Barton.”
“Yeah, well I’m getting mixed signals here.”
“Answer my question and I will not have to. Mr. Barton, when did you lose your hearing?”
Clint bit down on his lip as David twisted his finger ever so slightly.
“Okay, Okay! Do you wanna hear about the first time or the second time?”
David paused, “you have lost your hearing twice?”
Clint wiped his face on his shoulder, “yeah, the first time was temporary.”
“How old were you?”
Clint grit his teeth, it was all he could do to keep himself from jerking his hand out of David’s grip. “Six.”
“What happened?”
“My father knocked me over,” Clint paused to steady his voice. “I hit my head on the coffee table.”
“And the second time?”
“Circus cannon went off too early. Too close to my head, I nearly died.”
The grip on his finger disappeared and Clint opened his eyes that he hadn’t realised were squeezed closed. Breathing out a breath of relief at the sudden lack of pressure.
“That must have been hard, I am sorry.”
Clint bit his lip, “hardly remember it.” His brain going immediately back to escape routes and options. Natasha had surely noticed he was gone by now. If he waited long enough she would surely notice his disappearance. She’d come to get him.
“What percentage of hearing loss is it?”
Clint’s attention was brought back to David who was squinting thoughtfully at him over his glasses. Clint shrugged, haven’t been to check on it since I joined shield. Probably eighty, ninety percent though. Enough that I can’t hear shit without my aids.” He decided to count his blessings that David wasn’t asking about anything he couldn’t answer. Personal questions, while difficult to think about, were easy to give up given time. Clint could afford to give up that information if it meant keeping himself out of torture long enough to find a way out.
David finished writing down his notes into his notebook and then turned his head up to smile at Clint. “Thank you, Mr. Barton. Now, I unfortunately have to leave you for the moment to run a few errands. I hope you understand.”
Clint’s ears pricked in interest, this was good. If David could leave Clint could figure out an escape. He was in a basement, maybe someone would hear him if he yelled loud enough. Or he could reach something to cut the wires.
“I have wrapped these wires in a way that I know for certain they will not come off, no matter how hard you try Mr, Barton. So I need vocal confirmation that you will not try to get them off because you will succeed in nothing but hurting yourself.”
Clint nodded surprisingly quickly, if he could just get the guy to leave already. “Yeah, I won’t. I promise.”
David nodded back earnestly, “good. Now if you’ll hold still for me, we can get this over without further damage. I do, however, apologise in advance for any discomfort this may cause.”
Clint cocked his head in question, his eyes quickly widening in horror as David produced a half empty roll of the same wire entangling Clint’s hands and began to make for his mouth.
“Hold on, you don’t need to gag me.”
David shook his head sorrowfully as he entangled his fingers in the hair at the base of Clint’s neck and dragged his head backwards. “I would like not to, but this basement is not exactly soundproof and while I don’t live very close to other people, I would prefer for you not to waste your voice on meaningless screaming. Hold still, I will not hesitate to hurt you further if you don’t.”
“No wait!” Clint found himself begging, “my nose is blocked, I can’t breathe through it. If you gag me-”
He broke off in a stream of muffled curses as David thrust the dirty rag he’d used to wipe Clint’s arms with into his mouth instead. The fabric soaking up all of the saliva in Clint’s mouth and filling it with the metallic taste of blood instead. David frowned as Clint began to thrash in his grip, desperately trying to breathe around the obstruction in his mouth. Any rational thought in his head gone from the sheer panic that he might asphyxiate right there and then.
After a quick moment of contemplation, David moved from his spot in front of Clint and instead moved behind him to straddle Clint’s back with his knees and press the balls of his feet into Clint’s thighs. Rendering his lower body immobile as David readjusted his grip on Clint’s hair and dug his other hand into the pressure points on his jaw. Forcing a line of metal in between his teeth and holding the rag in his mouth at the back of his throat. He bent the metal several more times around Clint’s jaw, the stuff so tight that Clint could feel it gouging into the corners of his mouth and his cheeks. Blood dripped down his chin and soaking into his shirt.
David only paused when Clint’s struggling began to fade off and his chest began heaving in desperate breaths of air. Gargled choking noises coming from deep within his throat as he jerked against David’s grip. Only then did the Doctor begin to look the slightest bit concerned.
“Hold your breath, Mr. Barton.” He instructed and Clint’s panicked brain whited out over that because how?
And then David was pinching his index finger and thumb over Clint’s nose and tipping his head backwards and Clint couldn’t breathe at all . He thrashed in the Doctor’s grip wanting to scream get off, get off, get off!
Then the pressure on his nose was gone and the blood on Clint’s face was added to with a thick stream of snot and mucus that flooded from his nose. He heaved in a few desperate gulps of air through his nose. Practically sobbing in relief as he sagged against David’s gentle hands that were rubbing calming circles into his back.
“You’re okay, Mr. Barton. You’re okay. Quick breath in and out for me okay? In and out.”
Clint struggled to breath in sync with David, aware that he was crying and his wrists were bleeding and his mouth was bleeding and his face was covered in blood, tears and snot.
“I’m sorry, I completely forgot one of the effects of Rohypnol was congestion. That was my fault. I will remember next time but I unfortunately cannot let this delay my departure, I need you to hold still.”
Then David was winding another layer of wires around Clint’s mouth, the pain dragging a whimper from Clint’s lips even as David shushed him.
“You’re okay, you’re alive. You’re not going to be alone for too long. I promise.”
And then there was the sound of wire cutters and David was twisting the end of the wire around the rest of the makeshift gag and Clint was too focused on fucking breathing to notice when David began threading another wire through the ones on Clint’s face and then attaching him to the pole with several more loops of the stuff until it was too late and Clint couldn’t move without risking more damage to his mouth.
He still risked a jerk against the bonds, another wave of tears streaming from his eyes as his lips sliced open further and David ran a fond hand through his hair.
“I will be back in a few hours,” he promised. “With better restraints, a proper key to my vault and some food. I will also treat your injuries. Do not worry.” Then he was standing and Clint was releasing a long, panicked keening noise at the thought of being left like this. There was no way to call for help or get himself out of this without risk of killing himself. David couldn’t just leave him here. Fuck, Clint had gotten himself in hundreds of thousands of tricky situations but never before had he been this panicked. This unsure of escape. Fuck.
The Doctor grimaced at him, kneeling down beside him and carefully readjusting Clint’s bound wrists so that the wire wasn’t as tight. Not that it made a difference, given how he was leashed to the pole by his fucking mouth like some sort of dog. Clint let out another pitiful and embarrassing moan of pain as he tried to readjust his legs as well but David merely shook his head. “I’ll massage any knots or crinks out of your back when I return. I promise. Any discomfort I may have inflicted can be reversed. If it turns out to be irreversible. That is your fault.”
Clint prodded at the rag in his mouth with his tongue, carefully avoiding the wires holding it in place and trying to unclog his throat and hopefully manage a plea for David not to leave him like this. Clint wasn’t usually one for begging but this was desperate measures. What if his nose blocked again? What if he contracted metal poisoning or some shit?
“P’se.” He managed to garble out over the gag and the mouthful of blood he couldn’t spit out. He moaned again as he twisted his wrists in the bonds at one last desperate attempt at escape.
David didn’t look back.