Imagine If You Assembled the Avengers: Volume 1

I'm Not Fine (Clint Barton x reader)

You never realized how hard it was to apply eyeliner when you couldn't stop sneezing. The danger to your sight was real; you were one good sneeze from impaling yourself. "It's not worth it," you mumbled, throwing the pen on the sink, succumbing to yet another fit of coughing.

It was your first anniversary of dating Clint, and you had dinner reservations in only an hour. You wanted to go, you really did, but you felt like hell and your body didn't seem to realize what a big day this was. The cough wouldn't stop and you began to feel dizzy. Hurrying over to the couch, you flopped down and threw a blanket over yourself, buried in its warmth and surrounded by piles of used Kleenex scattered across the floor.

~~~

"Hey, Cap, have you heard from (Y/N) at all? She was supposed to meet me here like a half an hour ago, and I can't get ahold of her."

"Sorry, Barton, haven't heard anything here," Steve said from the other end of the line. "You want us to get a search going?"

Clint sighed and rubbed his hand over his cheek, taking a moment to actually consider the offer. "Nah, thanks. I'll head over to her place. But, if she's not there, be ready, alright?" He closed the call and shoved his phone hastily in his pocket. Grabbing his wallet, he threw a few bills down on the table and rushed out the door.

When he reached your door he pressed his ear against it, listening for anything unusual, always expecting the worst possibility rather than something simple, like the fact that you fell asleep and had missed your date. Nope, Clint was an Avenger, and catastrophe was always the first option in his mind.

He knocked a few times, each time a bit louder than the one before, but when he got no reply he decided it was time for action, stepping back and thrusting his foot into the handle to crack the frame and gain entry into your apartment.

The sound jolted you awake, sitting up so quickly that your head began to spin again. Once you realized what had happened, you grabbed your head and fell back against the pillow. "Dammit, Clint. What are you doing?"

"I might ask the same thing, (Y/N)." He looked around the room, stepping around the mess and pulling the blanket down from over your face. "Jesus, why didn't you just call me if you were this sick?" He put his hand on your forehead, pulling back after only a few seconds, then grabbed his phone from his pocket. "You're on fire, (Y/N). I really wish you would've called."

"My phone's way over there." You groaned, followed by another fit of sneezing. "I get dizzy when I stand up. I'm really sorry."

"Hey, Steve. Yeah, I found her." He glanced at you then turned away, his voice getting lower, "hey, I need a favor, if you don't mind..."

~~~

The next time you woke up, you found Clint on the couch with you, with your head resting in his lap. You felt a little disoriented at first, but quickly regained your senses when he put his hand on your forehead again.

"Better," he mumbled, "but not great."

"Hey," you whispered, your voice hoarse and cracking from all of the coughing you had done throughout the day. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I only laid down for a minute..."

Wait, was he...cooking? Your attention shifted at the thought, and you forced yourself to sit up and look around for the source of the aroma coming from all around. It was the first time you could smell anything all day, and you actually felt a little bit hungry. But you had no idea whether Clint could cook or not, so now your curiosity was in full swing.

"Barton, are you cooking something?"

"Yes, the man can cook. Don't look so surprised, it hurts my masculinity." Your boyfriend laughed and stood up, reaching down to smooth out your messy hair and tuck a strand behind your ear. "I had a little help, though, if we're gonna be totally honest in this relationship. Steve picked up about thirty kinds of tea that apparently help anything from a runny nose to the verge of death, and he gave me his mom's recipe for this soup that he swears cures everything." He stepped into the kitchen to be sure it was ready, "so if it's no good, it's on him, not me."

"Well, I'm sure he would know," you mumbled under your breath, gaining a new empathy for Steve and the stories of his pre-serum life.

"Hmm?" Clint murmured, carefully handing you a cup of Steve's supposed magical concoction.

"Nothing." You held the cup up to your nose and breathed deeply, amazed that you were able to enjoy even that. "Well, we're off to a good start." The soup was nothing short of a miracle, soothing your aching throat and warming you from the inside out. It was almost too hot, but you didn't care; it was perfect.

"Oh my god, I could kiss that man."

Clint coughed a bit, pretending to choke on his own meal, "you do realize that I'm right here?"

Lowering your cup only slightly, you smiled and gave him a wink, "still."

"Well then," he set his cup down and jumped up from the couch, pulling his phone from his pocket, "let's get him right over here!" He began to laugh when your eyes widened in shock. "Just so you know, it might be his first kiss since 1945. He's gonna be so excited!"

"Barton, don't you dare!" It took all of your strength and a little bit of dizziness, but you lunged forward to reach out to grab his phone. When we pulled away, you stood up to chase him. "No, no, no, no, don't do it! Give me that phone!" It only took a minute or so for you to feel the fatigue of being on your feet, so you saw an opportunity and hurried to take it, jumping from an ottoman onto his back, knocking him to the ground.

"Don't get me sick!"

"Then give me the phone!"

Clint was still laughing as he pointed to the phone, having flown from his hands when you knocked him down. You closed your eyes and groaned when you heard the familiar voice on the other end of the line.

"Guys? Sounds like the soup worked? Hello?"