She couldn't help wondering how much more blood a living person could lose before they weren't so living anymore. She'd been though this before so many times she'd lost count. No, that was a lie she never forgot when someone died on her watch. She got on with her life and eventually they faded away. The job always came first. Always.

This was different. This was...him.

Natasha used every ounce of energy she had to get Barton out of the line of fire. Everything became such a clusterfuck so fast she hardly had time to think. No exit strategy. No back up. Clint may as well have been dead weight the way she had to carry him to the nearest shelter.

Natasha Romanoff stopped believing in God decades ago, but that didn't stop her from pulling Clint into the one place she knew wouldn't sell them out to get slaughtered. She looked up at the cross on the mission house door, pauses half a second before she kicked the door open and dragged them both inside.

It was a good thing she didn't care about God, because the next thought in her head would have pissed Him off. 

Fuck you, Budapest. Fuck you forever.