A/N: So here we go folks! Clint, Loki, and the whole gang are involved in this adventure, though I suppose most of the story revolves around the two characters. Don't worry though! There will be science bros stuff and Clintasha stuff (not a lot, I think) and lovable ol' Steve and big, beautiful Thor to keep us going!

No slash, but bromances of epic proportions, me thinks.

This fic is T rated, mostly for coarse language (a little bit of blood and gore too). What can I say, Clint likes to swear. Later reasonable whump (ie: not whump for whump's sake, and not overly done) on Loki or Clint or both. If you think it needs to be moved up a rating, then please tell me. I don't wanna get in trouble! :'(

But without further Ado (or is it Adieu? whatever), let's get this road on the show! ;)

...

Clint sighed as he stared up into the blackness of his ceiling of his room in Stark Tower. It had been only been a couple of weeks since the attack on Manhattan, only a couple of weeks since he had killed his fellow agents under Loki's thrall. Sleep had been elusive to the archer since then, every time he closed his eyes, the pained and confused faces of those he killed would tattoo themselves to his eyelids.Even now, he could remember the feeling of empty coldness—of helpless detachment—when he would loose an arrow only for it to lodge itself into another person's chest.

When he did get sleep, there were the nightmares. Sometimes they would be memories, sometimes they would evolve. Maybe this time he killed Natasha, maybe Stark. More than once he saw himself driving an arrow through Coulson's throat.

Sighing again, Barton rolled over and grabbed a bottle of pills from his nightstand. He didn't like drugs. They took him off his game, inhibited his senses which were so important to his job. But so was sleep. If he didn't get rest, he could make a horrible mistake the next time he was in battle. One that cost him his life, or worse: somebody else's. And he would not allow himself to kill another one of his friends.

Swallowing the sleeping aids, he lay back down and tried to clear his mind. Didn't kids count sheep? Maybe he'd try that.

One dumb sheep over the fence, two dumb sheep, three, four…. When he got to 325, his lids finally shut, and sleep mercifully took him.

...

He was on the Helicarrier again. He was in the room that held the containment cell for the Hulk. Where they had held Loki for his brief stint aboard. Once again, Clint felt the chill of detachment wash over him as he unleashed his bow from his back and readied an arrow.

The cell was empty, and just as Barton was about to leave the room to look for somebody, anybody who was in the way of his goal, Coulson walked in.

He looked how he always did: trim suit; well combed, if thinning, hair; calculating, yet warm, features. Barton didn't hesitate. He loosed the arrow and it found its mark, like it always did, right in the handler's heart. A flash of confusion and betrayal flashed across the dying man's face as he sank to the floor. As Hawkeye was about to step over him to continue on his way, a smooth cultured voice intoned from behind him.

"Well, that's certainly not how I remember it."

Like oxygen to a drowning man, Clint could feel again, and he cried out in anguish as he sank to the floor and pulled the arrow out of his dead mentor and friend, not caring for whomever it was that spoke behind him.

"Come now…" the voice droned in irritation, "Surely you will not weep for something you did not do? That seems rather ridiculous, don't you agree?"

Anger now surged in the archer, and he spun around to find Loki standing in the middle of the cell, hands behind his back, and a small smirk on his face.

"YOU!" Clint growled, and he charged the clear glass, banging his fists against it, only to be rewarded with a dull thud.

"Yes, me. My, but you are perceptive," the god rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to kill you." Barton went to the control panel to open the cell, but every code he entered read as an error, and nothing would work to give him access to his prey.

"Unlikely," Loki drawled. "Hm, but are you not curious as to why I am here at all?" he asked raising an eyebrow.

The archer howled with anger, "What do you mean?! This was your fucking plan! But I got my head back, so now instead of letting you go, I'm going to shove an arrow through your damn eye!"

"Don't be an idiot!" Loki snapped, "You are dreaming, you fool! Look around you! Where is your beloved Coulson?"

Dreaming? Anger and confusion fought for dominance as he looked to the corner where he had only moments ago plunged an arrow deep into Coulson's chest. Nothing. No body, no blood.

Then suddenly he remembered. Remembered everything. New York, Coulson, Loki's capture.

A dream?... And Loki was in it. And he knew it was a dream. What?

He shook his head as if to clear it. "How are you here?! Are you in my head again?"

Loki chuckled, his frustration from earlier seemingly gone, "I knew you were a smart one when I took you under my wing. But no, I am not 'in your head' in the manner that you are speaking. The last time was…unfortunate. Unnecessary. Crude." Loki seemed to be getting angrier as he paced around his small room.

Putting his own rage towards the god on the back burner, Clint interrupted Loki's ramblings, "Wait, wait." Clint's mind raced to understand everything. He was actually still stuck on the whole dream thing, but he'd deal with that later. "Aren't you supposed to be in Asgard? Getting spanked by your dad or something?"

Loki froze in his pacing and sent a cold glare at the archer, "He is not my father" then he took a breath and continued, "but yes. I am currently in the dungeons of Asgard, awaiting my trial."

Clint rubbed the back of his neck, "Then what the fuck is this about?"

Loki paused and grinned, "Indeed. You took the words directly from my mouth. And they say I have the silver tongue."

"So, you didn't just magic yourself into my head?" Clint asked frustrated.

Loki raised an eyebrow, "Really? You think they'd let me just stroll around here with my magic available? I still have those damnable shackles on me which block my magic. And with that degrading muzzle, I can't even ply my defense!" Loki clenched his fists.

Clint huffed apathetically. "Good. You deserve what you're getting."

Loki charged the glass in front of Barton, coming face to face with him. His face was red, and his features contorted, "You know nothing of what I deserve!" Slowly he calmed, but a sneer remained on his sophisticated features. "Leastways not what I deserve from the 'All-But-One' Father."

"Yeah, whatever. I don't give a shit about your family issues, just tell me how you're in my head so I can get rid of you."

Loki took a deep breath and smoothed out unseen wrinkles on his much more simple black and green leather armor. His features transformed back into nonchalance. "You'd be surprised how boring it is to simply wait in a small chamber with no magic, no speech, nothing. So I meditate. And lo and behold, here I am: In my first, most loyal, minion's conscience." He sent a condescending smirk to Barton, then glanced away back into thought. "Tell me this: is that curséd scepter still on Midgard?"

Cursed? He took that thing everywhere when he was on Earth, and now suddenly he didn't like it? "Like I'd tell where your favorite play toy is."

Apparently the god liked to roll his eyes. "That's a yes. Do remember, you are talking to a god." Loki smiled mockingly at the archer, who flipped him off. "Oh how I missed you, my dear Barton," he replied with a chuckle, then schooled his features into thought as he began to pace, his hand to his mouth in concentration.

Barton sat down against the wall, examining his arrows, wondering when he was going to wake up. Maybe he could use an explosive one to get at the God of Mischief and Assholery, and proceed to beat the ever-living shit out of him. Though the cell was probably just as resistant to damage as the real life one, and the archer would most likely just blow himself up, killing himself in his own dream. Loki'd laugh at that. Asshole.

As he tested the sharpness of an arrow, he realized that Loki had actually never been in any of his nightmares. Barton wondered at this. You'd think the guy who caused you to kill your friends would've been an obvious choice for nightmare fuel. Clint was furious at the god, angered beyond all reason at him, but he wasn't afraid of him.

"The Tesseract is on Asgard," Loki finally began, stopping in the middle of the compartment, his fore finger rubbing the nail of his thumb in concentration, "and the spear, which contains part of the Tesseract is on Midgard. There's our connection, Barton. A little obvious, I should think. Must be your conscious which dulls my mind." He sent the archer an egotistical smirk.

Barton glared at him, "So what? You're telling me that the Tesseract and your spear are connecting us or something?"

"I'm glad you cleared that up for us," Loki drawled sarcastically. "I was so confused before."

"Fuck you" Clint replied.

"I must say though," the god sat down on the small bench in the back of the cell, "this is much more entertaining than my small little dungeon in Asgard."

"Yeah, I bet you were beginning to miss the sound of your own voice" Clint retorted.

"You have no idea." Loki began glancing around the room, which was slowly becoming filled with a fog, "Ah, but I see our little visit is nearing its end. This was fun, wasn't it? Same time tomorrow, then?"

"Go fuck your—"

...

Clint slowly opened his eyes, the bright sun warming his face. Grabbing his cell phone, he saw that it was 9:15 am. That was the most sleep he'd gotten since the attack. Sleeping pills were apparently a good choice for his body, but maybe not for his mind. What the hell was Loki doing in his head again?

Time to see where that spear was, and if he could break it.

...

A/N: You like? You don't have to. I can't control you! (or maybe I can get Loki's scepter and control all of you and make you like it... mwahahahaha! *ahem*

Fun Fact: How many Loki clones does it take to screw in a light bulb?

Answer: None. He would not lower himself to perform such a menial and degrading task. Besides, who needs a light bulb when you have magic!