AN: I have slight dyslexia, mostly with numbers, but every now and then I'll switch the order of nouns in a sentence. I almost never notice it in my own writing (it looks correct to me), so if you notice, please feel free to point it out to me in a review so that I can fix it.

Clint's eyes crack open. The tile is no longer cool and soothing, but uncomfortably warm and slick with sweat where his skin touches it. The light in the room is steady. Sirens pierce the air, agitating his, most likely, concussed head. He had heard Tony's voice. …Something about shawarma.

The word brings up memories of weekend passes in Kuwait; bored soldiers filling unsuspecting roadside restaurants past capacity, overpaying for warm beer that the owners only stock for them and never questioning the meat used. He is pretty sure he has eaten camel, horse, cat, probably dog. Memories of Natasha sitting across from him, in a swarming marketplace in Cairo, in an almost abandoned shop in an almost abandoned town in Romania, in places he never knew the name of. His stomach growls.

"Clint?" Her voice momentarily replaces the sirens. She sounds alright. Good. "Clint?" But worried. "Barton?"

He attempts to say 'Natasha,' but it comes out as a long groan.

"Barton?"

Damn his head hurts. "I fucking hate this job sometimes."

He hears Thor's deep rumble of a laugh, loud and jovial, from the chest more than the vocal chords, "where are you, archer?"

Clint looks around as much as possible without lifting his head, both inside the building and out, for a name or landmark. Nothing. "Got stuck working late at the office."

"Could you be a little more specific?" Steve. He sounds winded, tired.

"I'm in the building where Tony dropped me off. Or the one next to it. Not sure."

"Can you get to a window?"

Clint turns his head, resting his chin against the tile, and looks toward the window that he had breached. It is at least twenty feet away, although he cannot judge the distance well so close to the ground. His legs are useless, the left alternating between throbbing and stabbing pain and the muscles in the right jumping and twitching with exhaustion; he would have to army crawl. Across glass. He sighs. "Yeah, I can do that."

He can almost see Steve nodding, looking to the skyscrapers for any signs of him, "good, we'll-"

"He's lying." Nat. "Thor?"

"I will find him."

Clint is not embarrassed by his state of fatigue; everyone has their limits, but he cannot help but be annoyed by how energetic the demi god sounds. At least the captain sounds tired. And Tony must be; Natasha told him once that the only time the man ever shut up was when he was exhausted. Still, he would prefer to not be found sprawled out face down on the floor like a drunken teenager. He spends the next few minutes trying to sit up, succeeding just as Thor appears in his broken window frame, awkwardly sliding through. They nod, and Thor makes his way over, glass shattering with a satisfying crunch under his boots. He stops a few feet away from Clint and considers him, head tilting slightly.

"I remember you, archer, you and your bow. You were sent to kill me."

Clint winces. "Yeah, sorry about that."

Thor shakes his head. "Do not apologize, I was a different man then, filled with rage and hate."

A nod. Clint looks at the blood on his arms; dried and flaking. "I was a different man, too."

Thor sighs, understanding crossing his face, and Clint is surprised by how willingly the man shows his emotions. "And do not feel guilty for your actions under my brother's control." Thor pulls out his earpiece and holds Clint's gaze. "I know you remember all. I know my words will not help, but you spared my life when you had no need to. You are a good man."

"Your brother said something similar, before..." Clint rests a hand over the center of his chest.

"Loki exceeds at reading people. He was not wrong."

Clint shakes his head. "I'm a trained assassin. And Coulson ordered me to."

Thor shakes his head. "The decision was still yours. And you do what most cannot. It is a difficult burden to bear; taking the lives of others, even if it is to protect." Both men look at Mjolnir as Thor's fingers tighten around the leather. "But you do not bear it alone. Come, the red headed woman is quite worried for you." Thor puts his earpiece back in and extends his hand, pausing to take in Barton's arm. "Perhaps…"

Clint grasps Thor's arm above the wrist and attempts to pull himself up, but he is too weak, and as Thor's hand grips his own arm he winces, but does not let go. "I've been through worse."

Thor nods as he picks the smaller man up, "a good man, indeed, Clint Barton."