Thanks for all the reviews, alerts, and favorites! Here's chapter two.

Clint stood on his toes to get a better look at Loki's mouth. The stitches were tightly drawn, but the needlework was sloppy. That was definitely Thor's work. Clint grimaced as he turned Loki's head to the side. "What kind of father makes his own children do this to each other?"

Loki stared down at Clint, his dull gaze darkening at the reference to Odin. Green eyes bored into Clint's storm grey orbs as if to answer, "Not my father."

Blinking, Clint quickly released Loki's face and took a few steps back. He shouldn't be able to know what Loki was thinking. Maybe it was just because Loki's daddy issues had been well-broadcasted among the Avengers by Thor. The little voice at the back of Clint's head sneered again. Or, maybe it's because of what he did to you. You two have a special bond.

Well, shit. Of course they did. Clint groaned. This was just perfect. He had a telepathic connection to a psychopathic alien god. As if Loki hadn't done enough shit to him already.

Clint steeled himself against his lingering doubts. He couldn't believe that he was about to do this. He turned and removed the torch from its mount close to the center of the cave and repositioned it on a section of rock a few feet from Loki, casting an eerie shadow on the floor. Next, Clint moved a thick slab of rock close to Loki's feet. He climbed onto the rock and turned so that his eyes were at level with Loki's mouth.

"Here goes nothing."

It was slow, grim work. Though Thor's handiwork was messy, the thread was strong. It took Clint several minutes to saw through each stitch across Loki's mouth, and several more to remove the freed pieces of thread embedded in his lips. The job was worsened when Loki attempted to twist in his chains to escape Clint's torture, forcing the archer to use his free hand to hold the god's head in place while balancing precariously on the rock.

A third of the way through, Clint was forced to slow considerably. Blood was leaking out of Loki's mouth, oozing from red sores on his lips. Clint swallowed in an attempt to suppress his rising nausea. After years as an assassin, he had seen much worse than this. That fact did little to comfort him. There was a difference between seeing and doing, and Clint had certainly never done anything as cruel as this to another being, crazed criminal or not.

Lost in his thoughts of disgust, he nearly missed the increase of fluid that was making the job even more difficult. Clint stilled his hand, glancing up past Loki's mouth. The god's eyes were screwed shut tightly, clearly trying to prevent the exit of the tears that were leaking down his face in pain. Clint stared up. For a moment, he forgot everything that Loki had done to him, all the things that Loki had made him do. In that moment, all he could feel was pity.

Shaking his head, Clint tightened his grip on the knife and continued working. He felt pity for Loki's current situation, but he refused to feel pity for the events that led up to now. This was Loki's own fault, and this pain barely scratched the surface of the world of hell that he deserved.

Clint pulled the last knot of thread out of Loki's upper lip and stepped off the rock, examining his work. Though Loki's lips were free, there was blood crusted around his mouth and some openings were still oozing. Still, Loki was a god, so the areas where Clint had first started with seemed to be healing themselves. They were still red and raw, but were no longer bleeding. Clint frowned. In his brief – albeit intense – experience with wounded Asgardians, they tended to heal more quickly than that.

Shrugging, Clint reached forward and wiped the blood off the knife using Loki's tunic. He wasn't going to worry himself about the state of the god's health. Feeling Loki's eyes on him, he looked back up.

Loki still somehow managed to look like a haughty bastard even with an undignified oral bleed. His green eyes conveyed his message perfectly. "And the chains?"

Clint dragged the rock away from the wall and sat down on it, staring back up at Loki. "Uh-uh. I'm not about to let you go free. I only helped you to see what you know."

"You call torture this helping?"

The archer shrugged, looking away. The telepathic connection with Loki was disconcerting. He wished there was something for him to climb in this cave. He would feel much more confident if he could be up high in a nest, putting distance between himself and the bleeding god. "Do you know where we are?"

Loki's mouth twitched painfully as he tried to form words. He emitted a strangled, gurgling cry, succeeding only in increasing the bleeding. He turned his head to the side and spat blood, the dark liquid landing near Clint's feet.

"Okay, no talking then," Clint replied. He was beginning to regret his decision. Loki didn't seem to be able to help him.

"Come here."

Clint looked up sharply. The message was clear, but he wasn't about to fall for it. "I'm good down here, thanks."

Loki rolled his eyes and glared down. Clint had to admit that he was impressed with the level of asshole that the god managed to achieve with only his eyes. "Does it look like I can harm you in my state?"

Crossing his arms, Clint glared up. "You didn't look so threatening last time either. It was your glowy stick of death that did the harming."

Clint could practically feel Loki sigh. "I can tell you what I know. Now, come here, and touch my forehead."

Clint moved the rock back to Loki's feet and stood on it, peering into Loki's eyes. The god was still in chains. He had nowhere to go. Still, that didn't mean that Clint wanted to touch him ever again. He took a breath, reminding himself that he could easily kill Loki in five different ways without needing to reach for his knife. Reassured, Clint lifted his right hand tentatively and lightly pressed two fingers to Loki's left temple.

He barely had time to register that Loki's forehead was much to cool for their surrounding before he felt himself jerking forward. Suddenly, he couldn't move his limbs and he felt his mind flow into Loki's. Clint whipped his head around trying to take in all that he could about Loki's mental state before he was forced to the side as a memory took over.

The first thing Loki noticed was the pain.

Or, rather, the lack thereof.

He blinked in disbelief. The last thing he remembered was his cell on Asgard, with that damned snake dripping its caustic venom onto his face. He shuddered at the memory. Even now, he could feel the liquid, cool as it hit his face but quickly burning paths through his skin. It burned his eyes, his nose, and even managed to bore through the thread holding his lips together just long enough for him to choke out an agonized cry before the sutures resealed themselves.

Loki shook his head slightly. He was definitely out of range of the snake. His skin had healed considerably, which took far longer than the periodic respites the snake gave him. But how? His cell was in the dungeons of Odin's palace, guarded by fierce warriors who would die following their orders to keep him in. That was, if he could somehow break free from his chains without his magic, fight off the snake, and manage to stay conscious long enough to pick the lock to his cell without any of the guards noticing.

He frowned and tried to move, but was quickly stopped by the sound of chains clanking on both his arms and legs. He was trapped against a wall. So, wherever he was, he was still a prisoner. Wonderful. Trading a cell in his former home for one in an unknown location.

Loki forced his eyes open again, trying to see through the haze that clouded his still-healing vision. He could dimly make out the other end of the room. The walls were dark, illuminated by a single torch burning from its mount on the wall. There was nothing distinct. It was as though he had been dropped into the middle of a mountain and left to die.

Which, considering his actions in recent months, was a distinct possibility.

Loki craned his neck in all directions. There was nothing. He couldn't even make out a door or entrance. He was, once again, truly stuck.

Hissing in frustration, Loki shut his eyes and forced himself to breathe. Maybe he could put a positive spin on this. Maybe the distance from Odin meant that he could use magic again. After all, if he was as far away from Asgard as he was beginning to suspect, the Allfather wouldn't be able to continue to withhold his power.

Steeling himself to his new task, Loki breathed deeply and reached inside himself to summon the familiar power. He felt it at the back of his mind and smiled, welcoming it like an old friend. He cast a simple spell to further illuminate the dark cell.

Loki opened his eyes. It was still dark.

Forcing himself not to panic was more difficult this time. His magic was definitely back – he could feel it lurking in the recesses of his mind. But, for whatever reason, he could not unlock it and manipulate it to do his bidding. Loki felt even more powerless than he had on Asgard.

Whoever moved him to this new hellhole seemed to know how to make him weak. He struggled in vain with his chain, desperately trying to pull himself away from the wall. After a few minutes, Loki fell back against the wall in despair, covered in sweat.

He frowned again, mouth moving as far as it could without moving the sutures on his lips. Why was he so exhausted. Why so much sweat? Had he really grown so weak during his imprisonment? Now that he thought about it, his new prison was rather hot. In fact, the longer he considered this, the warmer it became. While the snake's venom had burned him quickly, this sweltering heat was roasting him slowly. He could barely think straight.

Then he realized the connection. The heat. His magic. His magic had been restored to him because he was out of range of whatever controls Odin had placed over him. However, he was still, biologically, a Frost Giant. And there was a reason the Frost Giants lived on the frozen wasteland of Jotunheim. Warm climates were detrimental to them, limiting their powers and sapping their strength.

Loki forced his eyes shut and tried to calm his rapidly breaths. Panic would not help his situation. He needed to stay calm and focused. He would find a way out of this place. He would regain his powers. He would-

"Hello."

Loki's eyes snapped open. He squinted, scanning the dimly lit cell in search of the ringing voice.

"I'd say you were rude for not replying, but considering your circumstances, that's not exactly an available option, is it?"

Loki's squint turned into a glare. His captor was staying out of sight and mocking him.

"I suppose you're wondering who I am, where you are, why you're here – all the standard questions."

Loki continued to glare, though the effect was lessened because he wasn't sure where to aim his scathing gaze. I would settle for knowing where you are, you cowardly bastard.

"I'm right here."

Loki's eyes snapped up. A figure stood a few inches away from him, smirking. Or, at least, Loki thought that he was smirking based on his tone. His captor wore a mask that covered his entire face, save for his dark eyes. Still, something about him seemed vaguely familiar…

The captor shook his head. "All in due time. And don't worry about getting lonely – a friend will be joining you soon enough." Then, without any further comment, the man walked backwards, keeping his eyes trained on Loki, before vanishing through the wall.

Loki blinked furiously, trying to understand his situation. He was trapped in an unknown prison without any power and his captor had a sarcastic sense of humor and seemed to be able to read his mind.

Overloaded with information, Loki tried to find a better way to describe his situation. His mind stumbled across a phrase he had picked up on Midgard from Barton, his rebellious minion.

Well, shit.

Clint blinked, suddenly released from Loki's mind. He stumbled off the rock, trying to clear his head. This was a different sensation from before. His previous experience had been Loki messing around inside of his head, playing around and essentially "mind raping" him, as Tony had dubbed it. This was almost the opposite. Though he hadn't been able to move his body, Clint had been inside Loki's mind. Just before the memory started, he got a brief glimpse of the god's pain and anger, acid green cracks running ragged through his psyche.

He felt pity surge inside of him again. From what he had seen and felt, Loki was every bit as lost and broken as Clint had once been. The archer almost found himself wishing that Loki had someone to save him the way Coulson had done for himself. Clint forced those thoughts out of his mind. Loki did not deserve pity because he killed Coulson.

Still, it was a relief knowing that Loki seemed to be cut off from the major firepower in his arsenal of magic. The knowledge that the god was now essentially an extremely strong human with an inclination toward theatrics comforted the archer. He smirked up at Loki. "Glad to see that I expanded your vocabulary."

Loki glowered down at him. Clint smirked and sat down below the torch, his back against the wall while he faced Loki. "That wasn't very helpful information-wise though. I was looking for something more along the lines of, 'We're in a military prison in Somalia, but it's okay because Thor can swing by and pick us up before we miss dinner.' Do you know anything useful? All I've got so far is that the guy with the mask likes to call himself 'M.'"

Loki's eyes widened in fearful recognition. Clint grit his teeth. That couldn't be good. "You know him?"

Loki nodded.

Clint narrowed his eyes. "And you know him how, exactly?"

Loki looked away, moving his shoulders in what Clint assumed was a failed attempt at a shrug.

"What did you do?" Clint persisted angrily.

Loki's eyes fixed on him again. "Something as bad as you have, apparently," he said hoarsely.

Great. Now he can talk again. Clint balled his hands into fists. "So why are we here?"

The god looked back at him, his gaze uncertain. Clint found himself almost regretting his question, so he repeated it softly. "Do you know why?"

Loki shook his head slightly. "No," he ground out slowly, "but I can tell you about M."