A/N: So sorry everyone for the delay! My stupid ISP decided to have problems with their systems or something, so I've been without internet for almost four days (which might as well be a week nowadays). And I had this chapter all ready on Friday, too! Oh well, it's given me time to try and fix it (and I'm still not quite satisfied with it) so there's that. Anyway, here's chapter six, it's shorter than the others but I hope you like it!

Warnings: violence, language (I don't know why I'm warning you, if you've made it this far, I guess you don't care :D)

Enjoy!


Chapter Six

Barton could not for the life of him fathom what was going on right now. There had been voices, horrible, scratching, burning, voices. A hundred and a thousand more screaming at him- grabbing at his mind, telling him to do things. He just couldn't remember what they were telling him, nor what he had done. None of the voices made sense, crashing around in his mind, contradicting each other, weaving in and out like opposing waves on the ocean. Clint had fought, had fought with everything in him against the furious onslaught, reaching for something, anything in the crushing black.

Then suddenly the voices stopped. The sensation somehow familiar... It hurt, but it was also wonderful, like the first light breaking through an endless darkness. The sun at dawn, harsh but warm after the frozen night.

Next, he heard his own voice. "What the hell am I doing?"

The next sight when his vision came into focus disturbed him so much he stepped back, his mouth dropping open. What did...what the fuck?! Loki was draped, in a rather disturbing fashion, over a metal work table with his trousers...with his...what-?! What am I doing?! He suddenly realized his own pants were unzipped, what am I...but- what- He quickly fixed them on a reflex. He continued staring, words not forming, even in his mind. Did I just...did I-? His entire body was numb, he could barely feel his feet on the unsteady ground.

The archer moved around on shaky legs, so he could see the trickster's face.

Oh man! Loki was wheezing, choking, his face pale, on his last breath. Barton reached out quickly and with panicked fingers tried his best to undo the belt- my belt! Shit! -from the god's neck. Tell me I didn't...please tell me I didn't just... His thoughts died as he watched the trickster's tear-stained face choke on desperate breaths and barely contained sobs. Oh man, damn...I couldn't have...there's no way I did...

The mischief god finally found his breath again, "No..." he pleaded, still crying slightly, "stop... I'll...you can't- don't-" he sucked in another trembling breath, trying to look up at the archer from his position.

Barton just stared at him with wide eyes, still not certain how to react, his throat seizing up, his face threatening tears at the sight of the desperate creature in front of him. The only thing Barton managed to do was unhook the trickster's shackled chains from the bottom of the table. But before he could react, the god gasped and was already sliding backward onto the floor with a loud thud and a choked scream of pain.

Shit! The archer ran around the table to help him, but the shaking god was curled up in a ball trying his best to hide from the approaching form.

"Look, man..." Clint finally found his voice, half-whispered though it was. "I...tell me I didn't...did I..." He didn't know what to say.

Loki continued wheezing and Clint absently wondered if he had permanently damaged his throat somehow. The trickster was backed up against the same work table, eyes watching Clint warily as he continued shaking.

Clint couldn't believe it, but he felt so bad for the god in front of him right now. He simply couldn't conjure up even one hateful thought or feeling at the moment. Clint finally breathed deep and found his words, which fortunately were more controlled now, "Loki," he said as calmly and as softly as possible, "did I...did I hurt...you?" He wasn't certain he was being clear enough. The trickster had bruises and blood all over him.

The god eyed the archer for a moment, confused. But he still nodded. Shit.

He decided to be more clear, there was no way to say it delicately, so he just pushed the words out as best he could, "Did I..umm..." he scratched his head, shut his eyes. "Did I...just...rape you?" He winced at his own words unconsciously but opened his eyes to see, to know.

The trickster god only stared at him, wide-eyed.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Loki didn't know what to think. What's happening? He had felt his life leaving him, the darkness closing in, then, like someone had pulled him from drowning, his head broke the water, and he could breathe again. He just didn't expect that someone to be Agent Barton.

The archer's behavior was strange, almost...like himself? But now truly like himself. Loki couldn't believe it. Every cautious thought in his head told him not to hope, that the same hope would destroy him, betray him.

But there he was, the archer, acting like himself again. How can it...

The question from Barton caught Loki off-guard. He was asking if he had- Doesn't he know? The trickster's first instinct was to lie. God of lies, after all... If Barton thought he did something like that, he would show sympathy, would maybe even refrain from hurting him further. Then maybe Loki could get out of this alive, if not unscathed. But to what end? Was there an end? Even if Barton had somehow broken free of whatever was controlling him, what was to keep it from taking control once again? And even if the archer was somehow immune, what were the two of them to do? What was happening outside? Where was everyone? What about the other Avengers? If they came across them again, would Barton defend him? Or perhaps join them?

Loki's mind reeled with too many questions; too many questions that had no answers.

But for now, the archer was looking at him with expectant eyes, and suddenly, Loki couldn't bring himself to lie. "No," came the quiet answer to Barton's question. He couldn't believe himself. Lies were safe, it was the truth that hurt. Wasn't it?

Barton breathed out a long sigh, as though he had been holding his breath. He sat on a chair, the same rolling chair from earlier, and Loki mentally winced at the sight of it.

"Dude..." said the archer's uncertain voice. "I just..." he sighed, "sorry. I mean, what the hell happened?" He was looking at Loki now, brows furrowed, questioning. But Loki was barely listening, he suddenly realized he was still half-clothed, and the floor was like ice. Somehow not caring about the archer in front of him, he attempted to redress himself in as much a dignified way as possible, although it didn't seem likely- dignity was a foreign concept now, shattered on the same frozen floor beneath him.

To his credit, Barton turned away, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his head nervously. He mumbled something under his breath the trickster couldn't hear, and stared at the wall.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The feeling of relief when the trickster god said 'No' was beyond belief. Was it selfish to hope that he hadn't done something like that? No, he told himself, it's good for Loki, too. But... would he have done it? If he hadn't somehow awakened from the nightmare. The voices were quieted, but not completely gone. They hovered at the edges of his mind, like lingering wolves in the distance or vultures awaiting a certain death. What would it take for them to come back? And would he continue what he had started? He was suddenly afraid of himself. Whatever had been controlling him had no boundaries, it seemed. Suddenly, being controlled by the god of mischief and lies didn't seem all that bad. Barton mentally slapped himself. What in the world am I thinking?

Loki was still wheezing and shaking slightly, but he was fully clothed now and staring blankly at the floor he was sat on. There was something in the god's eyes Clint couldn't quite place. It was a blank look, soft- no -hollow and almost sorrowful. Like...like... has he given up? Barton suddenly wondered.

Right now Clint would have preferred seeing anger on the trickster's face, to see screaming and burning rage. Or a sideways smirk and a dignified haughty glare. Or even a tear-stained flurry of panic and undignified hurt. Anything but this. Him just giving up? Somehow Clint found it insulting.

He still remembered that brilliant mind, the wheels turning and working at a pace no one could quite catch. Sure, the guy's greatest weakness was that same mind, given to madness, but he was still utterly brilliant. It seemed like nothing could touch him; maybe out of sheer force of will, and maybe it was an unyielding delusion, but Clint, while under his control, found that confidence comforting. There was a plan, and there was nothing to do but follow it. Where it led he didn't care; there at least was somewhere to go.

But the Loki in front of him now was...different. Damaged. And it was clear it had started long before Clint had first glanced that bloodied form on the floor of the elevator.

"Loki..." Clint left the chair and crouched down on one knee next to the god. The trickster's gaze slowly, very slowly, drifted until it found Barton's. Then, the god tilted his head slightly. "Loki," Barton started again, his eyes never leaving the god's, "tell me what happened with," he searched for the words, "with the others. You said you came across others?"

And to Clint's surprise the blank look answered him.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The god of mischief, lies, and chaos didn't know why he was answering the man in front of him. He had no reason to answer him, but he did anyway. It was like he couldn't stop himself. He started at the beginning, and continued without interruption until the moment Barton had released him after the archer had almost... And the man was shaking his head, not because he didn't believe the trickster, but because it was such an impossible story. Loki knew he believed him, and he was glad of it. Someone was listening to him for once.

Barton sighed. Loki swallowed.

There was a threat hanging heavy in the air. They both knew whatever happened before could happen again, and Loki wanted nothing more than to plead with Barton to leave him- what if they take you over again? he wanted to say.

But the archer was shaking his head, as though he knew what Loki was thinking. Loki couldn't bring himself to object, suddenly understanding that he really didn't want Barton to leave. Somehow the man had overcome the control the others couldn't, for whatever reason, and he was Loki's best hope to get out of this situation...whatever it was.

And there inlay the problem: what was this situation?

Loki didn't have time to ponder the question with the man before him, since something else was happening. The voices.

Voices.

Voices...

Loki wanted to scream, to cry, pull at his own skin, rip his hair, then scream some more. Not again!

He fell on his side and gripped his head and his hair. And he did scream. A frustrated and pained sound that echoed all around.

But then he heard a voice nearby, normal, human. "What the- you hear that, too? Loki?!"

Barton.

Barton was asking him questions, leaning down, trying to pry the trickster's hands off of his head, no no no, can't be stopped. They want you...they want me... Can't stop can't stop there's no end. But the man was insisting, hovering, saying strange things, soothing things, even over the growing noise. The scratching sound, like twisting impossible metals and violent crashing waves all around. Ripping into his body, his mind. Not letting go.

"Loki!" the voice broke through, just as silence surrounded them. Or...maybe I'm just deaf now? How he longed for that mercy. But he heard his own breathing, and the matching harsh breath of the man next to him, who was now holding Loki's wrists.

Loki let go of his head and dared to look up. The room was now dark, sporadic faint orange lights lingered in the distance. Barton was still holding his wrists, but the archer was looking away, whispering something beneath his breath.

The trickster used the man's grip on his wrists to pull himself up to a sitting position; Barton didn't seem to notice, his grip was like iron, cold and steadfast. Loki absently wondered if a mortal was capable of breaking his bones.

Then, as he followed the archer's gaze, he realized the man was gripping so tightly out of terror. For Loki now shared that terror. There, at the edge of the lab, was a large silhouetted form. He could make out the way the form moved to each breath, in and out, in and out, as though waiting for something.

Loki dared a glance at the man next to him, just as the wide-eyed gaze was returned to the god. Barton's lips moved without sound: 'No'. Loki couldn't even move his own lips. He could only return his eyes to the distant form, mind blank, unthinking, frozen, paralyzed. There was nothing they could do, there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.

Then suddenly, as a bone-breaking roar broke through the air, Barton was on his feet.

The next seconds past in slow motion. Loki saw the archer, standing tall and determined, just as he saw the hulking silhouette approach. The mortal archer was now running, running forward, each step deliberate, slow, as Loki's eyes saw, toward the thing crashing across the room. The trickster couldn't react, only watch. There was a scream- a roar, something, as the two moved, ran toward each other. With his right hand the archer had pulled out the knife he had taken from Loki, but the man was now tossing it aside. It was useless, Loki knew, but why toss it?

The power of the thing approaching was tangible, the trickster could taste it on the air, feel it rattling his bones, his blood. And before he could cry out, he heard the sound of the archer scream, then a crashing noise, like metal and flesh colliding.

Then silence.

Darkness.

Breathing. But not only Loki's breath. He was next.

The Hulk was coming for him next.

.

The windows were oozing. Oozing with darkness and death. And now the walls, too. It was so dark.

Loki squinted into the oppressive black, sitting against the table, his wrists still warm with the echo of shaking fingers. There was a low persistent slithering sound, like a thousand coiled snakes writhed and shifted across the floor. And the black moved. Moved toward him, toward the center of the room.

And he was moving, too. Slowly, toward Loki. He could almost see it now, the green... But no, it wasn't green. Just the color of blood, like a sanguine moon on the horizon screeching out in death without glory, calling the hopeless forms beneath it to their doom.

Don't fight, it said. Just give in.

But Loki's body and mind refused. No! No no no no. I won't can't never never! He jerked up, ignoring the pain that crashed in on all sides. The black was crawling across the floor now, covering the ceiling and every direction. The towering form moving still, so close, so close.

Loki stumbled away, trying even in his futility. I can't...can't! I will not stop! I won't give in! The memory of Barton's form running across the floor away from him flashed in his mind.

No!

He clenched his eyes shut as he stumbled, fell. No! No! Get up you fool! But it was too late, he was on his stomach, he couldn't do anything. He pounded his fists into the floor until the tiles broke, tears streaming down his face. The floor shook, trembled beneath him. He cried out, screaming with anger and fear and frustration and absolute fury.

A large hand grabbed at him, wrapped around his legs, pulling him upward until he dangled before the crimson eyes. Loki screamed at the face, was it fear or anger? He didn't care. All Loki could see was red.

The other hand gripped his hands, stopping his struggling.

There were some words. Foreign curses snarled from the god's lips at the thing before him.

Loki didn't see them. He didn't see the forms writhing and slipping in next to the two. Shapes as dark as midnight and colder than the moon.

They watched. Watched with no eyes. Surrounding the trickster god and the hulking form. The two only stared at each other, anger seething between them.

The next moment Loki felt an impossible pain shoot faster than Mjolnir's lightning through his body. He didn't scream. He couldn't. Every bone screamed for him instead, as the large hands stretched him.

It lasted an eternity, until finally, as if something annoyed the creature, he was falling free. The cold air whipping passed him until the cracked floor greeted him.

A grunt met Loki's ears, but he couldn't focus his vision. His body wouldn't move, it didn't matter anymore anyway. The beast was moving, making noises, the ground shook.

Loki could see the black now, all around, surrounding like the darkest ocean, and he was drowning in it.

He was on his side, and now he could see it. The chains...his chains were broken, his hands were free. How? It didn't matter, even the shackles around his wrists had broken off.

The creature bellowed and grunted, moving. Loki still didn't hear him. Instead, something caught his eye- the knife. The knife...

Loki didn't know how it was possible, but he was crawling, hands barely moving, pulling him forward so slowly, forward toward the small glint of the waiting knife. He was wading through a sea of darkness. It was the void all over again, but...heavier, pushing in on all sides, simmering, burning with a strange cold.

His mind was gone, abandoned somewhere where the beast had dropped him. Only instincts drove him now, so he crawled.

And now it was there, in his hand, his chin touching the cold floor, the rest of him numb. Loki managed, so so slowly, to turn over on his back. Now there was only black. Or was he closing his eyes? He didn't know and didn't care.

Silence ate at him, peeling off his flesh. And the unforgiving dark burned him to his shattered bones, snaking their way through every sinew and finding refuge in his forgotten blood.

But his hand was still there, and there was nothing else. Nothing else but the knife. And Loki smiled when he plunged it into his heart, and then there was nothing.


A/N: Okaaay... So ya, don't worry there's another chapter after this one. Sorry to any Bruce fans (or people who were looking forward to an entire chapter of Bruce/Hulk) but my brain decided this is how this chapter should go. Again, I will try to get the next chapter up on Wednesday or Thursday, if my internet keeps.

Until next chapter!