Title: Bruises – Chapter Nine
Author: Lucky Gun
Summary: Because Loki's possession of one of the sharpest minds in SHIELD wasn't easy. In fact, it barely worked at all. A better take on Clint's forced defection, return to the Avengers, and the aftermath. Contains whump, language, torture, and all the horrors of a POW. AU.
A/N: I had to add the last part of the previous chapter because they didn't really explain why the jet was late; despite Stark's snappy comeback, I really don't think they stopped for drive thru. Here's another fairly massive AU part, because without Coulson's death, the team had to form some cohesion somehow. And I'm going to shut my mouth before I really, seriously ruin something here. Read on, Macduff!
The jet landed easily on the helipad of an office complex, Tony snapping that he was going to make the pad at his tower bigger, since it couldn't handle one tiny little jet. He also made some sort of vague reference to a drive thru, a commentary on their delay, and even though the idea of food made his stomach roll, Clint still managed to smirk a bit. He slammed his hand on the button to lower the ramp, pushing away the memory of the last time he'd hit that button. The warm summer air spilled into the jet and they stalked down the ramp quickly, filing out into the bright sunlight.
Steve, Natasha, and Clint were slightly shocked to see Thor already there, stalking the pad, eying Stark Tower like it had bit him. And banging through the door at the top of the building was a slightly sheepish looking Bruce wearing borrowed clothing that was far too baggy. A second later, Stark landed heavily beside them, a spark shooting from his helmet as he tore it off, aggravated.
The team looked around at each other and then stared at the hundred story building. The office complex they were on was maybe seventy stories tall, and Stark Tower still loomed huge just two buildings over from them. They circled up and Tony was the first to speak.
"This armor's seen some mileage. I've got to get up there and get my new suit if you guys want me in this fight," he said, seeming annoyed by the lack of ability he had without the armor.
Steve frowned and said, "But if that's where Loki is, what's going to keep him from blowing you out of the sky on approach?"
Bruce rolled his shoulders a bit and said, "I could, you know, distract him. Somehow."
Thor immediately countered, "No. He is my brother. I will reason with him before he is mindlessly attacked."
Natasha stared at the demigod and asked, "You're actually going to try and talk him out of world conquest? Do we even have time for that? What if he opens the portal while you two kick back a beer?"
Tony held up a hand and said, "Yeah, and I don't know if I'm too comfortable with two demigod brothers having a simple conversation in my penthouse. We all saw what happened the last time these two tried to talk."
"But if there's a chance the man can be stopped with no loss of life and no damage," Steve countered, "Then we've got to at least try."
Tony cocked his head and took a step forward, voice dropping as he said, "My building, my call."
Thor snapped, "My brother, my call."
Bruce jumped in and said, "Whoa, whoa. What about the army waiting on the other side of space? Are we just supposed to write them out of the equation now?"
Natasha rolled her eyes and said, "Not everything boils down to math, doctor. This situation certainly doesn't."
And on they argued.
Clint stepped back underneath the shadow of the jet, his eyes dark, watching the group argue loudly. He stood silently and waited, listening to the different arguments, reading the lips of his teammates, preferring that method of communication with the number of conversations that were overlapping. His eyes darted between them all, the chemical cocktail in his system doing nothing to alleviate the headache that started pounding behind his eyes.
When their voices got too loud and the light got too bright, he turned and stared at the tower, the shining jewel of the skyline. With his vision, he could see the flicker of movement at some of the floors as groups of Stark's employees began filing out, their shifts complete. He could also see the winking lights as computer monitors powered down as their users left. Looking up, he traced the outline of the top floor, seeing the glass and curved landing area at the penthouse. Then he looked back down.
Right into horribly, awfully, terrifyingly blue eyes.
Starting, Clint stepped back a foot, breathing quickly through his mouth as he stared at the man in front of him. There was Loki, in all his demented glory. The archer's eyes snapped back to the team, many of them with their backs to him, but he figured, even in their distraction, they should notice the enemy in their midst.
Loki followed his gaze and gave Clint a coy smile as he said, "They can't see me, Agent Barton. I'm your ghost, and yours alone. Have you been well?"
Swallowing hard as the demigod came closer, Clint continued backing away, his eyes locked on the Asgardian's eyes, his memories of the last five days swarming and overwhelming him. Loki tilted his head a little and gave him a false look of worry.
"My dear Agent Barton, you're not glad to be rid of me, are you? You, who gave me so much trouble, who made my powers appear as child's play, you are the crowning achievement of my kingdom," he said grandly, arms spread open as he continued to advance towards the archer.
Clint backed up at the same pace Loki moved forward, barely cognizant of his surroundings, uncaring as the hard tarmac gave way to loose gravel.
"What do you mean? I beat you, I kicked you out," Clint whispered, physically unable to make his voice any louder.
Loki raised a finger and admitted, "True, you did. How you did it is what made you interesting, Barton. You have heart. You have more heart than any creature I've seen. You feel things even after a lifetime of numbing atrocities. You wear your guilt and pain like a cloak and carry it well. You are so delectably human that it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end."
Tripping slightly as he scampered backwards over the gravel, Loki stalking towards him rapidly, Clint's gaze darted towards his team, still mindlessly arguing amongst themselves. Abruptly aware that he was nearing the edge of the building, he glanced around, hating the corner he'd allowed himself to be backed into.
"So what if I'm human? One was able to beat you, and if you have your way, you'll have an entire world to try and control next. You can't win," he bit out a little more strongly, forcing himself to halt his retreat.
But Loki looked far from defeated. Instead, he seemed more animated. The demigod's eyes danced as he came to a halt as well.
"Yes, you're right, Barton. After the army comes, after the Tesseract can be removed from the machine, I will use it to take over the mind of every single person on this planet."
Blinking, Clint frowned as he murmured, "You just said..."
Gamely humoring him, Loki took a few steps forward, and Barton only managed to take one step back before he found himself at the edge of the building, a single foot-high barrier standing between him and a seven hundred foot drop.
"You gave me the key, Agent Barton. Your resistance was so deliberate, so enthralling, that I managed to plan a perfect attack to dismantle it on the first try. You should see them, the men who took your place. They have nothing, now. No free will, no emotions, no memories to draw strength or fear from. They are mine."
Horrified, Clint breathed, "What did you do to them?"
Shrugging in the royal way Thor sometimes did, Loki responded, "I learned my lesson with you, Barton. I expanded your mind, but them? I cleared it. Blank slate, as it were. They know nothing beyond serving me loyally for all their days. And I'll do the same to every other person on this planet. You gave me your hawk sight while I walked the halls of your mind. Everything that follows is all thanks to you, Barton."
There were several seconds of near silence, the wind whipping around the sniper, his mind spinning as he realized what Loki was saying. He thought he knew what his was like to be unmade.
Belatedly, he realized he'd never had a clue.
"Yes, Hawkeye. Your entire race, enslaved, destroyed, and you gave me everything. You gave me what the good doctor needed to complete the portal, you gave me the practice I needed to perfect my powers. You have given me your life, Barton. You've given me your world. You are a good man, Clint Barton, for resisting the way you did, fighting the way you did. But I am better. I will always be better."
His skin cool in the summer heat, Clint dropped to his knees, catching himself on his hands, the soles of his boots pressed up against the barrier he'd stopped at. His eyes traced the gravel beneath him mindlessly, his breath coming out in heaving gasps, and in his mind's eye, he saw faces, so many faces, people he'd killed and saved and watched over. He saw their expressions blank, their eyes an electric blue, their mouths silently screaming their pain at him, the deliverer of their freedom to the god who would rule them to their deaths.
"Clint?"
Even with the worry so sharp, he didn't hear it. Nothing could cut through the image of those thousands of screaming faces in his eyes or temper the roar of their silent howls in his ears. All he could hear was Loki's soft voice echoing in his thoughts, the words rolling through him like a tidal wave.
"You've given me your world, Hawkeye."
He may have sobbed at that point, a vision of Natasha, of Tony, of Bruce, of Steve, cobalt gazes lighting up the night, flashing through him.
"Everything that follows is all thanks to you."
And it was. He couldn't deny it, didn't even try. How many people had he already killed? How many men did Loki mentally destroy in his search for Barton's replacement? How many would die in the upcoming battle?
Squeezing his eyes shut, Clint choked on his own damnation.
"You gave me everything."
"Stop it," he whispered.
"You gave me your hawk sight, Barton. I can see everything."
"Stop it," he said, stronger this time, his fists clenching on the gravel, the sharp edges denting his skin.
"You are a good man, Clint Barton."
He ducked his head farther at the demigod's self-satisfied words, the painful reminder of how he was such a good man ringing through him. But then something else caught his attention, a fragment of a recent memory. Eyes flying open, the agent heard, not Loki's soothing tones, but the sharp, cutting voice of the helicarrier's CMO Ann Deluca.
"And all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."
Breaths stuttering in his chest, Clint raised his gaze, the image of Loki gone, replaced by the fearful and infinitely worried members of his team. Natasha was closest, though she stayed well out of his immediately lethal range, the others crowding behind her, Stark Tower standing imposingly behind them. The sun caught glinting movement, and Clint's eyes widened.
High on the penthouse terrace of Tony's latest building, his face a mask of uncontrolled fury, was Loki, brandishing his scepter, a ball of energy flying from the staff towards the roof they were on.
There wasn't any time to think.
Eyes immediately taking in his position and surroundings, Clint pushed himself forward, boots digging into the shifting gravel of the roof, his hands already pulling his preferred weapon. He darted to the side of the group faster than they could follow, his mind blank, his eyes trained on his target. He stepped once onto a support rod for a massive air mover, stepped next onto the side of it, a quick series of leaps taking him straight to the top of the machine. Immediately reversing direction, Clint vaulted backwards, pushing off from the unit as hard as he could, the arrow nocked and the string pulled.
For a fleeting instant, he imagined what the rest of the team saw: him suspended twelve feet in the air, body arched against gravity, his back to the ground, his arms in perfect shooting form, his focus on a target no one but him could see.
And then the moment was over, and he released the string, eyes focused, the soundless screams of the demigod's victims falling silent for a split second before he heard the screams of his partner. He watched as the arrow soared over the ball of energy heading straight towards him, his eyes tracking its trajectory, ensuring he hadn't missed.
Even as the energy hit him and his world turned to white agony, his ears picked up the angered cry from his target as the sharp arrowhead found its mark.
He didn't know why he worried. He never missed.
Not anymore.
It was only a few minutes later when he startled awake, shock and disorientation playing into the multiple hands he could feel on him. He immediately lashed out, his wrists were pinned to the ground instantly, and the sharp bite of the gravel rolled over his senses, restoring perfect clarity.
He blinked, opened his eyes, saw two familiar people kneeling over him, and he fought back an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Groaning lowly against a general ache that accompanied his movements, he tilted his head and squinted at the bright sunlight above him.
"If we are back in my mind, I'm going to be so pissed," he grunted as the hands holding his wrists withdrew.
Thor and Natasha exchanged a glance, and the assassin helped the other agent sit up with nothing less than relief in her gaze.
"You're lucky you're even alive, you idiot. What the hell were you thinking?" the Russian spy bit out, her teeth worrying her lip.
Glancing around and noticing Tony hovering nearby in an armor he'd never seen and Bruce much bigger, greener, and meaner than he remembered, Clint caught her hand and allowed her to pull him to standing.
"I'm guessing I wasn't thinking much at all. What happened?" he asked, nodding once to Steve, who was standing silently with his arms crossed, his shield nearby.
Thor gave him a hearty pat on the back as he explained, "My brother attempted to attack us while we were focused on you; I surmise he was using an astral projection of himself to torment you, Hawk."
Rolling the stiffness from his neck, surreptitiously ensuring his bow and arrows were where they were supposed to be, Clint allowed, "You could call it that."
Natasha added, "You jumped in between us and the blast and managed to shoot Loki in the process. We thought you were toast but there wasn't a mark on you."
Frowning, Clint looked down at his arms, confirming what she'd said. Even his chest, which should have taken the brunt of the hit, wasn't aching more than usual. His eyes immediately turned to Thor, who was giving him a fond look.
"You Midgardians never cease to amaze me. From when I healed you before, in your mind, you somehow managed to retain enough energy from that to save yourself here. How you did it is beyond me, but I don't recommend trying again; I doubt there's anything left inside you to fend off an insect bite, much less a concentrated attack," Thor explained.
Clint blinked at him, wondering which one of them had lost their minds, before he asked, "So...physician, heal thyself?"
The reference went straight over the demigod's head, but Natasha flashed him a quick smile before she continued, "While Loki was busy digging your broken arrow out of his shoulder, Stark managed to get his new suit after almost killing himself while unsuccessfully attempting to take out the generator, and Bruce became just slightly enraged by the fact that you were almost killed, yet again."
Clint bobbed his head a little, cocking it slightly, allowing the words to go unchallenged. It was the truth, after all.
Turning his eyes back to Steve, Barton had the nagging sense he was being judged, and he instantly stopped fidgeting. The heavy look the soldier was giving him slowly eased until the man was almost smiling.
"Pretty impressive, Barton. That what you meant by being our sniper for the day?" Rogers asked, and Clint shrugged, aware that the entire team was staring at him with differing levels of shock and awe.
"A practically impossible shot taken from a midair back flip: just one of the many services I offer, sir," he answered easily, the light banter silencing the recurring echoes of faceless screams in his ears.
Rogers nodded and turned to Stark, who was undoubtedly about to say something snarky, when there was a huge explosion of vertical energy at the building towering over them. They all stared straight up, mouths agape at the dark tear that grew across the sky. And then there were small speeders slipping through the gap, lasers firing, and the general public started screaming.
"Right. Army," Tony muttered to himself. Then he turned his head towards the assembled group and said, "Call it, Captain."
Rogers looked over the edge of the building, wincing as he saw cars already burning. Glancing back at the team, he nodded and took charge.
"All right, listen up. Until we can close that portal up there, we're going to use containment. Barton, I want you here on this roof, eyes on everything, calling out patterns and strays. Stark, you've got the perimeter. Anything gets more than three blocks out, you turn it back or you turn it to ash. Thor, you've got to try and bottleneck that portal, slow them down. You've got the lightning; light the bastards up. Romanoff, you and I will get on the ground, keep the fighting there. And Hulk? Smash."
There was a roar of approval from the green monster as he leapt off to do exactly that, and Tony's repulsors glared bright as they pushed him off the roof towards the steady line of enemies disappearing in the distance. Thor gave the remainder of the group a simple nod and spun his hammer, flying off to a nearby skyscraper.
Natasha and Clint paused for a moment as Steve ran towards the roof access door, the assassins staring at each other with determination.
"Do me a favor and don't do anything stupid like that again, all right, Clint?" she demanded halfheartedly, and the archer nodded slightly.
"Same to you, Tasha. Be safe," he murmured, one hand running down her arm gently, his fingertips barely brushing her uniform.
She nodded once, hearing Rogers call for her, and then she spun and sprinted after him, the two of them vanishing behind the door.
Breathing deeply, Clint pulled his bow from his back and his fingers tapped a command on the buttons embedded in the handle, an arrowhead attaching itself to a bolt instantly. As he pulled the arrow and sighted the first of a thousand targets, he forced himself to focus.
Focus, and ignore the screams that resumed wailing through his head.
End Chapter Nine
