hey guys! Yay for new chapters. I don't own Avengers blah blah don't sue me blah. I'm sleepy, and I probably edited this horrendously but yeah. Review, enjoy. Love you all! Thanks for sticking with it! Also. I don't even really understand what's going on with the chapter title. It's supposed to be punny. it's probably not. anyway..

Enjoy!

Chapter 10-Back in Blood

I remember that the first time I saw Loki, he was pale, unnecessarily pale, and dead looking, standing in the now destroyed SHIELD science lab. If my memory serves me right, although there's a good chance that it doesn't, the god is even paler this time. His face is stark white and drawn, eyes clenched shut against the pain. The only color on his face comes from the fresh stitches through his mouth, which trickle more blood each time he breathes.

We're sitting in some orange and blue themed hotel room, with fake wood panel walls, and a TV with antennas. Broken antennas, but it's the thought that counts. Loki is laying frozen stiff on one of the beds, and I'd think he was dead if it weren't for the fresh blood that I am constantly staunching.

After he'd arrived in Selvig's lab and promptly collapsed into my arms, I leaned him against a wall and then I went to make sure Selvig was still unconscious. Once I saw that he was, I began to clean up his lab, taking the projector device that he had built, as well as our notes, to my rental car. As soon as I was sure that his lab looked exactly as it had before, I took-or dragged-the Norse god to my car and drove away without looking back. It was like I was on autopilot, I realize now as I sit in the hotel room. I was completely acting off of my years of training to clean up the mess and make it like I was never there. And maybe I hadn't been there to kill anyone and then clean it up, but bringing back Loki certainly made it feel like a deadly mission in the worst way possible.

Now, I would wait until he woke up before I decided what to do. I would have started pulling out the stitches, but that seemed a little harsh. And I didn't know if they were important or not. Maybe the stitches were holding his teeth in or something.

He needed to wake up soon. I didn't particularly want him to wake up, because him waking up meant I had to deal with his lies and his bullshit, but he needed to wake up because I was going to need to be back at SHIELD in six hours.

I knew that I would be called in for a meeting with Nick Fury the second that I got there. I knew that he would want to know why I felt the need to almost cross the Mexican border before turning around. As I'm trying to think of a good excuse, something that is more up Natasha's alley than mine, my phone that I forgot I'd packed rang shrilly.

Speak of the devil, and she will call.

"Clint, where the hell are you?" Natasha's voice snaps.

"Oh, hey, Nat. I could ask you the same thing, since you never seem to tell anyone where you're going. Honestly, you have no right to try to keep tabs on everyone if you're not going to tell anyone where you are. I'm worried sick over here," I ramble. "I'm at my apartment, watching the game."

"You don't 'watch games' Clint. And you're not at your apartment."

"Oh?"

"I'm standing in your apartment." Oh. "You and your suitcases are nowhere to be found. So I'll ask again. Where the hell are you, Clint?"

"I was just taking a break, Natasha. I went to visit Erik Selvig in New Mexico." No point in lying about that, she'd figure it out anyway. "He understand what I've been going through, Nat. I had to talk to someone that would get it. It can't just get punched out of your mind. Not something like this."

Silence on the other end. What I said was mean, more unkind than she could deserve, but it would hurt her feelings and she would leave the whole situation alone. Better yet, she wouldn't even talk about it again, and maybe I would just be allowed to forget this.

"I'm sorry, Clint." And then my phone flashes to signal that the call has ended.

I throw the phone on top of the other bed and sigh. Can we please just get this over with? Waiting to see whatever he has in store might actually be worse than enduring his plans.

He sits up, slowly, painfully, and looks at me expectantly. He's forgotten that his mouth it sewn shut when he tries to speak, reopening any wound that might have started to heal. His hand flies to hover over his lips, and he stares back at me, eyes wide and terrified.

"I don't know how that happened," I disclaim before he can kill me. "You came through the portal this way."

I know. I remember now.

"Can you fix it?" What am I saying? Why would I want him to fix this? Him not speaking, not poisoning the world with his lies, is a good thing.

He hesitantly touches the thread, and then he jerks back in shock.

I can't fix it. I can't even touch it.

"Well, this must be exactly how you planned this going," I snap, turning from him and pulling the rental car keys out of my bag. "We're leaving. We can figure out what the hell to do with you later."