Clint had made a decision. Had given himself a mission to undertake. It allowed his mind to focus on something other than the gaping hole in his chest. It was one that would take most of his skills and all of his self-control. He was going to see Loki.

He couldn't go yet. He had to wait until everyone else was asleep. They would try and talk him out of it. Except Tasha. She'd knock him out and restrain him to keep him from going. Not to mention the fact that Clint was sure that Fury had warned SHIELD security to not let him anywhere near Loki. So he'd have to sneak in. Tonight. Before Thor took him back to Asgard.

The goal helped clear Clint's head. He managed to hold back his heartbreak enough to ghost his way through the day. He still wasn't allowed to help with clean-up, so he hung around the Tower. The others came and went. He tried to avoid them as much as possible but would stumble across them occasionally.

Eventually Clint's wanderings had led him down to the lab where Bruce had set up shop. Clint hadn't thought twice about entering. He thought Bruce was over at HQ helping with a research project. So he was shocked to see the man bent over a microscope. Clint froze. He looked focused and Clint didn't want to bother him. He tried to back out quietly but accidentally knocked a stack of papers off a table. He swore to himself as Bruce's head snapped up.

"Sorry." Clint was hurriedly gathering up the papers.

Bruce smiled and walked over to help him. "Don't worry about it."

"I didn't want to bother you." Clint muttered.

"I'd have thought you'd be more worried about startling me." Clint's chest tightened and he quickly scanned Bruce's face for any hint of green. Bruce chuckled. "Tony installed an early warning system so I know before anyone enters the lab. Meaning no one can sneak up on me. No surprises."

"You knew I was there?" Clint could feel his cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

"I figured you'd say something if you needed to talk." They stood up and Bruce started re-organizing the papers. Clint was trying to decide if Bruce would be offended if he just turned and left. The idea of trying to make small talk scared the shit out of him. It was way beyond his ability at the moment. ""I just figured, since I'm kinda an expert on not being in control of your own body…"

Bruce crossed back to his microscope, leaving Clint frozen to the spot. He had never thought, never realized, never considered that maybe there would be someone who might understand. But Bruce knew. When the Other Guy took over, Bruce was gone. He could kill hundreds of people and not realize it. Cause it wasn't really him. The emptiness filling Clint seemed to lessen a fraction. Not much. But the darkness was just a hint of a shade lighter. Because no matter what he'd done, Bruce didn't blame him. Bruce understood in a way the other didn't. How hard Clint was trying not to blame himself. And how miserably he was failing.

Still, it wasn't the same. Bruce could control the Other Guy. At least a little. Clint had had no choice. Had gone from being himself to Loki's puppet in a half a heartbeat. Had been overwhelmed by the wave of blue and had welcomed it. Because Selvig had been right. The tesseract had showed truth. The truth it had shown Clint was that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how far he ran, he was still the scared little child he had always been. Clint bit back tears, not wanting to break down here.

"Thanks." It was the only thing he could think of to say. Bruce nodded without looking up from his work and Clint hurried to get out of the room.

"I was in Ohio once. Back in the early days." Bruce's voice stopped Clint at the door. Neither one looked at the other. Feeling like that connection would be too much for this conversation. "A tiny little speck of a town. Only had one stop light. I was wandering along dirt roads and through cornfields that seemed to go on forever." Clint's heart started pounding. Memories pushing at the places where he had locked them away.

"Stumbled upon a county fair." Bruce continued. "Place was packed… The noise of it. The chaos. All those people. The animals. The rides. The smells. It was overwhelming. I lost control before I'd even realized what was happening. Killed three people. One was a boy. Just 10 years old.

Just, I guess, people tell you it's not your fault. Doesn't make it any easier to live with the guilt."

"Thanks." Clint repeated. Still struggling as his worst nightmares beat against his mind. He'd dream about them next. He was certain. They were the next major thing in his life with Phil. Yet he'd been hoping to avoid them. To skip over them.

As Clint walked from the room, as the door was swinging shut behind him, he heard Bruce whisper. "Say hi to Loki for me."

;;;

~~ "Good boy" The low voice growled. The hands pressed down on Clint's wrists, tightening painfully over the places rubbed raw from the restraints. "I may find more use for you later." ~~

A hand touched Clint's shoulder and he jerked awake. In the blink of an eye he had grabbed the attacker's wrist and spun, flinging them both off the bed. He landed on top, straddling the man. He pinned the man's arms to his side with his knees. Clint's right forearm slammed into the attacker's throat as his left hand drew back, holding the knife he always kept under his pillow. Clint stared down at the man as his hand swung downward and he froze. He was panting and he could feel his heart beating in his chest and he knew it wasn't all from the attack. Only it hadn't been an attack. It had been Phil, trying to wake him up from another nightmare.

They'd gotten good at waking each other from nightmares. There had been a few close calls in the beginning. A black eye here, a concussion there, but they'd learned. Clint was pretty sure that his lessened reactions had more to do with fewer nightmares than Phil being any better at waking him. Clint's nightmares had gotten tamer sleeping with Phil's arms around him. But not this one. This one... it had been years... he tried to push back at the memory of it. To not remember the smell of dirt and sweat. To not feel the man on every inch of Clint's body, swallowing him, suffocating him... making him hate the heat that built under his skin...

Clint looked back at Phil, still lying calmly below him. Clint was cutting off the his air and had a knife only inches above his eye, but he looked the same as he did at the office. The same blue-grey eyes, that reminded Clint of the color of the steel shafts of his arrows, staring patiently up at him. Phil's face started to pale and Clint scrambled back. He tried to ignore Phil's quiet gasps for air.

He needed to get out. To go away. He couldn't do this here, not with Phil... They were on an assignment so Clint had actually been sleeping in more than boxers, he had on sweats and a t-shirt. He grabbed his jacket and sneakers and was out the door before Phil had gotten off the floor.

Clint ran through the darkened streets thinking of exactly how much he hated Montana. The state was too flat, too repetitive, too empty. Even here, in Helena, the capital, it was so quiet that the silence felt oppressive. Every fiber of Clint's being wanted nothing more than to climb the tallest thing he could find and perch there for days. But he couldn't do that. Phil would expect that. And as much as he needed the height, he needed to avoid Phil even more. Instead Clint turned towards the outskirts of the town (he refused to call it a city. New York was a city. This was not a city). Ten minutes later he hit a cornfield. (Seriously, NOT a city)

The sight made his skin crawl and a wave of nausea hit him with enough force to drop him to his knees. The pain felt so familiar... too familiar... he closed his eyes against the tears trying to force their way out. His arms started to tingle. He could feel the man's hands closing on his wrists. Clint pushed himself to his feet and started running again, straight into the cornfield. There was a wrenching feeling in his chest as the stalks touched him and he had to bite back a scream. He hated it here. His whole body was shaking and his vision was swimming. But he kept going. Because if he stopped he'd feel the hands again. On his arms... his chest... his thighs... Clint screamed and pumped his legs even faster.

At the center of the cornfield was something Clint didn't expect. A tree. It was small, barely ten feet, and hadn't been visible from the road. A tiny flicker of relief flooded him. He climbed up as far as he could on the thin branches and settled down into a comfortable spot. He was only a foot or so above the sea of corn but right now it felt like miles. Yet at the same time it felt like millimeters. He wanted to be further; higher. To get away from the never-ending fields stretching out into the night. He curled up into as tight of ball as he could manage. Digging his nails into his forearms, he tried to use the pain to forget the man's touch.

~~ Clint stumbled into the room he shared with his brother. Barney was sprawled out, snoring. Clint shook him awake. Barney was angry at being woken up, but Barney was always angry. Clint tried to tell him. About the man. What he'd done. But Barney cut him off. "Look. I like it here. So don't you go fucking this up for me. You do whatever, whenever, to whoever wants it, if that's what it takes." ~~

A stone smacked against Clint's temple and he jerked awake, the motion causing him to lose his balance and tumble out of the tree. He managed to grab a branch and land lightly on his feet. To the casual observer it would have looked like a planned maneuver. Unfortunately for Clint, the only observer he could see was Phil.

Clint looked around, blinking in the morning sunlight, trying to find an escape route. His heart was pounding heavily against his chest and he could feel the man's hands gripping at his arms. He needed to get away. To keep moving. To be alone. He couldn't handle Phil seeing his meltdown. The look on Phil's face said he knew exactly what Clint was thinking. He moved before Clint could react, tackling Clint and pinning him to the ground.

"Mind telling me why you slept in a cornfield?" Phil's voice was low, almost playful. It stung at corners of Clint's memories. Reminding him of the man's voice. Phil's weight over-top of him; so like the man's weight had been. Phil's hands exactly where his had been. Panic and fear built up in Clint's gut. His breath caught in his chest and his whole body started trembling. Something about his reaction was enough to let Phil know that he needed to get up. The second the pressure of Phil's body was off of him, Clint sprinted away and didn't look back.

Clint kept running, through corn, and then across expanses of tall grass, until his feet fell out from under him. He landed ass-first in a river. The water was freezing and the chill knocked the air from his lungs. The river was wide and shallow, only coming up to his chest as he sat in the water. Clint didn't move. The ice cold water swirling around him soaked through his clothes in an instant and bit at his skin. It was like a thousand little knives tearing into his flesh. It reminded him of Budapest. Only this time it was exactly what he needed. The pain pushed back any lingering pressure on his skin.

A smile tugged at the corners of Clint's lips. For two whole glorious minutes he couldn't feel any of the man's touch. Then his limbs started to go numb. As the pinpricks faded the pressure returned, even worse, until Clint wanted to tear his skin off. He dragged himself out of the water and flung himself down on the bank. The morning air stung at his face and he needed to feel it everywhere. He stripped, throwing his clothes aside, and let the chill breeze find each drop of water on his skin and turn it to ice. It relieved the pressure for another two minutes.

Then, as feeling started to return to his limbs, his skin started burning (the same way it always does when a frozen limb is being re-heated). The pain of it bought him another two minutes until the man's hands returned. Clint slid back into the water, still buck-naked. This time the water froze him more quickly, but the tingling lasted longer. When it stopped he slid back out of the water again. Letting the wind and then the sun each take their turns in ridding his skin of the awful memories.

He lost track of time as he repeated the process. In the water. Out of the water. In the water. Out of the water. In the water. Out of the water. In the water. He was faintly aware of the sun climbing higher in the sky and it was directly overhead before anything happened to break the routine.

"I don't remember skinny-dipping being in the mission briefing." Clint didn't even bother turning to glare at Natasha. She was supposed to be in New York, recovering from her last mission which had gone very wrong very quickly and had resulted in a few bruised ribs. Coulson must have called her. "Ignoring me isn't a good idea." Her voice dropped in temperature and Clint gave a curt nod. Just enough to acknowledge her existence. "Wanna tell me what's going on?" Clint shook his head and curled up tighter into a ball. His limbs were starting to go numb, he'd have to get out again soon. "You're going to end up killing yourself if you stay in there much longer."

Clint grumbled but stood up. The pressure was starting to return to his wrists and he might as well get bonus points for cooperating. The air brushed against his skin, covering him with goosebumps. He trudged through the water slowly, lavishing in the pain that pierced at his ankles every time they cleared the water. When he finally reached the bank he flopped down onto his stomach, not even bothering to put up a hand to stop himself hitting the ground face-first. He grunted happily at the pain that washed through him with the impact.

"Do you at least want to tell me why you're naked?" Nat asked as she squatted down next to him. He shook his head as best he could with it still being planted nose-first into the dirt. "Why were you in the river?" She placed a hand on his shoulder. He hadn't been expecting it. The physical contact obliterated the numbness of the vanishing chill and brought the man's hands back. Clint jerked and rolled away. He pushed himself up on the balls of his feet, ready to make a run for it. Nat sat, frozen. A look of shock and well-hidden worry on her face. Clint focused on slowing his breathing, but it didn't work. The hands were still there, pressing at his wrists, his chest, his throat, his legs. Every inch of skin crawled at the memory of the contact. He dove back into the water, submerging himself entirely. Holding his breath so that he could stay under the surface.

"Clint?!" Tasha's voice was garbled through sound of the rushing water. Clint lifted his head so that it just barely cleared the water. The cold was only just beginning to claw away the man's touch. "What's wrong? I can't help if you don't tell me." She was still on the shore, her feet pressed up against the water's edge. Still giving him whatever space he needed.

"I can still feel him." Normally Clint would have been ashamed of how weak his voice sounded. So soft and scared. But he was too worn out to care. Right now he felt weak and shaken and so utterly helpless that he couldn't help but be scared. Nat wouldn't judge him for it. "I can feel his hands on me..."

"You're safe now Clint. There's no one here but us. All right? You're safe." Her voice was soft, reassuring but it didn't make Clint's skin crawl any less. Neither of them moved for a few minutes. Clint's body was numb now but he could still feel him. He was too cold to notice that he'd stopped shivering, that he wasn't just kind of numb but had legitimately lost feeling to his extremities. He just sat in the river, trying not to think about that day, all those years ago. And all the other days that had followed. All the times the man had sought him out; had cornered him in some dark place; had forced himself on Clint.

Clint sunk deeper into the water, letting it engulf his head. He held his breath as long as he could. Then, when his lungs were burning, screaming for air, he held himself under. Finally, against his control, his mouth opened and he inhaled a lungful of water. The last thing he remembered was pain and darkness and the man's hands still clamped tightly on his wrists.

Clint awoke to the quiet beeping of heart monitors and the smell of chemicals. A hospital. Somehow everything always ended up with him in a hospital. He'd like to go just one fucking week without ending up here. He could feel medications coursing through his system. The pain killers creating a heaviness in his limbs.

As his mind slowly swam back to consciousness, the feeling returned to Clint's arms. The touch of the man's hands starting to slowly press down on his wrists.

The sound of someone shifting a few feet away caused Clint's eyes to snap open in a panic. Phil was sitting at his bedside, brows pulled together in worry. The moment he saw Clint's eyes were open his face relaxed somewhat. He reached out, laying a hand on Clint's. The contact was too much. It burned Clint's skin. He yanked his hand back. But it was too late. The shock brought the man's hands back with a vengeance. He could feel the man's nails digging into his flesh.

Clint's mind blanked. The only thing that existed was the feeling on his arms. He needed to make it stop. Needed to be free of it. Needed to get away. Anything to not feel it.

He didn't think. Just moved. He leaned off the bed, reaching towards where Phil's jacket was, folded over another chair. His hands wrapped around the small blade that was hidden in the inside pocket. Bringing it to his arm he sliced it across his skin. The pain felt delicious. He twisted the blade so that it was scraping parallel to the bones. Peeling off his skin. He only managed to move it a few inches before a sharp pain exploded at the back of his head and his world went blissfully black.

When Clint next awoke he waited to move. He could feel something wrapped around his wrists. But it wasn't the man's hands. It was more solid. He tried to move his hands, but the things around his wrists stopped him. Restraints.

"Clint?" Natasha's voice was soft. He opened his eyes to see her sitting in the chair where Phil had been. Phil! Clint looked around, hoping to see the man hidden somewhere. But they were alone. He tried not to feel disappointment. He had known this would happen. It was why he had run away after the nightmare. Phil had stuck with him through a lot of shit, but even he had to have a breaking point. At some point he had to realize Clint was too fucked up to help.

"Why'm I restrained?"

Tasha raised a single eyebrow at him. "Really? You try and kill yourself then ask why we restrained you?"

Clint blinked at her, confused. "I didn't try and kill myself."

"Uh, yes, you did. Twice now. First you tried drowning yourself. Then you tried slicing your wrists. Got pretty damn close to hitting an artery, too."

Clint shook his head. She was wrong. She didn't understand. "Was just trying to make the hands go away." He mumbled.

"Can you feel them now?"

Clint thought about it. Letting his mind focus on the nerves that wound under the flesh of his arms. There was nothing. Just a strange sort of stinging numbness that he'd never felt before. It was weird. Almost like an itch. It was irritating but endurable. Anything was better than having to feel the man's hands pressing into his skin, claiming him as his own. "What did you do?" He knew that this was Tasha's doing.

"You aren't the only one with those sort of memories." She gave a weak smile. Clint wanted to reach out to her, to hold her hand, but the restraints stopped him. She noticed the twitch of his hands though and threaded her hand into his. "My first… attack… came a few months after you brought me to SHIELD. Coulson found me in the gym at 3am. Working myself so hard that I could barely see straight. He understood and sparred with me until I finally collapsed. The next time I had an attack, he showed up with a pill. Told me he'd had R&D create it. It affects the nerves in a, well, you can tell how it's affects them."

Clint could feel moisture building at the corners of his eyes from his gratitude. "Thank you." He managed to squeeze the words past the lump in his throat.

"You shouldn't thank me. The pills only exist because of Coulson." She stood up. "You should talk to him. He's worried about you."

"I can't – "Clint started. It was one thing talking about this with Nat. She knew. She understood. She'd been there.

"You can and you will. Phil loves you. Nothing will ever change that. You two both seem to have such difficulty grasping that about each other." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Now get some sleep, Clint." She left the room.

Clint doubted that was going to happen. He didn't need any more dreams about that man. Or the men and women who had come after him. He'd stay awake until he was certain he could fall into a dreamless sleep.

Natasha popped he head back through the door. "Oh, and two more things. First, Coulson has made an official notation in your file to make sure you never have another assignment in a cornfield. And second, the meds also give you dreamless sleep." She smiled and disappeared.

;;;

Clint bolted upright. His body dripping with sweat and trembling. He could feel the man's wrists on his skin. But they were different this time. They burned like ice. The way Loki's touch had burned him when Clint had been under his control. "Jarvis!" He gasped. "Tell Natasha: Helena." Clint heard Jarvis reply with an affirmative. Natasha would understand. She always understood.

But Clint didn't know where she was. Whether she was in the Tower or at HQ or out in the city. He couldn't wait until she arrived. He clambered out of bed and into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, setting it for scalding hot, and stepped in. The heat burned his skin in the most wonderful way. A voice in the back of his head warned him to be smart. To not risk doing any actual damage. He only turned the knob to raise the temperature even higher.

"Clint!" Natasha burst into the bathroom and dragged him out from the shower. "Here." She pried open his hand and dropped a single pill into it. Clint downed it using the water spraying from the shower head. Feeling grateful that he still had Natasha in his life as the itching numbness started to spread out under his skin. "Better?" Clint nodded and allowed Natasha to lead him back to bed.