Thanks to kisshufan4ever, Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, Maia2, ArainaHaldthin, Tsukiau, Dazja, livelaughlove, thestralrider, Potkanka, no-MY name's Anonymous, Vamp-Fledging, Bombshell1701, Smiley, Hiddleslover, Cerca39 and Yaraslava Rada for their reviews!

And a special high-five to ArainaHaldthin who gave me my 300th review! Wow, when I think that I started out hoping to get a hundred reviews... I am grateful and awed at the wonderful reception this story had gotten.

I'd just like to remind everybody that this is AU from the comics. :) Love you all (in a non-creepy, author-reader relationship sort of way, of course!)

Plus a warning that there is drug use mentioned in this chapter.

...

Loki turned the cellphone over once in his hands before throwing it as hard as he could against a nearby building. It shattered, and Loki slumped down to the ground, holding his head in his hands. His clothes were once again too big for him, and he was certain that he was still shrinking. He had given up trying to calculate how much age he would lose, but it was getting worse. The latex mask had gotten flabby over his face, and so he had pulled it off as soon as he could do so without drawing attention. It didn't much matter, since he had made his way clear to California without detection. He was as safe as he was going to get at the moment.

A city bus pulled to the stop on the street, and Loki pulled his ballcap low over his face as he got on. He made his way to the very back, hiding his face as best he could.

He hadn't expected that Banner would believe him when he said that all he wanted was to be left alone, no matter how true it was. Thoughts of vengeance still rose occasionally to his mind, but it seemed a useless gesture now. What would killing them or destroying their lives give him? Nothing but more nightmares.

But that didn't mean he was going to wait passively for them and Asgard to dictate his fate. He had known that Banner wouldn't believe him, but he also knew that this would confuse the Avengers, at least for a time. It may even cause friction between Thor and his friends, and judging by Banner's reaction-

"Stop lying to yourself," Loki muttered harshly. "You called Banner because you wanted somebody to believe you, and if any of them were going to, it would be him."

Or Thor. But how could he talk to Thor, after everything that had happened between them? Loki slumped back. Maybe he should have gone back to Stark tower with Thor. Except wasn't Banner's reaction to Loki asking to be left alone proof that Thor couldn't, or wouldn't, have protected him like he promised?

"I truly am going mad," Loki sighed to himself, digging his palms into his moist eyes. "Lost inside my madness, the lies I tell are truths."

"That is so deep. Can I put that on a bumper sticker?" A man sitting in the seat ahead of him turned around. His face was dirty, and his hair was greasy and spiky. His eyes were glassy and the smile on his face was one of complete blissful peace. Loki was intimately familiar with that look, and it wasn't one he ever wanted to see again. He pulled the ball cap down even lower over his face and tried to ignore the man.

"You're like a poet or something."

Loki glanced up briefly, wondering if it was a trick of S.H.E.I.L.D.'s, but he couldn't work out the logic of playing a drug addict instead of surrounding him by weapons and bringing him in or filling him full of holes. But then, what events had been logical since his arrival on earth? Not only had the Avengers not put him in chains, but they had actually- It was all a trick, Loki reminded himself. Only a trick.

The man moved back so that he was sitting beside Loki. He clutched a sketchpad to his chest and Loki saw the tips of watercolor pencils sticking from his coat pocket. He smelled like he hadn't bathed in a year, perhaps more. Loki shuffled over to press against the window, raising his hand to block his profile from the outside view.

The drug-addled human sat in silence for a moment, staring at Loki as if he was waiting for him to spout words of prophecy.

"Is there something that you want?" Loki asked eventually, turning to face the man. To his surprise, he wasn't a man after all. He was a boy, only thirteen or fourteen, just older than Loki himself appeared. The dirt and shaggy hair had made him look older than he actually was.

"I'm Bay. Like 'Down by the bay, where the watermelons grow'," the boy sang, his voice shrill. "Who are you?"

"I have no name," Loki replied shortly. "What do you want?"

"What you said, about the lies in the truth, it's all true, isn't it? Nobody sees that, but everything is truth. I can read your karma, man! I can read your karma. Lies are true," Bay babbled. Suddenly he sat straight and turned his clouded eyes out the window. "Lies are true. They say that lies are lies and truth is truth, but that's a lie. That's a lie because it's true. 'Back to my home, I dare not go'."

"You are a babbling madman. Leave me alone."

"I read your karma!" Bay exclaimed. "You don't want anyone stealing your magic."

"What?" Loki looked sharply at the boy. How did he know?

"Not everybody is in touch with their magic. I lost mine, it was stolen long ago. But you've still got yours, don't you, Poet? You got your magic there!" Bay jabbed Loki in the chest above his heart. "You know, this is a land without magic. That's what killed me. That's what stole my magic. That's why I can't read my karma. 'For if I do, my father will say-' My father let me go."

Loki breathed out a sigh and lowered his face to his hands. This was nothing but the ramblings of a drug addicted fool.

"I was hanging off the edge and my father let me go. He lost his karma and couldn't hold me. And I fell into the abyss."

"My brother threw me into it," Loki said suddenly, surprising himself with his honesty. "And I cut out my heart that I might live."

"You are The Poet, man," Bay said admiringly. "You are The Poet."

Loki turned to Bay and studied him closely. "What did you do, when your father let you go? How did you survive?"

"I didn't, Poet. I'm dead. I'm a dead husk walking round and round. I sit here talking, but I'm not alive. I'm far gone," Bay lapsed into silence. The clouded, glassy eyes stared into nothing. "I'm in the land of the dead."

"If you're dead, how can I be talking to you?" Loki asked with a hint of condescension in his voice.

"I don't know," Bay replied, and his brow furrowed. "You're The Poet."

"What makes me the poet?"

"Words. Words, words, words, just like that play. I don't know what it is, but it's a good one," Bay replied, beginning to rock back and forth. "Down by the bay, where the watermelons grow! Back to my home, I dare not go! For if I do, my father will say: 'Have you have seen a poet who doesn't know it?' Down by the bay, down by the bay!"

"Words," Loki repeated bitterly. "Words have never been so useless... and so unforgettable."

You lack conviction. Loki shivered as he thought about the man he had killed. He didn't believe in ghosts. The sense of a voice telling him that he could go back was nothing more than further proof that he was losing his mind.

"What are you on?" Loki asked Bay, who looked affronted for a moment before smiling broadly.

"Life, Poet. I'm on life."

Loki examined the smooth brow of the boy, the utter thoughtless quality of his eyes. His own thoughts were painful inside his head, and he longed for an escape. What was he willing to give up in order to erase the memories from his mind and the hurt that came with them? He leaned forward slightly, ignoring the stench of unwashed body. "You know where I can get some?"

#

Bruce groaned as his phone rang again. He glared at it for a moment before turning it off entirely and looking back to the computer screen. Nearby, Tony glanced over at him with a raised brow.

"Telemarketers?" he asked.

"No. I keep getting calls that are completely silent, although once there was an automated voice telling me that it was an inter-universal call and extra charges would apply." Bruce shook his head. "I thought at first it was you, but then-"

"I'm not in the mood for pranks right now, Bruce." Tony frowned. "Not when Loki's still out there."

"Yeah, I know. It's just- Oh, for crying out loud!" Bruce exclaimed as the phone began to ring again. In a fit of anger, he yanked the battery from the casing.

#

Clint sat on an old sofa that was a patchwork of repairs and cushions borrowed from other furniture. A cold beer was in his hand as he stared at the flickering TV screen. Something was wrong with the signal. It kept flickering between an old western and a sci-fi horror. He watched in a daze, not caring about the screen. His feet were propped up on a coffee table that was falling apart.

A little girl with flaming red hair climbed up onto the couch beside him and tucked herself under his arm. Her eyes were raw from crying and snot dribbled down under her nose.

"I had a bad dream," she whispered.

"It's okay, Cindy," Clint responded, pulling her in closer to him. "I'm here, it's all okay."

Cindy rested her head against him. "I love you, Clint."

Clint smiled down at her, and then leaned forward to grasp a steak knife that was sticking out of the coffee table. Cindy saw and tried to pull away, but Clint wouldn't let her go.

"Don't hurt me, please. Please, Clint."

He twirled the knife in his hand, and then brought it to her throat.

Clint woke gasping for breath. He flung himself out of bed, heading straight to the shower. But how could he clean off the feeling of blood splattering his hands that had never been there? The cold water made him shiver, but it drove the exhaustion from his body. He couldn't remember the last time that he had slept through the night.

After he dressed and had a quick bite of food to get his metabolism going, he headed down to the ground floor. He wasn't surprised when Natasha was already in the parking garage. Her arms were folded and her mouth set grimly.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked her.

"Clint, this has got to stop."

"What?"

"This. I'm worried about you."

"I'm just going for a run."

"Like you were just going for a run yesterday?" Natasha fixed him with a knowing look. "Tell me, where were you running so that you got that knife wound?"

"What knife wound?" Clint asked, though he knew better. Natasha's eyes went cold and she quickly jabbed him in the side, where the knife from a mugger had sliced the previous morning. He winced. "I just need to get back on my game, Natasha. I'm fine. It's just with Loki out there, doing who know what, I need a way to release my stress."

"I wouldn't be worried if you had told me."

"How did you know?"

"Jarvis told me."

Clint glared upwards. "Traitor."

-I don't work for you- the automated butler replied coolly. –We were in no alliance, so I can't very well be a traitor.-

"Clint, why aren't you talking to me?"

Clint wouldn't look at her, remembering the little girl who had curled up against him in his dream. The little girl whose blood he still felt on his hands. He knew that it wasn't real. Couldn't be real. He thought of all his other dreams, ones where he woke feeling Natasha's throat in his hands, felt her windpipe crushing. He knew that they weren't real. Natasha was standing in front of him, alive and well and very much upset.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. I'm seriously considering going to Rogers with this, Barton."

Clint sighed and sat down on the bumper of a nearby car. It was probably expensive. He was probably scratching it. He didn't care. "I'm still having nightmares."

Natasha sat beside him. "About?"

"The sceptre. Killing you. Killing Phil. Killing Cindy."

"I thought you stopped dreaming about her," Natasha said softly.

Clint didn't look at her. "I had. Until Loki and the sceptre."

"They aren't real. Clint, I'm here. I'm alive. You didn't kill Phil. You didn't kill Cindy."

"I know. I just need to work this out. Please, let me do that."

Natasha bit her lip. "Let me help."

"You can't. I know you want to. I wish you could. But you can't, and that's all there is to it. But if you could get Rogers off my back about going to see a shrink, that would be nice."

"He's got a point with the psychiatrist, though." Natasha folded her arms. "I know you don't want to, but you need to talk someone who can give you professional help. I can only do so much. Especially since you're hiding things from me."

"All right. I'll think about it," Clint promised.

Natasha nodded. "So where were you going?"

"I don't know. On a run looking for trouble. I could use company."

"Well, it's a good thing that I just happened to wear my running shoes, then."

...

All you Oncers had better realise where Bay comes from...

Reviewers get running shoes.