Chapter Twenty Eight

With a sudden bang, the building rocked again, the lights flickering and then blacking out altogether. I froze, hand pressed against the wall. The screaming was still coming from the upper floors, and mixed with the sudden blackness it was terrifying.

A hand closed on my wrist, causing me to jump. It is me, Sam. The low voice echoed in my ears.

Pressing my other hand to my heart, I let out a breath. "Loki," I whispered, grasping his hand in mine. I could barely see the outline of him standing beside me. "Loki, what are you doing out? You shouldn't be out here!"

"Something attacked this building, Sam. Something bad. I could not simply sit there and wonder how you were faring out there - alone in the darkness."

I shook my head, looking up and down the black hall. An emergency exit sign glowed at the far end. We needed to get out of the open. Who knew when the lights would come on again? What if someone accidentally stumbled upon us?

"We need to move," I whispered, tugging on his hand.

He didn't argue, letting me lead him towards the exit sign. It was located above the stairwell, which was dimly lit by two flickering tubes. Stepping inside, I dropped Loki's hand. We need to move fast. Follow me. It would probably be smart for you to go invisible or whatever you do, I formed the thoughts, knowing he would hear them.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I paused at the twentieth floor. Resting my hand on the doorknob, I listened. Another long, anguished scream came from the depths of the floor.

Throwing the door open, I jogged down the hall. Several pieces of roof had fallen in, making a rubble maze between rooms. There were no agents on the floor. I shook the thought off, telling myself they just hadn't got here yet. I didn't want to think of the other possibilities. That something, or someone, had killed them.

The screaming was coming from one of the laboratories at the end of the floor. Where Bruce had been staying.

"Aghh," another low scream came from the room. I couldn't stall any longer. Hurdling over the large chunk of roof that had fallen in the doorway, I landed in the room.

Weak strands of sunlight filtered in through the massive hole in the wall, ruined objects tossed everywhere about the lab. It was destroyed.

Slumped in the corner, her red hair filled with rubble, was Natasha. She was bending over someone, speaking rapidly, her voice thick.

"Just hold on, okay? You'll be fine," she whispered. I crept forward, not wanting to scare her. Stay back, I warned Loki. Even though he was invisible, I wasn't about to put him in the reach of an Avenger.

"Natasha?" I asked, my blood cold. "Natasha, are you alright?"

She shook her head, biting her lip anxiously. "My legs are caught," she croaked, indicating to where a chunk of wall had landed on her legs.

"I'll get you out," I reassured her, bracing myself against the rubble that had her trapped, but she slapped at my hands. I noticed with a cold feeling how her hands were soaked with blood.

"No! No, you have to help Clint! Please, Sam. I know I've been nothing but nasty to you but you have to help him!" She begged, tears streaming down her dust coated face.

I grasped her outstretched hand, which was shaking wildly. "I'll help him, Natasha. Where is he?"

She didn't answer, simply shifting her torso the left. What I saw was enough to turn my stomach.

Clint, or what had been Clint, was laying limply on the floor, his limbs jerking as he moaned. It looked like he had taken the blast directly to the face. Crouching, I touched his cut cheek. He let out another sharp howl of pain.

"Clint," I whispered, not wanting to scare him. "Clint, where are you hurt?"

He lashed wildly, pulling away from my hand. He began to struggle again, screaming and shouting. Natasha sobbed behind me, her face buried in her arms. Placing my hands on his muscled chest, I forced him to lie still, scared he would do more damage to himself.

"Clint, hush. You've been wounded badly. I need you to relax."

"Who are you?" He screamed, trying to push at my hands. I noticed how uncoordinated he was, and it set off a warning bell. When was Hawkeye ever uncoordinated? He was an archer, and they were all about precision and coordination.

"It's me, Sam. Sam Green. Clint, can you tell me what's hurting? I need to get you help."

His lip trembled, his shoulders sagging. "My wrist. It's snapped," he admitted weakly.

"What else?"

My eyes flicked over his face. His right eye was swollen shut, and the other was staring blankly at the ceiling. I noticed the deep gash that sliced through the skin above it. It was pouring blood.

"I can't see," he moaned, head turning again. "Goddamnit, I can't see! I can't see anything!"

I recoiled from his shouts, then leaned in again. "What do you mean, Clint?" Fear was starting to pour through me now.

"I mean I can't see shit all, Sam! Everything's black! I need my eyes," he sobbed, raising his good hand and pawing numbly at his cheek, trying to find his eyes. I took his hand, setting it back down. "I need my eyes." He repeated, sounding like a small, scared child.

Trembling, I sat back, trying to keep collected for his sake. "M-maybe it's just some kind of aftershock. Sit tight, okay? I'm going to go fetch some help."

He didn't protest, simply lying back weakly into the ashy floor. Natasha looked at me with terrified eyes from her position on the floor. I knew what she was thinking, and I knew she wasn't ready for the answer. "You sit tight too, okay?" I said lamely, trying to smile. It was weak, and didn't reach my eyes. She nodded, tears still staining her face.

Pushing myself back over the blocked door, I burst into the hall. Lights were starting to flick back on. Looking back and forth, I felt the panic grow in my chest. I didn't have my radio, and I had two badly wounded agents depending on me.

Loki appeared, leaning against the wall. "Sam," he said slowly, reaching out for me. "Sam, slow down. You need to think."

Closing my eyes, I let out a strained breath. He was right. Panicking would get me nowhere, and it wouldn't help Agent Romanoff or Agent Barton.

Jogging through the poorly lit hallway, I pushed open a narrow door. Supply closet. Lined along the one wall, red charged lights blinking, were spare radios. Grasping the nearest one, I flicked it on, waiting for it to connect.

Static greeted me. "This is Agent Green. I have a Code Red on floor twenty, I repeat, I have a Code Red on floor twenty. Two agents down. I need help sent immediately." I shouted into the radio.

Fury's voice came from the other end. "Decided not to quit after all?"

"This is not the time!" I yelled, hoping he'd hear the stress in my voice.

"Ok, Sam, take a breather. Where are you exactly?"

I relayed my location to him. "Please, send medics stat! Barton's in bad condition and I think Natasha might have two broken legs-"

"Hold on," Fury said slowly, "did you say Barton and Natasha are down?"

"Yes," I yelled, voice breaking. "Yes, they are. It's bad. Please. Please send them."

"The medics are on the way. Sit tight, and keep an eye on them."

I clicked the radio off, jogging back into the ruined lab. Loki made himself invisible, having heard the conversation about the medics and agents on route. Natasha was crying again, and Clint was shaking, clearly shaken up about his sudden blindness.

As the medics swarmed in and around me, I prayed with everything I had that they would be okay. I heard whispers, saying that it had been an alien attack, and that it was the Chitauri again.

I knew one thing: the Chitauri were getting closer, and if they were getting closer, than so was Thanos. And that only meant one thing. We did have a war on our hands, and nobody could stop it.

It was all my fault.