The elevators were still out, so they took the staircase. They covered maybe three levels before Loki's steps faltered and he had to rely on the support of the wall to not trip, panting slightly. They needed to move, he knew, but he felt like he was going to collapse if he took one more step.
Clint stopped too, a few stairs ahead. "What's wrong?" he asked, then his eyes dashed to Loki's hand, still clutching the scepter, the dried blood on his fingers. His brows furrowed. "Sitwell shot you."
The scepter clattered to the floor.
[It's nothing. Just a graze. I should've been more careful.] It wasn't the blood loss, but rather the overall exhaustion turning his body stiff and uncooperative. He was still not used to how feeble he truly was, and all the running and fighting expended his resources. Getting shot only added to that.
"Let me see," Clint demanded, then pulled out his blade and slashed through the cloth of Loki's sleeve. "Okay, you're right. It's not that bad, it stopped bleeding already," he judged.
He still tore off a strip of his shirt and tied it around the wound, then bent over and picked up the scepter.
"Just like the old times, Master," he said with a jeer, handing it back.
[I never told you to call me that,] Loki said and took the staff from Clint's extended hand. The spell flared up once more, but Loki held on to the weapon. It was safer with him as he was deaf to the Stone's seduction.
"No, you never did," Barton laughed. "You're good to go?"
Loki sucked in a breath and nodded.
The bridge was manned by a skeletal crew of eight people and none of them looked much like a warrior. Plus, they didn't even notice Loki and Clint stepping into the room, too busy with running around and yelling at one another in panicked voices. Emergency lights blinked, the alarm blared from the speakers and warnings and errors were popping up on every screen. One rarely came closer to witnessing such a vivid representation of a glossary definition of pandemonium.
"Hey!" Clint called, then, when that didn't yield any results, he aimed his weapon at the ceiling and fired. The bullet bounced off a metal support beam and hit some electric panel, resulting in a cascade of sparks.
Good job, Barton.
That did the trick though and the crew stopped dead in their steps. The ship did not start to fall out of the sky yet.
The person closest to them – a woman standing at the helm – raised her hands in surrender. "We are just following orders," she pleaded.
"Well, those just changed. We have maybe five minutes to bring this baby to the ground, so do as I say if you want to live," Clint said. She didn't react, her eyes wide as they took in the scepter in Loki's hand and stopped on his face. The mask he wore has slipped down somewhere during the fight and he didn't bother to fix it. Clint urged her on by tipping his weapon.
She did turn to the screens then. "It's impossible," she said, "The landing sequence will take longer than that to initialize."
"Do try."
"We might be able to override…"
"Do it."
She called out an order to her men and they returned to their posts. There were a few grumbles from the crew, but no one dallied. They knew the stakes.
"And turn off that alarm, will you?"
The sound cut off suddenly, and Loki relished in the blissful silence for the whole length of five seconds. Then a flock of fighter jets flew by, releasing a volley of missiles. Loki watched, almost in slow motion, as they traveled soundlessly through the air and disappeared behind the edge of the panoramic windshield. The Helicarrier shook and an explosion sounded.
"We lost one of the starboard engines!" the captain yelled. "If we lose one more we won't stay up, no matter what!"
That Loki did know, from experience.
"Why are they shooting at us?!" one of the men asked, "Those are the Air Force F-sixteens!"
The crew had no idea what the purpose of their mission was, Loki realized. They were sent out to kill their own kind but were never told what they were doing.
"Can we make a contact?" Clint asked, as the jets reappeared in the viewport, making a turn and readying for the next approach. "Quickly?"
"No, the external comms have been shut down when we lost the auxiliary power," she said, "along most of the defensive functions." She turned to her men. "Get ready for an evasive maneuver."
Loki did not need extensive knowledge about piloting Helicarriers to know that it was impossible with a ship this huge, and running with one engine damaged to boot. The land was awfully far away.
"Hey, Stark?" Clint said into the communicator, just as Loki was about to suggest that. "Can you lend us a hand here? We have a severe case of being shot at by our own military jets and we cannot talk to them!"
"Ugh," Stark's voice answered, overlayed with a sound of gunshots. "Give me a sec. Jay?"
The connection cut off.
Loki put the scepter down. Carrying things was tedious when one needed one's hands to talk.
[Is any of the two other ships up?] he asked.
Clint relayed the question and the captain tapped on her screens. "No, they never launched."
[You can still try the others, perhaps someone's close to…] Loki paused and pulled out the phone. It was vibrating with an incoming call, the identification of the caller just a string of seemingly random letters and symbols. He handed the device to Clint.
"Hello?" Clint answered then his face drew in. "My name is Clint Barton. I am an agent of SHIELD and a member of the Avengers initiative. I'm on board of the carrier and the situation is under control. Do not…" One of the jets let another missile loose. "Fire at us," Clint finished, much more quietly. "Fuck."
The jets turned sharply. The missile hit. The helm's displays flashed another "engine failure" warning and the vessel lurched and shuddered, then stabilized, skewed at an angle. There was a perceptive downwards motion. Not a freefall, but close. Loki grabbed the scepter before it slid away, then used it to prop himself up and get back on his feet.
The captain moaned where she lay on the grated floor, then looked at them blearily, blood seeping from the gash on her forehead.
The crewmen scrambled to their feet, one by one.
"Hey, you!" Clint called, "a little help here?" He pointed at the woman. "Take her to the chopper," he ordered, then tilted the weapon for exclamation.
Two men came over and grabbed the captain's arms, keeping a distance from Clint, as it could save them from being shot in any way.
Clint stood up too, groping the pulpit for stability. "You should go as well," he said to Loki, tapping the screen.
Loki remained where he stood, studying the skyline beyond the viewport. They were still above the city.
"I mean it," Barton added. "I'm good here."
[I know.] He studied the engine stats, the altitude meter and the map showing their coordinates, looking over Barton's shoulders. [There.] He pointed at a wide patch of the river on the map to the South-East of their location. [We should make it if we redirect all the energy to forward thrust.]
"We will only go down faster."
[But not on the heads of unaware civilians,] Loki said with a shrug. [Do it. There's still time.]
"Not much," Clint said, but still clicked away. The screen flashed an error. "Shit. The course change needs to be confirmed by the first officer. Or the override code."
[It's B8655T,] Loki said.
"What?"
[The code.] Loki saw the captain put it in before.
"Can you repeat that? More slowly?"
Loki did and Clint typed it in. The ship shook again, and the alarm started blaring once more, then an automated announcement played out, warning them of an imminent collision with the ground.
"Damn," Clint said and rechecked the coordinates. "Looks good. Time to go."
[The deck?]
"Yeah. Fast."
Loki grabbed the scepter, and they ran.
They got out to the deck just in time to see the helicopter take off. Which was actually a bit more disappointing sight than Loki anticipated as it was the last one that wasn't a smoking wreck, with a piece of another aircraft's body sticking from it – courtesy of the Hulk, more likely than not.
Clint snarled a curse, barely audible over the whistle of the wind, then turned back inside. "Fuck!"
[What?]
"There should be emergency chutes here!" he said, gesturing at the empty hooks on the wall. He clapped down on the bench with a sigh.
[It wasn't ready to launch.]
Barton nodded, disheartened.
[Move,] Loki urged, and – when Clint didn't react – he grabbed his arm and pulled him up, gritting his teeth when he felt the broken bone shift. Oh, he was going to regret it tomorrow, should he live.
They had better chances at surviving the crash if they were out of the structure though. And if the Helicarrier made it to the river, they might even get a chance to jump off at the last moment, close enough to the surface for the fall to not kill them but far enough from the crashlanding site to avoid getting pulled underwater when the ship sank. If it even did. Loki wasn't sure how deep the water was.
Clint sighed but did get up, even if there wasn't much enthusiasm in his motions. He looked just as tired as Loki felt.
The ground was getting closer, quickly, and, although being trapped in the flying tin can didn't fill Loki with joy, the perspective of being trapped in a pile of garbled scrap metal on the ground wasn't that much more appealing.
The aircraft kept on tilting further and soon they were walking uphill on an easily perceivable slope, the growing wind tugging at their clothes. Perhaps Loki was worrying about the wrong thing. They might not even make it to the ground with the ship if it toppled over in the meantime.
They almost made it to the edge of the deck when a man landed in front of them with a low thud.
A series of emotions, from alarm, through relief to alarm again flashed through Loki's brain, to finally settle on a guarded wariness. The man was wearing armor, much like Stark's, but it was bulkier and the colors didn't match.
Barton reached for his gun. He didn't aim it at the man, not yet, but the implied threat was there. Loki grabbed the scepter with both hands and held it in front of himself. He abandoned the rifle somewhere along the way.
"You guys need a ride?" the man asked, his voice modulated with the electronic tint.
Before any of them could answer, the man charged and they got swept off their feet, Loki first, then Clint, a heartbeat later. Loki put up a cursory struggle, but the grip around his waist was an iron one – both figuratively and strictly speaking – and he did not necessarily want to wriggle free from it, especially after they cleared the surface of the carrier and the potential drop distance advanced from a dozen paces to a few hundred. Still, no matter how many times that particular scenario played out – and it played out quite often when one had Thor and Thor's total disregard for personal space and basic dignity as the regular adventure companions – Loki still felt the bitter chagrin burning on his cheeks and squirming in his chest.
Judging from the unhappy noises Clint gave off, he was sharing Loki's sentiment in the matter.
Loki closed his eyes – idly entertaining the idea of forcing the scepter's blade between the plates of the armor – and didn't open them back up until they landed on solid ground. Released from the clutches, Loki stumbled and would come down, if not for the support of the scepter.
Such a versatile tool, he mused dryly, even without the magic. The thought of just keeping it instead of giving it back to the Avengers budded in his head and wilted just as quickly. It wasn't worth it. And it wasn't like he had anywhere to hide it.
Off to the side, Clint took a few wobbly steps, fell to his knees, and vomited. Loki supposed he would do the same if there was anything in his stomach in the last days. Or weeks. Or months.
Or years.
There was a sound of snapping wood in the background, and Loki turned around just in time to see the ship plow through the trees and crash into the river. It was not deep enough. The exposed part promptly caught on fire and Loki only briefly wondered what could even burn on a ship entirely made of metal and powered with universal energy. Then one of the engines exploded and the resulting shockwave raked through the forest, rippled on the surface of the water, rose a cloud of dust from the ground and hit him in the chest, making him stagger again.
Loki sighed and looked back at the man. The helmed opened, revealing a grinning, dark-skinned face.
"Who the hell are you?" Clint snarled.
That wiped off the smirk in an instant. "Uhm, the War Machine?"
Clint's gaze was still empty.
"Really? Nothing? Come on, guys!"
Clint shrugged and Loki chortled at the sheer disappointment on the man's face.
"Colonel James Rhodes," he said with a resigned sigh, then added, after a brief, increasingly hopeless pause, "I'm Tony's friend. I'm with the Air Force."
"Should I be reassured by that? Your buddies just shot us out of the sky!"
"That was an unfortunate misunderstanding. They thought they were shooting down a weapon of mass destruction."
Barton hummed and rolled his shoulders. As far as excuses went, it wasn't the worst.
"We have to get back to the Triskelion," Clint said, scrambling to his feet. "How far are we?"
Loki was already halfway through checking their location on his phone. [Twelve miles down the river.]
"Can you give us a lift?" Clint asked Colonel Rhodes.
The man shook his head. "It's too far. I barely made it to the ground with you two. Mr. Stickman is heavier than he looks."
"No offense, but you should really leave the art of nicknames to Stark."
"No one's answering."
[I'm mute, not deaf. Try again.]
Clint grunted but did try. Their earpieces remained silent.
[Try this.] Loki handed him the phone; Tony's number already dialed. Clint rolled his eyes but took it and pressed it into his ear with his shoulder, his fingers still fiddling with the wires. "The person you called is unavailable," he quoted, handed Loki his phone back, then added, as an explanation, "That's a standard notification when someone's out of range or their phone is turned off."
Loki got that from context already. [Stark has a receiver in his suit.]
There was a black tendril of dread creeping up his spine, sticky and hot like sun-heated tar. He tapped his fingers on his arm, then immediately regretted it, hissing in pain.
"What's wrong?" Clint asked.
[Nothing. My arm is broken.]
"That's not a usual combination of words," Clint scoffed. "Since when?"
[Since we landed on the ship. I ran into some crates.]
Clint shook his head with incredulity. "Aliens," he murmured. "You want a splint or something?"
[No. I want a car and I want to get back to Triskelion.]
"I'm working on it!" Clint snarled. "Would be faster if you'd shut up."
Loki did shut up, suppressing the "Natasha would be done twice already" comment. The engine coughed a few times and revved to life.
"Told you," Barton said with a smirk and stepped on the gas.
The Triskelion was veiled in a cloud of dark, thick smoke, pouring from the still open bay doors in the river. The main bridge leading to the facility was blocked by an overturned military vehicle and the first thing they heard once they exited the car were gunshots.
The fight was still going on, although there was no telling who was winning from their current position. They could barely see anything at all.
They exchanged glances and stepped onto the bridge. The acrid plumes limited the visibility to a few paces ahead, scraping in Loki's lungs and prickling his eyes. Clint coughed and pulled his face mask up, but it didn't seem to help much.
The air cleared somewhat once they crossed and a new scene unveiled before their eyes. One of the towers of the facility was on fire and there was a hole in the façade, leaving the jagged edges of the floor slabs hanging out, supported by nothing. There were men in uniforms with their weapons aimed at the building and an occasional shot back from the windows or from behind the covers on the courtyard.
"Those guys in green suits are our military," Clint explained dropping to a crouch behind an overturned booth. "They are on our side. Or should be. I don't want to check too thoroughly, so let's keep our heads down."
Loki figured that out on his own, mostly from the fact that they were shooting at Hydra agents that still defended their positions on the courtyard.
The War Machine flew above and Clint waved at him. He circled around and landed next to them heavily, the impact cracking the pavement.
"You made it," he said.
"Do you know where the others are?" Clint asked breathily.
"I saw Cap and some guy with a metal arm running into that building there. Just a minute ago." He pointed to the tower on the left. "No sign of Tony yet."
"The comms are still down," Clint said.
"Yes. They probably took out Stark's array somehow," Colonel Rhodes suggested. "It might not mean anything." There was an explosion somewhere to their right and, without more ado, he shut his faceplate and took off to join the fight.
Loki turned to Clint. [What do we do?]
"Let's find Rogers and Barnes. At least we know where they are."
Loki nodded. He would love to find Natasha and Tony first, but Clint was right.
Most of the windows in the foyer were gone, shards of glass scrunching under their feet as they walked in.
[Any ideas what they came here for?]
"Yeah, one," Clint said darky. "Pierce's office is on the top floor."
The power was out so it was stairway scaling time again and Loki started to understand Stark's disinclination to the idea. They ran up, skipping stairs and Loki tried to keep his breathing steady and his thoughts on the confrontation at hand, not allowing them to wander.
Natasha was fine, there was simply no other option.
The top floor was spared most of the fighting, it seemed. Other than some toppled chairs and personal items abandoned as the staff left in a hurry, it looked like any office Loki ever visited on Earth. Not that there were that many of them, but still enough to create a frame of reference.
"There," Clint whispered and showed at the area at the other end of the floor. Pierce's office was divided from the open space with frosted windows. There were people inside, that much was obvious, but Loki couldn't make out anything but blurry silhouettes through the opaque glass.
They moved closer and now could hear voices, too.
"Let her go," the Captain's voice said, calm and collected, but carrying a threat, nonetheless. "You've lost."
The other voice laughed and the sound froze the blood in Loki's veins. Pierce.
Clint stopped by the door. Loki didn't. Barton grabbed his sleeve but Loki tugged his hand free and stepped inside.
Pierce was standing at the far end of the room, his pistol aimed at Natasha.
A wave of relief crashed over Loki. She had a cut on her forehead and blood dripped down over her eye, but other than that she looked unharmed. That and the weapon aimed at her head, that was.
Off to the side, James stood, his rifle aimed at Pierce in turn. Rogers was at his side, his shield up.
Pierce crooked his head and his lips curled into a toothy smile. "It must be my lucky day," he said, "two lost assets returning on their own. You even brought my toy back, I'm impressed."
Loki's fingers curled on the scepter and James growled.
"Okay, I have no time for this," Pierce said. "Zelaniye…"
James let out a low, keening sound and the hilt of his rifle whined under the pressure of his metal hand's grip. He took a step back.
"Hey!" Pierce pushed the pistol closer to Natasha's head. "Do you really want your friend to die?"
James stopped.
"Rzhavyy," Pierce said. "Syemnadtsat."
It was some sort of an activation key, Loki understood, burned into Barnes' brain.
"Don't do this," Rogers warned, raising his voice. "Lower your weapon and stand down. You cannot win."
"No? We've already won! Can't you see? Freedom is an outdated concept. People gave it up willingly, trading it for security, for comfort, for a safe future for their kids. You might have stopped me now, but if not us, there will be someone else. There will always be someone. If not now, then in the future. People don't need liberty, they need a benevolent master to look out for them." Pierce turned to Loki. "You should know."
Loki scoffed. It sounded no more believable than when he himself said it.
"Rassvyet."
James' shoulder twitched and he looked at Rogers with pleading in his eyes.
"That's enough!" Rogers said.
Pierce laughed. "Pyech."
James took another step back, then one more and his eyes dashed to the door.
"One more step and I'll shoot. Devyat."
There was a whine of engines, coming from outside, faint and distant for now, but closing in. Rogers squared his shoulders and discreetly looked out of the window. The rest didn't seem to notice yet. Loki looked too. At first glance, there was nothing. Then he noticed the air shimmering with the heat of the concealed exhaust and the background tessellating and shifting, displayed on the camouflage panels.
Pierce heard now too and turned his head. His weapon was still aimed at Natasha, but that momentary slip of concentration was enough. She grabbed his wrist, knocking the gun out of his hand, then twisted his arm, forcing him to his knees. Pierce opened his mouth, but her hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing the windpipe and cutting the word short. "Tell your men to stand down. No one more needs to die today."
"Never," he rasped. "Dobro…"
Natasha's hand squeezed again and James raised his weapon to his eye. "I'll shot him, we can't risk it," he snarled.
"No," Rogers said sternly. "He needs to answer for what he's done."
"Tell your men to stand down," Natasha repeated, in a lower voice, and got no response. Pierce wasn't going to cooperate. They would have to force him.
Loki stepped around Rogers and stood in front of Pierce, the tip of the scepter hovering above the man's heart.
Pierce crooked his head and smiled. He knew Loki couldn't use it.
Loki shrugged, withdrew the weapon, then handed it to Natasha.
Pierce's eyes went wide and he twisted, trying to get out of Natasha's grip. He might have succeeded if not for James. The metal hand wrapped around Pierce's arm and kept him in place, while Natasha pushed the scepter to his chest. It activated, the Soul Stone glowing. Pierce stopped struggling and went slack, his eyes overlayed with a blue sheen.
"Tell your men to stand down," Natasha said once more.
He obeyed, then, reaching to his ear to activate the communicator. "Lay down your weapons and surrender. This is an order," he said in a hollow voice.
Natasha stood up, leaving Pierce on the floor, looking up at her in supplication. James stepped away too, but Loki did not miss the way his fingers twitched when he did. He himself wished to see the man suffer for his crimes as well, but he rarely got what he wanted, these days. Or ever. And Rogers was right, killing the man now would be an act of vengeance that wouldn't serve their cause.
Behind the window, the hatch of a Quinjet opened slowly. It was a weird sight, like a gate to another dimension emerging in thin air, but courtesy of technology, not magic. The hatch got somewhere halfway through when Loki let out a relieved breath. Stark was waving at them from the hold, grinning like a madman. He only had one gauntlet of his armor on and his other hand was clutching his side, but he was well enough to stand up, so it couldn't be that bad. Behind him stood Sam – his flying suit was gone too – and a young woman in a dark combat uniform Loki couldn't recognize.
Loki scanned the window frame for a potential way to open it, but it was less of a window and more of a structural element and there seemed to be no obvious way.
James' metal hand curled into a fist and hit the glass, shattering it.
Well, besides that.
"Hi, guys! How are you doing?!" Stark yelled over the whirr of the jet and his grin grew even wider. "I see you're done here. Good job."
Rogers hummed out something that could perhaps be a confirmation.
"Great. Cause we really need to scram. I'd rather answer questions in the comfort of my living room than in a cell."
He stepped away from the entrance and called out to the person piloting the plane, whoever it was. The jet moved closer to the window. "Good, now hold it here."
Natasha turned to Pierce, who was still kneeling on the floor. "Put your hands up and go stand in the corner," she commanded and he obeyed. "Face the wall." Pierce turned. "Now wait for the authorities and go with them once they arrest you." The man nodded and stayed in the ordered position.
"Are you going to leave him like this?" the Captain asked.
Natasha shrugged. "They can bash him on the head when they are done manhandling him," she said dismissively. "Let's go."
Clint jumped first and the Captain beckoned James to go next. Natasha stood next to Loki and her knuckles brushed his, just for a brief moment. "I knew you'll be fine," she said softly then presented the scepter to him. "Can you take it? I don't like how it feels."
He nodded and took it from her hand, ignoring the way the gag protested. She smiled, took a run-up and jumped out.
Loki sighed. The stairs weren't that bad after all.