I must say, I'm surprised anyone faved/follwed this, let alone left a review xD
I'm not joking when I say I'm sporadic in my writing - I can't ever seem to keep up a regular schedule... But I will try to update regularly ;)
As the first strand of consciousness returned to him, Loki was instantly aware of pain that was both there and not quite there. The dirty, grimy floor of their cell felt soft, too soft. The light shining through his lids was unusual, too. He stayed still, not moving, waiting for the world to make more sense and trying to ignore the deep throbbing in his chest. After some time, small fragments of memory returned to him – nails dragging down his chest, the pain, then the exhilarating rush of magic as it briefly swept through him - a wonderful, cleansing river, and then the strain of opening a portal not just to another place, but to another dimension entirely. He shouldn't be alive, yet if the pain of his wounds was any indication, here he was.
He took a few measured breaths then opened his eyes, squinting against the too-harsh light. He'd been living in the dark and the dim fire-light for so long he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be able to see things with so much clarity, every detail too sharp, stabbing into his eyes. He half closed them, not wanting to fall asleep. He hadn't dreamed when he was there, but there was no Oriax here to torture him. The resulting thoughts and feelings were… Mixed. Not that he hadn't wanted her to go, but… He barely knew what living felt like any more. He'd tried to end his life before, when Thanos had found him, and after that his odd half-life as the mind stone had influenced his thoughts. And then his time with Oriax, memories he did not wish to dwell on. That was all they were – memories.
He turned, holding in a groan as his entire body protested. There was another clean, white bed beside him, and a sleeping Stark. Loki blinked again and watched him, relaxing slightly as he accepted Stark, at least, was safe. There was no telling what they would do with the man who tried to take over the world… When was it? Months ago, at the very least. Perhaps they would simply imprison him. Perhaps they would be kind and just kill him, rather than torturing him for what he had done. He tried to roll back over onto his back, but the feeling of cool air flowing over the exposed skin between the bandages – why had they bandaged him? Surely, they should have just thrown him in prison as he was. And anyway, he was tiring quickly. Even the relatively small act of turning around had exhausted him. He kept his eyes on Stark as his consciousness slipped away again, hoping there would be no dreams.
Tony woke some time after and immediately let out an "Ow…" of pain as he woke properly. He clenched and unclenched his fist, relishing the feel of fresh bed sheets – bed sheets and beds in general were wonderful inventions, he decided. The light was much brighter than he'd grown used to but after blinking a few times he found himself able to open his eyes and take in his surroundings. Gingerly, he propped himself up on the bed with his elbows, staring at the ceiling.
"Good morning, Sir," rang out JARVIS' clean British voice. Tony thought he was about to cry with relief, but settled himself with a simple, "I've missed you too, JARVs…" It might have just been him, but he was fairly sure he heard a sniff from his AI. He grinned. About to lower himself back down, he suddenly noted the bed next to him. Loki was facing him, eyes closed, asleep. Good heavens, Loki hadn't looked this relaxed since… Since he'd seen him for the first time. Tony's eyes roved over his face, pale and scarred. His chest was wrapped in bandages, the tops of three long, ugly wounds peeking out from the top of them. Tony shuddered at the memory, lying back down on the bed, facing Loki. For a while he just watched the rise and fall of his chest, glad that for once neither of them was covered in blood. He didn't even notice as he himself fell into a deep, dreamless, healing sleep.
Nick Fury got up silently from his chair in the far corner, mildly amused that neither of the two had noticed him. Loki certainly didn't appear to be a threat, though he could have Stark under mind control and be using his magic for powerful illusions. Though they would have to be powerful enough to fool some of the best Stark tech out there in medical terms, and he was pretty sure a few-hundred-year-old Norse deity wouldn't be able to understand one of those. No underestimations, he counselled himself. If Loki put so much as a toenail out of line, he wouldn't hesitate to have him killed. Judging by the state in which he'd been when he arrived, Fury was of half a mind that that would be a blessing rather than a curse. He was managing well enough, though. They'd both been under heavy sedation for the past few days, only having been taken off it recently. Both were in extremely bad shape, Loki more so then Tony. Fury shook his head, wondering what the world had come to.
Exiting the room that had been quickly set up into a mini hospital, he made his way to the common room, where he found Romanoff and Barton in what appeared to be a rather heated argument, with Rogers sitting on the couch some way away, brows furrowed slightly and a small frown on his face. The pair of assassins stopped talking quickly and turned to face him, nodding in greeting. Fury ignored them and motioned to Barton. "Barton," he said curtly, before turning and striding back the way he'd came. He heard Barton give a frustrated sigh then follow him. Fury managed a small, humourless smirk, not stopping to think about whether this was really necessary – it certainly wasn't a good idea, he'd already dismissed that thought.
Barton was dragging his feet somewhat, looking extremely reluctant as he entered the room Loki and Stark were occupying. Hopefully he wouldn't try kill Loki straight off. The look he gave Fury was one of disgust and anger. Fury had explicitly banned killing Loki after he'd seen – and touched – his wounds, barely a few hours after his rather dramatic arrival. He followed Barton in and gently shut the door. All he'd told Barton was the very basics – the assassin had been ushered out of the room by Romanoff as soon as they'd recognised Loki, and though he knew Loki was wounded, Fury doubted he'd even be able to imagine the truth of it. Barton was standing over him now, staring at him with pure venom. Which abated somewhat as he noted the scars on Loki's face and his brows furrowed. "What the hell…" Fury heard him mutter. He looked on the verge of a panic attack. Fury didn't want to go through that again, so he moved towards the door, ready to leave at any moment.
Clint stared down at the monster that had made him fight his friends, that had been stuck inside his head for so long, telling him – forcing him – to do things he hated to do, locking him inside himself to watch as he hurt his co-workers, his friends, the closest thing he had to his family. This was supposed to be an emotionless, invincible monster. Clint had wanted to hurt this monster a thousand-fold more than he'd hurt Clint, but the scars made it seem as if Loki had been hurt a thousand-fold that. Clint looked at his hands – they were shaking. His hands hadn't shaken this much since he'd been a child holding his first bow. A long time ago. Gingerly, he pulled back the sheets slightly so he could see Loki better. The scarring continued down his neck and into the bandages. The movement of the sheets revealed a hand that was pale under its marring. The fingers, long and elegant from what Barton remembered, had clearly been broken and not set well. He could make out burn marks and acid marks, long scars that looked almost like claw or whip marks. And around his wrist, a wide band of callused, cracked and still-raw skin that had clearly stemmed from manacles. The world around him started to spin and he felt Fury's hand on his shoulder.
Loki was a monster. Barton's mind refused to believe he was capable of love, empathy, and other human emotions. And there was no way Loki could have been… No. He refused to think up Loki's excuses for him. He refused to think of any reasons Loki might have attacked New York, because it couldn't – or shouldn't – be possible. He felt sick as Fury pulled him out of the room. As soon as he could no longer see Loki, he shoved Fury's hand roughly away and half ran, half stumbled to his room, before gong to the bathroom and being violently sick. He hadn't even seen what was under the bandages and he had no intention of doing so – because that might convince him Loki was a victim just like he had been. He rested his head on the edge of the toilet and tried to breathe deeply. It wasn't that long before he stood up and looked in the mirror. His cheeks were wet. Hastily, he wiped them and cleaned himself up a little before going through to his bedroom, where Nat was waiting for him. She didn't say anything, just patted the edge of the bed next to her. He sat down and leaned into her, thankful for her friendship and silent company that was exactly what he needed right now.
"He can't not be a monster, Nat… He can't." he swallowed dryly, burying his face in her shoulder. She rubbed his back comfortingly, still not saying anything for another long – not long enough – while. "Remember Budapest, Clint?" she asked. Clint smiled slightly. "You and I remember Budapest very differently," he told her as he always did whenever it was brought up. Nat nodded, then drew in a breath. "Was I a monster, manipulating all those people and killing so many more?"
It was unfair that she knew him so well. "You weren't a monster, Nat…" She shook her head. "No. I just did monstrous things under the influence of the Red Room." Clint shook his head. "I know… I know you're right," he admitted, ashamed. "But I can't stop feeling angry, and…" Natasha would understand. She always did. She did now – "You think if you admit what happened to Loki, you'll feel awful for hating him and blaming him for so long." It was a statement, not a question or an accusation. Clint was glad of his friendship with Nat, so glad, because she understood him in a way nobody else could and could make more sense of his thought than Clint could himself. He nodded weakly. Nat carried on talking. "You have every right to be angry. You don't have to let go of your feelings, just… Redirect them. We were all mistaken about Loki, but all that means is that there is a bigger threat out there, and that's the real enemy. I don't think it was Loki in your head – or not Loki as himself. There was someone else, and that's who you should be angry at."
Clint understood, and he finally felt relief flow through him. There was still a chance Loki wasn't controlled in any way, there was even a very small chance of him just playing them right now. But Nat was right – he had to wait and choose the right person to act upon. He smiled grimly, thinking of the retribution he'd hand out to whoever it was. "Thanks, Nat," he said, smiling at her. She grinned back and stood up, stretching. "Want to come for a run?" she asked him. He nodded, then made his way to the door and pulled on his running trainers, inspecting the soles for dirt. Together, they walked through the corridors and towards the lift in the common room, where Fury and Steve were talking quietly together. Clint raised a hand in greeting as they passed, then got into the elevator with Nat, who was still teasing him on his wide variety of outfits. "I swear you have a larger clothes and shoes collection than the Russian queens," she was saying, poking him in the side. He let out and exaggerated groan and pretended to double up in pain. "I am wounded…" he intoned in a deep voice, and they laughed together. For now, he put aside his thoughts of Loki and the mysterious person behind everything and decided to just enjoy himself.
Fury raised his eyebrows as the pair of assassins disappeared into the elevator, squabbling and giggling like children. "I don't know how Coulson manages," he commented dryly to Rogers, who shrugged. "Give them candy – or weapons – and they're set to go." The corner of Fury's mouth twitched, as did Roger's. "Looked like taking him to see Loki worked," Rogers said eventually. Fury nodded. "Of course it did. Though for a moment I was worried – Agent Romanoff did a marvellous job with him, I must say. I don't think we'll have issues with any assassination attempts just yet." Rogers nodded again, then made a vague motion in the air that Fury took as a goodbye and left in the direction of the gym. Fury remained looking at the elevator for some time, lost in thought, before JARVIS suddenly announced, "Director Fury sir, I believe the patients are waking. You asked me to alert you should this happen." Fury blinked, surprised they were already waking. It had only been a few hours since the last time. His omni-present cloak swished behind him as he turned and walked to the room where Loki and Stark were.