The metal pipe was heavy—much too heavy for Cassandra's weakened arms. She tried grabbing hold of Romanoff's leg and pulling it instead, though that didn't end in a different result. Bruce fell from the grate, rolling onto the hard flooring in a mess of thrashes and groans as his body had almost taken its final shape. The sounds were reminiscent of a dog huffing and growling.

Cassandra sighed heavily and reached for the pipe once again, this time placing only a hand on it. She teleported, taking the pipe with her to the flooring beside the grate, and she dropped the extra foot—landing hard on her knees. The pipe was now out of the way, but Cassandra paced against the floor on her palms, riding a wave of heat and ache that rippled through her knees to her hips. It was a shock, as though she'd suddenly chilled a sensitive tooth.

Romanoff, now freed, scrambled quickly to her knees, and then to her feet. Although she trembled, head still swirled, she stepped down from the grate to grab at Cassandra's arms. "Come on, get up," she urged, giving her arms a tug. "We need to go—come on."

An indistinguishable sound drew Romanoff's eyes, jerking them up. A tall mass of muscle stood a few feet away, huffing angrily as it tightened its fists, shaking its head in an attempt to fully free itself. Free from the confines of Bruce Banner's consciousness. The monster turned to look at its company, and it was clear—Bruce was gone. Romanoff kept her eyes on it as she quickly yanked on Cassandra, forcing her to her feet far too soon. Then, it roared, an ear-piercing bellow that caused Cassandra to lurch, spinning on her aching heels to find the source.

It was the kind of sound that struck fear into the mightiest of men without so much as a glimpse of the creature. The sounds you imagine sea monsters and dinosaurs make as a kid reading stories. Under other circumstances, she might have felt in awe of the sheer ferocity behind it. The being before them was so tall, nearly made of pure muscle, it seemed, and its eyes were full of an incredibly strong rage. Something within Cassandra's gut pulled at her.

In a way, she sympathized with him. Anger was often an insecure byproduct of fear. Why wouldn't he be afraid? Why wouldn't he be angry? After all, wasn't Cassandra? She tugged her arms free from Agent Romanoff's hands and took a step forward. "Get out of here," she said, over her shoulder. On the second step, she gave a half jog, before disappearing in her signature cloud.

Then, there she was, arms wrapping around the creature's neck and holding on tight. He was startled only slightly by the sudden change before he began to fidget, twisting and reaching upward to swat and grab at her. She was quick to teleport again, this time with him as well. The pair left behind a rather large cloud. Though, it dissipated quickly. Cassandra wasn't entirely sure where to take him that he wouldn't be destructive.

Surely, he would do damage anywhere on the helicarrier, and she couldn't leave the others behind—not when Clint had been so close. So, she thought of the cargo hold. An area large enough for the planes they'd kept on the flight deck. That would be enough, she thought. A perfect place to keep him distracted until they could bring Bruce back. Cassandra was still held tight to his neck when they appeared in the cargo area. Their sudden presence halted the nearby crew, who all had been rushing around like frightened rats not a moment prior.

They'd brought all the bustle to a sudden stop. The creature was momentarily disoriented, and Cassandra took the few seconds to teleport from his back, instead opting to stand two yards in front of him. She waved a hand urgently at the crew and shouted, "Go! Move!"

Every crew member present was jolted into movement once again—this time, to remove themselves from the room completely, important tasks be damned. "Hey, big guy," she spoke then to the tall, green being fuming behind her. "Do you know who I am? Do you remember me?"

Despite her efforts, he did not calm. However, as his fists tightened and his body stiffened in anticipation, he only glared and growled in response. As he opened his mouth to roar angrily, a silver hammer burst through the wall of the cargo area and rammed into his torso. The hit pushed the beast aside, sending him into the large crates nearby, crushing the wing of a stationary plane. A jolt of adrenaline shot through Cassandra with a gasp and she looked quickly to find Thor.

Thor walked swiftly toward the creature as he began to right himself, the hammer on the floor beside him. "Stop! What are you doing?" Cassandra all but shrieked as she surged forward, moving into Thor's path. Her palms pushed against his metal breastplate desperately, but stopping Thor could not reverse the anger he'd instilled in the green being.

Thor replied, "Someone has to tame the beast!"

The creature raged, roaring loudly before lunging forward, charging toward Thor and Cassandra. Thor was quick to push Cassandra aside with a sweep of his arm, the other reaching out to call to his weapon, but it was a moment too late. He was effectively head-butted by the enormous being as Cassandra stumbled, shoulder hitting the floor once again, and stifled a cry. If pain was a brick, she'd have built herself a wall by now. This whole charade, she knew, was exactly what Loki wanted. He wanted them to fight, to destroy themselves, to waste time. To destroy the helicarrier.

Though, the idea seemed lost on Thor. He was thrown through a stack of crates, rolling onto the floor, and he pushed himself up eagerly. It was exciting to fight, especially fighting a creature like this one. Thor threw out his hand and the hammer he'd brought with him—Mjölnir, Cassandra recalled—soared through the air as the beast charged toward him again. The weapon landed securely in his palm, fingers wrapping tightly around the handle, just as the creature arrived. Thor stood then, catching it with his hammer on an upward swing.

The large, green creature was sent sprawling onto another small plane, crushing most of it. Hitting him only further enraged the beast. So, he stood up off the plane and grabbed hold of its semi-crushed wing, before ripping it off the hull. He sent it toward Thor as though it were a frisbee, and Thor ducked just before it could harm him. The plane wing crushed the top of a jeep a few yards behind Thor, glass shards sprinkling the floor like glitter. Then, Thor threw his hammer at the beast, and the creature caught it. However, its back trajectory pulled him along with it.

It pulled him through the air a few more yards before hitting the ground and remaining in place. The creature growled as he tugged on the handle to no avail. It was stuck in its spot, refusing to budge even an inch—not moving even as he stood up and used the full power of his body's muscles. Instead, the floor crumbled, breaking beneath his feet under the strong weight. Thor took the opportunity of the distraction to leap up, sending his knee into the creature's face.

Cassandra rolled onto her stomach and pushed against the floor with trembling limbs, sharp and dull pains echoing out like sparks in various places, forcing her knees to bend beneath her through gritted teeth. "Thor!" she barked the name, attempting to gain his attention. "You're gonna destroy the helicarrier!"

Though, neither Thor, nor the creature, were listening. Thor's arms were around the beasts neck, using his hammer to not only hold on, but to choke him. As Cassandra finally made it to her feet with a gentle stumble, the creature leapt up through the ceiling onto the next floor, taking Thor with him. She wondered, briefly, how she got stuck with these two. Why her, of all people? It would have been Agent Romanoff, had she not tried to be a hero. Maybe this was for the best? Maybe she could do something after all?

Fingers balled into fists, she teleported up to the next level, sounds of thuds, roars, and glass shattering echoing loudly through the metal floor. When she arrived, they were tussling near a wall of large windows. If one of them went through those, she quickly realized, they would fall all the way to whatever was below the helicarrier at the moment. With neither of them listening, she was forced to take drastic action. The creature threw Thor across the small room, toward Cassandra, and she acted quickly.

The heel of her shoe pressed into Thor's chest as she held up her hand toward the bellowing creature across the room, and the green beast stilled. She wasn't strong enough to completely disempower him, and it was not her intention to inflict pain, so she dampened his energy gently, slowly. Just enough to take the edge off his insatiable rage. Thor was still as well, though for the sake of not interrupting. Whatever she was doing was working. If he got up and continued to fight him, it would only make matters worse, he knew.

He knew that, despite the adrenaline rush that flowed through his veins at the challenge. Slowly, Cassandra removed her foot from his chest, and took a step toward the creature. "Easy now," she spoke as softly as she could manage, calm in spite of a threatened tremble. "It's okay. I'm a friend. We're friends, right?"

The beast stood still, though he breathed heavily, features contorted in confusion at the sudden loss of drive. The sudden peace. He heard her—she could tell in the way his eyes lingered on her, just as cautious of her as she was of him. A low, hum of a grunt rumbled from his chest in acknowledgement. Although, she wasn't sure which part he was acknowledging. Still, she continued to approach, keeping the low level of energy steady. Her feet stood still two yards from him. Now her neck craned back to look up as high as his face, and her hands visibly shook, but she wasn't about to stop. She couldn't.

"You're safe with me, I promise," she told him. "Do you have a name?"

However angrily, the creature huffed and grunted, adjusting his position to shift back as his fists opened and closed—testing his strength with the loss of energy. Though, there was something familiar about her. What was it? Her hair, her eyes, even the strained look of calm to her face—it all lead him back to a specific place in his memory. A sweet, gentle place he wished he could stay in forever. And although he didn't feel anything toward this woman before him, the woman in his heart had a mind-numbing effect, lowering his anger levels naturally.

"Hulk," his voice was deep and somewhat mangled, but the word stood out.

It felt familiar to Cassandra, and she supposed she had Charles to thank for that. "Okay. I'm going to let you go now, Hulk. But you have to stay calm," she said, before taking a step back of her own.

"Hulk...stay calm."

"Yes, very calm."

It was hard to tell how much of his cooperation was forced and how much was a conscious choice. Still, ever so slowly, she began to ease up. She gave the energy back, little by little. The change was visible in the Hulk—his fists tightened further, chest heaving a bit more as his pulse began to increase, and he exhaled quickly through his nose like a bull about to charge. Yet his feet remained still, shoulders hunched inward as Cassandra finally let go completely—something deep within him urging him to truly oblige her request.

Her hand fell to her side but she remained cautious, ready to bring it up again should she need it. Though, a bout of calm rushed down the length of her spine that gave a chill, and she knew she wouldn't need to. "That's good- you're doing great," she commended him, almost as a mother would a small child. "Thank you."

Thor stood now, in the place he'd been before, and he watched with the most perplexed expression. Then, he saw it—a jet hovering into the cubby hole outside the windows, careful as it positioned itself to aim at the windows, at the Hulk's back. "Watch out!" Thor called out, aiming a finger toward the glass as he quickly moved forward. Hulk twisted to look behind as a barrage of bullets peppered the glass, shattering nearly all the remaining windows. He was quick to turn away, hunching as he stepped forward, stopping any bullets from reaching Cassandra where she sheltered in place only a few feet before him.

She'd only crouched as she turned away, arms covering her head in a reactionary decision. But she twisted on her feet to see over her shoulder in the absence of bullets and the back of her throat burned, seeing the Hulk much closer, the large being using his own incredibly thick skin to shield her there. Thor hurried, using the sudden cover to grab Cassandra and pull her aside, toward the door—out of the line of fire. It was another slight thud against the hard ground, but it was better than being shot by a fighter jet.

Hulk was ignited with a fiery rage from the attack, not only on him but her, roaring as he turned to move toward the windows. He leapt from the broken window, diving over the clouds below, and landed on the nose of the jet. He climbed over the cockpit as the jet rapidly backed out of the space, trying to shake him loose. But the Hulk was ripping and tearing and pulling the jet apart in a fury. The pilot had no choice but to eject and hope for the best. It was then that the helicarrier steadily began to slant.

Debris, crates, tables, and chairs slid along the floor rapidly, some falling into the hole in the floor. Thor and Cassandra fought to remain on the left side of the room, adjusting to push against the sudden change in gravity, but her eyes remained on the windows—the trail of black smoke, her jaw slack, as the jet spun out of view. "Loki!" Thor managed to grunt out, clawing at the floor to stay.

Blinking herself out of a daze, Cassandra nodded quickly. "Go!"

Thor grabbed the door frame to help himself out of the room and Cassandra struggled to remain on her knees. Her heart was beating hard against her rib cage, the back of her throat ablaze. This was an utter mess. However, one thought reignited the last ounces of her will—Clint was likely on board by now, helping to free Loki either directly or by distraction. That meant he was close enough to rescue. So, again, she reached out in her thoughts for Charles. She called to him as she followed Thor's lead, grabbing hold of the door frame to help her stand.

The helicarrier's descent and the damage done to her body was dizzying, but she kept a hand on the wall to steady her as she continued into the hallway. Agents in all kinds of uniforms and gear ran through in either direction, all of them also fighting the slant of the aircraft. Some carried guns, some carried first aid. Her feet shuffled quickly in an unknown direction, calling out all the while. It wasn't until she'd reached a crossroads that she felt the faintest numbness, a gentle vibration at the base of her skull. "Charles?" she blurted, feet stumbling to stop as fast as her brain commanded.

Apologies for the delay—I'm afraid I was incapacitated, Charles' voice warmed the inside of her skull. What do you need?

"I need to find Clint. I think he's on the helicarrier."

There was the briefest pause. More random agents passed through as she stayed close to the wall, waiting on an answer. She wasn't sure just where they were going—most likely to help people affected by the engine explosion. Finally, Charles spoke again. He is below you, in the cargo level. Here.

An image filtered into her vision, coming quickly to the forefront of her mind. The area was reminiscent of where she'd left Agent Romanoff. And, sure enough, the agent came into view, tussling with a mind-controlled Clint on a maintenance access walkway—and, at the moment, it looked like he was winning. "Thanks," she nodded once, her focus dialed into one objective. Though, it was difficult to remain composed at the same time. Cassandra teleported, purple smoke and translucent sparks enveloping the space as she appeared in the place she'd been shown.

It was a metal aisle way amongst the guts of the helicarrier. Clint held a knife, aimed at Agent Romanoff's throat, with the other hand yanking her head back by her hair. "Clint!" Cassandra's voice was a mixture of a distraction and a reactionary gasp. The name bubbled up her throat subconsciously, as she lurched forward. Walking quickly toward the tangled pair of assassins, Clint turned his head robotically a moment before she'd reached them, and her hand shot up to the back of his head as she caught a glimpse of his blue-glazed eyes.

The sight was enraging, heartbreaking, and terrifying at the same time. But there was no time to truly think it over. She grabbed hold of the scepter's energy within Clint's mind and squeezed. It was strong, pushing back against her as Clint's body began to falter. The knife clattered to the ground and Agent Romanoff slipped out of his hold—but Cassandra continued to squeeze, forcing the energy to compact. Then, she pulled. As she shifted away a step, taking her hand with her, the energy followed. It chased itself in an ice blue sphere at Cassandra's palm.

Clint collapsed. Romanoff rushed forward, catching him before his head could hit the railing, taking gentle care despite the fact that he was about to kill her only a moment ago. But that was not Clint, she knew. Now, he was free, but he was unconscious. She looked up at Cassandra, the orb between both hands now. "What are you gonna do with that?"

"If I absorb it, chances are, it'll infect me, too," Cassandra spoke through a clenched jaw, struggling to keep the energy contained as it fought her. "I'm gonna destroy it."

Cassandra took quick steps backward, putting enough space between her and her brother to do what had to be done. Though, she'd never dissolved an energy this strong, this sentient before. But what choice did she have? She held it firmly with both hands and pulled outward, tugging the energy apart against its defiance. It grew brighter as it visibly stretched, thinning and thinning, and the color was swallowed up by a vibrant purple. Then, it sparked like a cut wire before exploding. A short burst of energy was released—but it was small, and it was hers.

Chest heaving, she allowed her arms to fall to her sides. Agent Romanoff watched the spectacle with a slack jaw, but was quickly to blink it away as Cassandra took careful steps toward them. Cassandra had hardly noticed that the ground was even now, righted as it should be, until she knelt beside the agents and didn't feel the pull of the gravity tugging at her sleeve. She reached out and scooped Clint's torso up, into her arms from Romanoff. And, although there was no way to tell if he was truly alright now, she exhaled relief as she hugged him to her chest.

Romanoff reached a hand up to her earpiece and called for medical assistance but the words didn't quite touch Cassandra's ears. The fight was far from over, though it felt like she'd won, with Clint finally safe—unreachable by Loki, or anyone she refused to let near, in her arms where she could protect him. Despite being the youngest Barton sibling, Cassandra often found herself falling naturally into the role of the protector. The mother, the guide, the caretaker. And she would gladly fill those shoes a thousand times if it meant her brothers were safe.

She cradled him carefully until the medical personnel arrived and, even then, she hesitated in letting him go. But Agent Romanoff placed a ginger hand on her shoulder, gaining her attention. "He'll be okay. He's safe now," she spoke calmly to her, though her forehead still beaded sweat and she struggled to keep her breathing in check. "They'll take good care of him—I promise."

Cassandra nodded numbly—of course, she knew, they would. They didn't carry weapons, nor were they infected by Loki. They were simply medics. So, she peeled herself away and allowed them to put him on a backboard. They hefted his weight and began to carry him out, and she stood to follow. A brick of dizziness smacked her between the eyes and she reached out, quickly gripping the metal railing of the walkway with both hands, squeezing tightly as she exhaled a deep breath. "Are you alright?" Romanoff asked, stepping closer to her side.

"Fine...just- a little dizzy. It'll wear off," she answered through clenched teeth. Her forehead creased, eyebrows drawn tight in a knot, as her insides swayed.

It was then the agent heard Fury's voice in her ear. Romanoff's head turned instinctively, listening as the Director spoke. "Agent Coulson is down," he said. A shiver ran up her spine as every muscle tensed.

Another agent spoke next, "A medical team is on its way to your location."

"They're already here," Fury replied. It was the dread, the mourning already in his voice that gave away his next words, "They called it."

Agent Coulson was dead. How? Why? Those questions seemed so small in comparison to the revelation itself. It was the knowledge that he was gone that angered Agent Romanoff—no, enraged. Whatever the direct reason, it all boiled down to Loki. If it weren't for him, no one would be where they are now, no one would have been harmed. She straightened her shoulders as her hands balled into fists at her sides. "Coulson's dead," she forced the words out, despite the taste of bile they'd tainted her tongue with.

Cassandra blinked hard, as she turned her head enough to see the agent beside her. Had she truly just said that? She hoped, secretly, that it was somehow a mistake, that she'd misheard her due to the dizziness and all-over body aches. But that was not the case. No, Agent Romanoff was telling the truth—no matter how much either of them wished she wasn't. "W-what? What happened?" she questioned. She shifted on her feet to face Romanoff, a hand still on the railing to steady herself.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," Romanoff shook her head. "Let's get you to medical—you should be there when Clint wakes up."

Her movements were instinctual, absentminded as she took another step closer and hooked her arm around Cassandra's torso. In her shock, Cassandra shuffled along with Agent Romanoff, toward the open door at the end of the aisle way. Agent Romanoff was far versed in the art of compartmentalizing, but some things still managed to get under her skin—digging their claws deep into the tissue, making their home in the muscle and, some, even the bone. This was one of those things, she knew. Though, she was able to keep it at tissue-level as they walked.

If it managed to become any deeper, she would need a moment alone. To scream, to cry, to breathe. Still, she helped Cassandra through the hallways, the mutual interest in Clint's well-being driving them both to find the small room they'd placed him in. It was best, Romanoff told Cassandra, to keep him isolated until he woke up. Then, they could assess just how free from Loki's control he really was. It made sense to Cassandra. Though, when they finally reached the doorway, she found herself hesitant to cross the threshold.

Clint lay on a makeshift bed against the back wall, still stuck in a heavy slumber. It was a relief to have him back, to be able to see where he was and know that he was safe. But her chest burned at the thought of the reasoning for his time away. Guilt—gut-wrenching, twisting guilt—bubbled up and lumped in her throat, staring at his closed eyes from the doorway. If she hadn't believed Loki, let him into her home and her life, there was a chance her brother would not have gone through this. It was that small chance that her mind was stuck on.

It clung to the possibility, furthering the guilt, and her chest felt like it was being forcefully squeezed. Lungs unable to pump properly, throat unable to be cleared, Cassandra took steps backward out of the room. "I need some air," she said, the voice from her lips shaking as it tumbled out all too quickly. Her feet turned and she distanced herself, walking down the hall as the door hissed closed behind her. It felt as though she were being choked from the inside. The scabbed over wounds from Sabretooth's claws at the back of her neck stung in remembrance, anxiety rushing in, in the wake of the prior adrenaline-fueled hour.

In the moment, she'd felt not a fraction of what she should have. No real fear, or terror, or anger, or sadness. Simply instinct and will to survive. Now, alone again, she could feel it all—and it was painful. Water brimmed within her eyes, hot tears rolling silently over her cheekbones, and she kept walking. Slowly, she kept moving, traveling aimlessly along the hallway in a mess of overwhelming emotion without a place to store it all, hands wringing anxiously. Then, thump. Eyes downcast, head tilted forward, her forehead hit something hard only a second before the rest of her face followed.

With a small jolt, a rush up her spine that peppered her arms with bumps, she took a quick step back. It was a mixture of a lurch and a shuffle. But, as the appearance of the man before her settled in, she realized she didn't need to go any farther. His name rolled off her tongue amongst a heavy breath of trembling relief, softening her features enough to release more quiet tears. "Logan."