There was an enormous relief on Clint's mind that lead him to believe that Loki had fallen asleep. Although the pressure around the sides of his mind hadn't disappeared, the intensity had subsided. It left him gasping and feeling like he was thirsty, albeit knowing water wouldn't quench the sensation. It felt like he had been sucked out of himself, or conversely, something else had been tightly jammed next to him, cramming him into a space too small. Mentally he had to recuperate.
Clint still couldn't physically move. The link that he had taken for granted all his life between his brain and body had been shattered and the disconnect was deeply unsettling. Despite the new half-freedom in his head, he had never before realized what a gift it was to think and move freely.
Upon that last thought, the darkness around his mind settled and put him at ease in a perverse way. He found the thought undulating its way through his head once more. It was truly a gift to move freely, indeed. The reiteration of the thought seemed foreign and odd to him but there were too many other things for him to think about to care.
He was tired, but too anxious to let his mind at rest. If he did…something about the idea of standing off his guard was more terrifying than being assailed by Loki's mental limits. Clint knew that too much time with his own thoughts was unhealthy. That was why he tried to avoid drinking as much as possible, even if the attempts didn't work so well most of the time. By getting drunk, he just shut himself off the rest of the world and left him alone to dwindle away the hours with his own queries and woes as he lay curled up on a couch or sometimes a floor.
It wasn't healthy for him to be alone. He really did try to make an effort with people, he tried to avoid isolation, more in the way that one goes on a diet, hoping for a better existence, rather than actually wanting to be social. But it was difficult. People didn't have the time or desire to befriend him or empathize with him. Besides, all opening up ever got him was maybe a sympathetic glance and pity. Maybe a slap on the shoulder far rougher than what he wanted. God knows that wasn't what he wanted.
Well he didn't want people's pity either. He didn't want the way they looked at him as if he was an outcast. He didn't like the feeling of being unwanted, knowing that just about everyone he knew included him in activities because they felt bad for him. He didn't need them. Hell, he didn't need that goddamn team with their snobby-ass name. 'The Avengers'. Who the hell were they kidding? All they did was make fun of him. And somehow even the ones who had the decency not to constantly ridicule him were even worse. Their silence was the way they admitted the fact that he was simply beyond help. Natasha was probably the only one that even gave a damn about him anyway. She was probably the only one even thinking about him right now, who'd have noticed he wasn't even there. Fuck them. Fuck all of them.
A sudden burst of warm energy settled through him as the hate he harbored for his teammates surfaced further. It was like a reward – pleasant, comforting. He took a moment and savored it, trying to be distracted from the fear and anguish that was stirring up his head. The feeling engulfed him mentally and then physically, as if someone had wrapped a blanket around him or tucked him into bed. His frontier of thought began fading and he drifted off into something very much like a balmy, soothing sleep which was better than any rest he'd gotten in years.
"Sleep well."