A/N: You like me! You really like me! So, awesome response to first chapter! It made me giggle and blush and get all warm and fuzzy inside.

In case you didn't figure out, italics are dreams, thoughts, and flashbacks. You should be able to decipher which one is which based on context. Oh and emphasized words, but that's like any other piece of literature.

Let's see… a little blood and gore in this one. So, warning I guess.

Oh, and I didn't do this in the last chapter, but I suppose I should since it seems to be the popular thing around here: I do not own the Avengers. (I did buy the blue ray, so in a sense I do…)

Thor loved his brother. There was nothing Loki could do or say to negate that. It hurt Thor to battle his brother, to fight against him, to see him injured in Stark's tower only to apprehend him.

Strangely Loki had become rather silent and seemingly contemplative after being detained. He still looked at Thor with some bitterness, but it was not the pure, manic rage he'd seen before. The trickster's gaze seemed more searching or intense. Different. Perhaps it was just the close proximity. Maybe Loki had learned something in the end after all.

Then they had put the manacles on Loki. Thor shuddered at the memory. His brother had not known the effects of the restraints until they were clasped on him. It was as if all his strength had been sapped as he sank to his knees and clasped at his chest. Thor had wanted to support him, to help him, but Loki needed to take responsibility for his actions. He had stepped too far to simply be forgiven. Thor had given his brother many chances to turn back, and he had rejected all of them.

After he had delivered Loki to Asgard, complete with muzzle, Odin had advised for Thor to return to Midgard. The city of New York needed rebuilding, and it seemed that the populace was unsure in its feelings towards its heroes. An Asgardian had nearly destroyed the city and had taken many lives. It would be wise for an Asgardian to placate the humans in a show of peace. Thor was to be an ambassador of sorts.

He sighed as he sat at Stark's counter thinking that if Loki were in his right mind, he'd be much better suited for this role.

"You look miserable," a voice intoned to his right. Clint Barton, still in his night clothes, shuffled out into the kitchen/living room area. Going behind the counter, he opened a cabinet, grabbed a box of cereal, and sat down opposite of Thor, eating handfuls of the dry morsels of some Captain of Crunch.

"Indeed, I do feel it." It had been two weeks since his brother's incarceration, and for those two weeks Thor had been examining where he went wrong as a sibling. Since his own banishment to Midgard, he had learned much about himself and who he had been. It was only since then that he could see his failings. Loki had been under-appreciated and ill-treated growing up in Asgard, and Thor wished he could go back to his younger self and admonish him for being pig-headed and arrogant. But no matter how badly Loki had been treated, it did not justify what he did.

Barton sat there, staring at the grey, slate counter, crunching loudly on his breakfast. Thor saw that the deep, dark circles that had been under his eyes since the attack were not so apparent this morning.

"You on the other hand, my friend, do not look as miserable as you once did" the thunder god declared with a smile.

Clint huffed a small laugh, "Thanks, I guess. Finally got some sleep." He seemed to think for a moment. Thor wondered if his previously haunted and fatigued behavior and appearance was due to Loki's interference with the archer. He, perhaps more so than anyone on the team, had been dealt the most grievous damage.

Barton slowed in his breakfast ministrations, "So what's the deal with your crazy brother? He been dealt with?"

Thor bristled a little at his slight to his brother, but conceded since it wasn't completely untrue, "He is being kept in the dungeons of Asgard. He poses no threat any longer."

"So no magic? No mind control stuff?" he asked somewhat hesitantly.

"No. He still wears the Midgardian shackles that Stark and Banner created. And the muzzle," he finished a bit disheartened.

Barton made a non-committal 'hm' and took another handful of cereal. "Do you know what happened to that staff thing of his?"

Thor frowned. "I believe your Director Fury confiscated it. I do not know if a weapon of such unknown power should be left on Midgard though."

"I knew I should have snagged that stick of his when I had the chance," came a snarky voice from behind Thor. "Well, not his stick. Not Fury's stick, if you know what I'm saying. Nobody should grab that stick. I mean the glowing one that shoots energy beams and turns people into zombies. That one." Turning, the god saw Stark walking in with ruffled hair and rumpled day clothes. He seemed tired but his eyes were bright and aware. "But I'm sure Shield knows what they're doing. It's not like they were developing nuclear weapons that utilized an uncontrollable power source, or trying to blow up the largest city in America. Perfectly reliable. Trustworthy, in fact." Stark ambled by, light on his feet, to the machine that produced coffee.

Barton huffed again, "Sounds about right. Aren't you usually comatose in your lab at this time in the morning?"

The man of iron shrugged as he fiddled with the contraption, "Pepper usually gets me coffee. Decided to show my magnanimity that comes with being a person of my awesomity by giving her today off." Stark paused in thought, "Huh, rhymed. And also, is that a word—Awesomity? It is now. Jarvis, copyright 'awesomity' and submit it to Webster's for me."

"Very well, sir" came the articulate voice of Stark's fortress, something which still amazed Thor.

Stark turned and bent to look at the face of the sitting Barton, "Hey. Something's different with you. You look less…emo. Finally took the eye-liner off? I like it. Now if we could only fix that face of yours. A hopeless case, I think."

"Why don't you go into a fight without that pansy-ass mask of yours and see how pretty you look. Oh that's right, you don't want to smudge up your makeup." Barton crunched down on more cereal.

"Nice comeback, Cupid. Original." Stark walked off with two cups of coffee in his hands towards his lab.

"I'll just tell Pepper that you're too busy with Banner to sleep with her. The hulk must be quite the handful." Barton slathered his voice with innuendo. Thor, as he finally got the underhanded meaning, grinned in boyish immaturity along with the archer. His friends certainly were a humorous distraction from the tragic happenings of his own life.

"Finally" Loki groaned.

For a moment, Clint was confused, the haze of his dream world still muddled with lucidity. Loki once again was in the Hulk-proof cell on the Helicarrier.

Clenching his fists in rage as he saw the smirking god, he noticed that his hands felt sticky. Looking down, red painted his entire body—the color horrible and familiar. Blood caked him like mud, it filled his nostrils with the scent of dirty metal, and he wanted to vomit. Gazing around the room in horror, he saw that scattered about were dead bodies. Limbs, heads, and organs were spread across the room like morbid Christmas decorations. The slippery and deceiving realm of dreams was too real, and he forgot all about the trickster within the cage.

How could he have done it? Couldn't he have fought against Loki's control? He had been too weak. He wasn't strong enough. He wasn't strong enough! Maybe some sick part of him liked murdering his friends. Loki had claimed he had heart, but more and more he did not believe it.

"Barton" a smooth voice called.

No, no. He had done this. He recognized so many faces around him. Agents Jenkins and Barker. Thompson, Beach, Louis… They were all there. Clint fell to his knees, trying to wipe the blood from his hands. But the more he wiped on his pant leg, the more blood covered him. The ruby liquid began to drip into his eyes.

"Agent Barton" the voice called again, this time more insistent.

"Go away," moaned Clint, grabbing his head. The blood was so warm, and it clung to him like syrup. He tasted the thick, coppery liquid and tried to spit it out. I did this, I did this. My fault, my fault, my fault….

"Clint." The voice was commanding but gentle.

Finally looking up, he saw the god kneeling at the glass, his green gaze steady on the archer. "You did not do this. You were under my control. Understand this."

Suddenly the blood and body parts were gone, and he was clean. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Clint sagged against the wall.

Loki stood and went to sit on his bench. Barton ran a hand through his hair, "Didn't you have blue eyes before?" He didn't want to think about what just happened. Change the topic, move to something else.

Loki, surprisingly, seemed to understand this. "For a short time, I suppose. A short, regrettable time," he scowled.

"Right." For a person who was already asleep, Clint felt very tired. The fog filled the room once more.

Clint was in Stark's sparring and training room, shooting arrows at computer generated targets that would shatter and reform when hit. The night's previous dream occupied his thoughts as he tried to figure out the Trickster's plan. By now, Clint was pretty sure that it really was Loki in his head, and not just some dream-Loki. Everything was too real for it to not be him. Too interactive and lucid. Was he trying to gain control of his head again? If so, why hadn't he done it yet? Maybe it took time. Then why did he help him with the nightmare? That didn't make sense at all.

"Barton" came a familiar low but feminine voice behind him as he sent another arrow through the dead center of a target.

He paused for a moment, but then continued, "Romanoff" he acknowledged. Natasha had tried to help him through his issues after the attack. She'd often join him on the ledge of the tower when he couldn't sleep and simply sit next to him, silent but there. He had tried to make her promise that if he were compromised again, that if the blue film claimed his eyes again, that she would take him down for good. He couldn't be liability. She hadn't agreed to it, but only said that she'd watch his back better.

"I heard you've been sleeping." Her voice was straightforward and unemotional.

"Miracle, I guess," he replied as he aimed blindly at a target behind him and was rewarded with the sound of shattering ceramic. Clint didn't want to admit it, but since Loki had jumped into his dreams, he'd gotten more sleep than he had previously been getting. It's not as if the god soothed him or that Barton preferred to dream of Loki. Apparently his nightmares were simply casualties of the god's own apparent search for cheap entertainment. It was sort of a mutually beneficial thing. Sort of. Clint felt a little nauseous at the idea.

"What changed?" she asked.

He wasn't going to tell her about Loki, that was for sure. Hey Nat, guess what? Loki's in my head. Yep. We're like hanging out, but it's not like he's trying to mind control me again or anything. That would work out well. Clint was sure he'd be happy in a nice padded room and pudding for dessert every day. So Barton shrugged, "Not sure. Just got sick of staring at my ceiling all night, I guess."

He was not really lying. He did hate staring at his ceiling all night. But that's not why he slept better. He knew it and she knew it. But he knew Natasha wouldn't push. They'd known each other long enough to understand when the other needs to know something, they'll know it. They trusted each other enough to know that if one of them is lying or deflecting, it's for a good reason.

He heard her sigh through her nose. "Alright. I'm glad you're back with us, Clint." He heard her footsteps as she began to leave. With everything they'd been through, they both knew how to hide meanings in their words. It was like a secret language between them. I'm not doing this without you. I can't. This was the vague meaning behind her words. It may have sounded sentimental and cliché but it was the truth, and he felt the same. They were as necessary to each other as a limb on the body. Not out of love, love was something soft and breakable. What they had was something created out of pressure, time, and blood. Too much blood. It was something much more vital and integral than love.

Dropping his bow to his side, he turned, "Tasha." He said it softly, but she stopped in her path and turned her head to the side. "Thanks" Thanks for bringing me back, for keeping me sane, for being there.

She nodded and left, and he went back to target practice.

A/N: There. How's that? Any good? I myself felt a little 'meh' about it. It's just a little this and that. Not much Loki. Sorry :P

Aren't Clint and Tony a couple of little hooligans? So naughty. More Tony in the next chapter. And Loki. And introducing Bruce! Steve may have to wait till the next-next chapter, though.

Stupid Joke Time!: What did Tony say to Thor when the god walked around Manhattan with all his Asgardian armor on?

"You stick out like a Thor thumb!" Oh my…. I am…ashamed (not).

Reviews make me feel good. But so do follows and favorites and all that jazz. Don't feel pressured though. I'll love you anyways!