A/N: Ah! This is late! I'm sorry.

If you want to know why keep reading. If you're like "I don't care, just give me a story" skip from
HERE
So here's reason. Laptop fell off bed and my thumb drive broke. My poor little story was on it. So, I had to copy and paste from FF on to a new thumb drive and kind of re-write stuff I had already done. But it was good, in a way, because I think I was getting a little mired down in writing stuff, and having to go back and change other stuff, blah blah blah. Now it's like a fresh start, sort of. Then I had an event on the weekend. Plus I usually feel like writing in the mornings, but I work then so, there's that too. That leads me to this point now. Um. So there you go.
TO HERE
My updates will now be less scheduled. Hopefully they will be once every one or two weeks.

So, love you lots and here's the story folks! (Again, my apologies for any formatting issues).

"Loki," spoke Odin softly but strongly, his voice echoing in the large and crowded room. Many Asgardians had shown up to see Loki's judgment. The Trickster stood at the bottom of steps leading to the throne, diligently not looking up at the ruler of Asgard. Thor was not in attendance and Frigga stood besides the All-father, her face a mask of composure.

"You have betrayed this realm, you attempted to destroy the realm of Jotunheim, and you sought to conquer the realm of Midgard. You endangered Asgard by bringing its enemies across its borders, you sought to eliminate a whole race, and you allied with forces to claim Midgard, resulting in the loss of thousands of lives. All of these are atrocities that are not worthy of any citizen of Asgard, leastways a prince." Odin paused and looked down on Loki. "The single most grievous crime you committed, though, were none of these" his voice lowered so only the three of them could hear it, "Your lack of self control—your weakness of character at a moment when it was dearly called for—nearly cost me my sons."

Lies. Loki turned his glare on his non-father, unable to speak his anger.

"No, Loki"

Odin's words from when Loki hung from the Bifrost rang in his mind like broken wind chimes. 'I could have done it Father! I could have done it! For you! For all of us.' The day he'd found out about his heritage, all Loki wanted to do was prove his worth. He wanted to show that even if he were a monster, not a true son of Odin, that he could still rule like one—could take the place of Thor as King of Asgard. 'All I ever wanted was to be your equal!' he had told Thor.

But when everything was done, when he looked up into his father's face, searching for affection and pride, all he found was disappointment and regret.

"No, Loki"

Odin didn't care for him, for Thor surely, but not Loki. Never Loki.

Loki's face was contorted in anger and bitterness, his gaze darting to his once-mother, who closed her eyes. Was even she against him? She who had always comforted him, who'd smiled at his first performances of magic, who had farewelled him every time he left with Thor to help an endangered realm. Had that all been an act?

"My judgment is this" he began, his voice once again loud and full, "you shall return to Midgard, for to them you dealt the most grievous blow. There you shall serve out your punishment in whatever way they see fit." Odin made eye-contact with his former son as he said his next words: "You may speak when you find one who will trust you, Loki, for your lies have created a great rift between you and all those around you."

Odin sighed, the full weight of his years showing in his one blue eye. "You may have been born a Jotun, but you are my son. Did you not declare, when you killed Laufey, that it was by the hands of a son of Odin?"

Loki strained against the biting thread, small drops of blood forming around his lips. Yet you said 'No'. 'No Loki No Loki No Loki' Oh, how you pick the truth you turn into wisdom. Loki failed to notice how Frigga gripped the folds of her dress, her brows drawing together slightly.

"You have let the happenstance of your birth rule you" continued Odin either ignorant or apathetic of the distress of both his son and his wife. "But it is you who defines your soul, Loki. When you understand this, you may return home."

Odin's words were nonsense, ridiculous turn of phrases that were meant to quell Loki's rage. For all the insight he was acclaimed to have, the king of Asgard was a narcissistic, senile fool. Ridiculous sentiment.

"You are our son, Loki." Frigga's voice was gentle but sincere, "We love you. I could not bear it if we lost you to yourself again." These were her first and only words as she gazed down at Loki, her brow knit in concern and entreaty.

Loki felt the force of his heritage crush down on him as he looked up at his mother. His mother…his mother? He loved her, he could not deny that—could not deny the feeling that twisted in his chest and built behind his eyes. He was a monster for being the cause of the sadness on her delicate features. In his rage, even before he had fallen from the bridge, there was a part of him that did not care who got hurt, just so long as it was not himself. That anger had been real, and that was the anger which had harmed her—not the blinding affected anger and hate of Thanos, but his very own.

Loki was jolted from his thoughts by two guards grabbing his arms, and ushering him out. Glancing back once more, Odin stood unaffected, his spear grasped in one hand. To his side, Frigga was a pale pillar, her hands clasped delicately in front of her, and lips pressed into a thin line. But what caught Loki's gaze was one silver line trailing down her cheek.

Right then, more than Odin or Thor or Thanos, he hated himself.

A few days later, Thor walked briskly across the Rainbow Bridge to the dungeons. He never liked going into the depths beneath the palace. They were the opposite of the bright, airy surface of Asgard: dark, cold, and harsh. Not many people were kept there, for the citizens of the realm did not often commit crimes, though the rates did seem to rise on royal days of feasts or celebration.

On approaching Loki's cell, Thor wondered how his brother faired. He had not seen him since he left him nearly a month ago, and his chest tightened to think that now perhaps he may have been imprisoned wrongfully. Hopefully now, his muzzle had been removed and he could at least hear what his brother had to say, lie or not.

The cell was empty though, and Thor called for a guard.

"Where is my brother?" he asked agitatedly. Had he escaped?

"The All-Father has passed judgment on him, my Prince," the guard replied dutifully. "He sentenced him several days ago."

Pushing by the guard, Thor grew angry as he went to seek out his father. Why had he not notified him of his brother's sentencing? Marching through the courtyards and halls of the palace, Thor had to force himself to be patient instead of using Mjolnir to bring him hastily to either his father or to his brother wherever he was.

He found Odin sitting in his study, parchment spread out before him on a desk.

"Thor," he began quietly and calmly, "you have returned."

"Father," he tried to keep his voice steady, "where is Loki?"

Odin didn't react, "he is serving out his punishment on Midgard."

"And what punishment is that?"

"Whatever the Midgardians decide." Odin pierced him with a strong gaze, "Do you not think they should serve out justice to the one who so gravely wounded them?"

Thor sighed heavily through his nose. His father was wise, and Thor trusted and loved him, but… "Father, the Midgardian warriors and I have recently come to the knowledge that Loki may not have been completely himself when he came to Midgard."

Odin gazed steadily back, his features like stone, "Explain."

Thor began to pace as he told his father of all the conclusions concerning Loki's attack—the coloration of his eyes and the dramatic change of behavior after the battle. When he finished, he glanced at the All-Father, awaiting his opinion.

"While what you report is unsettling, it only may account for what happened on Midgard. What of Jotunheim and the thousands who are now dead? Of his attempt to kill you and your friends? Of his lies and the hurt he caused even before he fell? If he does not carry fault for the attack on Midgard, he is at fault for everything before." Odin walked forward and placed a hand on Thor's shoulder, "I am not condemning Loki to death, but he must understand the wrongness of his actions."

The god of thunder shook his head, "He has reason to hate, father. We did not treat him as he ought to have been. I was too arrogant to see his suffering, too blinded by the shine of the crown and deafened by the roar of battles. I hurt him and did not care." Thor gazed out a nearby window at the setting sun.

"Is the destruction of a planet justified then? The murder of a brother? Does casting himself into the unknowable depths of Yggdrasil become understandable?" Odin's grip had become tight on Thor's shoulder.

Thor looked down at his feet. His sadness and indeed his anger at his brother over what he did before he fell from the Bifrost returned. His own brother had tried to kill him. Loki had lied to him, saying that their father was dead and that their mother had forbidden Thor's return. Loki had been the reason for his long separation from Jane. Loki had let go. He had looked Thor right in the eyes and simply let go.

Thor rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed. "What do you think the humans will do with him?" asked Thor somewhat resignedly.

Odin suddenly turned cold as he returned to his seat behind his desk, "I know not. He is a criminal and whatever punishment they decide for him is their choice to make."

"I wish to seek him out—did he tell you of anything of his time on Midgard? Did he say anything that might suggest his innocence? While he has done wrong, he certainly does not deserve the ire of a realm which he did not willingly attack, if that is the case."

Odin paused, "He did not. His lies have corrupted too many and have destroyed too much, and he received retribution for them." Odin regarded Thor stonily, "Do not look for him, Thor. You will only put yourself and others in danger if he tricks you again."

Thor's gaze narrowed, "Is that why I was not summoned to his judgment?"

The All-Father sighed, "You would have made a difficult situation even more so. It is obvious you still regret the actions that needed to be taken to capture and hold him. You would have fought for a more lenient punishment."

Thor shook his head, "I—"

Odin stood, blue eye catching blue eyes. "I ask this of you Thor. Do not search for him. Your heart is too big for your own sake. You will take pity on him, but he has not yet learned to take pity on others. If you go to him too soon, you will only ruin his chances at redemption." Odin watched his son steadily.

Thor wanted to protest, but what his father said made sense. It may be difficult, but Loki needed time to calm himself and think. "I will wait then" Thor finally agreed. Taking a breath, Thor watched as the last of the sun sank below the watery horizon. "Where is mother? I would be glad to see her before I return to Midgard."

"She is on a good-will visit to Vanaheim," he stated, though the corners of his mouth lifted slightly, "it is Spring there."

Thor understood now why his father smiled, "She always did like their flowers. I think we wouldn't be in such good standings with them if they did not grow those Violets she so adores."

"If you keep that in mind, my son, then you will be a good king," and father and son laughed softly in the deepening dusk.

Clint lay in a ditch on the side of a long forgotten road, the remnants of a rundown circus—yellow and red cloth streamers, odd bits of popcorn and peanuts, sparkling confetti—falling around him like colorful rain in the dark.

He hurt. Every bit of him. It was black and cold, and the silence roared in his ears, the sound of the blood rushing through his skull like a thunderous river.

Someone sat down next to him in the darkness, but their presence was comforting and familiar.

"Do I have to get you out of this mess too, Barton?" asked the dry but warm voice.

Clint opened his blood-caked eyes and saw the silhouette of a balding man in a suit next to him.

"You kn—"he cleared his throat, "You know me, Phil. Always poking where I shouldn't. What would I do without you?"

"I'm sure you'll figure something out." Standing, Coulson grabbed Clint by the collar and stood him on his feet.

Grapsing his handler's shoulder, Hawkeye popped his arm back into its socket with a loud pop, "Where…Where's Barney? We should get out of here."

"Right here, Clint." As the sun began to rise, he saw his brother standing a few feet away, his longish brown hair waving gently in the morning breeze and his tall form outlined in the pink glow behind him. "Damn. Looks like curiosity beat the shit out of the cat."

"Shut up," the archer grumbled as he began to stumble away from Coulson towards the Shield issued car. He'd just been betrayed by his mentor that he'd known since he'd joined the circus more than five years ago, and nearly beaten to death. He just wanted to get somewhere where there was a bed and a shower.

He heard Coulson chuckle from behind him, "Can't wait to see the look on Romanoff's face when—"but he was cut short by a sickening sound which rang through his blood: metal sliding past flesh and crunching through bones.

Turning, he saw a horribly familiar blade sticking from Phil's chest, his blue eyes shining in the sunrise, the red on the tip of the blade glowing in the warm light. As the spear was removed, the handler fell to the ground, and the attacker was revealed. Clint stumbled with shock as he saw himself standing over his now gasping, bleeding friend, a sick smile on his lips and his eyes clear as the sky above them.

"Wha..?" Clint gasped.

"What's going on?" he heard his brother growl from behind him. "What've you done?!"

Clint fell to his knees and began to crawl towards Coulson, his mind foggy and racing to make sense of everything.

"Clint!" Barney yelled, "How could you? What's wrong with you?! Jesus! He saved you from all of this and you… I can't… I don't understand." Clint heard his words but didn't listen. He was too caught up in trying to stem the blood flow from Coulson's chest.

"Barney, get help!" he called out.

Again, there was another horrible sound, but this one was different and horribly too familiar: a sharp thwack, a sudden gasp, and the sound of Barney's body hitting the ground. Clint knew before he looked what had happened, but he looked anyways.

His brother lay only feet away, face in the ground, and an arrow in his back. "Barney…" he muttered, a pain in the back of his throat that radiated to his chest.

"Look what you did…again." His own voice startled him from his grief. Looking up, he saw two versions of himself, both dressed in his shield issued uniform. One held the strange spear, and the other his well-known bow. They stood over him, their faces now grim and focused.

"Who's next?" One of them asked.

Both of them looked up somewhere above Clint. Suddenly, he felt the pressure of a blade, cold as wet snow, pressed against his throat. "You can't be trusted. You're a liability," he heard his voice say, though it did not come from his mouth. "No one can trust you, you can't even trust yourself." There was no pain, though, as the knife dug into his jugular—no pain as it sliced a red smile into his neck. As he fell onto his back, he looked up into six pair of clear blue eyes. Eyes that he hated.

They moved out of his line of sight, and the last thing he saw in the red sky was a single black balloon floating lazily on an unseen, unfelt breeze.

Clint sat up slowly, ignoring the wetness under his eyes. It was still dark out, and after a week of returned nightmares, he wondered if there was any way to fix his head. Shield therapy didn't seem to help, though he had only gone to two sessions directly after the attack. He didn't like shrinks; he didn't like letting people into his head. If he could have, he would have chuckled at the irony.

Loki had been missing from his dreams since the one with the balloon fight, and since then his nightmares and come back like they'd never left.

Dressed in only his flannel pants, he left his room and headed towards the one person he thought could help. She knew what it was like to have someone in her head. To be someone you didn't know. She knew what it was like to hurt those you love, to live with nightmares.

Standing outside her door, he raised his hand to knock, but stopped. 'No one can trust you.' It had been a dream, but had it been wrong? 'You can't even trust yourself.'

He leaned his head against her door and shut his eyes.

Trapped. That's how he felt. Trapped in his own head, by himself in himself.

Thanos opened his eyes and smiled.

"It looks like our little pet is back on Midgard. How fortunate." He turned to the Other. "Soon you shall go. Soon you shall show them the beauty that is death. Show them the power of what they can only dream of. And while you do that, while you show them how weak their mortal minds are to my power, at the same time we will punish the little god for his failure." The Titan's laugh was low and grating.

"When shall I go, my lord?" asked the Other, bowing in reverence.

"Go when they think they understand my weapon. When they think they are safe, comforted by what they believe is knowledge, we shall show them how wrong they are, and I shall laugh."

The Other smiled.

A/N: There you have it. Odin and Thor and Judgment and a sneaky bit of sort-of plot. I think the next chapter or so will be rather more climatic.

I added a bit of Clint history. Stuff that still bugs him because he's more than just what happened in the movie, right? More weighs on his mind than just Loki and mind control.

Some of you wonder, why doesn't Clint tell someone?! I fought with this subject for a long time, but I think this chapter gives the answer.

Hmm, I wonder what will happen with Loki? Perhaps the Midgardians will simply rap him on the knuckles with a ruler and send him on his merry way...

I tried to make Odin somewhat reasonable in his thoughts, but I think exactly why he is so angry/cold with Loki is still yet to be mostly revealed.

Yep. Updates will be hopefully once every week or two.

Fun Time! Bruce is sweet and almost kind, but he was mean and he was coarse and unrefined, but now he's dear, and so unsure. We wonder why we didn't see it there before. (*Cough* Beauty and the Beast *cough* )