I noticed that the amount of times I allude to Doctor Who in this story is steadily rising. Strangely enough, I don't watch Doctor Who. Thank you Tumblr for educating me on shows I don't understand.

I wrote a oneshot on FFNet if anyone's interested!

I apologize for the last chapter, as I should have made a trigger warning for its darker content. It had completely slipped my mind to do so. However, because of personal reasons I hesitate to change the rating to M. If it helps, the worst has already passed and the rest of the story, while I can't say will not be dark, ought to be a lot less crass/graphic.

As I look more and more into a career of arts, I realize just how rare it is for anyone to actually they their work published or their arts enjoyed and that even on a website the amount of enthusiasm from readers is rare. Thank you all so much for taking the time and effort to read this story. I don't know if I'll ever have readers as generous and kind as you all are ever again, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you all. You make all this writing worthwhile.

A chapter full of all the feels. Whether good feels or bad feels, that's up to you to decide. Enjoy~

"You think I can buy these wholesale?"

Natasha smirked, applying a bandage over Clint's shoulder. The wound was healed, but it still bled when Clint moved it too sharply. Which was something he was prone to do; injury was never able to pin Clint down.

"I don't think you can get a prescription for healing stones here," said Natasha.

"They're freaking useful," said Clint, rolling his shoulder to test its movement. He winced when his arm stung. Natasha punched him lightly on the knee.

"No moving," said Natasha. "Thank God it's not infected until inoperable, but for goodness' sake, you aren't in tip-top shape yet."

"Yes, Mother," said Clint.

"Thank God Loki got that...infection out of you," said Natasha, grimacing at the memory. "If no one figured it out, who knows what would have happened?"

Clint gave a dry chuckle. "Yeah. I guess so." He looked up to Natasha, hastily changing the subject from Loki. "What about you ? Are you injured?"

"This is the fourth time you've asked me," said Natasha.

"Is it?" said Clint.

"O ye of little faith," said Natasha. "I kept myself safe, Clint. I'm fine. What's with the worry?"

"Am I not allowed to? This is a free country."

"That doesn't mean it's a silly one." Natasha shrugged. "I told you. I got into a little skirmish with the Chitauri when I met up with Loki, and after that there was nothing. Didn't see anything going on until Loki came back with the staff and we found you together."

"A skirmish with the Chitauri isn't something to overlook," said Clint.

"I'm alive, aren't I?" said Natasha. "There were only about…three, maybe. Three or four."

"Yeah? Well I got beat up by one," said Clint.

"That's different. He strung you like a fish on a hook. Even Thor would probably have a hard time with that."

"I don't know," said Clint. "Damn…I admire those POWs in past wars that have to withstand months or even years of torture for information. I don't know how they do it."

The corner of Natasha's lips curled. "A damn good drive."

"Where can I buy one of those?" said Clint.

Natasha chuckled and sat down opposite of Clint. When she looked up, she saw the pensive glaze in his eyes and she quieted.

"Something the matter?" she said.

"No," said Clint.

Natasha leaned forward. "Don't try to pull that on me."

"It's nothing, I'm serious," said Clint.

Natasha pursed her lips.

"Clint," she said. Her voice was gentle.

"It just scares me," said Clint, "how close I was to telling the Chitauri—to telling Gath—everything. Again."

"Again?" said Natasha.

"It's always me," Clint said with an exasperated laugh. "First Loki messed around with my loyalties and I spilled everything I knew about the Avengers and SHIELD to him. Now Gath for some reason thought I was the perfect candidate to string up and demand information from. Do I look like someone that easily spills? Are my weaknesses—I don't know—a lot more prominent than others?"

"You know that's not the case," said Natasha.

"Is it really?" said Clint. "How can you be so sure about that?"

Natasha hesitated before sitting up straight.

"What did Gath try to do to you?" she said. "I know something more than just physical torture went on in that room."

Clint closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. "I'd rather not say."

Natasha felt a pang in her heart. "Clint—"

"I'd rather not say because I was compromised," said Clint. "And—honestly—I don't know. I don't think you'd want to hear."

"Why wouldn't I want to hear?" said Natasha.

"Because I'm embarrassed? I'm scared? I'm confused?" said Clint. He rubbed the side of his head tiredly. "And I don't know—I'm afraid of compromising more than just me. That it would come between us."

"Ah," said Natasha.

Curiosity was a witch, that even though she wanted to respect Clint's privacy, let him come out on his own time, she itched to know what it was he hid from her. Unsurprising, as she was a spy, and she spent her entire life craving the secrets of others so she could suck them dry.

But that wasn't the case here, not with Clint. She wanted his trust, his assurance. That he would tell her because he wasn't afraid.

"You know how the Chitauri can shape-shift and all that?" said Clint. "How they can make themselves look like however they want?"

"Yes," said Natasha.

"That's how Gath got me. He shape-shifted to look like Vulk, even though he killed her secretly. Not that we knew until Tony informed us. He pretended to help me and led me to the room, and then attacked me. So there's strike one."

Natasha listened silently. Clint would not look at her, instead fascinating himself with a tile on the floor. She wished she could take his hand comfortingly, or wrap her arm around his shoulders, but something held her back, telling her to wait. Not yet.

"Strike two, after Gath got the notion I wasn't going to talk anytime soon," he said, "it turned out he had a lackey or two with him."

"What did they do?" Natasha said, her heart skipping a beat anxiously.

"They—they—look, Nat," Clint said tiredly. "Whatever I say, please—I don't want it to come between us, okay? Don't judge yet, don't react yet…just hear me out."

Natasha hesitated, but acquiesced with a nod. Very little could shake Clint, and the fact that he was tentative to tell her, the fact that he was afraid she would judge him of all people, made her apprehensive.

"One of them—I don't know how they knew, or anything—shape-shifted to look like you," said Clint. "Except you looked beaten up, with an inch of your life left…and they were threatening me with you—it—him. That if I didn't tell them where Loki was, or hand him over, they would hurt you even further. Even violate you. And that if I did tell…we'd be spared. You, me, the other Avengers—I don't know. That's what Gath said."

Natasha felt a cold rush surge through her insides. She couldn't imagine how it was for Clint to see her at such a weakened state. It was expected of them, as master assassins, to keep up an emotional barrier that such a threat would not topple their plan, but Clint and Natasha both knew that should the situation come that the other was used as a bargaining chip, to cave to the enemy was painfully, desperately tempting.

"I thought it really was you," said Clint. "I thought you really were beat up and hurt, and I wanted to tell. I so wanted to tell, just to get you out of this."

"How'd you know it wasn't me?" said Natasha.

"Induction," said Clint.

"You're hiding more than that," said Natasha.

Clint sighed and closed his eyes. "I mentioned Loki being in the building and it was confused. As if it didn't know Loki was with us—and I'm guessing none of them did know, or else there would be no point in getting information out of me. And—I confirmed it myself. I made it say things to me that I knew you wouldn't say."

"What would that be?" said Natasha.

Clint pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed. "I got you—it—to say that you loved me."

Something in Natasha fell. Whether it was her mind, spirit, or heart, she couldn't tell. Part of her wished to congratulate Clint for his quick thinking, for pulling himself out of temptation, but the other part was muddled, shaken, confused. With the fact that Clint had someone asked her—it—if she loved him. The fact that Clint thought she would never say 'I love you' to him, or perhaps anyone.

It was probably the truth, she knew—that she would never say it—but to hear such a thing hurt.

Perhaps she would never say it, as speaking of vulnerability was not a part of her special skill set, but she could still do it, couldn't she?

Couldn't she?

"You do know me well," Natasha said, her voice thin.

Clint grunted. "And then the rest of the story is pretty self-explanatory. Nat, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Natasha said. "Really. Don't be sorry for getting out alive, for goodness' sake."

"If I made this awkward—if I put you on the spot and I shouldn't have—"

"Don't say these things," said Natasha. "I'm glad you told me the truth. I'm glad, I am. I just…"

She thought of how long she and Clint had worked together, been together, done everything together. Of their secrets and tears that crossed between them. The long, black nights that they stayed up together, trying to tell each other what was on their hearts—she, of her past, and he, of his nightmares—and instead stumbling over words and potholes until both of them were still lost in their guilt and uncertainty. How they knew each other so thoroughly that an imposter could make them both afraid and suspicious. How they were everything for each other for so long.

"Did you ask me—it—if I loved you, for a reason?" she said.

Clint opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to line his words in a perfect row so that they would tumble like a landslide of truth out of his mouth.

"I do love you, Nat," he said quietly. "I love you in that I care about you, that I'd die for you. That I want you to be happy, to be safe and whole. That I don't ever want to leave or lose you. And for a moment, for some time in between when we first met and now, I think I did love you in a way that was more than all that—that was romantic, or deep, or something more than just love. I know I did."

Natasha could barely breathe. She felt her blood rushing through every inch of her, making her aware of the heavily beating heart, the constricted lungs, the whirring of her mind.

"But," said Clint, and he couldn't look at any part of her now. "But—I realized that there was something amiss. I wanted to be your other half, to make you whole, but now I see that I can't. And honestly, you couldn't be that for me either, if you wanted to. All through our trials and uncertainties and pain, we were there for each other. But we could never fix each other, even though we've tried so hard. We tried and we tried but there is always something missing, something that couldn't fit. It's like we're trying to fit ourselves in each other's keyholes to our hearts, or souls, or something, but we were never right to unlock them. I wasn't meant for you, and I don't think you were meant for me."

Natasha closed her eyes, her thoughts flowing from raging whirlwind to soft seas, ebbing, soothing. She tried to understand, only to realize that she already did. That in the end, no matter how much they cared for each other, it didn't mean they were perfect for each other. There were parts of Clint that she could not heal, solely because she was who she was, and there were parts of herself that Clint could not help her with. They were different in such a way that they could be each other's everything and still not be enough. They were everything the other person would ever want, but they weren't what the other person needed.

"Thank you for telling me, Clint," she said, her voice small. She smiled, and she meant it. "I love you just as you love me. I care about you too. I want you to be happy, at peace, one hundred percent, and I know that I can't bring you there. But there is someone out there, there is, and when you finally found that person I will be the happiest person alive."

"And when you find your own, I'll take him to a nice, shadowy, locked room and threaten him to do right or else I'll kill him slowly, intimately, in every way he fears."

"Oh God, Clint," said Natasha, her voice choked with laughter, before she embraced him tightly. If she hurt his shoulder in the process, he made no indication that she did, and he held her just as firmly. "Aren't you glad you told me and got that off of your chest?"

"Damn you, Natasha," said Clint, gripping her close. "Damn you."

The bourbon burned Tony's tongue, nearly setting his mouth on fire. He grimaced and pushed the half-full cup away. He hated drinking when he was stressed—it reminded him of Howard. But if the world didn't want alcoholics, why did they make alcoholic feel so cleansing? As if the burning sensation would sear away all impurities inside. Sometimes it was a mystery why the world wasn't yet divided between the religious and the alcoholics.

"Four hours," said Tony.

Steve looked up tiredly at Tony.

"Four hours is too damn long to spend with that damn reptile," said Tony.

"We got something out of him, at least," said Steve, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, the fact that Thanos plans to destroy the world starting with either Earth or somewhere else, as if we didn't know that before," said Tony. "I thought the whole being in love with Death part sort of gave that away for us already."

"Soldiers will never willingly give up information. Even torture would not be fail-safe. And it's wrong."

"It's still an option," said Tony. "I know, I know—" He raised a hand to stop Steve from interrupting. "Even if this—Gath—isn't human, he is still a living creature that shouldn't be tortured, and we shouldn't be those hypocrites. But what are we left with? Counting to three? A truth serum? Releasing him back to the wild now that he kind of already knows where Loki is and can use the information against us?"

"Pain doesn't—"

"Pain does a lot. Trust me," said Tony. He rubbed his arms. "And—hell, even if it doesn't get him to talk, it'll get him to—to—"

Tony groaned and took another gulp of his alcohol. Steve scrutinized him concernedly.

"What's eating you, Tony?" said Steve.

"Nothing's eating me," said Tony.

"Look, I may be somewhat naïve about things, but I'm not stupid," said Steve. "I know something's bothering you."

Tony rubbed his face tiredly. "I just feel like shit."

"Well, you have downed a lot of alcohol."

"You heard what Gath said," said Tony. "What he said about how Thanos treated Loki. Thanos raped Loki. He raped Loki, who knows how many times. Did you see Loki's reaction? Did you hear Thor crying outside the door? And I almost didn't want to help Loki. I almost said, no, get the hell off our planet. He went through all that and I was going to slam the door in his face."

Tony closed his eyes and downed the rest of his drink. It was likes swallowing lava and he felt his throat blister—it was a grudgingly satisfying sensation. He could only imagine the look on Loki's face if Tony shut the door in his face before Loki could ask for help. He felt like sludge clogged his veins.

"I know you feel guilty, Tony," said Steve. "But that wasn't what happened. You did help Loki. We all did. And look where we are—we care about him. It's crazy, admitting it, but that's what happened, and I don't think any of us regret it."

"But he's not helped," said Tony. "He's not—he's not right yet. He's not fixed. I bet he still gets nightmares—I know I did after I went through Afghanistan, and that was nothing compared to Thanos. And the fact is, he can't talk about it. I can pour out my heart to Pepper if I want to, or Rhodey, or even JARVIS if I'm drunk and desperate, but this guy's mute—whether it's because he chooses to be or because something messed with him so badly that he can't make a sound, I don't know—but he can't let anything out."

"You talk as if he hasn't got a lot of hope," said Steve.

"Hell, I don't know," said Tony. "He sure won't be back to normal. I don't even know if I ever knew what normal for Loki was, if the whole bag full of cats Loki we knew three years ago was not who he truly was before."

"Suffering makes people change," said Steve. "I won't pretend that isn't the case. But that doesn't mean suffering breaks people permanently. If we leave it at that, if we don't try, if we don't care, then sure, it'll lead to a lot of brokenness. But that won't be the case. Not for him."

"Are you going to try to preach to me?" said Tony.

"No," said Steve. "I'm telling you what I know. You don't think that all that you've done, by interacting with him and befriending him, will help him? The better times in life don't cancel out the bad times—life isn't solely a mathematical equation or chemistry problem—but that doesn't make them worthless or less wonderful. Just as bad times don't cancel out the good."

Tony peered at Steve grudgingly over his class cup. Talking about life with Steve was never always a progressive one, considering how drastically different their approach to the mysteries of time and space were from each other. Yet he felt drawn to Steve's word, as if something about it tempted him by how promising it sounded and kept him from trying to dissect the logic from his thought process.

"It just seems screwed up," said Tony, "that anyone has to deal with those—things—in their life and then some, and that they still have a load of suffering ahead of them. Hell—" He gave a snort and ruffled his hair. "Everyone, really. Everyone goes through shit, and everyone has more shit to swim through even after they get through one trial. No one gets a break, unless they kick it."

"Well, think of it this way," said Steve. "Everyone goes through moments of happiness in their lives, and nothing's stopping more good times to come by."

"All right, Mr. Sunshine," said Tony. "Your sugar coating is getting too much for me. Even Bambi's sugar tooth might not be able to handle it."

Steve's face sobered. "Loki was never really the same after that incident at SHIELD."

"I know," said Tony. He furrowed his eyebrows. "I definitely knew. He's become…even more unpredictable. And volatile. But part of me wonders if it had anything to do with Thanos coming into his mind not that long afterward."

"You mean, like a symptom of Thanos prodding into his mind?" said Steve.

"It's a complete guess," said Tony. "But even then…something just tells me he's never been emotionally or mentally stable this whole time. It's sort of hard to judge when something goes from bad to worse."

"I wish I could understand him," said Steve. "Like you, or Thor, or Natasha. You guys seem to be able to read him really well, and I just have no idea what he's trying to communicate."

"Not everyone can be one hundred percent perfect at everything," said Tony with an ironic wink.

"That isn't the case. I'm far from perfect," said Steve. "I'm just a guy with a shield."

"Yeah, yeah, keep staying saintly and modest," said Tony. He made to take another swig of his drink, only to remember that his cup was empty.

"Who's guarding Gath right now?" said Steve.

"Er, JARVIS?" said Tony.

"Is that safe?"

"JARVIS is perfectly adequate, thanks," said Tony. "Besides, Gath has no armor, no weapons, his magic bound, zip. And he's locked up with my technology."

"I can't say I consider that foolproof."

"I can't say I can take that as a compliment," said Tony, shrugging. He shook his head. "We should have never brought him. I don't know what Natasha was thinking. If we even do get information out of the guy, what then? Do we just keep him in a box and try to make a compromise with Thanos? That's a laugh. Return him to the other side? If anything, everyone would be dead. Kill him? Some alien form of the Geneva Code will get our asses."

"We might as well take advantage of the situation," said Steve. "So long as he doesn't have some ulterior motive staying here."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he does," said Tony. "JARVIS, do I have any more alcohol in a five foot radius around me?"

"I'm afraid the closest drink is seven point five feet away from you."

"Dammit. Dummy. Dummy, get the drink for me."

The robot wheeled itself to the cupboard before crashing its head into the faucet.

"Stupid idiot, you're going to the science museum."

"Speaking of which, where's everyone?" said Steve.

"I'm not everyone's babysitter. Leave that to Fury," said Tony.

"It's just…Loki and Thor ran off in a fit, Clint's been injured, though Bruce messaged saying he'll be all right, Natasha—I can never really tell what's on Natasha's mind—and then we have an alien in our building who's surprisingly passive," said Steve. "Things can't be that calm."

"Don't curse us," said Tony. "If somehow we can get a moment of just nothing going on, then take it without protest."

Steve frowned before calling up JARVIS' security screens. The many security camera footages appeared before him in holographic form. Tony rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, are you going to start spying on people? I thought you were the prude on privacy," he said.

"I'm just making sure everyone's okay," said Steve. "I know it was a different situation, but last time Loki was left alone and I found him…"

"What happened?" said Tony.

"Maybe I'll talk about it later," said Steve, brushing aside several screens. "Let's just say I'm rather cautious about his—"

Steve froze, his eyes widening as they landed on a particular screen. Tony leaned sideways to see what it was that Steve was studying.

His heart sank.

"Captain, is that—?"

"Hell," said Steve.

That was all the two could say before they dashed out of room toward Gath's prison.

He was not shaking.

Loki was in the room, the metal cell with Gath and Gath alone, unarmed, unprotected, unprepared. Gath was staring up at him with wrathful amusement, with the same eyes that laughed when Loki was dragged in a parade and forced to eat waste, that laughed when he dangled the dead guard's head in front of Loki's face until he nearly choked.

He could not afford to shake.

But his skin was shivering upon his bones, as tightly as they were wound about them, and he could barely breathe. He could

not

shake

Gath leered at him, his yellow teeth gleaming in the white light. Loki sucked in a breath, bundling his hands into fists to keep them from visibly quaking.

He was not afraid.

He was not afraid.

"Well, well, well," rasped Gath. "Look who deigned to visit me."

Loki did not react. He remembered how quickly the Avengers had gagged him when he was first captured years ago, and glared at Gath's blissfully unbound mouth.

"Why has the mighty prince come?" said Gath.

Why did he come?

(to show himself he was not afraid)

The past could not haunt him. The past could not bind him the past could not claim him could not scar him until he was left mangled could not

"Has it come to play games?" said Gath. "Has it come to seek revenge?"

Loki bit down on his tongue until he was almost certain that any more pressure would slice the tip off.

"Has it come to pillage me?"

Do not react do not do not listen do not

Gath cackled, his broad shoulders shaking with his mirth. Loki took in one deep breath, exhaled. One deep breath, exhaled. The air smelt of the Chitauri—of metal.

"As expected," said Gath, "you do not speak. You do not utter a single sound."

Loki's chest tightened at Gath's words.

"Are you still so cowardly that you will not make a sound? Do you think that my men will find you and run a spear through your belly? Or—even better!"

Gath gasped before craning his neck as if to look behind Loki. "Master Thanos!"

Loki's heart leapt to his throat as he spun around, immediately brandishing a knife that was hooked to his belt, only to be faced with nothing but the door. His blood raced, pounding in his ears, and the sight of nothing made his head faint with panic and relief. Gath howled with laughter behind Loki and he realized his folly, his blood running cold.

"Still so fearful of Lord Thanos, aren't you?" said Gath. "That he will find you in your cubby hole, take you in more ways than one. Such cowardice."

Not a coward. Not a coward.

"Come now," said Gath. "Surely, if you weren't afraid of Thanos, you would let your tongue speak. Sing a little song for me. Prove that you have nothing to fear."

Loki narrowed his eyes. Who did this soldier think he was, that he would order the god of mischief with petty commands to test him? This was the offense of the faithless and the doubters.

"Nothing?" said Gath, tilting his head. His voice dripped with feigned concern.

Loki set his jaw, crossing his arms stubbornly across his chest.

"Arrogant bastard child," Gath said softly. "Even if it is not fear, it surely mutes you like a muzzled dog. Shall we put it to the test?"

Loki urged himself not to react. Not even a sharp movement of the head. He could not let Gath have the upper hand, even if he was blessed with speech and Loki—abstained of it.

"Your mortal companions cannot help you now," said Gath. "I know of their technology that they can watch us this very moment with another pair of eyes, but they cannot hear us. Now you will have to suffer in silence or suffer in your mind. We both know that you do not choose to remain speechless from a fit of fancy."

Loki swallowed hard, but his countenance did not waver.

"Do you know what Lord Thanos plans?" said Gath. "You will now. Thanos has the Reality Gem thanks to a spy, who unfortunately was offed early in the game. All he needs is to wage war to gain the Gauntlet, and of course—you. He will not remain docile while he lacks the Gauntlet. He will wage war, and he will not give a damn how many warriors on either side die, so long as Death's cravings are satiated. He will strike the eight outer realms first all at once, with Asgard as his main prize, before crushing Midgard like the ant it is, until the rest of Yggdrasil falls. He will set the golden city on fire and listen to the subjects scream. He buys his time not to gain strength, but to watch you squirm."

Loki couldn't breathe as truth after truth poured from Gath's tongue. He could detect no lie in those acidic words, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest.

"It is more of a genocide than a war, for nothing can stand up against Lord Thanos—nothing. Let Asgard raise her warriors, let Jotunheim pray in her temples, Thanos will inflict blight and swarm until the screams of the suffering cease and Death sings. He gathers an army stronger than you know—more than just the Chitauri, but of creatures that even your stay in the Void has not introduced to you. He will launch his attack in almost two moons, to watch you all chase your own tails like rabid mongrels, until he skewers the Jotuns like the beasts they are and scour Alfheim until the elves are nothing but scraps of flesh. When his forces attack Asgard and wrench the Gauntlet from the All-Father's dead and stiff fingers, he will wield the power of the Infinity Gauntlet and send the universe into Death's arms.

"And you—you shall watch, prince of murderers. You will watch and you will not be surprised, for you will know everything and yet you kept it in your chest, locked in your silence, to condemn the rest of existence to death because of your weakness. And last, Thanos swears to leave you alive. You will be left alone, with no home or no comfort, no compassionate soul or merciful hand will come to you again, and you will wander the rest of your eternity in emptiness, knowing that all destruction, all of your mourning and pain is your fault."

Loki couldn't breathe, and his legs felt weak underneath him. His arms shook uncontrollably.

"Look at you!" Gath cackled, voice hoarse with giddiness. "Look at you quake. You know I speak the truth, you know that Thanos is fully capable of all that he promises. Now what will you do with all your cleverness and lies? Now what will you do?"

There was no upper hand. No pride, no game to win, no point to prove. Not when Loki rushed forward, blinded, burning, and stabbed Gath in the chest.

Gath jerked, choking as blood flooded his pierced lungs. Loki twisted the dagger vindictively, his face drawn and grave (but his mind, his mind was dancing, his mind was jubilating) before dragging it up and snapping Gath's ribs.

He wrenched out the dagger before slashing Gath's throat. A jet of blood sprayed onto Loki's shirt and face; it tasted bitter and powerful. Gath gurgled, his breath failing as blood flooded its empty spaces. His body jerked from the deathly blows, cracking sharply like a whip. A fish flailing in air, suffocating.

Loki stabbed—stabbed—stabbed. Blood coated his entire front and Gath no longer had a face. His body—corpse—hung loosely on the binds, nothing but meat, nothing but butchered shreds of flesh. And Loki could not stop himself, could not cry hold—hold—as he plunged his blade deeper into Gath's body, as blood stuck to his hands and formed a new layer of skin, until he became the monster that haunted him—

"Loki, no!"

Someone grabbed his arm and he wrenched himself away, shoving the dagger into Gath's unidentifiable face. Just as his grip on the dagger slackened, someone dragged him away from the body and threw him on the ground, pinning down his limbs. Loki thrashed on the floor, seizing up like a madman, wanting to kill, kill destroy. Who dared to stop him? Who dared to bind him?

"Oh hell," said someone's voice. Loki could not see who it was, and he could barely hear. "Oh shit, oh damn, oh hell."

"What did you do?" the person on top of him screamed. He thought it might be Tony, but he could not remember. "What the hell happened?"

Loki twisted until he could look up at the occupants of the room. Clint was interjecting terrifyingly in his hands, pacing back and forth as if to try to calm his nerves at the sight of the massacred body. Steve's face was green, as if he too held a beast within his chambers, and he clutched his stomach. Bruce would not look at anyone, not the body, not Loki, nothing. Natasha's eyes were wide, her lips mouthing something inaudibly. And Thor—

Thor.

Thor Thor Thor Thor Thor Thor Thor Thor—

Thor, I know what they plan!

I know what it is that Thanos will attempt, what he hopes to wrought upon all Nine Realms, I know what will come—

I know where and when he will strike first, who to seek for help, how to—

I know, I know, I KNOW!

(and they will be nothing but scraps of flesh murderer he's a murderer prince of beasts even frost giants wouldn't try to kill an entire race fortunate fortunate child two monsters shall be silenced tonight)

The truth bubbled in him like vomit, begging to come out, pleading, burning. Just at the base of his throat, at the tip of his tongue, pressing against his teeth until his gums hurt, until his lungs were pulled along as if hooks were attached to them and if he didn't speak they would tear apart, wring, rip—

(two monsters will be silenced tonight two silenced monsters tonight will be monsters two tonight be silenced will )

He could not speak.

As the Avengers yelled, as the blood drenched the floor, as he was shaken and slammed against the ground, as Thor's face swam over his hazy eyes, Loki would not speak. And Gath—Gath, who was dead, who was nothing but meat on that chair, whom Loki killed on cold blood—laughed. Gath won.

Loki could not speak. He could not even scream or cry. Because his speech was gone, his ability to make himself known, to be heard, to be listened to and understood, was gone. He ripped it from himself, tore away the privilege from the monster that he was, whether he would be a Jotun or an AEsir or any other creature in the world—he was always a monster, regardless. He made a promise that was no lie, that was heavy and sick—that he, Loki of no one and nowhere, with nothing but pain and lies in his entire being, would not burden the world with who he was, not when he slaughtered children and monsters alike and ruined realms. Not when he was and forever will be—Loki.

He thrashed underneath Tony's grip, fought for nothing. He slammed his head against the floor and walls until he could not hear or see. He covered himself in blood and tore at his chest, his nails ripping his skin, not to shovel out the Gem but his own corrupted heart.

But he never uttered a single sound.