Disclaimer: I do not own "The Avengers" or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works. I do not claim any of the directly quoted lines from "The Avengers" as my own, they belong to Marvel and the writers.The cover art came from a google search with the original source being pinterest where it was credited to Anthony Genuardi.
Author's Note: While I embrace constructive criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"
Special thanks to all who reviewed Chapter Two: BatmanOtaku, Black Betty, JRBarton, Well done you, GremlinX, Kirstiej104, LostHawk, kateanddin, Sandy-wmd, Batghost, SpiritAlpha, Zoeff, yevguine, penguincrazy, faithfreedom, jaguarspot, RAGAnne, ladybug114, Hellahawkward, R1dDL3M37h15, CyanB, Qweb, pengineer, Alice of Scots, Steff7, BookLoverSince1996, jaygutt, truefairytales, Ellie, Kylen, Cello06, thababes, burningupastar, BooksAreMedicine, Wolfsdrache, Nowgiveusakiss-a, weathergirl17248, moi1992, skoreangirl tina, GinervaMarieChaseEverdeen, ImaginaryArtist17, animexluva13, SimplyaFan, GreenLoki, Sara, KaitWIN-3, discordchick, hawkeye-mockingwidow, Arlothia, Guest, Death is inevitable, and Viviannafox
Shout out to those that guessed the song that inspires the chapter titles: JRBarton, BatmanOtaku, kateanddin, faithfreedom, ladybug114, Hellahawkward, thababes, burningupastar, KaitWIN-3, GremlinX, hawkeye-mockingwidow, and Death is inevitable
You can guess the song up until I tell you what it is in the final chapter! But man some of you nailed it right out of the gate! PS I love this song. If I missed anyone, my deepest apologies! Let me know and I'll make it right :)
Continued thanks to my wonderful betas Kylen and JRBarton for being such awesome human beings and such amazing betas.
To briefly answer some questions/comments in the reviews:
to Well done you: no offense taken my friend! And she was softer in that first scene than she usually is, but look who she was talking to ;) Clint brings out a softer side of her that nobody else gets to see, add onto that the just waking up and you get a warmer Nat :)
to batghost: you'll see where the carrier is in this chapter. FYI its in the Indian Ocean, reasons explained in the chapter. I know its weird, but blame the writers of the movie for having a screwed up timeline lol. Also, I LOVE throwing out easter eggs for other stories, ESPECIALLY not yet written ones. ;) Luca Bertollini will have his story in the future fic "Palermo" And that is the exact characterization of Clint I imagine for this - THIS is what he would have become if Phil had never found him. So GREAT job seeing that in this.
to Sandy-wmd: you wouldn't believe the headache it was to iron out a timeline for this fic lol. The movie is all over the place and there was bound to be a typo eventually lol Thanks for looking out!
to Zoeff: I wouldn't say he's unaware of what's going on. He's entirely aware, he's just got no control. Rest assured, your question about him remembering what happened will be answered within this fic :)
to yevguine: That IS the Celine we met in WNOES! :D The one Clint kept trying to get Phil to hook up with. And YES, I'd planned on her being "the cellist" from the get go.
to jaguarspot: looks up "Broken Arrows" OMG I LOVE IT. I AM FINDING A STORY FOR THAT SONG ps...I assume you meant the Daughtry one cuz it's heartbreaking and SO Clint...though the one by Avicii is pretty awesome too but seriously "I may not be a saint but I've got a heart of gold" what the heck! This is CLINT. I'M FLOORED! How had I never heard this!
to pengineer: Yes, yes they will! You'll see Luca Bertollini and his crew in the story "Palermo"
to BookLoverSince1996: you'll just have to wait and see :P
to Ellie: Sorry my friend, I'm doing the best I can given the nature of this fic. I put as much original stuff as I could while still keeping to the movie plot (and after like chapter 11 its all original), but it'd be nigh on impossible for me to do a fic following the timeline of the movie without showing scenes from the movie to keep the plot moving and make the story flow. :) If skipping through the coverage of the movie scenes is how you get through the chapters until then, then by all means, skip. I won't be offended. I'm just glad you're here, whatever enjoyment you get from the story, I'm glad to give it.
to BooksAreMedicine: The headache is really due to a couple of things. Hopefully this chapter will help explain it a little further! And I imagine that having your mind taken over would cause at least some discomfort, I see it like this: Selvig was so caught up in the glamor of the tesseract that even if he DID have pain, it was easily ignored. You know? Read this chapter and we can discuss further :) I don't want to spoil anything.
to Nowgiveusakiss-a: spot on deduction there. I wrote Clint as I would imagine he would have been headed if Phil had never found him. So you nailed it ;)
to Moi1992: your revelation about learning pieces of languages is one of the coolest things ever.
to skoreangirl tina: I haven't done a story to cover Cap 2. In fact, i haven't addressed any of the post-Avenger movies cuz I go WAY AU after Avengers lol. Maybe one day. I've had a lot of requests to one day rewrite AoU *shrugs* don't know that it'll ever happen, but you never know. As for their sides in Cap 3...i had a discussion post on tumblr about that, and it was way to long to put here lol, so go check me out there (aggie2011whoop) and I can link you to the post, or you can find it yourself, either way. :)
to animexluva13: first of all, thanks, i'm still scratching my head about how we went from the bruce/hulk and natasha we saw interact in Avengers to what we got in AoU. Celine is from my story What No One Else Sees, she ran the Paris SHIELD base. In AoS I think the cellist was an actual cellist. And as for bringing Phil back. I consider a lot of things. But whether I'll do them or not remains to be seen :) #vague
to discordchick: you know they just might ;)
to hawkeye-mockingwidow: what?! your walk out song for your fights?! Dude! Expound cuz I'm super intrigued now! If you've mentioned being a fighter (former?) before then I've forgotten, but now I want to know everything! idk why lol call me nosey
to Arlothia: how many times did I watch Avengers for this? At least 4. And two of those involved a LOT of pausing and note taking which made the movie like 3x as long lol
to Guest: so, you asked about the unfinished fics (Arrows and Impalas and Not So Easily Defined) I'm here to assure you that YES they will be completed/continued. NSED was originally supposed to be a one-shot and then it exploded into what it is. There are only two parts left and I already have those plotted out, just haven't had a chance to write them. As for A&I, I co-author that with Arlothia and she's working on the next part even now :) So rest assured, they will NOT be abandoned!
so much for BRIEF lol I love all your questions! Never stop!
btw somebody somewhere asked about Snapshots and if I'd do a new one today...the answer is yes, I plan to. Not sure WHEN today it'll get done, but I will.
Trigger warning. Mental abuse most definitely and references to child abuse.
And so we continue...
Last time in The Untold Stories:
"What?" Pepper exclaimed. "Boo!"
Phil couldn't help but smile as they got onto the elevator. How Stark had won over this woman was a goddamned mystery.
Know thy self, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories.
Sun Tzu
April 12, 2012
4:45 p.m. Local Time (7:15 a.m. NYC)
SHIELD Quinjet, somewhere over the Indian Ocean
"We're about forty minutes out from home base, sir."
After hearing the pilot's announcement, Phil slid his headset off and stood, moving over to Captain Rogers, who was watching a video of the Hulk with a look of extreme concentration.
"So, this Doctor Banner was trying to replicate the serum they used on me?" Rogers asked.
Phil nodded, welcoming the distraction of conversation. Another 10 and a half hours gone and nothing on Clint, not one damn thing. He'd gotten on a jet as quickly as humanly possible after talking to Stark. Rogers had already been waiting for him and they'd taken off immediately.
The pilots had pushed the jet to its limits, managing to make record time from New York to the Indian Ocean. Rogers had slept on the flight. Phil had tried, but had only managed to doze. Worry did that. Even his thrill at being in the same space as Captain Rogers hadn't been able to dampen the fear that kept bubbling up – at least it hadn't helped while the soldier was sleeping. Now that he was awake and open to conversation, he was a welcome distraction.
"A lot of people were. You were the world's first superhero," Phil explained. "Banner thought gamma radiation might hold the key to unlocking Erskine's original formula."
The Captain smirked wryly.
"Didn't really go his way, did it?"
Phil supposed that depended on your point of view. Banner had achieved something, just not exactly what he'd set out to do.
"Not so much," he replied. "When he's not that thing, though, guy's like a Stephen Hawking."
Rogers looked at him blankly, blinking in confusion. Phil felt a shot of annoyance with himself. Rogers had spent the last 70 years frozen under ice. The name Stephen Hawking probably meant as much to him as Johnny Depp or AC/DC.
"He's like a…" he paused, searching for a way to accurately describe what most already knew about Stephen Hawking, "smart person," he finished lamely.
Phil barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his own awkwardness. He wasn't usually this tongue-tied. But then, he'd never been in the presence of his childhood hero before. At least not while he was conscious.
He looked at the Captain, hardly believing he was standing in the same space, breathing the same air as the man – no, legend. Memories from his childhood of reading about the heroic Captain America brought a lifetime's worth of hero-worship bubbling to the surface. Phil didn't fight it. It was a relief to have something positive to focus on. He just wished he had his trading cards on him.
"I gotta say, it's an honor to meet you officially," he started strong. "I sort of met you, I mean, I watched you while you were sleeping." Oh God, he sounded like an obsessed stalker. "I mean, I was present while you were unconscious from the ice."
Rogers moved away from him, looking a little uncomfortable. Phil honestly couldn't blame him. He was making himself uncomfortable. He blew out a breath, trying to get his thoughts back in order.
"You know it's really – it's just a…" Phil forced himself to just spit it out, "just a huge honor to have you on board. It's…"
"Well, I just hope I'm the man for the job," Rogers mercifully interrupted him.
Phil took another breath, suddenly grateful Clint wasn't there to see him so bumbling and ridiculous. His agent would have teased him for it without restraint until the end of time.
The wayward thought had him sobering, his stomach knotting painfully as he remembered with sudden clarity why Clint was not here to make fun of him. As quickly as if he'd been doused with a bucket of cold water, Phil lost the giddy excitement of meeting his childhood hero.
"Oh you are, absolutely," he assured. "We made some modifications to the uniform." Phil hesitated then added a little shyly, "I had a little design input." Maybe he hadn't lost all of his excitement.
"The uniform?" Rogers cocked his head curiously. "Aren't the stars and stripes a little…old-fashioned?"
Phil met the Captain's crystal blue gaze seriously.
"Everything that's happening, the things that are about to come to light, people just might need a little old-fashioned."
They just might need someone they could believe in again.
April 12, 2012
1:15 p.m. Local Time (7:15 a.m. NYC)
Loki's lair, somewhere in Europe
"Take it to Selvig," Clint commanded, nodding in the direction of Selvig's work station. The two men before him, carrying a large crate between them, moved to follow his order without hesitation. Clint didn't watch them go, instead scanned the large open room. People often wondered how Clint could always see the big picture. How no moving piece escaped his keen eye.
The simple truth was, he just paid attention – and not just to the big things. He saw everything, big and small, obvious and innocuous. It had been called a gift more than once throughout his life. When he was a kid, even a teen, he hadn't realized that most people didn't see the world like he did. He hadn't known that being able to scan room and remember everything in it – right down to the amount of loose change spread out on the floor – was unusual. It wasn't until he'd met Phil that he'd come to realize his ability was a skill, a tool that could be used to his advantage.
And right now, it was what alerted him to Loki's current state of distraction.
The god was sitting off to the side, spear in hand. That, in and of itself, wasn't all that strange. Loki was never without that damn spear and he seemed to enjoy looking over the activity in the room with a sense of superiority. But what caught Clint's attention, and held it, was the glow of the spear. The goddamned thing only glowed when its magic was being used.
Judging by the blank, far off look on Loki's face, he had left the building. Mentally at least.
Clint cocked his head and drifted towards him, wondering where he'd gone and why.
Curiosity bubbled in Clint like a freshly tapped spring, urging his feet to take him closer without conscious thought. Why had Loki abandoned the current situation when his obsession with his current task was practically tangible?
Clint studied the would-be king, the man who had named himself Clint's master.
Clint had been called perceptive more than once in his life, another talent he'd been told was a gift. Another tool to him, though, one he used now without hesitation.
He was still studying him when Loki suddenly flinched, eyes going wide with something like fear and then darkening in anger.
Clint blinked in realization.
Holy shit.
Loki wasn't calling the shots. Not really. He was answering to someone, someone even he was afraid of.
Clint saw Loki's gaze sweep towards him and looked away, busying himself with a nearby crate. God or not, Clint had met men like Loki before – men who built their lives on arrogance and pride. Men who demanded subservience of all those deemed 'lesser', which for men like Loki was everyone. He didn't need to be all that perceptive to know that Loki wouldn't be pleased to catch him staring and studying. And Clint didn't have time to deal with the inevitable show of power that would follow.
"Agent Barton."
Clint clenched his jaw and blew out an annoyed breath. He toyed with the idea of pretending he hadn't heard the call. But a moment later he felt the still unfamiliar, but constant, pressure in his head intensify and the urge to turn and heed the call was suddenly overwhelming.
He met Loki's gaze across the open room, the various mercenaries and soldiers Clint had recruited fading away as if they didn't exist. Loki didn't have to speak for Clint to hear his next command.
Come to me.
Clint clenched his jaw and after only managing a breath of hesitation, moved.
Loki remained sitting, chin lifted and eyes boring so intensely into Clint's he felts as if the god was seeing right through him.
When he reached Loki, the god just stared at him for a moment.
"Kneel." The command was delivered as calmly and casually as if he were saying 'good morning.'
Clint just blinked.
Was he serious? He wanted him to kneel? Kneel like a goddamned servant to a lord?
Oh right…Loki fancied himself a king…demanding that Clint kneel actually made annoying kind of sense. But before he could obey, his moment of hesitation was noticed.
"I said, kneel." Loki's voice had dropped dangerously, patience already worn thin, no doubt, by whatever mental trip he'd been on.
Something inside, something buried deep in his soul, rebelled, and had him aborting the action even as he started to obey.
Suspicion rose in Loki's gaze and Clint forced himself to drop to his knees. No matter how wrong it felt. And it felt wrong, going submissive to a man like this, a man who took what he wanted by force and conscripted others to his cause whether they believed in it or not.
Though, in all honesty, 'submissive' just wasn't part of Clint's DNA…no matter who demanded it. So on his knees or not, Clint kept his eyes trained directly on Loki's. He was determined to show that while he would obey – for a reason he couldn't explain, the urge was just there – he wasn't intimidated or cowed.
Loki's suspicion faded slightly and he cocked his head curiously, meeting Clint's gaze with that silky, sly grin he seemed to perpetually wear.
"Tell me what you saw."
Clint cocked an eyebrow in question.
"When you were studying me just now," Loki explained. "We're linked, you and I," Loki gestured at his own temple, "it was foolish to think simply averting your gaze would keep me from noticing your ruminations."
Clint blew out an annoyed breath and slid his gaze away from Loki's to hide his frustration. This was exactly what he'd been hoping to avoid. He had work to do. Selvig had been going on about all the materials he needed, and Clint had a feeling at least a few of them were going to be a trick to come by. He didn't need to be wasting time just so Loki could establish his superiority.
"Look at me!"
Clint snapped his gaze back to Loki's, unsurprised by the sudden heat and acid in the god's tone. Amongst Clint's many conclusions about the self-proclaimed king, 'short tempered' had been one of the easiest to draw.
"Tell me what you saw," Loki demanded lowly.
Clint glanced at Loki's grip on the spear, watched his knuckles whiten around it. Then he moved his eyes back to Loki's. Caught a tension in his jaw that Loki was trying hard to hide.
He'd seen enough men spoiling for a fight to recognize it now.
"I don't think you really want me to do that," Clint replied carefully.
Loki's expression darkened.
"Would you have me force it from you?"
Clint rolled his neck slightly, feeling the constant pressure on his mind start to intensify. He resisted the urge to rub his temples and held Loki's gaze unflinchingly. The Asgardian was very obviously pissed off by whatever had happened during his mind-trip and was looking for someone to take it out on. Clint knew he needed to play along or that someone would be him. And he had a feeling "forcing it from him" wasn't something he wanted to experience.
He held Loki's gaze with his own and answered.
"Fear."
Loki looked momentarily taken aback, but then covered it swiftly with a scoff.
"I fear nothing and no one."
Clint shrugged a shoulder. Whatever Loki needed to tell himself, Clint didn't give a shit.
"You think I fear something? I am as a god in this realm. Tell me what it is you think I have to fear here."
Clint hesitated, shifting his eyes away as he thought. That was a trap of a question if he'd ever heard one.
The pressure on his mind intensified sharply and without warning, drawing a wince before he could stop it and sending words tumbling out of his mouth without his permission.
"Whoever's really calling the shots. You fear whoever sent you here in the first place."
The blow to his mouth – a sharp back hand that sent his world tilting off balance and forced him to throw out his left hand to stop himself from hitting the ground – caught him by surprise. He wiped at the fresh blood leaking from the corner of his mouth with his finger and righted himself, raising his gaze defiantly back to Loki. The bastard didn't realize that Clint had been taking beatings since he was six years old. Violence had stopped inspiring fear in him a long, long time ago.
Loki reigned in his temper and glared down at the man before him as he watched him push himself back up from the ground. Loki was prepared to let it go there, the blood he could see on the man's fingers seemed punishment enough for his words. To dare think that Loki feared anyone, to speak the words aloud. It had been unacceptable from someone like Barton, someone so far beneath him, and he'd reacted instinctively.
He was sure, now, that Barton would know his place.
But as the agent turned back to him, there was fiery defiance in his gaze.
Loki's temper flared again and he struck out, catching Barton's chin in his hand and forcing the man's head back so he could meet his gaze more fully.
"You would dare speak these words to me? To your king?" Loki spat.
Barton stared silently at him, but his eyebrow quirked sarcastically. Loki didn't need to use their mental connection to know what the agent was saying. Loki understood the expression easily.
You asked.
Loki grudgingly admitted, only to himself, that he had, in fact, asked.
"How could you possibly know this?" he demanded. When Barton didn't answer immediately, Loki tightened his hand on his captive's jaw. "HOW?"
"I see things," the agent explained simply. "I see things no one else sees."
The answer was so simple; Loki couldn't find a way to argue it. He loosened his grip on Barton's jaw and then released him completely.
"You see things…" Loki glared down at him as he watched the agent flex his jaw, but the red marks from Loki's fingers were already fading.
Barton sat back on his heels and looked up to meet his gaze again.
Instead of answering, the agent lifted and dropped his shoulders in such a way that clearly communicated both his annoyance with this conversation and his lack of desire to explain further.
Loki's arched an eyebrow, feeling his temper start to rise again at the blatant disrespect. None of the others under his spell showed such defiance. None of the others dared resist his compulsion. Something with this man, with Barton, was different. Whether it was a misstep with the magic, or something deeper, something within Barton himself, causing the issue remained to be seen.
Loki did not have time to let the answer reveal itself, so instead he sought it out.
He focused his gaze heavily on Barton's, diving with his own mind into Barton's, searching, sifting, digging for the source of this unexpected defiance.
He was unaffected by the lines of pain that formed around Barton's eye as he continued his plundering search. He could see it clearly now, the battle waging within this man. A brawl between the magic and his own stubborn will. Even more troubling still, it seemed Barton was winning.
Loki's temper sparked. He would not be defied. Not by one so low as this man. He would not have his plans disrupted by a mere, inconsequential human. And he would make Barton regret his defiance in the first place.
Loki's gaze on his was like molten lead.
It goddamned hurt, hurt like someone was closing his head in a car door repeatedly, but Clint refused to give into the urge to reach for his head. He refused to break his gaze from Loki's.
He wouldn't show the pain. He wouldn't show himself to be weak.
Abruptly, the pressure lessened and Loki cocked his head, anger simmering in his gaze.
"Do you even realize the battle waging within you?" the god demanded sharply.
Clint narrowed his gaze. Battle? What battle?
Loki stepped closer, eyeing Clint like he was some science experiment gone inexplicably wrong.
"You battle, even now, against my hold on you. Do you feel it? The resistance?" Loki's tone made him wary. His voice was almost mocking.
Clint could only stare at him. Was that what he was feeling? Was that the source of that insufferable itch in his mind that he couldn't seem to shake? Was that why he found himself continually hesitating in the face of Loki's commands? Why he hadn't put a bullet in Fury's head when the order in his mind had clearly been to kill him?
Was he fighting? Without even realizing it…
Loki's hand suddenly resting against his temple startled him, but he held back a flinch just barely. Loki's gaze was deeply angry now and a little vicious.
"You have managed to retain some sort of foothold in your mind. And that, I cannot have."
Loki's hand shifted on his temple, something like a caress, but at the same time not. Either way, Clint shied away from it. Loki rested the spear on top of the crate next to them and smiled that snake-charmer smile again.
Clint hated that smile.
"Shall we see if we can knock that foot out from under you?"
Before Clint could do anything more than widen his eyes in realization of what was coming, Loki's other hand pressed against his other temple.
Then Clint was falling.
Clint opened his eyes.
He was on his back, staring at an open sky – stars spread out in the inky blackness of night. It was an odd sight, but mostly because he could see the top edges of walls on either side of him. Where had the roof gone?
"Get up."
He flinched in surprise, twisting up to a defensive stance on his hands and one knee. He searched for the source of the voice and found it standing behind him.
Loki.
Clint frowned in confusion. They weren't in the underground bunker anymore. That was obvious by the long hallway they were standing in and the endless row of prison cell doors on either side of them.
"So this is what you've created for yourself." Loki ran his hand along one of the iron bars that made up the cell door. "A prison."
"What?" Clint questioned blankly as he used his periphery to get a more accurate lay of the land. The room beyond the cell doors was inky black, so dark he couldn't make out any shapes or forms beyond the doors themselves.
Loki turned to look at him, smiling darkly.
"This is your mind, Agent Barton. This," he motioned at the hallway and the cells, "is your creation."
Clint blinked. What the f…
"What?" he asked again.
Loki stepped closer to him and Clint stood, squaring his shoulders.
"We're in your mind, you and I." At Clint's disbelieving look, Loki went on, "Only metaphysically of course. In reality, we are still exactly as you remember in the bunker."
Clint shook his head. What the fuck?
"How?"
"As I've told you before, we are linked, as I am with all whom I've brought to my cause under the power of the scepter."
Clint couldn't help it, he took his eyes off Loki and looked around fully.
"So this is…" he trailed off doubtfully.
"A product of your own creation." Loki looked around now too. "A prison, it seems." He fixed a mocking gaze back on Clint. "What do you think that says about you, Agent Barton?"
Clint could think of a lot of things that said about him, none of which he was inclined to share.
"Why are we here?" he asked instead. "Whatever it is you want to know; why didn't you just take it? We both know you can. Why bring me here?"
Loki stepped closer again, moving into Clint's space with a menacing, vicious smile.
"I would know what gives you this strength to resist me. Despite what you think, I cannot find that on my own. So you will show me." With that his hands locked around Clint's temples again, sending a shockwave of pain through every fiber of his being. He couldn't help but close his eye and clench his jaw to combat it.
But then, just as soon as it started, it ended.
Clint opened his eyes, blinking into the bright sun and breathing hard like he'd just run wind-sprints. He stared in shock at the structure before him.
The rickety porch steps and splintered railing. The peeling white paint. The torn screen on the outer door. The worn, cracked wooden plaque nailed to the wall, with faded black letters.
Waverly Home for Boys
Clint felt himself go pale, suddenly feeling the unevenness of the gravel beneath his feet. How many times had he cut up his hands and knees on this gravel? How many times had he slipped on it and fell as he tried to run away?
"What is this place?" came Loki's voice from his side.
Clint wasn't surprised the god was with him, he seemed determined to discover something about Clint with this little mind-trip. He was surprised they'd ended up here, of all places.
"An orphanage," he explained without meaning to. It was then that he noticed the throbbing of his head, the pounding pressure that didn't let up. Loki was compelling him to speak, to tell the truth.
The goddamned bastard. It wasn't bad enough that he was dragging Clint down memory lane, he was going to force him to reveal all the dark truths that lay hidden on the path.
"You lived here?" Loki questioned.
He was saved from answering when the screen door suddenly banged open. They both watched a young boy with buzzed-short, sun-kissed, yellow-blonde hair come tearing out at a full run. The boy wore a faded, ill-fitting, blue Captain America t-shirt, frayed shorts, and no shoes. Even so, he leapt from the porch athletically, landing in the gravel on bare feet that didn't seem fazed.
Then he was running.
Loki was watching the boy. Clint was watching the door.
He remembered this day.
When Phillip Jacobs came bursting through the door a moment later, Clint felt an old, long since forgotten fissure of fear slice through him. But just as quickly he stamped it out. He didn't fear this man. Not anymore. Hadn't for a long time.
"Get back here, you little shit!" Jacobs screamed.
This was the day that changed everything. The day that ended with a decision that he'd had enough. That he was done. That he was going to change things.
Jacobs took off after the child in a sprint, his long legs eating up the distance between them. But the boy was fast, he was closing in on the barn door, was seconds away from being inside and scrambling up to the safety of the rafters.
Clint didn't have to watch to know the exact moment the boy's foot found a stray nail on the ground. His own foot throbbed painfully at the memory. He didn't need to hear the shout of pain or the thud of a small body hitting the ground. His shoulder ached with an echo of the impact.
He didn't need to see the ensuing battle of flailing limbs to know that the 10-year-old boy fought like a wildcat against Jacobs, fought so hard he bruised the older man's face with his fists, broke the flesh of his arms and hands with his teeth, and bruised his groin with his foot.
He didn't need to hear the shouting to know the little boy was losing. Didn't need to hear the angry retorts to know that even so, he kept fighting.
"I see."
He felt Loki's gaze on him, but Clint was still looking at the screen door. Was watching another boy, no older than sixteen, standing behind the torn screen. Buzzed short dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin, the boy just stood there, watching the wild, vicious battle raging across the gravel yard. He didn't try to stop it. Didn't try to help. Just stood. Just watched.
Barney.
"I see." Loki's smug voice reached him again. Clint watched his brother grip the edge of the door frame. But he still didn't move. He tensed suddenly, though, and Clint knew what was coming next.
He heard gravel shifting, heard the tell-tale sound of someone being dragged.
He finally tore his eyes away from his brother to watch Jacobs get fed up with the 10-year-old Clint for not keeping his feet under him. He jerked him up by the bicep, nearly pulling his arm out of alignment, and Clint felt his shoulder burn at the memory.
He marched Clint's younger self back towards the house, and the entire time he fought. He pulled against Jacobs' iron grip, kicked at his legs, but couldn't break free.
He'd had a hand-shaped bruise on his arm for weeks after this day.
They reached the porch and Jacobs flung the boy towards the stairs. He barely got his hands out to break the impact and keep his face from eating wood.
"You, stop your goddamned gawking and get the fucking belt." Jacobs bellowed at Barney. The teen disappeared from the door without comment and Jacobs turned his attention back to the boy on the stairs. "Get in the house!"
Clint recognized the look in the blue-gray eyes that shifted to glare at Jacobs over the 10-year-old boy's shoulder. He'd worn that look more times than he could count over the years.
Defiance.
Jacobs lunged forward, cuffed the boy sharply on the back of the head and then grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt, dragging him up the steps and into the house. The screen door slammed shut behind them and less than a minute later they could hear the sound of leather snapping against flesh.
Clint's back burned. The wounds from this day had long since turned to scars and the pain had faded to nothing but a memory. But it was a reminder he'd never be rid of, a mark Jacobs had left that he'd never be able to shake.
Loki's heavy gaze landed on him again and Clint heard himself talking before he had a chance to resist.
"That day changed everything. I ran away that night."
"So this is where it began," Loki frowned slowly. "This is where your strength found its feet."
Clint shook his head. Maybe some would see it that way. Would think that this day he'd finally found the strength to stand up for himself and run as far and as fast as he could from this little slice of hell.
But Clint didn't see it that way. He hadn't run because he was strong. He'd run because he was tired of Jacobs. He was tired of pain. He was tired of fear. He'd run because he too scared to stay. He'd run because Jacobs had beaten him so badly he could barely walk, had split the skin of his back so horribly that for the first time in a long time, Barney had seemed to care again. He had helped him pack his meager belongings and had run with him.
That wasn't strength. Clint didn't know what it was, but it wasn't strength. Not to him.
But Loki seemed to be running this show and he seemed satisfied with his discovery.
"A lifetime of fighting behind you," Loki ruminated casually, "has made my purpose here more difficult."
Clint slowly turned his head to meet Loki's gaze.
"I thought it would be a simple matter of finding your source of strength and destroying it. But you…you seem to be unique." Loki tilted his head as if he found Clint fascinating. Then he snapped his fingers and the house was gone, they were back in the hallway with the endless row of cells.
Clint frowned in confusion when the door next to them slammed suddenly closed.
He didn't remember it being open.
"You, Agent Barton, do not find your strength from a source, from any moment in time…it, instead, is part of you. It just…is."
Clint was still staring at the barred door next to them in confusion, but now dragged his gaze back to Loki's.
"And so, I regret to inform you, that it is you I will have to destroy." Loki stepped towards him and Clint backed away. Loki pursued him until his back slammed into a cell door that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. "Now, Agent Barton," Loki's hands locked around his head once more, his voice dropping to a low menacing growl, "show me what you fear."
Then there was nothing but pulsing, pounding pain.
"The more you resist, the worse it will feel!" Loki's angry voice echoed through his head like it had been shouted through a megaphone.
Clint didn't realize he'd been resisting. But even now, he sensed it within himself. His own hands had risen to grip Loki's wrists. He'd gone to his knees at some point, Loki towering over him. But Clint was fighting, he could feel it now.
"Stop fighting!"
But he would always fight. It was what he'd promised Phil. What he'd promised himself.
"Fine." Loki growled darkly. "Then you've brought this on yourself!"
It hit him like a sledge hammer, knocking him back onto his back and leaving him gasping and writhing on the ground. Even though Loki was no longer holding his head – was instead standing over him with a vicious scowl on his face – it felt like his skull was being crushed. Like a hand had tightened around his brain and was just squeezing.
He didn't know when he started screaming, but he did. And he didn't stop, couldn't. And then suddenly something just snapped and like a rubber band that had just broken, the pressure disappeared.
But Clint didn't have time to bask in the respite because the doors around them were flying open with loud, overwhelming clangs. Clint curled onto his side, covering his ears as voices and sounds started swirling around him. Wind from an unknown source whipped through the hallway like a tornado.
He felt a hand lock around his wrist and yank him to his knees, then up to his feet.
"Show me!"
Clint looked at Loki, watched the wind whip the god's long black hair around his face. Clint swallowed, felt the hand on his wrist tighten at the same time the pain in his head intensified.
Clint wanted to refuse, to tell Loki to go fuck himself and get the hell out of his head.
But even as he tried to muster the words to do it, he was slammed with a compulsion to obey.
Without his realizing what he was doing, he nodded.
The hallway melted away, giving way to a dark, rainy night. The grass had mostly turned to mud beneath their feet and the rolling thunder above them promised continued rain for hours to come.
Clint felt his breath catch in his chest as he looked around.
No. Not here.
"What is it? What is this place?" Loki demanded sharply.
Even as the words left the god's mouth, Clint watched himself – at 15 – come tearing around the corner of a tent, slipping and sliding in the mud. There was blood on his face, red blotchy bruises already starting to form on his bare skin.
He watched himself fall. Watched Jacques come casually around the corner. Watched Barney circle behind him, out of sight.
The world faded from focus. His senses dulled. The only think he could hear was the blood pumping in his ears. The only thing he could see was himself, pleading with his brother. When the knife came down, Clint gasped, hand flying to his chest and knees going weak. He hit the ground with a splat, spraying dirty water and mud across his pants.
He couldn't breathe.
"I've seen enough." Loki's voice rang out over him.
The grass and mud beneath him disappeared in a flash, replaced by basic, off white tile floors. The pain in his chest vanished, giving him the drive to look up and around.
It was a hallway. The walls were painted that off-white color professional organizations seemed to favor. Clint frowned. This was the SHIELD base in New York. His eyes widened in horror as he watched himself, Natasha and Phil wearily talk over the bodies of the mercenaries they'd just killed.
"What's that make it?" His other self asked tiredly as he kicked over a body and retrieved an arrow.
"Gotta be under a dozen by now." Natasha was the one to reply.
Clint moved forward even as Phil spoke.
"No!" Clint shouted uselessly. They didn't hear him.
"We should –"
There was a sharp rapport of gunfire and then his younger self was rushing past them, firing his bow as he went.
Clint stepped forward again, but not after the archer. He moved instead, in the opposite direction. Towards the figure jerking with the impact of several bullets and falling heavily to the ground. Natasha dove to her knees beside the downed man.
Clint tried to move again, but found that he was frozen in place.
"This man…he means something to you." Loki's voice was victorious, as if he'd discovered some deeply harbored secret.
Clint watched Natasha shout his name, watched his own body fly past them and skid to his knees next to Phil.
Mean something? Phil was the only father he'd ever really known, having been robbed of his real one as a child. The man was the brother to replace the one who'd betrayed him. He was the friend he'd never known he needed.
He was just…Phil…and all that name encompassed. This was the attack on the New York base. This was the one and only time Clint had been truly afraid he'd lose the man forever.
"Phil…" Loki rolled the name over his tongue slowly, nodding. And as if that was a cue – before Clint had time to wonder how Loki knew Phil's name when Clint hadn't said it – the hallway melted away, fading into a dark, silent corridor. A lone figure was moving quietly ahead of them, gun at the ready. The man had blood on his hands and bruises on his skin, but his hands were steady and his steps sure.
Clint watched as the man reared up in surprise when a smaller figure with jaggedly cut, short bright red hair tore around the corner and raised her own gun to face him.
Clint felt his chest clench.
Natasha.
He knew this scene. He knew what this memory was. Germany. Less than six months ago.
"Natasha?" Loki parroted the thought. "The woman from the hallway?"
Clint didn't bother replying as he watched the scene unfold.
"Natasha," his past self breathed in relief, dropping his gun to his side.
Even as Natasha stared at him with dark, angry eyes and kept her gun up, Clint felt the same confusion from that night well up in him again.
"Tash?" his other self asked warily, shifting his body slightly in his confusion.
Without warning, she fired her gun and Clint felt the pain of the bullet seer through his bicep.
Then she was attacking, like a demon straight out of hell. And Clint could only watch as his other self was forced to defend, to do his best to fight her off without hurting her.
But Natasha had always been better at hand to hand than him and he'd already fought a small army that night. It didn't take long for her to take him to the ground.
"Natasha!" he'd tried again as her knee dug into his sternum and a previously hidden knife pressed up into the tender flesh under his chin.
But her green gaze had been hard and cold.
"My name is Natalia." His other self stared at her in shocked bewilderment which only worsened when she went on, "Who the hell are you?"
Even now, months later, Clint still felt the pain of that moment. The absolutely gutting realization that she was lost to him, maybe forever.
She'd been taken, captured, by a former Red Room instructor. She'd been tortured and subjected to the most vicious, brutal brainwashing techniques that existed. And they'd used him to do it. They'd convinced her that he was dead, that she had killed him. In her grief, she'd been vulnerable. That lie had given them the foothold they'd needed to do what the Red Room had never succeeded in before.
Even as the dark hallway faded around them, Loki spoke.
"You could not bring yourself to harm her, even as she tried to kill you."
Clint didn't reply. He stared into the darkness around him, at the spot he'd last seen her. He closed his eyes and firmly told himself that it hadn't ended there. That he'd gotten her back.
"Losing her. Hurting her…you fear this."
Yes.
More than anything anybody could ever do to him. Loki sounded fascinated, as if he couldn't fathom such a concept as putting another's life above your own.
"You fear losing him…losing her…more even than you fear your betraying brother."
Losing them, Phil and Natasha, it scared him more than almost anything else.
"Almost…" Loki heard the thought and rounded on him, eyes piercing. "There's more. Something you haven't shown me. What is it?" Loki demanded. "What is your deepest fear?"
Clint just stared at him. He knew he didn't have a choice. The scene around them was already changing. It was only a matter of time and Loki would know the truth.
"What do I fear, Loki?" Clint challenged quietly as a room took shape around them. The space was simple, bare, but for one thing on the wall.
A mirror.
"I don't…" Loki looked perplexed. He didn't understand.
But Clint did.
He moved to face the mirror, watching his reflection take form. He felt more than saw Loki move to stand at his shoulder.
His own reflection stared back at him, but at the same time…it wasn't him. The version of himself looking back at them could only be described in one way…darkness. It encompassed him, shined through his eyes, lined the angles of his face, bled into the space around him.
He was darkness.
He was Clint – as he feared he would one day become. As he had once been before Phil found him. This is what he would turn into the day he gave in to the darkness lurking inside him.
"You." Loki came to the realization quietly. "Your greatest fear…it's yourself."
Clint didn't bother answering. But in his mind he whispered fiercely.
Someday soon…I'll be your greatest fear too.
And that was a goddamned promise.
Loki's piercing blue gaze locked with his, anger bubbling forth once again, and Clint knew the thought had been heard.
"You won't get the chance," Loki spat back acidly as he advanced on him.
Clint couldn't hold back the slight flinch when Loki's hands locked around his temples once again, the pain in his head – never having faded – amplified exponentially.
"I will break you and leave you shattered on the ground. You've just given me the weapon."
Then the ground dropped out beneath him.
Clint gasped like he was breaking the surface of the ocean after nearly drowning, coming back to himself abruptly and without warning. He coughed, dragging air into his burning lungs and doubling over, pressing his forehead into the cool concrete of the floor.
He felt a presence shift above him but couldn't find the energy to raise his head to look.
"You can fight all you wish. But it will be for nothing." Loki's voice had him closing his eyes and trying to block it out. "I will see you destroyed before my purpose here is fulfilled."
"Agent Barton!"
Clint opened his eyes, staring at the dark gray concrete beneath him. Selvig. Selvig was calling for him.
Above him Loki seemed to hesitate, then spoke in a tight voice.
"Go. You and I will speak again soon enough and then you will know the plans I have for you."
Clint didn't reply. There wasn't anything for him to say. He'd gone to battle with Loki and he'd lost. The battle may not have been physical, but he felt as drained and beaten as if he'd gone ten rounds in the ring.
A command rebounded through his pounding, aching head.
I said GO!
He flinched, the volume and force behind the order causing new pain to slice through him. He didn't consciously make the decision to move, but he pushed slowly to his feet, wavering drunkenly.
"You will speak nothing of this. You will assist Dr. Selvig in whatever he requires." Loki spoke casually, but firmly, his expression once again bearing that silky, devious grin. "Do you understand, Agent Barton?"
He found himself nodding and without waiting to be told again, he turned and headed across the bunker to where Selvig worked.
But despite the obedience, he felt something stirring in his consciousness once again. It was weak, but gaining strength. Loki had beat it down, but it was still there.
And he knew exactly what it was.
Defiance.
End of Chapter 3
Anybody else want to wrap Clint up in a warm fluffy blanket and protect him forever after that? The guy has been through SO MUCH...and as you can tell, me and Loki, not friends.
So what do you guys think? That chapter was actually almost all original *pats self on back* I do know that having the movie scenes in there can get grating, since we've all seen the movie. I just hope you guys understand that without them, this fic would be disjointed at best. I want it to flow as an actual story, not just be a bunch of filler scenes, you know? I crave your thoughts and feelings! :D
To hold you over until tomorrow, a preview!
More defensive adrenaline flooded his system as he raised his gaze, already knowing exactly where that threat was coming from.
His gaze locked with Loki's.
The god's eyes were wide with surprise – Clint got it, he was surprised too – but they quickly narrowed in anger. He advanced, bringing up the spear.
Even while wading through the overwhelming wealth of sensory information, even while trying to sort out how he'd managed to break free, even while concentrating on the feeling of his bow in his hand, he knew one thing with absolute certainty.
If that spear touched him again, it was over.