Author's Note:
Warnings: violence, discussion of past abuse, some gore
"Wasn't that the defintion of home?
Not where you are from,
but where you are wanted."
-Abraham Verghese
Chapter Ten:
What did I do to you? The question hangs between them all like a noose the silence wants them to choke on. Everyone is quiet, waiting for some sort of great revelation, suspended in time that's only moving forward.
The world is upending itself like they're a box of cereal being poured into a bowl. Everything is rattling. A distracting, buzzing hum persistently lingering in the back of his mind like a scream. Clint watches himself jerk backward, he listens as he says some sort of profane expletive, but he doesn't feel any of it.
This is happening to a different person.
This has to be happening to a different person.
Natasha's hand, warm and present, settles on his back. He thinks it's meant to be in grounding, a way to help him settle back inside himself, but it doesn't help. His hands are shaking. He's not breathing.
Loki actually did something.
It wasn't an accident.
Or a coincidence.
Loki did something. To him. On purpose.
The Asgardian is staring at him with such abject horror that it's making Clint's skin crawl. For long seconds, no one says anything. Clint doesn't breathe. He just stares at Loki and Loki stares back. Clint's mouth moves a couple of times, but he can't talk. He's struck with the sudden urge to throw himself backward off the bed and put as much distance between them as he can. He can't look at the Asgardian. He feels nauseous and gross and wrong.
He stays there.
He can't really move.
Loki's expression crumples, a faint trembling sound escaping his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes out hard.
"What are you talking about? What did you do?" Natasha asks, presses more like, because there is a great deal of anxiety in her voice that isn't helping Clint's at all. When the Asgardian does little more than just sit there, Natasha reaches out her other hand to grip his wrist. Not hard, not in restraint, just enough to get his attention, but Loki flinches like she struck him violently.
It does, however, at last jerk a verbal response from him. At least, half of one. "This-This is my-I-this is my fault." Loki breathes, rambling, clearly frantic. "All of this. Oh my gods. What was I-what did I-? What on Helheim is wrong with me!?"
"What-what are you talking about?" Clint fumbles. His voice sounds strange. Is it his voice? Did he say that? He thinks his mouth was moving but now he's not sure.
"Hey," Tony grabs at both of Loki's shoulders, forcing the Asgardian to look at him. "Hey, breathe, Grumpy-L. What's going on? What are you talking about? Is Clint in danger?"
That last bit is said with an anxious look in Clint's direction.
Danger.
He hadn't even-is he in danger? Is that why Loki's freaking out so much? Because he's accidentally attached Clint to some sort of metaphorical bomb and now Clint is going to die? That would be fitting, wouldn't it? It would-what is happening? Freaking crap, this was all supposed to be over after the invasion ended.
Three. Freaking. Years. Ago.
Loki, breathing hard, looks at Clint again, his eyes sliding to look at something just beside his head and he cringes hard. Tony's fingers tighten around the sorcerer's shoulders, but the physical contact seems to be helping him about as much as Natasha's hand is reassuring Clint. It feels like physical background noise.
Clint's hand, jerking and fumbling, raises up toward the area that Loki is looking at, but all he manages to do is bump the edge of his hearing aid which makes him flinch. There's nothing there. It's just empty air. It's always been empty air and what the heck is Loki looking at-what are all of them looking at? The Asgardians see something that isn't there, and it's not a good thing, obviously, because Frigga and Odin had stared at him with a mixture of pity and disgust, and Loki looks like he's having his fingers physically removed from his body.
Clint's fingers scrape through his hair, still finding nothing.
He has to find something.
There's something there and he wants it gone he doesn't give a crap if it will hurt or be painful, his entire head aches with the weight of it and he needs it gone. Gone, gone, gone-
"What-what are-Loki?!" Clint's voice is filled with panic.
There is, he thinks, a desperate, soundless help me strung up between the syllables.
With an empty expression, Loki reaches out and grabs Clint's wrist to guide it down. With reluctance, he reaches out and touches empty air between them with a single finger. That same discomfort from earlier, a sharp, sporadic pain slithers down Clint's spine, pulling out a pained hitching sound before a thin, wispy blue light bleeds into view, like snapping a glow stick. The light lurches forward from Clint's left temple to Loki's, bridging them together. Clint can see two similar, thin strings hanging in the air branching off from Loki's skull, but they're gray and broken, moving listlessly as if they're dead.
Once it's settled, the light pulses slowly, glimmering between them like a small, translucent rope.
Clint looks at it.
He doesn't process it. It's just there. Magic. Connecting heads. It doesn't mean anything. It should mean something. It should mean everything. It doesn't mean anything at all.
He feels very far away.
Almost as if he's transfixed, Tony reaches out a hand to poke it. The light shies away from his finger, bending out of shape to avoid him. Tony stops, then looks at Loki, "What will happen if I touch it?"
Now he asks?
"Nothing," Loki promises, "It's more of an illusion than a physical object. This type of spell doesn't have an actual physical manifestation." He bites on his lower lip, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Clint reaches up a hand to wave a finger through the light, but it just reforms as if nothing happened. There's no pain, no sudden death. Nothing. Like it's not even there.
He watches dully as Natasha's fingers carefully slide into his other hand, squeezing her fingers against his trembling ones. Clint swallows. His tongue feels like sand in his mouth, heavy and grainy.
It occurs to him later that Natasha might have been doing this to try and calm herself, rather than him.
"What is this?" Natasha asks, her voice a little sharp. She's edged herself closer to Clint, like she intends to simply wrap him up inside her arms and hide him from the world. Part of Clint wants to let her. "Is this the physical tether to the mind control from the invasion? I thought that we broke it when I slammed his head against the guard rail."
"No," Loki says immediately. "No. That link would be long gone by now. This is…something else. A tether between our minds. I created it, but the why of the matter escapes me utterly. I didn't recognize it was there because my magic was-distorted, at best. I couldn't sense anything I had done because it was everywhere. Odin and Frigga…healed it." Loki says this last bit after a hesitation, mouth twisting.
"Wait-you're…okay?" Bruce asks, sounding hopeful but hating himself for it. "Your arms? Your magic? They fixed that?"
Clint's heart is pounding in his ears.
Loki nods after a moment. "As far as I can tell, yes."
He swallows hard.
"Thats-that's amazing!" Bruce exclaims, running fingers through his hair. "Oh my g-You're okay!"
The entire world is bending out of shape.
Loki's lips press together tightly. "I didn't…I don't-"
His chest is crumpling, wringing out his lungs.
With a burst of sudden energy, Clint shoves off of the hospital bed and all but throws himself as far as possible from Loki as he can get in one single movement. Everyone stares at him, but Clint is shaking so badly that he doesn't care. "What the-what-you-" Clint can't get words to form.
There is no way to verbalize this.
Natasha immediately gets to her feet, reaching for him, but Clint backs away from her, too. He's backing up and up and up-nineteen again, nineteen again, waiting for Barney to hit him, no one gets out. No one leaves the Circus. No one leaves. No one leaves the control. No one leaves anything-until his hip slams against some sort of table or chair and he grabs hold of it to stop himself from tumbling.
"Ptitsa," he can't place the tone of Natasha's voice.
Clint shakes his head. "No. No I can't-I-"
Loki reaches up to touch the tether and it vanishes like it was never there to begin with. Clint's grip on the table-chair? What is it-slips and he rams his elbow against it. Everyone is staring at him now. Concern. Pity. He doesn't know. He can't read their faces. Everything is blurry. He has to get out of here.
"Clint," Loki says. The word is an apology. It's broken and upset and a thousand things stuffed into two syllables.
Clint shakes his head. "I can't-Oh my gosh, I can't handle this right now. No. I can't-you tethered yourself to my brain!?" the words explode out of him. "Why would you-No. I can't. I can't." Clint starts to make a move toward the door on trembling, exhausted legs, but something spasms in his spine and he crumples before he can make it more than two steps. He doesn't even realize what's happening until he smacks into the ground, barely catching the worst of the fall on awkwardly bent wrists.
He doesn't get up.
The Avengers are suddenly just-there. Like they popped into existence in front of him. He can't remember them moving. Natasha frantically rolls him over, her fingers already moving for his throat to locate a pulse-you scared N-Ro pretty bad-but Clint grabs her wrist to stop her.
"D-Don't-I'm." Clint says, like that is actually helpful.
Their eyes meet, Natasha's expression flooding with such intense relief that she closes her eyes to hide most of it. "Oh, slava bogu," Natasha whispers under her breath, bowing her head.
Beyond her, Steve, Bruce, and Tony all slump with relief, Tony physically jerking away to turn and face the other side of the room, unable to look at him.
(And I died twice and it hasn't even been a day?)
Oh.
Oh.
"Clint?" Bruce asks. "Clint, can you look at me?"
Clint ignores him. He doesn't really have the presence of mind for it. He pins his gaze on Loki, who is halfway out of the bed despite how exhausted and bone-weary he looks, clearly prepared to help.
Clint forces himself upright slowly-his spine feels like fire, tangled up at the base and angry with how much work it's making him do. God forbid Clint demands it do what it was built for. Natasha's hand's grab at his back and shoulders to help keep him upright, her expression pinched.
Clint breathes out heavily. "Get rid of it," he demands. His voice is scratchy. "Get rid of it now. I don't want-I don't want it. This is-this is the reason that I've been having the dreams, because you freaking tethered our brains together?"
"I-" Loki hesitates. "Yes."
Clint squeezes his fingers into fists. "I don't want any part of this. Get rid of it."
This body isn't mine. The thought slides into the forefront of his mind and he can't make it leave. Looking into mirrors and seeing Loki's reflection back. Dreaming Loki's memories as Loki. Being able to freaking speak Chitaurian. This body isn't his.
It hasn't been in years.
Maybe ever.
There's a long lull.
"I don't know if I can," Loki admits at last.
Clint swears, gripping harshly at his scalp. "F-You haven't even tried! Do you not want to? Is that the problem? You want this stupid thing keeping our heads linked together? When did you do this? Was this after you came back? Was this punishment?"
"No." Loki says, wilting beneath his anger. Part of Clint is grossly relieved. Finally, you're as freaking terrified of me as I am of you. Finally we're equals in this. Just as quickly as the feeling arrives, it dissipates leaving behind only disgust with himself. Clint forces out a deep breath.
"I'm sorry," he says, without much feeling. "I don't know-"
"It's fine." Loki interrupts. "You're entitled. I can try to remove it, but without knowing what the spell is meant to do, I can't guarantee any results, or at least the ones that you want."
Clint's jaw clenches. I'm not entitled to hurt you, you self-deprecating idiot. No one ever is.
"You can't figure out what the spell is supposed to do by, like, reading it or something?" Tony asks.
"I'm uncertain. It depends on whether or not I masked it." Loki says.
Loki slowly makes his way over to Clint, taking stumbling steps that look like he's sort of dragging his feet across the floor. Steve starts to stand up to help, but Loki is already over before he can. Loki lowers himself into a slumped seated position in front of Clint.
Clint draws his legs into a butterfly and Loki does the same. He doesn't have on any shoes, dressed in only the hospital gown and his hair a dark mess of curls around his face. Loki honestly seems like he couldn't care less. All of them look worse for wear, Clint hasn't showered since before this entire mess started and is certain he still smells a little like burned hair.
Loki takes in a deep, slow breath. When he opens his eyes, they're calm. "Natasha," his voice is soft, "you will need to let go of him."
Clint hadn't realized Natasha hadn't yet. With obvious reluctance, Natasha releases him, giving his shoulder one final squeeze. As soon as her hands are gone, he misses their warmth.
Loki raises his eyes up to meet Clint's. They're tired and redrimmed and empty. "This will likely be painful."
"I'm kind of beyond the point of caring right now," Clint admits.
Loki nods, like that actually made any sense. Loki gestures for Clint to rest his hands palm up on his knees and he does so, Loki clasping his wrists with cold fingers. The Asgardian breathes in and out again before closing his eyes. It takes a few seconds before a faint pressure starts to build at the base of Clint's skull. Loki's hands start to glow faintly, a surge of yellow pulsing from his veins into his fingertips and underneath Clint's skin.
It's itchy, cold, and hurts. Like a bruise being pushed on until it breaks another bone beneath the pressure.
The pain starts to get worse, until it feels like there are several dozen pins being pushed in and out of his brain. He starts to squint, then closes his eyes entirely and squeezes Loki's wrists back as it gets worse. It's not the worst pain he's experienced, not anywhere near the worst headache, but it's enough that it's uncomfortable. Loki doesn't really seem to mind that he's probably cutting off circulation, so Clint keeps doing it.
He waits, in a mindless place, counting long seconds.
Silent.
Aching.
It could be anywhere from thirty seconds to an hour before the pressure releases without warning. Clint's entire body slumps with relief instantly, and he would have tumbled back entirely if not for Natasha and Bruce's hands on his shoulders and back, steadying him.
He groans faintly.
"Are you okay?" Natasha asks.
"Ow." He mutters. "Head hurty."
With exasperation, Natasha says, fond, "How bad?"
Bruce's fingers push against his throat and Clint leans away from the touch by instinct, blinking squinted eyes open. "Your pulse is racing," Bruce says, "you need to lay down."
"Probably," Clint mutters. He squints through blurry vision until he can focus on Loki, who looks a lot more put together than Clint does, which is unfair. "Did it work?" It didn't feel like anything changed.
"No. I'm sorry." The words are low. Loki looks...slumped. His body posture is shrunk in on itself and he just seems small.
Clint swears softly, pushing his fingers into his temples. He has the whisper of a headache knocking at his skull. "How can you not remove it if you're the one who put it there?"
"The spell is well guarded. I wouldn't expect anything less from myself. It's…" Loki licks his lips, gripping his forearm and digging his nails tightly into the skin. He seems calmer than he should be. "The spell isn't a tether. Well, it is, but it's a different type than I first assumed. It's a memory implantation. Sometime during the Chitauri's invasion, I implanted several months worth of my memories into your head. I think-I assume-it was only in safe keeping and I intended to collect them later. Memory implantation isn't meant to be used long-term. Being near the caster makes the spell start to malfunction, hence your sleeping troubles. You…weren't even supposed to know it was there."
Clint thinks of Swenson. And Selvig. Sleeping troubles, they said. Living Loki's memories every night. Not because of some ulterior motive on God's part, but because Loki put them there.
"You did that to all of us. Everyone you mind controlled." Clint realizes.
Loki looks away. "Yes."
"Memories of what?" Tony asks, throwing up a hand. "What the heck did you want to hide inside their brains that you couldn't just tell someone?"
Loki shakes his head, gripping his arm tighter. "I don't know. I assume…Clint can speak Chitaurian now. Whatever I put in his head must have had to do with that, because there's no way he would have been able to speak it otherwise."
"Wait, wait, wait, hold up. You can speak Chitaurian?" Tony demands, looking at him pointedly.
Clint winces. "Yeah, um."
Steve pinches the bridge of his nose tightly. "And you didn't think this was important?"
"We had other things going on."
"Things that this would have been relevant for!" Tony argues.
"I didn't want-"
"Oh norns," Loki interrupts. His face has paled, his hands stilling. Everyone looks at him, and they keep staring as the green eyes flit across the room frantically.
"What?" Steve asks, cautious.
Loki's eyes pin onto Clint's arm, staring at the lichtenberg marks. Loki's face seizes. "Oh my gods," he whispers. "Oh my gods. This is my fault. Everything. Thor killing them-that was-I did that."
"How is that your fault?" Clint demands, exasperated.
"Because I did this! Don't you get that!? The reason that Selvig and Swenson were killed was because of me! At some point in the invasion, I put my memories in your heads and I don't remember it, and now the Chitauri are having my brother kill anyone who holds them!"
Wait, that-
Oh.
Oh.
Clint's heart pounds in his chest. "What? Why would-"
"I don't know," Loki shakes his head. "I don't remember. I don't remember why I-but I had to. And-Dritt." Loki grabs at Clint's upper arms. "Thor wasn't trying to kill me, Clint, he was trying to kill you."
(He kept saying he was sorry.
Thor raising Mjolnir over his head.
He kept saying he was sorry.)
Clint swallows hard. "Because I have your memories."
"Because you have my memories," Loki echoes, squeezing his fingers hard. His eyes close with regret. "And I can't remove them to save you." Loki curses in Asgardian, slamming a fist against the ground harshly. "Until I figure out how to unlock the spell from your head-information I suspect I would have had if I hadn't gotten concussed shortly after this happened, I can't do anything. I can't do anything! Dritt!"
Natasha's mouth moves soundlessly.
Bruce's face closes off suddenly and he gets up to his feet, running rigid fingers through his hair. "Hulk. You don't remember any of this because Hulk smashed you face-first into a floor so hard that you left a crater."
Tony grabs his arm. "Bruce-" he tries.
"No, don't-" Bruce shoves him off. Loki's silence is enough of an answer and Bruce swears harshly, rubbing a hand over his mouth, then pinches the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. "We could have resolved all of this months ago. Maybe none of this would have happened at all if I hadn't done that."
"We don't know that," Steve says.
"The heck we don't!" Bruce exclaims. "If Hulk hadn't concussed him then Clint wouldn't have had to endure this for six months and, oh, I don't know, Selvig and Swenson would still be alive?"
His stomach drops to his feet.
"Swenson's dead?" Clint blurts. It feels like the worst thing to bring up in the midst of this, but it's kind of hard for it not to come tumbling out.
"Thor's attack on the Helicarrier," Natasha explains. She rubs at her forehead. "He must have been the actual target, not the release of the Chitauri."
Swenson is dead.
So is Selvig.
Thor would have killed him if Loki hadn't been there.
All of this within the span of ten hours.
"Oh." Clint raises up his hands a little, gesturing wildly. "Awesome. So I'm next in line for the firing squad?"
"Nothing is going to happen to you," Loki says. The words are so full of venom and conviction that they almost feel like they can bend the force of the universe to their will.
Almost.
Clint laughs, somewhere between despair and a desperate why not? "Are you sure? Because Thor has already gone two for three and the odds aren't looking too great for me. Look at what he did to me-look at what he did to you. I'm going to die." He sort of means it as a depressed joke, but the words come off sarcastic and brittle, settling heavily in the air.
It's not a joke, it's reality. There is no way for them to stop Thor from killing him until they get him unpossessed, but even if that does happen, the Chitauri aren't going to stop. They obviously, for whatever reason, want all of Loki's hidden memories gone. Clint, as the sole carrier of them now, is living on borrowed time. There is no way to stop this.
What the heck is in those memories that the Chitauri want hidden so badly? The only thing that Clint has found incriminating is-
"Holy crap," Clint breathes. "The Chitauri are trying to hide the fact that they tortured you into doing the invasion."
Loki releases an aggravated sound. "On the Norns, Clint, for the last time, I wasn't-"
"Oh. Oh. Crap." Tony takes a physical step back. The words seem to process fully because a fit of blistering anger washes over his face, "Wait, what the heck?! You were tortured?"
"No!" Loki says, throwing up his hands as Clint says "yes" loudly.
Clint glares at him. Loki just looks at him, tired. Clint pushes on anyway. He is so done with all of this. Today, tomorrow, the Chitauri, Odin-everything. "You said that you can't remember most of the invasion. You implanted memories in my head and I speak Chitaurian now and you're going to-"
"I had a concussion."
"Your concussion gave me foreign language skills?"
"The Chitauri-"
"Your scars," Natasha says, her voice level. "Most of them too old to have come from your parents. The Chitauri…did all of that to you? You were terrified of them. They freaking hurt you?"
"No-it wasn't-" Loki denies, frantic, but seeming a little hopeless. "It wasn't them."
"Why the heck is this so hard for you to accept!?" Clint exclaims. Loki flinches. "They hurt you. Those freaking creatures damaged you so badly that your back looks like you lied down on a bed of hot coals. This isn't-why are you denying this? The invasion wasn't your fault. Honestly, at this point, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that you were under the control of the scepter-"
A panicked, blank look is beginning to envelop Loki's features. "It wasn't-"
"-You're not even the same person anymore. The Chitauri did that to you. One of the few things I can remember from the invasion is you being so freaking terri-"
"If the invasion wasn't my choice, then everything my parents did to me was for nothing!"
The room is cloaked in silence.
Loki exhales hard, wrapping his arms around himself. He shudders. "Every knife wound, every hit, every spell they used, it was all because there is something wrong with me. I proved that, successfully, at last, and now-now I'm the victim?" the word is sour and comes out like some sort of curse. "No. I'm not a good person. Even if the Chitauri did…hurt me, I deserved it. After what I did. For what I am."
"You deserved it?" Steve repeats, aghast.
"Yes," Loki insists, "my parents had to have had a just cause for what they did. Beyond-beyond my talking to Thanos. My mother insisted my father always had a reason for doing what he did. Always. There had to have been-if I was tortured, then the invasion wouldn't have been my fault, and…my father would have declared war on Thanos. Not…"
My father always had a reason for doing what he did.
What has he done to you that she was always justifying?
That's so messed up. That's so messed up.
Natasha reaches out and separates Loki's hand from digging to bone. He's dug so hard into his forearm that there are sluggishly bleeding half-moon scabs. Natasha just holds his hands in her own, the grip not restrictive, but supportive.
Natasha says gently, but firmly, "Odin and Frigga are sadistic morons. They will never have a reasonable justification for hurting you."
Loki shakes his head. "You don't understand. I'm not Asgardian, I'm-"
"Thor told us." Steve interrupts. "That you're Jotun," Steve's tongue moves the word around awkwardly in his mouth, unfamiliar with it but trying anyway. "And we don't care. You know that, right?"
"I…yes-No." Loki admits. He seems more confused than anything. "You…how? I'm…a monster."
Tony scoffs. "Knowing what you do about us, can you honestly say that any of us aren't? Look at me." Tony pokes him until he does, "All of us did shady stuff, okay? Natasha and Clint killed people for a living. I used to make weapons that killed thousands. Hulk has hurt people, Captian America has killed. Normal people don't worry about the blood on their hands when they go to sleep."
Loki looks down.
Tony sighs, rubbing at his face. "Sorry. That came out weird. Look, the point is…you're in the company of monsters here. We're all trying to do better. That's the point. We don't care about you because your record is squeaky-clean, we care because none of us have clean hands either."
"And yet," Loki's voice is soft, his face rapidly processing a dozen emotions, "your people regale you as heroes. I am not. I never will be. Asgard hates me, and I know my parents are ashamed of what happened."
What? What is he talking about? Asgard doesn't hate him. That's the whole point of the stupid civil war-
He-
Wait.
Clint buries his face into his hands and groans. "Oh my gosh, we didn't tell you. We're horrible. I swear we promised and everything. Crap. Loki, the reason the civil war is happening is because of you."
Loki's mouth tightens. "As everyone has assured me. I know-"
"No, no, no, you don't get it. Let me rephrase. It's for you. People were furious at what happened to you."
Loki stares at him, eyes wide. "...What?"
Clint explains hurriedly like the faster he talks the easier this will be to get out, "Odin said that you had been executed, and Asgard reacted…poorly to this. Thor said that things were tense to put it mildly, but when your guards came and told him what was going on and then anyone else that would listen to them, Asgard decided to wage war to retrieve you from the palace. Apparently, Thor got a lot of pressure to usurp your parents. That's, um, partially why he's with us."
Loki eyes are wide. The disbelief and shock there makes something Clint's stomach hurt with sympathy. He doesn't think that this is real. That that many people could actually care about him.
"One of the other realms declared war on Asgard to force Odin to release you from prison and step down from the throne." Steve continues. "It was...ugh, I can't-Elfheim?"
"Alfheim." Loki corrects automatically, eyes still far away.
"Yeah. That. The others followed suit after that."
"Oh," Loki whispers.
"Siygn." Steve says suddenly. Where he pulls the name from is beyond Clint at this point. His brain is overprocessing and giving up. "Siygn. She's the one that started the war. Thor was helping her even if he was politically a neutral party."
A fond sort of sadness settles in Loki's face. "Of course it's her."
"You know her?" Natasha asks.
Loki nods. "Yes. Our marriage has been arranged since we were children. One of the few friendships I have managed to maintain has been with her." His hands flex anxiously inside of Natasha's grip. "I hadn't realized she'd been told what happened. She…didn't have to drag all of Alfheim into this."
Clint's head tilts a little, vaguely remembering something that the Warriors Three and Sif were ranting about. "Wait, wasn't Alfheim the realm that Sif and her hearty crew were trying to keep Thor away from? Why the heck are they all afraid of her if Thor's helping her?"
Loki sighs. "Alfheim is notorious for their torture. If Siygn decided to force Thor to help her, she could. She wouldn't. Siygn and Thor have known each other for centuries, she would never intentionally cause him harm. My-Odin must be desperate to keep Thor from claiming an opposing side publicly. It would suade the opinion on the war. I didn't realize that the threats they were speaking of came from Siygn, not her councilmen. I wouldn't have panicked as much."
"We didn't know that," Bruce points out. "The Warriors weren't explicit about it."
"Not that it matters much." Steve sighs. "The Chitauri are holding all the cards here. Until we get Thor back, Alfheim doesn't really matter. Honestly at this point, if they can get Thor back, I'll kiss them full on the mouth."
Loki snorts.
There's a lull of silence. Loki looks back at Clint, his shoulders slumping a fraction. "I am sorry, Clint. I wish…"
Clint smiles tightly. "We'll figure it out, right?"
He doesn't believe the words.
Loki doesn't either.
000o000
They talk for a while after that, until everyone is calmed down enough that no one is about to pass out from an anxiety attack. Most of it is light-hearted, but Clint is fully aware there is plenty they didn't address that they need to later. This just isn't the right time. They talk about a few funny stories regarding hospitals as Natasha carefully sweeps Loki's hair back into a braid to tame the curls. Clint goes into vivid detail about the time he thought he had appendicitis and had to break cover for it because it hurt so much, but it turns out it was actually just food poisoning. Tony's story about how as a kid he was left alone and unsupervised because he was sick for a few weeks and colored with red all over the floor until it looked like blood and wouldn't come out kinda takes the cake.
(Even if Clint very sincerely wants to punch Howard Stark in the face. Who on earth leaves a six-year-old unsupervised and doesn't allow them any visitors for two weeks when they have pneumonia so bad that they have to be on a feeding tube?)
That is, of course, until Steve tells them that he took heroin occasionally as a cough medicine until he was six and it was outlawed in 1924. But he digresses.
Eventually, Loki's energy starts to flag and they unanimously shove him back toward the bed. (Clint feels like dead weight, but he hasn't said anything and isn't going to. He doesn't want to sleep. He doesn't want the dreams. His body hurts. His body always hurts now.)
Bruce stays behind to keep watch, and the rest of them quietly leave the room to let Loki get some well-deserved rest. They're a few hallways away from the hospital wing headed toward the cafeteria before a sea of overlapping voices coming from the singular council room on the base catches their attention. As soon as he recognizes them, Clint, annoyed, plans to keep walking past it.
Steve's expression darkens and he stops.
"No," Steve says as if that is enough of an explanation. It's a breathy word, more for himself than anyone else.
Changing their trajectory abruptly, Steve turns toward the conference room and all but throws open the door, stalking inside. The abruptness of the movement startles a half dozen people. The Asgardians are grouped around one end of the long table, Frigga seated and Odin standing beside her, arguing loudly with Fury and Hill. The latter are all tight with restrained violence.
Clint has no idea what exactly they're talking about, but it doesn't really matter in the end anyway. With all the grace of an avenging angel, Steve slinks across the room, grabs Odin by the lapels of his armor and slams him against the nearest wall. Clint's eyes widen with surprise and he takes a step forward to stop him.
Then he realizes he doesn't really care.
Every Asgardian draws their weapon, but Steve couldn't give less of a crap if he tried. "What the heck did I say!?" Steve demands, his voice rising with his fury, "I told you what would happen if you hurt him and you decided to try and HIT HIM ANYWAY?"
"Stand down," Odin commands harshly. For a bizarre moment, Clint thinks he's talking to Steve, but realizes he's speaking to the Asgardians. Odin turns a piercing, disgusted stare back toward Steve. "I have nothing to fear from a mortal."
Steve's head cocks dangerously, a dark, visceral smile spreading on his face. "You really want to try me?"
"Captain," Frigga says in warning. She's halfway raised to her feet, apparently willing to protect her husband even if the couple appears ready to murder each other at the slightest inconvenience. "Unhand him."
Steve stares at Odin for a long moment before, with revulsion in his voice, he says, "You don't regret it, you son of a gun. Any of it. What is wrong with you? Loki is your child."
"Loki brought this on himself."
"How?" Tony scoffs. At Odin's annoyed look, Tony shakes his head, gesturing wildly with his hands, "No. Seriously. Give me an honest answer. What did he do to deserve you chopping him open? You said it was to put on a show for this Thanos person, but you couldn't even be bothered to give him the courtesy of knowing you didn't mean it?"
"Circumstances were beyond our control," Frigga says. "You don't understand-"
"Here's what I understand," Steve interrupts, his voice level. "You knew that Loki was in the hands of some sort of war criminal, and it didn't occur to you to wonder why he suddenly wanted to conquer a planet? I've barely known him for half a year and I can assure you that Loki could want nothing less."
Odin shifts underneath Steve's grip, but can't get a position that eases the worst of the pressure. Good, Clint thinks, dark and heavy, let him squirm.
Odin says through gritted teeth, "Loki admitted to me under duress that he loved Thanos. A creature that has murdered hundreds of thousands and he loved him. He refused to answer questions about the invasion unless we forced them from him. It took me the better part of a year before I realized he retained no memories from his fall and limited ones from Midgard."
Wait. If it took Odin only a year to realize that…Loki was in their prison for two years and a handful of months-He said that I killed thousands of Midgardians-Odin knew that Loki didn't remember the invasion. He told Loki that he'd killed thousands anyway.
"Dude, what the fu-?" Clint starts the exclaim.
Steve shakes his head in disbelief, voice overlapping Clint's. "Loki told you that he loved Thanos while you were torturing him?"
"He wouldn't talk." Odin says, teeth gritted. He's starting to get wiggly now, but Steve seems no more interested in releasing him than he did initially. "We had to know."
"And I'm sure he was just completely honest with you in between the screaming." Tony's voice is flat. "That's usually how these things go, isn't it?"
"Director Fury, would you care to control your agents?" Frigga asks, her hand tight around the edge of the table. Her body language is rigid and furious, but controlled. So, so controlled.
Clint glances up at Fury, sees the man eye them, fold his arms across his chest, then say with a slight shrug. "They seem to have everything well at hand."
Frigga's expression darkens.
"I don't see why you're defending him." Odin snarls, "Not after all that he's done. His invasion alone aside, his memory implantation spell has clearly tormented your agents. Clearly, he thought to hide more incriminating evidence from me before he was arrested, therefore proving more of his guilt. He's always been different. Wrong. And now that he's spent a year with someone who shares his ideals, likely getting coddled in is murderous ways he's-"
Clint doesn't really remember moving. He's not even sure what's really happened until it's over.
His fist slams into Odin's face with a sickening crunch on his knuckles part, Steve releasing the king with surprise. The old man goes tumbling to the floor as Clint stands there, shaking with fury.
"You selfish-You want to know what he's hiding? Torture. The Chitauri flayed him alive over and over again until he didn't remember what it was like not to hurt and he hid that from you. Not some-some sort of evil plot to overtake your stupid planet-" Clint starts to say, enraged, the words tumbling out of him like a gut punch.
Odin surges to his feet, summoning his staff with some sort of Force-like power from across the room. He turns on Clint, furious, every crease of his face narrowed or bent with anger.
Clint feels the hairs on his arms and neck stand up and the swallowing wail of power that strips the air of any comfort makes him take a step back.
I have made a horrible mistake.
Natasha grabs his arm. Steve takes a physical step between the two of them, but instead of smiting him, Odin stops, just looking at him. He stares at Clint for long, long seconds then shoves Steve out of the way with little effort into the table with a hard smack and reaches out for Clint.
No.
Clint attempts to take a scrambling step backward, but he can't move fast enough. Odin grabs his wrist as Natasha's gun comes up, and Odin forcefully twists Clint's wrist around painfully to stare at his forearm. His vision goes white for a moment as nerves and tendons are bent or squeezed the wrong way.
Clint makes a gasping sound. In his peripheral vision, Clint sees Fury's hand go to his weapon. Clint's entire body alights with a buzzing energy and he stares the old man hard in the eye. They're almost the same height, but somehow, Clint feels tiny.
Odin stares at the twisted burn pattern climbing up Clint's skin from Thor's lightning strike. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, Odin's gaze raises up to Clint's eyes with a piercing blue gaze, staring through his soul, and Clint can tell that Odin knows what the source of the burn is.
Odin's grip on Clint's arm tightens to something just above crushing, and Clint is frantically reminded by his panicking brain that pulling off a broken hand is just in the range of human force so Odin could probably do it without a problem.
Frigga makes a choked sound. "Thor struck you?" she asks, apparently having followed her husband's gaze. Then a more pointed, breathless, "How are you alive?"
Clint grinds his teeth together. "I'm stubborn."
Odin's lips narrow. "Where is my son? These burns can't be more than a day old on a mortal." Odin shoves his arm back and Clint staggers a step backward from the force of it.
Frigga scowls at Odin, reaching out to help Clint steady. Clint quickly pulls away from her hands. She's just as unsettling as Odin is, leaking power. Natasha puts herself in between them, much to Clint's private displeasure and growing panic. He doesn't want her to get hurt. Asgardians aren't variables they can count on. He doesn't know what will happen.
"Clint Barton," his name rolls off of her tongue as if Frigga's spoken it a hundred times before. Clint twitches. "Please, tell us where our son is. I know that something has happened. He would be here if it wasn't, with his brother."
Clint barely suppresses a groan. "I'm not going to talk-"
Something breaks in the woman. Frigga's eyes flash, and she grabs Natasha's shoulders harshly. "You will talk to me! My family is falling apart and you and your Avengers have been standing in the epicenter for years now! Tell me where my son is! Where is Thor!?"
"Get your hands off of her." Fury's voice is low.
Natasha physically shoves away from Frigga, her body tense and ready for a fight. "The Chitauri have him."
Frigga's face drains of color. "What?"
"They would DARE-!" Odin roars, slamming his staff against the ground. The entire earth trembles and Clint has to desperately work to keep his balance. His exhausted, overshot body loudly pleads with him to just lay down on the floor and give up. "After the deal we made with them!? After all that they forced us to do, they would dare lay a hand on Thor!?"
"'Forced you?'" Tony chokes on a laugh. "Oh my gosh, what is the logic hoop you're going through? You chose to do that to Loki! No one forced you!"
Frigga's expression narrows. "You don't know-"
"And we don't care!" Clint exclaims, throwing up his hands. "We really don't! Okay!? You can keep bending backwards to try and justify your actions if that makes you feel good about yourself, but-"
"You would defend Loki even after all that he's done to you?" Odin growls. His gaze lands on that-thing. The tether, and Clint's stomach drops to his feet again. His mouth keeps running. It usually does despite his best efforts.
"Do not drag me into your martyr complex!"
"Then why did you not mention this earlier!?" Odin shouts, apparently declining to ignore that. "How long have the Chitauri had my son?"
"Oh, so now you care that the Chitauri have one of your kids?" Tony asks. It's maybe a little too pointed, because Odin actually straight-up growls at him with a pointed finger to shut up. Tony flinches a little in response to it, but doesn't back down. "Really? Do I look like some sort of dog to you?" There's a moment and then-"Actually, you know what? There is almost nothing I wouldn't do to help Thor, but resigning myself to your help is just above being in cahoots with the devil, so if you want to find Thor, you're going to have to do a little legwork."
"Tony Stark," Frigga's voice is pleading now. "Please. Please don't make Thor suffer because of your anger. We made mistakes with Loki, I admit that freely, but Thor shouldn't have to suffer the consequences of that."
"He won't." Steve says. "We'll find him first. Without you. Go to hell." He smiles, turns, and stalks out the door. Clint gives the two of them a rude gesture with a cocky smile and follows his captain out of the room. He's pretty sure he broke one of his fingers, but the pain is entirely worth it.
000o000
It's a slow, tense couple of hours. They do finally make it to the cafeteria, where Steve angrily pokes holes through his food with his fork and Tony watches him with his eyebrows faintly raised. Natasha doesn't eat anything, squinting against the light-her hangover has obviously not lessened that much-so Clint forces her to drink some water and chews on tasteless food. Natasha gets him an ice pack for his fingers. Later, he sluggishly pushes himself through a shower before collapsing on the closest available bed and sleeps.
They don't talk about Odin and Frigga except in angry passing. Clint is pretty sure none of them can process it in a productive way anyway.
According to Natasha, Frigga approaches them once more to ask for their information regarding Thor, and left just as empty-handed as she'd started. Frigga and Odin want to help their son. They get that. But at the same time, they haven't exhausted all their options yet. And after what happened to Loki, whose to say that they won't do something worse?
None of them trust the king and queen with Loki. Or Thor.
It's over thirteen-sporadic, nightmare filled-hours later before Clint's body gives up on sleep entirely. The burns look only a little better today, and his doctor eyes the entire mess unhappily before prescribing him more medicine for the pain and encouraging him to "get some rest", Clint declines to tell her that's probably not an option.
Odin and Frigga apparently slunk away while he was asleep, off to somewhere-probably to start looking for Thor, but the important thing is that they aren't in the S.H.I.E.L.D. base. The tension in the air is gone like everyone is breathing deeply again.
Fury's only comment about the entire thing is to ask Clint if he broke any fingers. Clint says no, and Fury dispassionately tells him to hit harder next time.
Clint kinda thinks that says enough of Fury's opinion about the entire debacle.
A handful of days pass in a blur. He thinks it's three, but it could be up to five. As promised, the litchenburg burns fade to dull red lines across his skin, no longer as inflamed, but still painful to touch. Natasha carefully helps him apply some sort of cream the doctor recommended every morning, which helps. Clint makes sure to have her coffee on hand as thanks.
They don't find Thor.
They don't even find anything that alludes to Thor. He's not sure how the Chitauri are hiding, but whatever they're using to mask themselves is beyond any earthly technology that they have. It's terrifying. What little they hear from Asgard proves that they're just as frustrated with the whole thing. They still don't collaborate their efforts. Clint doesn't think any of them are ready to let the argumentative mess go.
Clint technically hasn't been released from medical yet-the doctors don't think there's any permanent damage to his heart, but they're nervous about the pain in his lower back and want to keep an eye on it-so whenever he does see someone, it's usually because they're orbiting him. He sees a lot of the Avengers, coming in and out, sitting silently or talking to him, and he's fine with that. Tony promises him a sandwich when his stomach is less upset with everything.
Mostly, the days pass in a blur. He lives them and he's aware of that, but everything is so far away.
Eventually, while Natasha is taking a shower Clint had to lovingly threaten her into, Loki shows up, looking kind of twitchy. It's not the first time he's been here-Loki is cleared from medical-but he does look considerably worse for wear than normal. Dressed in dark clothing and a long coat that makes him look freezing despite the weather, he looks like a pocketwatch dealer.
Clint watches him linger in the doorway for a long moment before sighing, turning off his phone, and looking at him pointedly. "What? Did you sell some cocaine or something?"
Loki shoots him a puzzled look. "What?"
"Drug. Culture joke you don't really have context for." Clint supplies. "What's up?"
Loki submits, closing the door, walking into the room, and sitting down on the chair beside Clint's bed. Natasha has practically lived there the last week. (Half a week? He really needs to look at the date.) The Asgardian claps his hands together over his knees. He licks his lips. "May I ask you something?"
"Uh. Sure. What?" Clint asks, frowning. "Is something wrong?"
They have not talked about Odin and Frigga. They should, but Clint doesn't feel ready to have that conversation until he can sit up without his lower back deciding to spam the pain button.
Loki rubs at his face, then brushes his fingers through messy curls. He does it again before clasping his hands together once more. "I wanted to ask you…about the Chitauri. You have…you have more details than I do regarding it. I have given what you said some thought. I think…" this, too, is broken by a long delay, the following words soft. "I think that I was under the influence of the scepter. I can't think of another reason for loving Thanos. I do not..." Loki trails off, as if he can't put his next thoughts into words.
Clint is quiet for a long time. He closes his eyes, exhales slowly, then opens them again.
"Thanos. The…guy who was holding you captive?" Clint asks for clarification.
"After a fashion, I believe. I was-the invasion I did under his direction. That much I do know. The Chitauri are employed to him." Loki explains. He's watching Clint carefully, as if waiting for this to go bad somehow. Clint to yell, maybe. "I am wondering what you remember, about Thanos. I want to know what happened. If-if it's too much, or I'm imposing, I don't have to-obviously, you don't have to tell me-"
Clint pokes him on the arm until he shuts up. "It's fine. They're your memories. You have a right to know your own story."
Loki's face clenches.
Clint sits up a little more, leaning awkwardly against the mountain of pillows. His arms still ache, and any contact with the cotton is a little like poking at bruises. He stares at Loki for long moments, thinking over the dreams and trying to click them into place. Nothing feels coherent. There isn't any sort of timeline he can follow, just…pain.
Clint shakes his head. "I don't even know what Thanos looks like. Honestly, none of the memories feel coherent to me. You were…in a bad way."
There's a brief flicker of disappointment, probably at the fact that Clint can't chart this all out, then Loki's frown deepens. "What do you mean?"
Clint thinks of the blood and the screaming. The begging. The fire. The phantom pains of wounds. A gentle hand reaching out to comfort but the pain of that. Crumpling to knees before an imposing figure and pleading for quarter. Being denied it. Apologizing. So much apologizing. Demands for information. Being left alone in the darkness to be swallowed into madness.
(The looming figure in front of him gives a curt nod, and something smacks him in the back of the knees, and he goes tumbling into suffocation all over again, gasping, choking, oh, Gods, help me—)
"I mean," Clint squeezes a handful of thin blanket beneath his fingers. He reaches for Loki's arm with his other hand, and Loki watches him with a furrowed brow as Clint turns his arm over. He gestures at a faint scar looped over Loki's wrist. He didn't notice it until a few weeks ago, when he first had that dream. "You were suspended from your wrists for a long time. It cut open your wrists at one point. They just let you hang there until you passed out from suffocation and blood loss."
Loki's brow furrows. He looks at his skin as though he's never seen it before, then turns over at his other wrist to see an identical mark on the other side. "...Oh," he whispers, "I had wondered…I didn't realize…"
A sudden, horrific realization occurs to him. Clint breathes out, unsteady. "You don't recognize a lot those anymore, do you? The scars?"
It's a long, silent few seconds. Loki meets Clint's gaze after a beat. "No." He whispers. "I don't. This body doesn't feel like mine anymore."
Clint licks his lips anxiously. He thought something like that a few days ago, and the echo of it out loud sends an uncomfortable crawling sensation down his spine. "Yeah." He says, out of lack of anything else to.
Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it.
He sighs and runs a hand through his messy hair. "I get that. If I remember right from a few months ago, there's some sort of knotted circle or something on your back? That was some sort of brand, I think. They joked about putting it on your face."
Loki twitches at that, turning his head toward his back as if he can see it through the shirt. His fingers reach up awkwardly, and in a show of more flexibility than Clint would have originally given him credit for, he runs his fingers over something. Clint's back aches in a phantom pain as Loki flinches as he finds the area. He drops his hands almost instantly.
"There's so much that I don't remember," Loki whispers. "So much that I don't know."
"Yeah," Clint agrees. "There is. Which is why you need to trust me. They hurt you. They put you through hell over and over again. They tortured you, Loki. Do you believe me now?"
"Yes." Loki admits, looking away. He drops his hands into his lap heavily. "I think I did when you told me, I just…didn't want to believe my parents would…"
"Family can be crappy," Clint mutters, dropping his head against the pillows. "Doesn't mean that's our fault."
Loki huffs, rubbing his thumb into his palm. "I suppose."
There's a lapse of silence. Clint waits, unsure what to say without prompting. Loki keeps pushing his fingers together, intermittently turning his hands over to look at the scars on his wrists, clearly thinking. At last, he looks up. "The memories are encased in a powerful protection spell, one that would take time to break without the nøkkelkode. I would have had it before…I wish I remembered why I felt the need to implant the memories."
Clint rolls his eyes, a surge of annoyance washing through him. "Your dad thinks you were hiding a second, eviler plot from him."
Loki's mouth pinches. "He said that?"
"Not in so many words, but yeah. He really believes in your character, doesn't he?"
Loki considers this, then sighs. "Is it terrible that I'm not surprised?"
"I mean. I'm not and I barely know him. So probably not." Clint assures. He shifts his feet. "When you break the spell or whatever, can you take the memories completely?"
"Yes," Loki says, "It will not be pleasant for either of us, but it will be possible. But...it is in your head now, so you deserve to have an opinion in this. If you don't want me to remove them...I won't."
There's desperation there. A longing. Loki doesn't want that. He wants to know what happened. He wants to run his fingers along the torture and bite into every gritty detail. But he's not willing to do that at the sake of Clint's comfort.
It is, at once, both incredibly selfless and disheartening.
Clint shakes his head. "They're your memories, not mine, Loki. When do you want to do that?"
Loki frowns. "I don't have the energy for it now and neither do you. Perhaps this evening?" He sighs, rubbing at his forehead. "Maybe later. I hope they will give us an answer as to why the Chitauri want to destroy them so badly. Dragging Thor into this was crass and impulsive. There must be something."
"Maybe it's just their existence in general."
"What do you mean?" Loki asks him.
Clint shrugs. "They prove that you weren't in cahoots with Thanos, right? Odin was pretty pissed Thanos broke their deal. Maybe Thanos made a couple of other deals hinged upon you working with him on purpose."
Loki stares at him. "I can't imagine what. My father won't wage war on him for me." A bitter resignation settles in eyes at that, "No. It's something in the memories themselves."
Clint gives him a tight smile. "I guess we'll find out tonight then."
"I suppose we will," Loki whispers.
000o000
Loki leaves soon after that to eat something and get some sleep to prepare. A few minutes after that, Natasha, with half her hair wet still soaking wet, climbs onto the hospital bed beside him and lays her head on his shoulder. He groans dramatically. "Babe, you're wet."
"Don't be a baby." She says immediately.
"I am a half-burnt up baby," he grumbles. "Who doesn't want to be wet."
She rolls her eyes, kicking him lightly on the ankle and Clint kisses her forehead. "You good?" he asks quietly. Natasha closes her eyes, burying her head against his neck.
"I'm worried," she admits after a while, "About you, Loki-all of this. We need to find Thor and we can't. It's been over three weeks now. The Chitauri broke him in ten days. What have they done to him since?"
Ten days.
Ten.
Clint's blood rushes cold. He hadn't…really thought of the timeline like that, but yeah. Ten days. Thor killed Selvig on day eleven. Man. If the Chitauri could do that to Thor in less than two weeks, what did they do to Loki holding him for a year? "I don't know," he says. "I'm scared, too. We weren't trained for this."
"That seems to be a pattern as of late," Natasha murmurs.
Clint exhales. "I'm sorry. What can I do to help you?"
Natasha wraps an arm around her stomach. She bites her lower lip, before exhaling on a sigh, curling up against him. "Will you talk to me? I don't want to think anymore."
"I mean, do you really want me to?" Clint warns, sneaking an edge of humor into his tone.
Natasha pokes him in the side hard.
Clint laughs, "Okay, okay, okay. Oh! Great. A captive audience. I've gotta tell you about this thing. Apparently, they developed this bionic lens thing in May that can give you perfect vision regardless of what you started with, which is super cool. I was just thinking that if something like that could be developed for hearing aids…"
Clint talks at her for a while until Natasha relaxes and eventually settles into sleep. Her hair soaks the pillow and his shirt. He doesn't say anything. Clint stays with her for a while, incapable of sleep despite his best efforts. His thoughts are spinning. After more than an hour, he finally submits and slides out from under Natasha's grip slowly.
He carefully covers her with a blanket, staring at her for long seconds with an overwhelming twist of love in his stomach. He kisses her softly on the forehead and she shifts a little in response to him, but remains asleep, her body recognizing him as something safe and relaxing.
Clint sighs and leaves the hospital room. His lower back still aches, almost like it's trying to pinch with every step he takes. He wanders around the base for a while before finally making his way outside. It's a little after five p.m., so the sun is blistering hot and boring down on him with vicious, murderous intent.
The fresh air smells vaguely like dirt and hot.
It's still one of the greatest things he's ever experienced. He hasn't been outside since they were attacked. He stays out there for as long as he can stand-maybe ten minutes, given the heat and his general desire not to get a sunburn on top of his newly healed litchenburg scars-before realizing he's hungry and forces himself back inside to find some sort of sustenance.
He's in the middle of limping down a weirdly empty hallway when a deep voice says loudly: "Boo."
The voice should be indistinct enough that it's unrecognizable as anything but "probably male." Clint knows it before the final "o" is out of their mouth.
No.
Clint lurches backward, hand going to the small knife at his belt. He whirls around as that same deep, male voice laughs in the background. Clint inhales raggedly, backing up. He has to put space between them. He has to put space, he has to-
He doesn't breathe-
He can't-
His back slams against the other end of the hallway. The open room is dark.
"You know, I was wondering if you could clear something up for me," there. In the shadows. Tall, white, blond, scruff of facial hair, dark clothing, a waking, walking nightmare. He has a .45. "Are the Avengers aware that you got your last team sent to prison, or have you just…withheld that information?"
He can't move. He just watches. Every muscle in his body is locked up.
He's nineteen again.
"I-" Clint's voice is strangled. "I don't-"
Barney levels the gun at his head. Five feet away. Clint's hand is shaking so badly that he drops the knife. It lands with a clatter in between their feet. He can't breathe. Oh man, he can't-
Is this real? This can't be real.
They just stare at each other. Barney looking him over, Clint watching his hands. It's several long seconds before Clint can get his throat to work. His voice, when it comes out, is barely more than a gasping wheeze.
"What-how-how are you here?"
This is a S.H.I.E.L.D. base. This is supposed to be safe.
Barney's face morphs into a sneer. "Clint, really? After all the work you did with the Circus, you don't think that I have the capability to hunt down one famous little bowman?"
"The Circus is dead." Clint says flatly. He can't think. He knows he needs to move again, but he can't. He's stuck. He's trapped. He doesn't have any other weapons and Barney has a gun. He's nineteen again. Barney is beating him into the dumpster. Clint's head is ringing and all he smells is blood.
Barney's eyes narrow. "Yeah. You did make sure of that with your exit, didn't you?"
Clint inhales thinly. His vision feels like it's spinning but trying to hyperfocus and drawing everything into a jumbled mass. "What-what do you want?"
"Yeah, that's a funny story." Bareny adjusts his hold on the weapon and Clint flinches. It doesn't go off. The threat is still there. "Word got out that S.H.I.E.L.D. had the scepter and I was offered a good amount of money by an employer to collect it for them. I didn't get there in time, but I was in the area…and then your buddy Thor shows up, and he told me the funniest thing. He says that he needs me to go collect you for him, 'cause apparently, his allies don't want him near your group, so-"
Thor.
Thor is involved in this?
Thor sent Barney? After all that they-how-why-
Clint. Sitting across from Thor. Long nights, stretched thin and tired, discussing anything. Clint talking about Barney. Clint telling Thor about Barney hurting him to make him feel better about Loki. Thor saying that he was sorry. Clint having only ever told two people about his brother, Natasha and Thor, and trusting they'd take it to their grave.
Clint.
An idiot.
No.
No.
Not this time.
Clint doesn't care what Barney has to say. He's not nineteen anymore, he hasn't been for fifteen God forsaken years and he's not going to just stand here and let Barney beat him again. Clint slams his hand against Barney's wrist to dislodge the gun before he tackles his older brother. Years of pent up rage and helplessness pour into every movement.
("He did that to you?" Natasha asked, her finger trailing softly over the scar behind and over his ear. Her finger, so gentle and soft, makes him want to curl around himself in shame. Even after all this time, he's not used to softness.
"No," Clint told her, bitter. "I was just too stupid not to stop him. It's my fault.")
They land in a heap on the floor, Barney grunting loudly as Clint impacts fully with his body. Clint doesn't waste any time, quickly working to overpower him, muscles straining as he wrestles to desperately fight his brother into a chokehold to force him into unconsciousness.
He can't hurt him. After all this time, after everything that happened and he still can't hurt him.
Barney shoves him off heavily, fingers reaching for the gun.
(Natasha stared at him levely for a long time, after that, as if she didn't know what to say. Clint doesn't blame her. He didn't either. Finally, his partner settles on, "You didn't throw the first punch."
"Maybe I should have." Clint retorted. "Next time, right?")
Clint smashes at his brother's wrist with a well-placed kick and Barney forces Clint upward, kneeing him in the groin. Clint wheezes, falling backward, unable to think beyond a kaleidoscope of painful colors. Barney grabs the gun. Clint's hand scrambles and he grabs the knife from off the floor. His fingers wrap around some of the blade but it doesn't matter, with wobbly aim he throws.
He misses. He never misses and he didn't hit him. The knife goes sailing five feet away from Barney's head into the wall.
The gun discharges.
(Natasha frowned at that. "There won't be a next time."
Doubtful, Clint asked, "No?"
"No. I'll kill him first." She meant it. Clint didn't know what to say. It was the first time someone had ever offered to protect him from his brother before. Coulson said it was handled, but not that it wouldn't happen again. Natasha made him feel safe. Secure. Barney was in prison. The worst of it was over. Barney was a bad memory for a different person. He wasn't nineteen anymore.)
The bullet enters his thigh. He doesn't even feel it for long seconds, just sees the blood beginning to pool near his knee. Clint pants. Barney points the gun at him again. "Don't make this any harder than it needs to be, little brother." He threatens.
He doesn't have any more weapons.
Clint glares at him, fingers wrapping around the bullethole, trying not to cry out. "Screw you." He whispers, laughing. Horrifed.
His leg gives out instinctively as if it finally realized what happened and he crashes to his knees. The jolt of pain from the jarred wound is blinding.
"You little-" Barney storms toward him and grabs the front of Clint's shirt, hauling him up. Clint grabs at his wrist, flinching back. The skin is as warm as he remembers, the scars all up and down his arms in haphazard lines. There's more of them. "After everything that I gave so you could have a freaking childhood you-" Barney cuts himself off. "How can you have not changed? You're still a selfish little kid who-"
Clint spits in his face, managing to duck away from the following enraged swing. "I mean, between not being able to go to school and when Swordsman was beating me every time I missed a shot, I had a great childhood. Thanks. Meant a lot."
"You-" Whatever profound insult Barney had to say to that Clint doesn't remember. Barney slams the butt of the gun into his head. The world spins and rotates, Clint's body giving one pain-filled attempt to give up. But Clint stays conscious, and Barney hits him again. And again. And again. And-
Clint is still nineteen, waiting for his brother to beat his body into a dumpster again, his ears ringing and screaming.
He's always nineteen.
Author's note:
Sorry. for vanishing. It's just. It's been a rough few months. Your support means the world to me and I want you to know that. Thank you.
Next chapter: September? We hope. Idk. Check weekends. I usually post on weekends.