dreamsofpoison | for halfassed

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for halfassed

Just how and why Loki was back on Earth was a mystery. There had been no communication from Thor any Asgardian representatives. It wasn't obvious that Loki was back, in fact, his presence could have gone unnoticed if not for, well, mischief.

He'd somehow taken something belonging to one Clint Barton. Something very dear to him. His bow. Said bow now sat on a mantel above the fireplace in his current residence. It was a stone and log cabin. Lodge would be a more appropriate description. Logs make up A frame structures to support the roof. They also provide an excellent place to suspend someone from. Which inevitably happened when Barton followed the little trail of bread crumbs to find his bow and ultimately, Loki.

He's suspended near the fireplace, which is lit. Turned so he can see his bow sitting there on the mantel. He's hung high enough his toes barely brush the ground and apparently Loki took great care in securing his wrists in a specific type of cuff. The kind that would ensure he could keep him there for quite some time without much damage to his hands or wrists. He was stripped of his weapons and all his clothes save for his pants. Hence why he choose the beam close to the fire. It was the dead of winter outside.

As for Loki himself, he stood by the window, watching the snow fall and waiting for the subtle signs his captive has awoken. He's far removed from the armor and leather of before. Instead he's in simple mortal clothes but they still had a certain Loki-esque flair to them.

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He's just gonna take a minute to stop the flow of blood from his nose. A mortal's body really leaves much to be desired. So easy to injure. Granted, stripped of his powers he was still very durable despite his appearance.

He gets up, it's obvious his temper is flaring but he's directing it inwardly. He takes the kit and puts it away. He won't be using it on himself for such minor injuries.

"You should not have any remnants within you," Loki says, "When the scepter was destroyed and the Tesseract taken from this realm any ties would be shattered." He sounds oddly offended. He is, in a way.

'Offended' is a pretty normal response when someone punches you in the face. Clint'll go ahead and accept that as a probable reaction.

"Then why are you here?" he asks. "Why do you give a damn?" There's this funny thing about humans, in that remnants tend to stick around. Memories, bits of traumas, little tics and habits that never got wiped away. Loki's never going to get scrubbed completely out of Clint's brain, much as he might hope for it.

He stands with his arms crossed, watching the blood flow. Loki's not stopping it the right way. Clint could treat it better. He's had his share of nosebleeds.

"Besides," he says, "if you stick a screwdriver in someone's skull and then take the screwdriver away, there's still a hole. You didn't exactly leave me in mint condition." He's mad about this. So deeply, truly angry that it seems pointless to express it. His rage would be enough to level cities. About all he can manage is breaking Loki's nose. Why even try, anymore?

He just looks at him like he asked the most idiotic question in the world. Loki thought it was obvious, well, in his head he thought it was obvious but he hadn't done much speaking to anyone but himself lately.

"I have not returned to this realm by choice," he snaps. The little outburst got the blood flowing again. He mutters a curse and brings his hand back up to stem the flow.

And somehow, another chuckle gets out. Oh, the hole in his own skull must be truly impressive then. Not that he would admit that one out loud.

"Oh, you were far from 'mint' when I got to you," he points out bitterly. "You were a killer before, you merely changed masters."

"I didn't ask why you were here on Earth, I asked why you came looking for me." Because apparently that wasn't clear enough. Clint has to get used to the fact that he and Loki aren't focused the same way anymore. They can't read everything about each other. It feels like a catastrophic rift in communication, actually, and that beyond sucks.

"And I was my killer," he says. It comes out a little petulant, like an eight-year-old -- but that was my crayon. Any he wasn't really his own, anyway. He just hadn't been Loki's. And he'd never learned what unconditional love really felt like.

For fuck's sake. That nose is getting really distracting.

Clint pulls his pants on, not bothering with the underwear, and steps into the kitchen. Comes out with a towel, and he attempts to pull Loki down into a chair, standing behind him.

"You're doing it wrong," he says, and he tilts Loki's head forward and pinches the bridge of his nose tight. Almost painfully tight.

Loki did understand his questions he just didn't want to give the answers. Certainly not after being punched in the nose. Maybe when his mood was better he would be more cooperative. He makes an indignant noise in response to Clint's childish claim of ownership.

He shoots him a glare when he nears him. He does not look sure he should trust him that close and its obvious he's looking for any concealed weapons. So it takes a bit of urging to get him down in the chair. But once there, there is a calming familiarity with his touch that makes him still and put up with it.

And if for some reason Clint decided to snap his neck, the look on the All-Father's face would be worth such an idiotic demise.

"Ow!" Well, he is going to complain a little.

It honestly does not occur to Clint to snap Loki's neck. Until it occurs to him that it hasn't occurred to him, at which time he experiences a brief surge of panic. Oh shit. What if Loki's been controlling him this whole time? What if he walked straight into this trap just because Loki wanted him to? What if --

He looks down at the bloody nose, and then, with due consideration, dismisses that theory. Loki would not have let Clint punch him in the nose.

That just makes it all the sweeter and more satisfying.

Maybe he should break Loki's neck.

Instead, his hand -- of its own accord, since this is definitely not in Clint's plan-book for the evening -- brushes Loki's hair back from his temple, letting Clint have a clearer view of his face. He's not rough with him. It's actually really disturbing.

"When it stops flowing, blow your nose," says Clint. "Get the clot out. It'll heal faster, and you'll still be able to breathe." A beat, then: "And then I can break it later, if I want."

He needs to just take that bow and get out of here.

Loki becomes eerily still when his hair his brushed from temple. There's a little muscle twitch around his eyes like extremely muted flinch. Clint had just punched him a few minutes before after all.

"Oh, How thoughtful," he manages as sarcastically as he can. When the bleeding stops he blows his nose in the most grudging way possible.

"Why do you believe I lured you here?" he asks, instead of answering the question himself. He hadn't forgotten it and he knew it would come up again.

"Because you act without thinking," says Clint. "You throw away logic when you want to make a point, or get someone's attention, or destroy. Otherwise you would have expected me to do a lot more than punch you."

He sits down across from Loki, in the other chair.

"In short, you don't know a damn thing about humans," he says. "Which, I assume, is why someone made you one. Is that supposed to be your punishment? Because I could think of a few better ones."

Loki obviously doesn't agree with that as he rolls his eyes in response. He leans back in his chair like he's barely bothering to listen.

"I know more than enough. You would come alone. You would tell no one of where you went," he says leaning forward menacingly. "You would face me in some misplaced thoughts of redemption. To even the score. Wipe out everything you did under my command. All that guilt but it's not just guilt over all those lives you taken under orders. You think facing me will ease that pain." He spits out the words. This is familiar, safe, territory.

"I came alone because it's between you and me," spits Clint. "I came alone because you turned my head inside out and never put it back. I don't need to redeem myself. You're the one who destroys everything you touch."

The words are right, partly. But not right enough. Clint is guilty over what he did, of course, but he's also guilty over how he felt. How happy he was that he finally found a commander who felt like a part of him, skin and bone. How he'd finally felt he had a chance to belong.

Loki ruined him. Loki took away any chance he ever had at being happy. Because now nothing will ever compare to what that felt like. No other commander will ever be Loki. And Clint will never trust like that again, ever, not with Loki, not with Nat, not with anyone, because every emotion feels fake and hollow now that that one was knocked out of him.

Loki's temper flares for just a moment then he laughs. That old mocking laugh is back. "And just how do you expect me to put it back if I destroy everything I touch?"

He pushes himself up from the chair and moves away. Maybe toward a concealed weapon or maybe he just wanted to move. His body language gives very little away.

"And what were you hoping for?" he shoots back. "That I would fall back on my knees? That I would tell you what to do, now that you're stuck here? Because I'm not going to."

He moves to his feet, too, and catches Loki's wrist. Twists it, and forces Loki back against one of the cabin's walls. One hand on Loki's chest, and his eyes on Loki's. "You can't even keep me here, can you?" Loki's a hell of a lot more scrawny than Clint imagined, somehow. He was bigger in Clint's memory than he is here, now.

Edited 2012-08-23 01:43 (UTC)

He must be close to the mark on one of his guesses because Loki's expression goes very dark and very cold. He's about to say something back when his wrist is grabbed. He struggles, not terribly hard because he doesn't feel his life in danger. He is a skilled fighter even without powers. He's fairly confidant he can wriggle free if he needs to.

So for now he goes along with it. He tilts his head back against the wall like it was his idea to be there. He makes a show of looking completely unfazed even if he didn't feel it. "You are free to leave," he says again.

His other hand, the one not being twisted off, hangs limply at his side but he has set about palming a small knife while Clint's eyes were on him.

"But that's not what you want."

No reason he should do what Loki wants -- except to hold it over him. Clint doesn't notice the knife. It doesn't occur to him. He feels like the powerful one.

"Apologize to me," he says. "For killing my boss. And you'll buy yourself, let's say, an hour or two."

"What?" he utters with honest shock. Now he truly thinks Clint is crazier than he is. "You know it will not be sincere," he points out cautiously.

It does, for now, effectively derail his thought of stabbing him.

"It should be," returns Clint. "He was a good guy. And I liked him. I don't like many people."

Loki relaxes like he's preparing for it. You know, all that pride he has to get around to even get close to apologizing sincerely. Oh, it probably won't be sincere even then.

Ah, well. He sighs and starts to speak, "I really am--" Now is an excellent time to remember his throwing knife. He curls his fingers around it and stabs him in the torso. It's short enough he shouldn't nick anything major. Maybe.

"--deeply sorry." Which ends in a growl.

Clint shoves Loki brutally and viciously against the wall, yanks the knife out and presses it to Loki's throat.

"You always gotta take it just a little too far, don't you?"

And he tries to slit Loki's throat. Weakened, his arm still wounded, and bleeding out through his ribs. He knows it's probably a futile effort.

The shove stuns him momentarily. A painful reminder of his current state. He shoots his hand up just barely in time to prevent his throat being cut open. He gets nicked though. He tries to pry the knife away from him. His other hand goes to the wound to help stem the flow of blood.

"I do regret his death," he admits in a consoling voice. He shouldn't have killed him, he should have taken control of him instead. The one human he never should have underestimated.

"Fuck you." He struggles, tries to hurt Loki, if he can, but he falls to his knees. Shit. He needs treatment. A stomach wound could easily kill him, in the next ten minutes.

He gives a short humorless laugh. When he falls to his knees, he rests a hand on Clint's head in an almost affectionate way.

"You will not be joining him," he says in the same consoling voice. He holds there for a moment then steps away. Really, he will run out of his 'magic healing stuff' at this rate. He only has what he has after Thor argued the point to the Allfather.

Unfortunately, he can't just use mortal first-aid on this injury. He reopens the box and takes a series of packets. He returns to him and tries to push him on his back so he can work on the wound. "How many hours might your life be worth?" he asks, half mocking. He could hold it over him and make him promise all sorts of things for his life. That... should have been a more satisfying thought. It isn't and he's already started sprinkling the stuff on the wound.

Driven speechless, at this point. Not just because of the injury, but because of Loki. Damn it, god damn it, he hadn't meant to be this vulnerable in front of him. He hadn't meant to give his life back to Loki. Instead, it seems like he's Loki's punching bag again. Shot and stabbed, all in the first ten minutes.

"Not enough for you," he mururs, and he turns his head away, closing his eyes. Not unconscious, not even in danger of going unconscious, but not willing to watch Loki treat him. It's enough feeling him, gracious and sure hands on Clint's skin, the wound that starts to heal over.

Another chuckle. Loki finishes his work shortly then smooths over the area with his finger. He silently vows that he'll be saving the rest of the supplies for himself.

But if he could convince him to aid him. Help keep him alive until he regains his powers. That would prove challenging.

He recovers his breath. Loki's hit a couple of the spots of tension he needs to draw a bow. He's going to be off his game until the muscles heal.

"I'm not your dog," he says. "Won't come at your whistle anymore." He doesn't know if he savors that or regrets it. Either way, it hurts. He's wounded in more ways than one. He sips in a pained breath, and opens his eyes, fixing them on Loki. Not a spark of blue in them. They're not caught in the Tesseract's thrall.

He reaches up and flattens a hand against Loki's shoulder. "I wish I'd never laid eyes on you."

"Won't you?" Loki responds in a rhetorical sort of way. After all Clint did show up after he took his bow. Sure, Loki ensured it but he did have the option not to come at all and just ignore the theft. Or tell SHIELD.

He blinks, surprised he's being touched at all. He was expecting another punch to the face, honestly. "Are you expecting me to say the same?"

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