I'm really tearing our baby Barton apart in this fic. I suppose that means someone will have to put him back together. Hmm... Enjoy xo

***

Clint boarded the elevator in a haze. He still had sleep in his eyes and the taste of Loki's goodbye kiss on this tongue. No amount of coffee or drugs could've made sense of Clint's mind in that moment. As he rode up, the elevator stopped and opened for someone else. It didn't matter who, Clint couldn't oblige company right then.

"You okay, man? Did you see Loki yet?"

Bruce. Kind, gentle Bruce.

Clint wanted to claw his eyes out and run back downstairs and into Loki's arms and- He had to stop that train of thought right there because Loki was the enemy and the enemy would do anything to defeat you. That was what Loki was doing, whatever it took to...defeat...him. He believed it less with each second.

"Yoohoo, Clint?"

The archer blinked hard, willing away the fog in his head and looking over at Bruce. "Yeah, sorry. I talked to him. We should debrief."

He must've looked a wreck because Bruce patted him on the shoulder and said, "You should get some sleep first, Barton. We'll debrief in a couple of hours." He hopped off the elevator and continued with his day, so unaware of the implosion that was Clint's mind as he rode the lift up to his apartment on auto-pilot. When he entered, it was empty. The workers had apparently done all they could do and left, leaving behind a silence that made Clint's ears ring.

He walked down the hall, hands shaking by his sides. The blood stain was gone but the carpet was still wet. The door frame wasn't fixed but had been removed completely. There was a note on the wall next to the open hole of a door that read, The new door will be here tomorrow. I'll be back to install it whenever you're ready. Thanks.

Clint eyed the raw edge of wall where his door has been and wished it were that easy. He wished he could remove those parts of himself that needed to be disposed of. He wished he could gauge them out and simply replace them with shiny new ones on command. Then no one, especially Loki, could take advantage of them and use them to make him weak and vulnerable.

Clint felt undeniably exhausted. He'd slept for nearly two hours on Loki's lap, in Loki's bed, and woken up feeling better than he had in months, but then reality came crashing in and he needed to puke again. Loki had been awake, combing fingers through his hair, when he'd woke and then he'd spent nearly twenty minutes trying to convince Clint it was okay that he'd fallen asleep with him.

It wasn't.

When his raging fire was subdued to a smoldering ember, he walked out of the medical room with a heavy filter of self-loathing over his mind. He couldn't come to terms with what he'd done. He couldn't ever tell anyone- not even, especially not, Natasha. They wouldn't understand. They would think his mind was messed up again.

It was but that wasn't the point.

He couldn't ever do that again. Clint needed to find a way to keep that piece of himself quiet so it didn't scream loud enough for Loki to hear. His team was depending on him and he couldn't let his weakness fail them.

It was too much to think about. Clint needed restful sleep away from mind-altering maniacs, and he needed it now. He flopped onto his bed in his jeans and only stayed awake long enough to kick his shoes off the end of the bed, blissful blackness covering his mind.

A rooftop. A clear blue sky and a slight breeze that trickled over the shaved underside of his hair. Clint understood that wasn't right. His hair was short but not shaved, and not long on top like he could feel it was when he raked fingers through it. He stood differently, broken but not with self-hatred like he was.

His shoulders were tight, forcefully so, in hopes of keeping himself together. He walked over to the back side of the roof, also empty, but Clint could feel there was meant to be something there. He looked down at the roof, dirty but lacking whatever it was he was looking for, then up to the sky, bright and beautiful and taunting.

"Anything?"

That was Steve's voice but it sounded different, like he'd been through some stuff that Clint could only guess at. He turned and laid eyes on Cap. "Nothing."

Steve looked like Steve, except for one huge detail. His throat displayed a large, painful-looking scar running from one side to the other. It was faded and didn't seem to bother him, but it was taking all of Clint's attention. He didn't ask about it though, and he wasn't sure why.

"I'm going to get reach out to Strange and see what he can do, but you should go home, Cap," Clint informed their leader.

Steve held himself with that same righteous burning Clint knew so well. "I'm not giving up until we find him, Clint. Loki is one of us."

Clint tried to smile, but he didn't need to, not for Steve. "Thank you."

Steve only nodded and took off running for the edge of the roof, disappearing over the side and leaving Clint alone with his thoughts. The archer turned back to the spot he'd looked at before and an aborted sound creaked from his mouth as he fell to his knees. "I told you it was a bad idea," Clint whispered to no one. He doubled over, forehead pressing to the roof as tears slipped down his cheeks. "I'm so fucking mad at you, babe, but if you come home to me safe, I'll forgive you. No questions asked. I promise. Loki, please come back to me."

Clint shot up in his bed, still on his stomach and a pile of drool on the sheet where his face was. His head was pounding and in need of pain relievers. He backed up onto his knees and stood from the bed, looking at it with betrayal in his eyes. He'd just wanted a few hours of restful, dreamless sleep and he couldn't even achieve that. The sun was setting outside his window, yet Clint felt like it should be the middle of the night with how tired he was.

He wandered over to the bathroom for meds and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Besides the dark purple bags under his eyes and the five o'clock shadow, he looked much the same as usual. His hair was short and laying untidy against his head. He didn't feel nearly as badass or as broken as he did in his dream. 

His dream. Was it a dream? It didn't feel like any other dream he'd ever had. He felt more exhausted waking up after that than he did when he fell into bed. He'd been so despondent in his dream, and about what?

Loki, please come back to me.

He had said that in his dream. Clint found it hard to believe he would say such a thing, drugged and under threat of life and limb, much less of his own free will. It had to be a dream because that would never happen. 

He tossed back a couple of pills and mechanically stripped himself for a shower. He was paler than he remembered, like his blood had better places to be. A nightmare always did that to him. But was that a nightmare? It didn't seem like one, yet he couldn't shake the feeling of hopelessness and heartache. 

Clint traced one of the larger scars, a raised pink line that ran from his left hip to his left nipple to ground himself. He'd been sliced right up the side with what was apparently the "sharpest sword in all the universe and far superior to all Avenger's weapons". Whatever, it had hurt like shit was the point. He looked at the scar in the mirror, fingers toying with the healed but still prominent mark.

In the mirror, another scar faded into view, this one directly over his sternum. It was a thin smooth line that divided his chest in half. Clint squinted at it, reaching up to touch it, but when he laid his fingers there, it disappeared. The archer rubbed his eyes harshly and opened them again. The scar was gone, leaving his mostly unmarred chest in the mirror.

"You're losing it, Barton," Clint warned himself. He turned away from the mirror and into the shower, letting the warm wealth of water drip down his tired body. He needed to wash off the events of the past day; he needed to start fresh and get his mind right if he was going to help his team.

As he shampooed his hair, he reminded himself that Loki was just another enemy. He wasn't special and he sure as fuck couldn't help Clint in any way. He was manipulative and devious and he couldn't be trusted. That Clint knew. He had to keep that in his mind every second or he'd slip, he'd fall back into what he and Loki had back in-

Anger boiled up, pooling in his arms and trailing down to his fisted hands as he swung an arm out and slammed the side of his fist into the tile wall so hard that the stone cracked. Clint startled at his own movement and leaned in to assess the damage. He really had to get a grip.

"Mr. Barton, I apologize for intruding, but Mr. Rogers and the team are requesting your presence downstairs."

Clint sighed; he wasn't ready for this. "Tell them I'll be down in ten. Wait no, make it fifteen."

"Of course, sir."

Clint rubbed his body down swiftly, rinsing and stepping out of the shower in a few minutes. He grabbed a towel, using it to dry his hair as he walked by the mirror and pointedly didn't look at himself again. He went to his drawers while he dried his body and pulled out clothes. 

What was he going to tell the team? They were going to want to know what information he got from Loki when he went down there. He didn't get much of anything, really. Maybe that was because he was too busy begging Loki to fuck him...

Ouch.

Clint shook his head of the thought. What could he tell them of value? Loki confirmed he wasn't from here. That was good. He was someone else's Loki and, hopefully soon, someone else's problem. What else? He'd mentioned that he and Clint were- Clint shuddered- together in their universe. The archer figured as much, but to hear it confirmed made his throat close up. He'd said that he was an Avenger in his universe. Laughable, but they had no proof to hold it as a lie. 

With one more steadying breath, Clint headed towards the elevator in joggers and a t-shirt, barefoot because he hated shoes and rarely wore them if he was going about the tower. The ride down was even stiffer than it had been earlier that day. At least the first time he hadn't done anything explicitly wrong, even if Loki had turned his mind into a mess just by showing up. This time, he'd truly made some mistakes; he'd let Loki into his head and enjoyed it. The team would probably lock him up if they knew.

When he arrived at the conference rooms everyone was there- everyone but Natasha. He always took Natasha's absence as a bad sign. Clint knew there weren't cameras in the med bay, so they couldn't have seen. That didn't mean Natasha didn't know. Maybe she was conferring with Fury about the next step. 

He pushed the glass door open and was greeted by stoic faces. Thor's was especially hard and Clint looked away from him immediately like Thor could see his sin on his face. Steve saved him with, "Hey, Clint. I thought Bruce said you were going to rest before this."

"Gee, thanks, Cap. I look that bad?"

"You look tired, but who isn't. Can we get this show on the road or does everyone need another minute to admire Robin from the Hood?" Tony interjected, and Clint loved him for it.

"Testy," Clint noted without bite behind it as he sat in the empty chair left for him, between Thor and Bruce. They were all quiet, looking at Clint, and the archer exhaled noisily. "I went to see him." That seemed to be what everyone wanted to hear; they leaned forward in their chairs and listening intently. "He confirmed he's not from this universe."

"How can we trust what he says?" Tony countered.

Clint nodded, understanding. "Exactly, but if you want my personal opinion, I don't think he's lying."

"Why?" Bruce asked.

Because our Loki never let me fall asleep on his lap. Because our Loki never called me darling. "Because he's different," Clint settled on. "He looks different."

"So, he cut his hair. That doesn't change someone."

"It's not just the physical, although he's different there, too. He mentioned he was an Avenger back home." And Clint's...boyfriend? lover? Clint smoothed sweaty palms down the tops of his thighs. "He doesn't act like our Loki."

"Is he not still the god of mischief?" Thor questioned.

Clint shrugged. "I don't know, I guess. I didn't get to that, but he speaks differently and..." He's sort of sweet. "He's not fueled by revenge."

"A trademark of our good ol' Loki," Tony agreed.

The door slid open and then Natasha was saying, "He's not our Loki." Clint turned around to see the Widow with a baton in her hand, blood crusted on the edge. 

"Nice of you to join us. Would you like to share what you ascertained?" Tony invited her to the table with a gesture of his hand. 

Natasha took it, dropped the bloodied instrument on the table and sat. Clint couldn't stop looking at it. That had to be Loki's blood. She's gone down there and beat the shit out of him to get information. Why send Clint in the first place if they were planning to torture him anyway?

"Bruce found a disturbance," Natasha began and Clint's eyes finally peeled away from the blood to Bruce. The scientist looked about as disturbed by Natasha's weapon as he did, and he knew if his face looked like Bruce's he'd be a dead giveaway, so he schooled his features and looked to Natasha. "A few agents and I went to check it out. We found a lab of questionable experiments, but after...intense interrogation we were certain they had no part in it. They confirmed that an anomaly registered on their equipment around the time we found Loki here, but it wasn't their doing."

"He is not my brother," Thor realized, voice dropping off with a crack at the end. No one reached out to him, but Clint could practically feel the pity like a blanket in the room. "I held out hope that he was alive, but I am sure now." He stood, hammer hanging loosely in his grip. "I must see him."

"Woah, there," Steve cautioned. "We don't know how he'll react to you. He's said he doesn't want to see anyone but Clint."

Tony scoffed. "And we always do what the maniacal overlord says."

"If this Loki is truly the last I will see of my brother, then I must see him. If it will smoothe proceedings, Clint I ask you to join me."

"What?" Clint threw out, still distracted by knowing that wasn't Loki's blood on the baton and hating the relief he felt. 

Thor clapped him on the shoulder. "We must go to this Loki so that I may receive closure."

"I don't really-"

"It would mean a great deal to me, Barton."

Clint hated when Thor's voice went all sincere like that. He groaned, "Okay, fine, but I don't want to talk to him."

"Great! Let us depart."

Clint sent a help me glance around the table, but no one was really in the mood to mess with a lonely, hopeful Thor so they sat back and let Thor pull him up from the table and out the door. Barely any sleep, no food on his stomach, and there Clint was, off to see the man he hated most in the world for the third time in less than twenty-four hours. He thought be might just shatter into a million piece right there in the lift and then he wouldn't have to go. 

He had no such luck.

***

Back to Loki next chapter, whoo! Y'all know I couldn't stay away for long.

This is the last chapter for this week. I'll start doing regular updates every Tuesday. Subscribe to get notified when each comes up. Leave comments and let me know what you think so far!

Mwah! Xoxo, Jess