There has always been someone stronger than Clint Barton, always been someone to make him do what he does not wish.
Loki is the worst of them all.
*******
When Loki asks, Clint tells him everything he can about Tony Stark, about Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner. He only knows what he has read in Shield files, what he has heard from Phil and Natasha. He has never met any of them; it is nothing for him to tell Loki the few secrets he does know.
(Phil, I'm sorry, I can't stop him)
"Tell me about Romanov," Loki orders, and so Clint does. He tries desperately not to, he loves Natasha, but the words flow out effortlessly. He tells Loki everything he can think of, starting with the day they met, ending with the way she kissed his cheek before he flew to New Mexico to guard the Tesseract and Erik Selvig.
"Tell me the worst thing she has done. In your eyes, what is the worst?"
(Don't, don't tell him)
"She went in as a nanny to a general named Dreykov. Took care of his little girl. For weeks she treated the child like her own--braided her hair, took her to the park, sang her to sleep. And at the end of the month she broke the little girl's neck and laid her across Dreykov's desk for her father to find, a message from the Red Room."
(Natasha, I'm so sorry)
Loki is delighted, laughs. "That IS terrible."
Inside his head Clint screams into a wall of blue. He wants to reach out with clawed hands and tear out Loki's throat. Tear out his own. But he can do nothing.
Instead he nods, smiling slightly because his master smiles. He feels a tear drip down his face and hopes that Loki will not see.
But of course he does. "I chose you well; you see more than the others. You please me so. Why should you be sad? That should make you happy."
Clint nods again. Loki reaches up and touches the tear track on his face, where another traitorous drop runs, falls. "You should be happy," Loki says again. "You should be so happy."
(Don't you touch me, please God, let me out of this)
And he is happy, because Loki wills it. Clint can feel the sides of his mouth pull up into a smile, the kind he gave to his father, to marks, while undercover on missions--a parody of the sweet grin that Natasha and Phil love so well. It looks and feels real enough; he has used it all of his life.
"I'm happy," he agrees. "I am." More tears stream down his cheeks, framing his serene smile.
(Natasha, I love you and I'm sorry)
Loki wipes them tenderly away with his thumb. His hand lingers on Clint's cheek.
"So happy," Clint whispers.
*******
He hides in his memories as he looks out through blue eyes, watching the horror that he has become.
Natasha is not there, her arrival is years in the future. It is early in his Shield days; Clint is still more boy than man. He has never been to a funeral before, not even for his own parents, who lay somewhere unknown in paupers' graves. Agent Haynes had died on their last mission, and when Phil asks if he is going to the funeral, Clint decides that he should, he should go. It's the right thing to do for a fellow agent, for one he had liked. He has a suit that he has never worn, and as he is putting it on realizes that he has no idea how to tie the necktie. For a frantic moment he considers not wearing one, but Haynes had been a friend, this is his funeral, and Clint wants to do everything right.
"I need an army," Loki says. "We must bring down Shield before the portal opens."
Phil knocks on the door and lets himself in, wondering what is taking so long when they should be leaving, and finds Clint fumbling at the mirror. And Phil understands, the way he always understands. He is all quiet competence, knowing things like how to tie neckties and that you're supposed to polish dress shoes and what kind of clothes go together. And he is also all grace, because he never makes Clint feel ashamed that he does not know any of those things.
What Clint does know is how to recruit mercenaries, where to find them, the way to talk to them. There are many that are eager, so many that hate Shield. Loki is pleased. Everything is coming together rapidly.
"Here, like this," Phil says and moves to help; his fingers touch Clint's. He could just do it himself, it would be faster, but he always wants to teach, wants Clint to understand and learn. "And then this part goes under..." His voice is kind. He teases sometimes, but only ever in fun, never when it will hurt.
Selvig is enraptured by the Tesseract. He and Clint stand before it and it shows them things. Seems to speak. Clint has always seen so clearly but now he can see farther than ever. Farther than he wants to.
Clint knows that his father should have been the one to teach him to fix a tie, or a grandfather maybe. Even his older brother. It should have been family, because that's what families do, they are supposed to teach and love. It should not be the job of a colleague who likes him just fine, but can never be expected to love him like family, to do those things that fathers and brothers are supposed to do.
(But I don't have anyone else)
It helps him understand. He knows every inch of the Helicarrier, knows the people on it, knows their strategies, the weapons they have. The Tesseract shows him how to put it all together, how using everything he knows can make it possible to bring the ship down.
"And then you just...pull it tight. Not too tight, though." Phil smiles, and puts his hand on Clint's shoulder.
(Don't laugh at me, Phil, I can't stand it if you do)
He sees a vision of himself on the control deck of the carrier, listening dispassionately as the crew screams, staring forward as they plummet from the sky. Sees the ground rushing up toward them, and he is unafraid to die with them because he knows Loki will be pleased with his good work. He doesn't know if the Tesseract shows the future, the end of the path he is currently on. Maybe none of it is true. He stands with Selvig and listens some more.
Phil must see something in Clint's expression, or maybe just thinks he is upset about Haynes--or something, it doesn't matter what--because he suddenly wraps his arms around Clint's shoulders and squeezes gently. "Are you okay?" he asks. And Clint hasn't been hugged in so long that he cannot remember the last time, and before he can think better of it his own arms go around Phil, hugging back, hugging hard.
He replays this memory over and over, hoping that if he can never escape Loki, if this blue nightmare is his new forever, that maybe he can hide here, in moments like this one. That Loki won't find out, that he can stay.
Phil's fingers over his. "And then this goes under...and over..." Phil's arms around him. Clint's arms clutching back.
One of the other agents under Loki's thrall dies. Selvig explains to their master that they need to eat and drink more. Need to sleep. Clint knew the man vaguely and thinks he might have died because he didn't get some sort of medication that he needed. They throw the body in an unused room. Clint wishes it were him.
Phil's fingers over his. "Here, like this." Phil's arms around him. "Are you okay?" Clint hugging back.
"What did the Tesseract show you, Agent Barton?"
"My next target."
(Please Phil, don't be on the Helicarrier. Please, God, please don't let him be there.)
He tells Loki that he knows its weaknesses, that he can bring it down with his bow and specialized arrows. And inside his mind Clint screams, because he will use the things he loves most to destroy the people he loves most. Loki has taken everything that ever meant anything to him and ruined it.
He is a monster, and so is Clint Barton.
Phil's fingers over his. He smiles gently, not teasing, not making fun. Phil's arms around him.
If he can just stay here, in this memory. If he can just not be a mindless creature that helps Loki so willingly, plans murder and destruction. If he could just be strong enough to push Loki out, to be a little bit more himself, strong enough to stop this.
Clint's arms, hugging Phil back. He is the father, the brother, the friend, the mentor, the lover--all the things that Clint ever wanted and could never have, all those things at same time, in one beautiful body.
He has to try, before the vision from the Tesseract becomes real, before Loki sends him out to deal death to everyone who ever trusted him.
*******
(Do it. You have to do it before you hurt them)
Clint holds the knife, willing his hand to move it to his throat. Loki is going to Germany, has maybe already left. It has to be now, because everything is almost ready.
(Just a moment's work, and it will be done. They will be safe)
His eyes and face are carefully neutral, his body still except for his hands. The others must not see. His fingers grip the handle. They shake with effort, but he does not let go. Picking up the knife had been almost impossible, it took all of the meager self control he had, but he had done it. Holding it with intention is harder still, so difficult to to do when every cell in his body screams at him to put the knife down.
Because Loki does not will this.
And...neither does Clint, in a way. He wants to live.
If superpowers were real, and in this new world they apparently are, then his has always been survival. He survived his father, survived the orphanage, survived the circus, survived betrayals and all that came afterward--he wants to live, to get through this. He always fights, his hands always reach for weapons, he is strong, he hasn't lived through so much already to give up now. He wants to live. He wants to live for Phil and Natasha. To see them again.
Loki also wants him to live. He needs Clint, needs him to bring down Shield. Wills it.
(They'll die. Phil is on the carrier and now Natasha is also. You'll kill them both and still be Loki's slave. Better to end it now. Wouldn't you die to save them?)
He would. He would die a thousand times over to save them. His love for them is stronger even than his desire to live. If only his body will cooperate. He pushes at himself with everything he has left. He can do it. He is strong enough. He is.
Loud footsteps ring out on the metal floor and Clint looks up fearfully, knowing immediately what he will see. Loki coming toward him in long, angry strides, his face dark and thunderous. Clint makes one last desperate effort and the knife is mere inches from his throat when Loki kicks it away.
"How DARE you?" the god rages, grabbing Clint by the neck he had tried to cut, dragging him backwards, slamming him into the wall. "You do not die except by my leave, you sniveling traitor!"
He brings up the scepter and Clint remembers this, knows what's coming, but cannot fight back. Cannot even raise his hands in defense, not to Loki. He supposes he cries out when the scepter touches him again, but isn't sure if the screams are aloud or only in his head. It is stronger than the first time, Loki making it worse.
(Hold onto something, just one little piece you can keep for yourself--
Phil. Natasha. The feel of the bow in his hands. The thrill of flying the quinjet. Phil saying he is proud. Sleeping late under warm covers. Natasha whispering secrets, trusting him. The feel of releasing an arrow, never missing. People smiling when they see him. Phil, warm and more alive than anyone he has ever met. Going to sleep with a full stomach, knowing there will be more food tomorrow. Natasha laughing, dancing. Phil. Natasha. Phil. Natasha.
--Please let me keep something, please let it be them.)
But the blue of the Mind Stone washes over him and takes it all away.
*******
Erik Selvig loves the Tesseract.
Had it appeared in ancient civilizations it would have been revered, worshipped as a deity. Maybe it still should be.
Everything in his mind is crystalline, every idea fully formed. There are no words lost on the tip of his tongue, no memory he cannot recall perfectly, no equations left to puzzle out. Everything is there for him to know. There is only truth, only absolutes. It is glory.
His master walks in, and Selvig is surprised; Loki should have already left, but here he is. Barton is with him, walking to the side and about two steps behind.
He and Clint Barton were never very friendly before, much less friends, though they had had an acceptably professional relationship. He has only come to know him these last few days, and that has been in the presence of the Tesseract, as they stood together, shoulder to shoulder, listening.
It tells Selvig of wonders, of dimensions, of levels beyond this one. All things human minds were not meant to know. He does not know what it showed to Barton, but he had come away with plans, with scenarios. He will lead the attack on the Helicarrier, and it will be successful.
Now something is wrong, something has happened. Not even an hour ago Selvig had seen Barton go past him to the barracks area. He had walked with the same purpose, the same drive, that has moved them all these last days. Now he returns with Loki...different.
His eyes are still the brilliant blue of the Tesseract, but empty. His face is so oddly pale and expressionless that Selvig expects him to start stumbling, to fall over. He does not. He follows Loki docilely, listens with passive attention as their master speaks.
As if he feels Selvig's gaze upon them, Loki turns his head quickly, glares at the scientist. Selvig nods in greeting and moves immediately back to his work. Loki narrows his eyes, says something else to Barton, and then leaves.
Barton stands there blankly for a few moments, staring at nothing, then turns on his heel and walks stiffly out. Like a windup toy soldier who marches and shoots arrows, with Loki turning the key.
Selvig just wants to be left alone, to study and glorify the Tesseract. It is perfection. He loves it.
He cannot have Loki know that he has grown a little afraid of it, too. Cannot have Loki know that the smallest part of the real Erik Selvig struggles to return.
Whatever has been done to Barton, Selvig doesn't want it to happen to him.
He keeps his face as neutral and his hands as steady as he can as he creates the fail safe switch.
*******
Clint stands at the door of the jet, looking at a pure blue sky. The wind buffets against him, but he is not afraid of falling. The Helicarrier looms before him.
Seeing it always made him happy, made his chest swell with pride, gave him a sense of belonging, of homecoming.
Now he looks at it and feels nothing. His master wants it brought down. It will be done. He nocks the first of many arrows and looses it easily, knows it will strike true. Loki will be pleased with him.
And it must be the wind in his face that makes it happen, or the lack of sleep creeping up on him, because surely it cannot be anything else, cannot be for any other reason that a tear streaks down his cheek. The whistling air whips it away as soon as it falls.
"So happy," Clint whispers.
********