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tigriswolf.
.
.
Title: I will let the dark winds take me. And I don’t care where I land
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Grace Bauer.
Warnings: future!fic; brainwashing;
Pairings: Loki/Clint, mentions of Coulson/Clint
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 1780
Notes: thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fictionalfemme, kellifer_fic, mynorthwind, and pprfaith for all talking with me about this fic. Also, there may be more coming in this ‘verse, because there are a few scenes I want to write, but I make no promises.
More notes: This was the very first fic I started after seeing the movie.
It’s three years later when Loki calls, Come to me, Clint. Mid-battle against Loki’s newest ally (how is it none of their villains-of-the-week have realized Loki always gets away while they die or get taken down?), two years after his return from whatever failure of a prison the Asgardians put him in, and he finally reaches out for the tiny spark of loyalty and adoration left in the tattered remnants of Clint’s heart.
Come to me, Clint, his voice whispers, and Clint leaves his nest, dropping the com from his ear without a word of goodbye or warning to his team.
By the time they realize something’s gone wrong, he’s completely in the wind, standing at attention, waiting for Loki’s command.
.
You killed him, is what Clint thinks, watching Loki watch him.
Loki’s smile is cold, and gentle, and sad, and so angry, and Clint knows that even if he studied Loki for a hundred years, he would never understand his master. His god.
“Are you mine?” Loki asks, one hand cupping Clint’s cheek.
“Yes, sir,” Clint says. He can’t say anything else. Doesn’t want to.
“Will you do everything I ask of you?” Loki murmurs, leaning in close, bringing his other hand up to rest over Clint’s heart.
“Of course, sir,” Clint answers.
You stabbed Phil and he died, Clint thinks, and Loki pats his face.
“Good boy,” Loki says. “Come now, little hawk,” he adds as he turns. “We have things to do.”
The part of Clint that still loves Phil shouts and struggles. The part that is Loki’s follows his god into the dark.
By the second step, the first part has totally faded, and none of the him that is left even thinks to mourn.
.
Phil has been dead for three years. He was the reason they finally started working as a team, Rogers and Stark putting aside their differences for the battle that saved the world.
Clint didn’t even know he was dead till after the dust settled.
He lied about watching himself obey Loki. After the first burst of fire though his veins, hollowing him out, there was nothing but loyalty. He didn’t question a thing. He remembered everything from before, SHIELD and Tasha and Phil. He just didn’t care. There was nothing.
There was no part of him that was not Loki’s, and after Tasha knocked him free, he knew that Loki’s good little soldier was still somewhere in him. Could still feel the clarity and joy being Loki’s brought him.
He never talked to Selvig about it. Or any of the others, those few who weren’t bought with promises of sitting beside Loki in the new world or the money Loki magicked out of thin air. He read the files, though. Read the files and wondered if they’d been lying to the shrinks, too.
.
“Do you think me a monster?” Loki asks quietly, staring out a window on the eighty-third floor.
“No, sir,” Clint replies, arms crossed, leaning against the wall and watching Loki. “I think you’re misunderstood.”
Loki laughs, short and sharp and so bitter it burns. “Misunderstood,” he repeats. “Misjudged, mistreated.”
Miss-no-way-it’s-all-good, Clint sings in his head, because Phil’d had a love for Pink that rivaled his crush on Captain America.
Loki turns to glance at Clint, tilting his head. “Sing the entire song,” he commands, so Clint does.
Afterwards, Loki somehow magicks up Pink’s complete musical collection, and even through his total devotion to Loki, a part of Clint bleeds at every song.
.
The Avengers seek him, of course. SHIELD searches for their agent and the enemy that stole him.
Hawkeye had been cleared, following the battle in Manhattan. Three years of loyal, unquestioning service, bleeding for the team.
Selvig had explained, as best he could, what Loki’s control had been like. The others had all said roughly the same thing. Impossible to fight. Impossible to want to fight. But a good knock to the head and the problem was cleared right up.
According to the files Clint broke into, none of the rest remembered the time fondly. Clint made sure no one knew he did.
Natasha hadn’t mentioned, to anyone, how good a liar Clint Barton actually was, when he wanted to be.
Phil had known.
.
“If you had but asked me,” Loki mentions three days after he reclaimed Clint, “I might have spared your lover. He was courageous.” Loki’s lips twist in a tiny smile. “He had heart.”
Clint hadn’t even thought to ask, the first time Loki had him. A distant part of him is glad Phil never saw this, how he bent and broke himself open for Loki, how he spread wide and gave Loki everything.
.
Whatever game Loki’s playing now, it seems to be intended purely to drive Clint insane. They’re in a highrise in Manhattan; every time Clint looks out the windows facing west, he sees the Avengers tower. Loki hasn’t left since they arrived. He’s given Clint freerun of the place, but Clint hasn’t even tried to get out. He doesn’t want to get out. Loki is his master, his god, his reason.
Loki talks to him. Asks about books, movies, TV. Poetry and music. His thoughts on history, philosophy, architecture. Clint’s not stupid, and there were a few books he read for fun, after he mostly taught himself. But his whole life, he’s been an act or a weapon. Nothing more. Give him a direction and let him loose.
Except with Phil. But he never had enough time with Phil to really just be. To sit on the couch and argue about watching Supernanny or Top Shot and complain about what the ‘experts’ were doing wrong.
“What’s the plan, sir?” he asks on the one-week mark. One week in this building, close enough to see the windows at home, to know he could get there in under two minutes – one week of doing nothing but talking with the alien demigod who killed Phil.
One week of caring about nothing except making sure Loki was happy and content and safe.
“Need to know, Clint,” Loki says. “You don’t yet need to know.”
.
Two weeks, three, four.
Look into the mirror, little hawk, Loki whispers in his mind, forehead resting on Clint’s back.
Clint raises his head, gazing at his reflection – his eyes are completely normal. Not clouded at all.
You are mine, Loki says, arms wrapping around him. Mine to have, mine to keep. I take such good care of that which is mine.
“Yes, sir,” Clint replies aloud.
His master murmurs against his skin, “Call me Loki.”
.
They leave Manhattan, North America. They hunt; Loki gives him a new face, a list of names and locations, and lets him off the leash.
Hawkeye is a weapon, after all. A predator. He was long before SHIELD had him.
“I have others to see,” Loki tells him, leaving with a kiss to his forehead and a gentle caress. “I’ll fetch you in five days.”
“Yes, Loki,” Clint says.
He looks into the first mirror he finds: black hair, green eyes, tan skin. Taller than he’s ever been, whipcord thin. He blinks and sees himself, eyes still clear blue, before the illusion is firmly back in place.
Five days and over a hundred men to kill, in eighteen cities and four countries.
He does it in three and spends the rest asleep, dreaming of Phil and Loki and a sky so blue it burns.
.
“Well done, my hawk,” Loki says when he appears beside Clint, stretched out on the bed.
“It was my pleasure, Loki,” Clint replies, rolling over to face him.
“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” Loki murmurs, smiling.
.
They go back to New York, and Clint can see his team from the windows, and it feels like Loki is goddamned wooing him, which is crazy, because Clint is already Loki’s in every way that matters, in mind, body, and soul, in word and deed, deep down in his heart.
Any one of their names could’ve been on that list Loki gave him, and he’d have put bullets in all their brains. He wouldn’t hesitate. Even now – he can imagine it, staring down the scope, finger on the trigger.
He would kill them and go back to Loki, neck bared, underbelly showing, and wait for the next order
“You are my spear,” Loki muses, watching Clint sort through his arrows. “An extension of myself.”
A tiny part of Clint, deep down, asks, What are you going to have me do?
The rest of him says, “Always.”
.
He knows what they’d tell him. What they have told him. After, when everyone was searching for a reason and Phil was dead. It hadn’t been his fault, they promised, the shrinks and his team and Tasha. It was all Loki. Loki in his mind, Loki aiming him like a weapon. But he was still in there, they all said, because Hawkeye doesn’t miss.
He hadn’t been ordered to kill, is the thing. He was making noise and taking down the helicarrier, but Loki didn’t want them dead yet.
No one he cared about would’ve died, if he’d only asked Loki for Phil’s life. But he didn’t ask, and that’s on him. He doesn’t hold Loki accountable for that.
Anyway. He knows what they’d say, if he walked out the front door and the two minutes to the Avengers’ tower. They’d repeat what they already said, three years ago.
They’d tell him it’s all based on a lie. His affection, his adoration of Loki. He was burnt up and hollowed out, Loki rewiring him, remaking him into a warrior for Loki’s desire and delight.
He knows that. That’s how it started.
But his eyes aren’t clouded blue anymore. Maybe he was rewired, but he knows – knows like he knows the feel of his bow, and the way an arrow sings, and how he once knew all the secrets of Phil’s voice and body – being hit in the head won’t fix it, not this time.
He knows there’s nothing to fix. He’s Loki’s, from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet to the marrow in his bones.
He’s Loki’s. And there’s no coming back from that.
Not this time.
.
He dreams of Phil, and Loki, and a sky so blue it burns. Then he wakes up, presses himself against Loki, and opens up wide, ready and willing, and knows he’s right where he needs to be.
.
.
Title: I will let the dark winds take me. And I don’t care where I land
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Grace Bauer.
Warnings: future!fic; brainwashing;
Pairings: Loki/Clint, mentions of Coulson/Clint
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 1780
Notes: thanks to
fictionalfemme, kellifer_fic, mynorthwind, and pprfaith for all talking with me about this fic. Also, there may be more coming in this ‘verse, because there are a few scenes I want to write, but I make no promises. More notes: This was the very first fic I started after seeing the movie.
It’s three years later when Loki calls, Come to me, Clint. Mid-battle against Loki’s newest ally (how is it none of their villains-of-the-week have realized Loki always gets away while they die or get taken down?), two years after his return from whatever failure of a prison the Asgardians put him in, and he finally reaches out for the tiny spark of loyalty and adoration left in the tattered remnants of Clint’s heart.
Come to me, Clint, his voice whispers, and Clint leaves his nest, dropping the com from his ear without a word of goodbye or warning to his team.
By the time they realize something’s gone wrong, he’s completely in the wind, standing at attention, waiting for Loki’s command.
.
You killed him, is what Clint thinks, watching Loki watch him.
Loki’s smile is cold, and gentle, and sad, and so angry, and Clint knows that even if he studied Loki for a hundred years, he would never understand his master. His god.
“Are you mine?” Loki asks, one hand cupping Clint’s cheek.
“Yes, sir,” Clint says. He can’t say anything else. Doesn’t want to.
“Will you do everything I ask of you?” Loki murmurs, leaning in close, bringing his other hand up to rest over Clint’s heart.
“Of course, sir,” Clint answers.
You stabbed Phil and he died, Clint thinks, and Loki pats his face.
“Good boy,” Loki says. “Come now, little hawk,” he adds as he turns. “We have things to do.”
The part of Clint that still loves Phil shouts and struggles. The part that is Loki’s follows his god into the dark.
By the second step, the first part has totally faded, and none of the him that is left even thinks to mourn.
.
Phil has been dead for three years. He was the reason they finally started working as a team, Rogers and Stark putting aside their differences for the battle that saved the world.
Clint didn’t even know he was dead till after the dust settled.
He lied about watching himself obey Loki. After the first burst of fire though his veins, hollowing him out, there was nothing but loyalty. He didn’t question a thing. He remembered everything from before, SHIELD and Tasha and Phil. He just didn’t care. There was nothing.
There was no part of him that was not Loki’s, and after Tasha knocked him free, he knew that Loki’s good little soldier was still somewhere in him. Could still feel the clarity and joy being Loki’s brought him.
He never talked to Selvig about it. Or any of the others, those few who weren’t bought with promises of sitting beside Loki in the new world or the money Loki magicked out of thin air. He read the files, though. Read the files and wondered if they’d been lying to the shrinks, too.
.
“Do you think me a monster?” Loki asks quietly, staring out a window on the eighty-third floor.
“No, sir,” Clint replies, arms crossed, leaning against the wall and watching Loki. “I think you’re misunderstood.”
Loki laughs, short and sharp and so bitter it burns. “Misunderstood,” he repeats. “Misjudged, mistreated.”
Miss-no-way-it’s-all-good, Clint sings in his head, because Phil’d had a love for Pink that rivaled his crush on Captain America.
Loki turns to glance at Clint, tilting his head. “Sing the entire song,” he commands, so Clint does.
Afterwards, Loki somehow magicks up Pink’s complete musical collection, and even through his total devotion to Loki, a part of Clint bleeds at every song.
.
The Avengers seek him, of course. SHIELD searches for their agent and the enemy that stole him.
Hawkeye had been cleared, following the battle in Manhattan. Three years of loyal, unquestioning service, bleeding for the team.
Selvig had explained, as best he could, what Loki’s control had been like. The others had all said roughly the same thing. Impossible to fight. Impossible to want to fight. But a good knock to the head and the problem was cleared right up.
According to the files Clint broke into, none of the rest remembered the time fondly. Clint made sure no one knew he did.
Natasha hadn’t mentioned, to anyone, how good a liar Clint Barton actually was, when he wanted to be.
Phil had known.
.
“If you had but asked me,” Loki mentions three days after he reclaimed Clint, “I might have spared your lover. He was courageous.” Loki’s lips twist in a tiny smile. “He had heart.”
Clint hadn’t even thought to ask, the first time Loki had him. A distant part of him is glad Phil never saw this, how he bent and broke himself open for Loki, how he spread wide and gave Loki everything.
.
Whatever game Loki’s playing now, it seems to be intended purely to drive Clint insane. They’re in a highrise in Manhattan; every time Clint looks out the windows facing west, he sees the Avengers tower. Loki hasn’t left since they arrived. He’s given Clint freerun of the place, but Clint hasn’t even tried to get out. He doesn’t want to get out. Loki is his master, his god, his reason.
Loki talks to him. Asks about books, movies, TV. Poetry and music. His thoughts on history, philosophy, architecture. Clint’s not stupid, and there were a few books he read for fun, after he mostly taught himself. But his whole life, he’s been an act or a weapon. Nothing more. Give him a direction and let him loose.
Except with Phil. But he never had enough time with Phil to really just be. To sit on the couch and argue about watching Supernanny or Top Shot and complain about what the ‘experts’ were doing wrong.
“What’s the plan, sir?” he asks on the one-week mark. One week in this building, close enough to see the windows at home, to know he could get there in under two minutes – one week of doing nothing but talking with the alien demigod who killed Phil.
One week of caring about nothing except making sure Loki was happy and content and safe.
“Need to know, Clint,” Loki says. “You don’t yet need to know.”
.
Two weeks, three, four.
Look into the mirror, little hawk, Loki whispers in his mind, forehead resting on Clint’s back.
Clint raises his head, gazing at his reflection – his eyes are completely normal. Not clouded at all.
You are mine, Loki says, arms wrapping around him. Mine to have, mine to keep. I take such good care of that which is mine.
“Yes, sir,” Clint replies aloud.
His master murmurs against his skin, “Call me Loki.”
.
They leave Manhattan, North America. They hunt; Loki gives him a new face, a list of names and locations, and lets him off the leash.
Hawkeye is a weapon, after all. A predator. He was long before SHIELD had him.
“I have others to see,” Loki tells him, leaving with a kiss to his forehead and a gentle caress. “I’ll fetch you in five days.”
“Yes, Loki,” Clint says.
He looks into the first mirror he finds: black hair, green eyes, tan skin. Taller than he’s ever been, whipcord thin. He blinks and sees himself, eyes still clear blue, before the illusion is firmly back in place.
Five days and over a hundred men to kill, in eighteen cities and four countries.
He does it in three and spends the rest asleep, dreaming of Phil and Loki and a sky so blue it burns.
.
“Well done, my hawk,” Loki says when he appears beside Clint, stretched out on the bed.
“It was my pleasure, Loki,” Clint replies, rolling over to face him.
“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” Loki murmurs, smiling.
.
They go back to New York, and Clint can see his team from the windows, and it feels like Loki is goddamned wooing him, which is crazy, because Clint is already Loki’s in every way that matters, in mind, body, and soul, in word and deed, deep down in his heart.
Any one of their names could’ve been on that list Loki gave him, and he’d have put bullets in all their brains. He wouldn’t hesitate. Even now – he can imagine it, staring down the scope, finger on the trigger.
He would kill them and go back to Loki, neck bared, underbelly showing, and wait for the next order
“You are my spear,” Loki muses, watching Clint sort through his arrows. “An extension of myself.”
A tiny part of Clint, deep down, asks, What are you going to have me do?
The rest of him says, “Always.”
.
He knows what they’d tell him. What they have told him. After, when everyone was searching for a reason and Phil was dead. It hadn’t been his fault, they promised, the shrinks and his team and Tasha. It was all Loki. Loki in his mind, Loki aiming him like a weapon. But he was still in there, they all said, because Hawkeye doesn’t miss.
He hadn’t been ordered to kill, is the thing. He was making noise and taking down the helicarrier, but Loki didn’t want them dead yet.
No one he cared about would’ve died, if he’d only asked Loki for Phil’s life. But he didn’t ask, and that’s on him. He doesn’t hold Loki accountable for that.
Anyway. He knows what they’d say, if he walked out the front door and the two minutes to the Avengers’ tower. They’d repeat what they already said, three years ago.
They’d tell him it’s all based on a lie. His affection, his adoration of Loki. He was burnt up and hollowed out, Loki rewiring him, remaking him into a warrior for Loki’s desire and delight.
He knows that. That’s how it started.
But his eyes aren’t clouded blue anymore. Maybe he was rewired, but he knows – knows like he knows the feel of his bow, and the way an arrow sings, and how he once knew all the secrets of Phil’s voice and body – being hit in the head won’t fix it, not this time.
He knows there’s nothing to fix. He’s Loki’s, from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet to the marrow in his bones.
He’s Loki’s. And there’s no coming back from that.
Not this time.
.
He dreams of Phil, and Loki, and a sky so blue it burns. Then he wakes up, presses himself against Loki, and opens up wide, ready and willing, and knows he’s right where he needs to be.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2012-06-24 05:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-06-25 04:13 am (UTC)Thank you for reading!
(no subject)
Date: 2012-07-14 05:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-07-16 03:31 pm (UTC)Thank you so much!