Chapter Text
“Cap, I’ve got another one.” The warehouse isn’t old, but aged enough to have peeling paint on the outer edges and stripped back to rust in some parts. The forest around the building towers over it like it intends to swallow everything whole and the severe cloud cover isn’t helping with the shady-haunted feeling in the slightest.
Clint presses his lips together and squints through his S.H.I.E.L.D. issued sunglasses to see the building better. The lenses are equipped with heat moditors and night vision, but Clint has them turned on the latter. The lightning flaring above the building every six or seven seconds is offering light, but not enough to truly see from.
“Copy that, Hawkeye, moving to your position; you are clear to engage.” Steve’s voice filters through the comm attached to his hearing aid and Clint nods, though Steve can’t see it and releases a breath. Steve sounds as tired as he feels, which isn’t a surprise, Clint doesn’t think he’s slept in at least three days. Clint has attempted, but every time he lays down his mind spins and he ends up wandering around the room instead.
One month and three days of following at empty leads and Clint is admittedly starting to get tired. He isn’t giving up though, utterly refuses to, but at the same time the lack of sleep and extended stress have worn on him. This storm is promising, though, one of the reasons they dropped by here anyway.
Clint stares at the hill extending towards the warehouse before taking a step on it. The dirt shifts under his feet, skittering outwards like it’s afraid of his boot and Clint takes another step forward sliding down the hill with practiced ease. The wind is blowing past him, violently, not to the point of throwing him off balance but quick enough to be impressive.
Clint grabs at the edge of a tree as he reaches the end of the small hill and his fingers grip at the rough bark for a moment as he halts before he looks up and narrows his eyes. The building is maybe six meters from him and looks much bigger up close; about twelve meters from the front and likely eighteen long, and the paint job is much worse closer. The stone was likely a bright happy grey but is now a sickly brown and green at some edges.
It’s probably even more beautiful up close. Clint snorts softly at the thought before moving forward quickly. There isn’t any outward security that he can see, it just looks empty, cold and abandoned, like one of Cooper’s science projects.
Clint shakes the thought from his head and reaches the door pressing his hand against the cool metal. It’s thick under his fingers but hallow. Clint scans for the lock, a keypad or the split between the doors and sees the latter a second later. Clint moves the few steps towards it and swings an explosive arrow from his quiver, slamming it between the cracks. The arrow slips between the thin space sticking from the pressure, Clint pulls his hand back and backs up a few steps. Lightning crackles overhead and Clint’s gaze flickers towards it briefly.
“I’m about the blow the doors, what’s your ETA?” Clint asks pressing his fingers against the comm to get a better signal.
“About two minutes.” Steve answers, breathless.
“‘Kay.” Clint answers and takes another few steps back as the arrow blinks twice before exploding. The doors quiver from the pressure the metal exploding out from where it was touched by the force and Clint ducks, covering his head with his left hand and a few stray pieces of shrapnel scratch at him. He presses his lips together, remaining quiet and lifts his head as the severity of the noises die down about ten seconds later.
The doors are swinging in the wind now releasing an eerie creak into the air the darkness of the building looming, classic horror setup. Perfect for it, really. Now all he needs is a handful of bad decisions and a murderer. Clint rolls his eyes slightly and grabs a small LED light from off his belt flicking it on and stares on the innereds of the building with his glasses.
There are large crates lining the walls as well as three or four abandoned cement trucks. The green haze is shadowing over everything and likely doesn’t show any of the proper amount of dust. Clint presses his lips together but pushes his glasses up into his hairline and lifts the light up. Yup, plenty of dust. The ground looks like it’s been covered in sand because of it.
Clint puts the light between his teeth and grabs an arrow pressing it against the string and pulling slightly, prepared for something to leap out at him. It wouldn’t be the first time, a few days ago Natasha pulled him out of a firefight and a few before that he dragged Steve from a rigged explosion. With all the near death escapades they’ve experienced during their searches, he would love to admit that they’ve found something but there's still nothing.
Thor’s been missing for thirty-five days and the only lead they’ve had is Mjolnir resting in the New Mexico desert and Jane Foster’s frantic words, “ He was going to pick up Darcy from the store. She borrowed my car and he didn’t make it.” They ripped apart the state looking for the missing Asgardian but returned empty handed.
Asgard has been silent and the only reason they don’t think Thor returned to his home world is Mjolnir. Still sitting in the middle of a desert along with a small crash sight. They’ve had nothing. No leads, no Asgard, no ransom, zip, zero, nada. Thor might’ve well have dropped of the face of the planet for all the way things are going.
Whatever took Thor did it exceptionally well and it admittedly makes Clint squirm slightly. Whoever managed to capture Thor needs a medal. Clint’s seen him get shot by Stark’s arc reactor and walk away a few minutes later, laughing. Thor had been working with S.H.I.E.L.D. more often over the last few months and Clint has grown closer to him. Thor’s supposed to be indestructible. Supposed to be able to drop a building on him and he’ll walk away. He isn’t supposed to...disappear. The only, only lead they’ve had is the weather. Tony’s been watching it like a hawk since he learned of the disappearance two weeks and some days ago and tracking the unusual storms. That’s all they’ve been going off of. When the weather is weird, they jump into a Quinjet and fly to the area.
It’s all been empty so far.
Where is he?
Clint whirls as he hears a thump and lifts his bow arrow notched and lifts it to the face of-Steve. It’s Steve. Said captain in question lifts his hands up in surrender then squints at him after a second, “Are you holding the light in your teeth?”
Uh...yes? He is. He doesn’t exactly have a free hand to hold it in. Laura often pesters him about it but she’s no better. It’s where he got it from. Clint shrugs in answer before turning back to the warehouse. The darkness seems to swallow everything but the light presses against it, battling with all it's little might to break it.
Steve moves into step beside him, shield in one hand lifted up. They dread silently across the dusty ground the wind blowing into the open doors and pushing against their backs. Steve didn’t bring a light so Clint’s is the only source they have. It’s about three in the afternoon but impossible to tell from the overcast. The windows are so murky here that they’re tinted black around the edges.
“No time for clean up, was there?” Steve’s voice asks softly penetrating the silence. Despite the soft tone his voice echoes and Clint sends him a pointed look but halts as he sees that Steve has stopped and is squinting at something.
Clint spins the arrow between his fingers and lifts the bow drawing the string back but Steve grabs his arm, “no, wait.” He commands. His voice is much softer this time and it only reaches the two of them. His tone sounds breathless with disbelief or something else and Clint squints forward. The brightness of the light is blinding him slightly but he turns his head in the direction Steve was staring at and his breath catches.
Although much dirtier and somehow smaller Clint still recognizes Thor in half a heartbeat. The Asgardian is laying on his back, eyes closed one hand wrapped around something lying limp on his chest. A thin tan shirt is covering his torso and an he’s sporting an equally colored pair of pants. The clothing looks strange on him but for some reason his bare feet strike Clint more than anything else.
Steve is already racing towards their fallen teammate and Clint follows half a second behind. He snaps his bow closed and swings it onto his quiver twirling the arrow back into its original place and pulls the flashlight from his mouth.
“Thor!” Steve says and skids to his knees, shield behind him, forgotten. Steve’s hands float over Thor’s chest for a moment as if he’s afraid to touch him and Clint reaches them both a moment later. The light spreads over the blond and beyond a faint bruising around one eye and a long gash along his forehead he can’t see anything immidnant or life threatening. He looks pale, his usually tan skin is waxy and slightly grey but there is little else.
Steve rests a hand on his shoulder finally seeming to snap and gives it a shake. Clint can see the no resistance Thor’s muscles give and Steve looks back at him, worried. Clint drops to his knees beside Steve and tosses a bit of Thor’s long hair away from his neck to press against the revealed skin. Steve inhales slightly and Clint pleads quietly for a pulse.
It comes a moment later, weak and thready but there.
“There’s a pulse.” Clint reports, his voice soft. It just seems wrong somehow to speak loudly right now. Steve exhales and nods before turning and pressing a hand against his ear. Clint stares at Thor’s chest seeking for breath and sees the very faint rise and fall and can hear the very low hisses of Thor’s breathing. It’s a wonder they didn’t hear it immediately from how empty this building is.
“Director Fury, this is Captain Rogers.” Steve says behind him and Clint doesn’t glance back instead grabs at Thor’s hand and peels his fingers apart. He’s gripping at something like it’s his life line and will somehow save him from all the evils of the universe, Thor offers no resistance. Clint lifts his light and stares at the pendant for a moment.
It’s a necklace looped with leather and tied around Thor’s neck, Clint can see it now because he’s looking for it. The pendant is some sort of long squiggly thing that makes little sense to him, but it’s probably something important if Thor was gripping at it so tightly. Clint presses Thor’s lax fingers against the squiggly thing frowning. It almost feels like he’s intruding by staring at it, whatever it is.
“S.H.I.E.L.D.’s on their way with a medical, twenty minutes out.” Steve reports.
Clint nods, “Good.” They used to bring the teams with them at first but as time wore on S.H.I.E.L.D. stopped stretching their resources and tried (failing) to stop the searches after week three. Steve, himself and Natasha and smiled pleasantly at the order before agreeing to search between missions whenever they could.
Clint stares at the Asgardian for a long moment, “What do you think happened?” He asks quietly.
He doesn’t see it but imagines a soft shrug, “I don’t know,” Steve admits, “I don’t think we will know until he wakes up.”
Although he doesn’t like it, he quietly agrees. He wants answers, more than that he was names. He’d be more than willing to deal out justice to those who harmed his teammate, a list a mumble whatever, Clint’s going to sleep easier once he’s put an arrow through the eye socket of the person who captured him.
Although Clint halfway expects it to be otherwise, Thor remains still and unmoving in the twenty minute wait. He doesn’t twitch and Steve checks twice to make sure he’s still breathing. Thor’s never been quiet. It’s not...it’s not Thor. Thor knows how to be silent, yes, but he’s all smiles, laughter and jokes but he’s not...like this. Dead-like. That’s Tasha’s job in the morning after a late night and she just wants more sleep.
S.H.I.E.L.D. arrives unquietly with the roar of a helicopter and Clint and Steve turn as the men rush into the warehouse their footsteps echoing. Behind the dozen or so people is Fury and Clint can make out the distinct flare of Natasha’s hair.
The medics swirl towards them then past and two lean down to check vitals (which they probably should have been doing) before pulling out a stretcher and slowly moving Thor’s body onto it. His limbs offer no resistance. Steve grabs one end of the stretcher before anyone can argue clutching at it almost positively and his eyes are quietly daring anyone to question him. They don’t.
Clint moves back towards Fury and Natasha as they pull Thor from the warehouse. How he got here is a mystery. This isn’t a torture chamber or anywhere near New Mexico. Has he seriously been sitting here this entire time, unconscious? His subconscious quickly and violently protests this conjecture.
Natasha watches Thor with unblinking eyes until she cant and then turns to Fury. Fury isn’t looking at her instead watching Clint, “You found him here, like that?” He asks. His voice is sharp and unwavering demanding a truthful answer, as always.
“Yes, Sir.” Clint says. “He didn’t twitch well we waited.” He reports.
“I want a full debrief when we get back to base, let’s go.” Fury spins his long coat billowing behind him in a dramatic way that must break at least three laws of physics and Natasha and Clint trail after him to the Quinjet. Natasha watches him for a moment as if trying to dig information out of him but Clint remains silent taking a seat on one of the benches and gripping his knees.
The take off jerks slightly from the force of the weather but they manage to get into the air without promptly crashing. Natasha takes a seat next to him, but doesn’t say anything. Clint is grateful for it and instead drowns in his own thoughts.
---
A loud, violent crash sounds from outside and Jane spins grabbing the first weapon available near her and grabs it with both hands. The lamp is heavy and horribly off balance in her hands but Jane doesn’t care. She grips it tightly and rises to her feet in front of Thor’s bed who is starting to look up, disoriented and confused.
Jane shifts to rest a hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder and gives it a quick squeeze, “It’s okay, Babe.” She assures quietly before tensing as another loud crash rings outside. If they want to get her Asgardian, they’re going to have to get him over her dead corpse.
The people are getting closer and she can pick out voices:
“--we’re not going to let you in there to kill him!” Clint. It’s Clint, he sounds angry, not worried and arguing with someone. If he was an actual threat, he wouldn’t be doing that.
A low murmuring of a voice answers, accented but they aren’t close enough for Jane to pick out what’s being said. This, Jane assumes, is the person Clint is trying to stop. Maybe it’s S.H.I.E.L.D..
Jane’s grip on the lamp tightens. “What’s--?” Thor asks blearily behind her and swings his legs over the bed. He doesn’t look ready to be doing much of anything beyond laying in the bed and his long tangled hair falls over his shoulders.
Before Jane can answer there’s another loud crash, this time very close to the door and she and Thor flinch before a gunshot rings out. This seems to be enough for the intruder because there’s another violent crash and Clint gives a shout of pain before a loud voice yells, “ JUST LET ME SEE HIM!”
Jane’s spine goes rigid and she sees Thor still from the corner of her eye.
No way. No way. No flipping way. It can’t be him. It can’t. Jane never met him personally, but she’s seen enough of the footage from the New York attack and she and Darcy hacked into S.H.E.I.L.D.’s files a few months ago when Natasha and Tony went missing trying to find context clues but they stumbled across footage of Loki instead. They’d watched then regretted it but Jane still recognizes the voice. It’s different in person than it was over a microphone, but still reconizible.
Loki.
The door swings open a moment later and not violently like Jane was expecting but smoothly, evenly, calmly, and she sees Loki’s figure step into the room. She feels her eyebrows shoot dangerously high in surprise. There aren’t any leathers, no giant horned helmet to show his statis above everyone else, no staff, no weapons it looks like, just strangely black sweatpants and a deep green hoodie. The hoodie looks several sizes to big for him and hangs off his frame like drapes and his dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail. His green eyes immediately zero on her and he has the termity to smile.
“Ms. Foster,” He greets, his near British accent gleaming into the room. The way he says her name sends an involuntary shiver down her back. Jane grips the lamp firmer, harder, bracing herself for an attack.
She dares a glace around his gaunt frame to hallway where she can see Clint struggling to his feet. He looks like he got thrown into a nearby window frame and slammed his head against the glass. There aren’t any cracks but it still looks like it hurt.
Jane manages to untangle her tongue from where it was frozen to the roof of her mouth, “Get out.” She hisses and raises the lamp higher. Thor seems frozen behind her, eyes locked on the younger, crazy Asgardian.
The skin around his eyes tightens but the plastic smile doesn’t shift. He takes another step into the room and Jane’s muscles tense. “You aren’t going to kill him, today, or any day so get out of the Tower before the Avengers assemble and kick your sorry butt back to the hole you climbed out of.” She growls. Loki’s eyes seem to lighten with laughter at that. A thought occurs to her suddenly, “Aren’t you supposed to be in prison anyway? How did you get out?”
“I never left.” Loki says simply and takes a step further into the room. He looks completely relaxed like he’s meant to be here and she is the stranger. Ha. No.
“I’m warning you,” Jane promises and takes a step away from Thor towards the younger sibling. She sees Clint manage to make it to his feet and move behind Loki quietly. The trickster doesn’t seem aware of his presence and Jane plans to keep it that way. Keep that attention on her while Clint tackles the mad man in front of her. Okay, simple.
“Loki?” The word sounds strangely strangled and Jane looks back to see Thor looking up, his gaze, for once, seems completely focused and aware of his surroundings.
Loki’s head cocks slightly and he looks at Thor, giving a slight dip of his head in answer. His mouth opens to say something but Clint motions swinging with his hand and seeing no reason not to comply, Jane races a few more feet and swings the lamp like a baseball bat prepared to make home run. The side of it collides with Loki’s face and his eyes widen just a fracture before Clint leaps on him from behind tackling the dark haired Asgardian to the ground.
Loki lands face first and Jane hears a sickening crack as his forehead slams against the ground. She doesn’t feel guilty, just winces at the noise slightly.
“Loki--” Thor starts again, this time seeming distressed. The blond attempts to struggle to his feet and grabs the bedpost leaning against it heavily. “Stop.” He commands, he sounds tired. Apparently, the fact that this is his would-be-murderer has not clicked yet. They may be siblings-adopted siblings whatever, but Loki defenestrated the familial relation when he stabbed Thor on Stark Tower.
Clint pulls Loki’s left hand across his back and slams his knee into the raven-haired keeping him firmly planted on the ground. Loki hisses under his breath, surprisingly not unconscious from what should have given him a concussion and slams his free hands fist on the ground. Jane braces, preparing for some sort of magical outburst but nothing happens other than the carpet getting abused.
“Mr. Barton,” Jarvis’s voice calls suddenly, startling her. Oh yeah, she keeps forgetting he’s present. Jarvis’s voice sound slightly strained, as much as it can for an AI. “Please halt your attack on Mr. Silvertongue.”
Mr. Silvertongue?
Did Loki manage to reprogram Jarvis with some sort of spell or something? What the heck is going on!? Jarvis shouldn’t just see evil super villains on their way to murder their siblings and instead of halting them decide, well, I like this one, then not allow anyone to attack them. He could have locked Thor’s door and not let the mad Asgardian into the room.
Jane hears rushing footsteps before finally, blessedly, the rest of the Avengers stumble into the room. Natasha and Tony are at the front, the former with a gun raised and the latter with a repulser and she can see Steve and Bruce behind them. They pour into the room and as Steve and Bruce take defensive positions beside Thor and her, Natasha and Tony trek the distance between them and Loki and rather than admit defeat like Jane was quietly hoping, Loki looks up and gives and irritated scowl.
Tony smiles, tightly, but still smiles, “I, uh, take it you got the text.” Text? What text. Tony texted Loki? Does Loki even have a phone? Why would Tony tell him about Thor’s condition?
“Yes.” Loki answers between gritted teeth. Clint twists his wrist further and a ragged breath escapes Loki’s throat. “Will you tell this ignoramus dunce to get off me.”
They won't, right. They’ll just knock him out and drag him off to S.H.I.E.L.D. where he can be their problem.
Natasha spins the gun and shoves it into the hostlier around her pant leg, “Clint, stop.”
Clint looks up at Natasha, as flabbergasted as she feels, “Are you insane? It’s Loki.”
“Yes,” Natasha says, her voice perfectly even, “he’s not a threat.”
“Not a threat?” Clint repeats, his gaze locks onto her, his eyes boring into hers as if searching for something. Mind control. Clint seems to forget Loki entirely and halts his attack rising to his feet and stares at Tony and Natasha for a long moment. His quiet seems deadly.
Loki rises to his feet and flexes his wrist several times holding it close to his chest. He doesn’t look deadly, he doesn’t pull a weapon, if anything he shifts closer to Tony who doesn’t seem disturbed at all by the notion and instead takes a slight defensive position in front of him.
What the heck!?
Clint stares between Tony and Natasha before looking at Loki, “What did you do to them?”
“Nothing.” Natasha answers, immediately. She bites her lip slightly before resting a hand on Clint’s shoulder, “He did nothing, Clint. I--”
“We need to talk.” Tony says instead.
---
“Alright, so he’s banished to Earth for his own and Asgard’s safety but what I don’t get is why he doesn’t try to go back.”
“‘He’ is present.” Loki says dryly.
Steve ignores him, “I mean, you’re a master sorcerer, right?”
“Yes.” Loki says, his voice sounds tense.
“And Thor told us about your world-walking abilities, so you don’t go back or try and gather another army because why? Did someone take your magic away--?”
Steve’s voice is cut short as Loki’s temper seems to reach its end. He leans forward and grabs at the edge of his hoodie yanking it up to his elbow. Jane recoils back physically at the gruesome sight. Long ugly burns scar the back of his forearm, reaching from a little past his wrist to the skin under his elbow. The trails of pink-red skin stand out against his pale skin almost with neon lights standing up to the sky. They look like scribbles. No, not scribbles, letters.
Someone burned letters into his arm.
Utter silence swallows the room.
Loki talks after a minute, his voice is deceptively calm. “It is impossible to take magic as you said from a sorcerer. It is a lifeforce in the blood. To take my magic would be to give me a horrible gruesome death that would detach my blood vessels from my body and rip my beating heart from my chest.” Jane cringes at the mental imagery that immediately leaps to her mind, “I have been fabled the greatest sorcerer in the Nine Realms, Rogers, any enchantment they cast on me I could have removed, Odin’s spells had no effect and my mother refused to try.” Loki pauses, letting out a forced breath. Natasha gives his shoulder a quick squeeze. The strangeness of the three of them sitting side by side almost blows Jane’s mind.
They look so at ease with each other, as if New York never happened and they’ve been preschool friends till the end of college. Loki doesn’t violently shrug of Natasha’s hand or try to stab her as Jane half expects, and Tony is quiet, not making any scathing remarks as he would have if it was anyone else telling the story. When Tony and Natasha reappeared, insisting they were helped by and outside force that didn’t give them a name but helped them survive they were closer. It’s hard to image them with the deep mistrust. They’re like brother and sister now and somehow Loki got wrangled into it.
Loki traces a pattern with his finger idly for a moment, “They finally realized that if I cannot project it with my hands, that my focus would be lost and I essentially powerless. So they burned my hands and branded me, collapsing vessels and damaging others. So tell me, Captain, without sorcery and unable to use my hands, am I threat?”
Steve is silent.
“I am not here to conquer you, nor murder you in your sleep, if I wanted you dead you would be.”
But New York--?
“I am here because my brother is sick and I will help him in the recovery. If you don’t let me stay here, I will take Thor elsewhere. It is your decision.”
---
Thor grabs at Loki’s wrist pushing up the sleeve on accident and Loki stills but turns to face him face slightly irritable. Thor’s more focused on the revealed, pale skin with the even paler scars. They look white, ghostly in the lighting but he can still make it out. His blue eyes rise to his little brother’s and he can tell that they’re wide. Loki’s mouth is open in question but he slowly drags his gaze down to his arm and sees what Thor is staring at. Loki’s lips press together firmly, almost in what looks painfully and he closes his eyes a moment later releasing a long breath.
“Release me.” Loki’s voice is soft, yet still holds a commanding edge to it. Thor shakes his head and instead drags Loki back down towards the bed where the younger touples in a heap of limbs and releases his arm, as instructed. Loki sits up slowly long hair falling in front of his face and he exhales. “I suppose you’re not letting me leave until I explain, are you?”
Thor nods in agreement.
Loki lets out a soft laugh that’s tinged with bitterness. He rubs at his wrist for a second before pulling the sleeve over the scars. He’s quiet for a long moment, “Father banished me to Midgard eight months ago and I...wasn’t lucid, I suppose. The Chitauri were- are still hunting me and I couldn’t stay in once place for long. I dragged myself across the country until I hit New York where I stole some money and bought an apartment. It was supposed to be for a month at most but I couldn’t get myself to leave-the destruction was still everywhere and no amount of blindfolds could cover it enough for me. I began to help where I could but my efforts were not appreciated. I couldn’t take the pain anymore so I began to relieve it in my blood. It helped, for a while, but I couldn’t compete with the apathy and four months ago I...went to the coast with hopes of drowning...instead, Tony and Nat crashed into it. They were both severely injured from an undercover mission gone wrong so I took them back to my apartment. I healed them and they in turn...gave me purpose. Hope. I gave them my blades I used for the cutting, Nat has one and Tony has the other.