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A stinging pain at his abdomen awoke Clint from his rather nice sleep, at an hour way too early to be awake (7:30 am, the clock beside him read). He groaned, blearily rubbing his eyes and sitting up. Sure, he was used to waking up with bruises and cuts still healing, but that didn’t make it pleasant. He shuffled a bit, trying to sit up, but that’s when he noticed something- his sheets and blanket were a boring slate grey, and not the usual purple. That, and as he moved, his pajama top felt too silky, and upon looking at it, it was indeed a clean, expensive-looking silk (rather than the old graphic tee he swore he’d fallen asleep in, which was definitely clean and not found on his floor). In addition, upon looking around the (very, very clean) room, he could not locate the half-eaten pizza box that was supposed to be on the floor to the left of his dresser. Which meant, he decided, that this room was entirely not his.
Had he crashed in someone else’s room again?
He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. He would go check out whatever wounds were bugging him in the bathroom, and then he’d leave and wander back to his room. And then continue sleeping until the correct time to get up, which was 12:30 at the earliest .
He threw his feet over the bed, sat there for a moment, and then winced at the pain at his abdomen as he stood. He really couldn’t remember what he’d done this time, although that wasn’t unusual. He needed a pot of coffee. After he got up again, noon had passed.
He fumbled open the door to the bathroom and missed the light switch twice, only to stop dead in his tracks at his reflection. It seemed he’d not only woken up in the wrong room, but the wrong body as well- staring back at Clint in the mirror was not himself, but… Loki. Was he in a dream? (Or rather, a nightmare?)
Clint wanted to gag, to wretch. Loki? Who’d held the Chitauri Scepter to his chest, took away his free will? Invaded his mind and made him a pawn? Leaving his head twisted in ways he could have never imagined, never fathomed before? Who’d used him against Natasha? Rage bubbled up in his chest, he began to seethe. What sort of sick, vile trick was this?
Another wave of pain distracted him from his thoughts momentarily (the pain confirming that he was not, in fact, dreaming), and could not help the curiosity that washed over him. How had this self-righteous god got himself hurt? He hadn’t been on any missions as of late. Clint had the urge to take off his (or rather, Loki’s) shirt to see what it was. After all, why shouldn’t he? After all the violation Loki had done to him, was Clint not entitled to invade him?
Clint pulled the silk top over his head defiantly, and tossed it to the ground. Although the sight he was met with was not what he’d been expecting. The cuts he saw were not that of a fight or battle of some sort, not from training. No, these looked… perfect. Intentional . And deeper than he had originally thought. The red cuts were perfectly symmetrical, reflecting on either side of his stomach. They made a design of sorts, one that looked almost artistic. In addition, they were only just barely closed, barely enough that it seemed a few had reopened.
The other thing Clint noticed was how absolutely thin Loki’s body was- skeletal , even. His stomach seemed the slightest bit concave, and all his ribs were visible when he inhaled, even just if just softly.
“What the-” The voice coming from Clint’s mouth also startled him. While it was still how he would talk, same inflection and all, it was definitely Loki’s voicebox. No Asgardian accent, though, obviously, which did sound a bit strange. This was a lot of events stuffed into his first five minutes of being awake, none of which he could have even dreamed of anticipating.
It seemed maybe Clint was going to need that pot of coffee prematurely.
- o 〇 o -
Loki jolted upright, awakening harshly from yet another nightmare. Sweat poured down his body as he tried regaining his composure. However, as reality came back to him, he was hit with a new horror: this was not his room. It was musty and smelled of unwashed clothes and old food (both of which could be found all over the floor, laundry and a pizza box or two were strewn everywhere). There was a dartboard mounted on the wall, with a few darts in it, and a few dangerously on the floor.
Looking down to note the messy, purple bedding, he realized he was not in his own pajamas, either. It was a purple graphic tee, one that smelled like it had been worn a few too many times.
And worst of all, he didn’t even seem to be wearing his own skin. This wasn’t even Loki’s body. At all.
This was Clint’s room, and Clint’s body (which was just as messy as the room).
Loki could feel himself go pale. He quickly hurried to the room’s attached bathroom, confirming his dread in the mirror. There Clint was, staring back at him. Messy dirty blond hair, stubble, and bandaids all over. Instinctively, Loki started to pick at his left palm, the sting there solidifying the fact that he was not dreaming.
Loki was no stranger to the feeling of being in the wrong body (gender dysphoria and all that), but this was something else entirely. Far more literal. Even when he felt he was in the wrong sex, it still felt like his body, just… the wrong form of his body. Honestly, even when he shapeshifted to look like an entirely different person (he had many reasons for doing this, he was a trickster and of political importance, after all), it at least felt more like his body than this .
Loki’s heart skipped a beat. This was very obviously not his body, so did that mean his seiðr was gone? He instinctively whipped out his hand and cast out a tendril of green light in front of him. He breathed out a sigh of relief- he had his seiðr. And really, it made sense. His seiðr was a core part of him, but not quite as physical as the rest of his body. It was more what Midgardians might refer to as a “soul” or “spirit”. Well, sort of. But either way, that seemed to be what had been switched, his soul. Spirit. Essence. And his seiðr. He could feel his own essence react with the foreign body; it was more sharp and opposing. This contrasted with the way his seiðr flowed in harmony with his own body.
The feeling of relief didn’t last long however, as that information sent out a new chill- did his real body still have its spells done on it? It should , as that’s how the spells worked. But when a spell was cast upon him, was it done to his physical form, or his seiðr? Or both? He knew it largely depended on the spell, and some he knew for certain as to how they worked, but some were a bit more vague. And what of the spell Odin had cast upon him, to give him his Asgardian form? He imagined it would still be there, but what if it wasn’t?
And that gave Loki one final bit of dread that dripped down his spine- his memories of what he’d done last night. He had not put an illusion over that, he was going to wait until morning to cast it. And that was something he did not want whoever was in his body seeing (assuming there was someone in there. He desperately hoped it wasn’t Clint).
Loki needed to find his body.
- o 〇 o -
Clint was currently going through Loki’s entire room. Opening all the drawers, looking under the bed, everything. And to his dismay, it was rather boring. Everything was completely empty- there was absolutely nothing in any of the drawers, no clothes in the closet (which thoroughly contradicted the extensive wardrobe Loki constantly wore), there was no shampoo nor conditioner in the shower, there was no hidden stashes of anything hidden anywhere. It seemed completely unlived in. Which Clint supposed was actually rather curious, not boring, but still.
Not even the decor was personalized, it was all what had come with what every bedroom in the compound had come with. Which was not that exciting. And this was not boding well for Clint’s plan to go through Loki’s stuff to find out everything about him he could, so he could maybe try to get some sort of revenge. Sabotage or something.
Really, Clint couldn’t think of any revenge that was enough. In all honesty, he wanted Loki to die a painful, slow death at his hand, right after using the Chitauri Scepter on HIM, but that was not an option. And when Thor had shown up at the compound announcing that they'd both be staying, Clint had thrown the biggest, angriest fit in his life. When it had become apparent that none of the other Avengers were going to side with him (not that they were too happy to side with Thor), he straight up left back to his farm. But duty called, and he was back here, and now stuck in his worst enemy’s body.
Just perfect.
Clint winced in pain again as the cuts made themself apparent once more. After seeing them in the mirror he'd put the shirt back on and decided to ignore it. No way he was going to unpack the implications of what was under there. Although, he’d also decided not to bandage them up or anything- after all, why should he help his enemy with his wounds? He was beginning to have second thoughts, though. It was getting in the way.
But just as Clint decided to return to the bathroom, he heard the bedroom door close softly (he hadn't even heard it open), and next thing he knew he was being held at knifepoint by… Clint.
- o 〇 o -
Loki quietly snuck from Clint's room, mentally calculating the route to his room that was the least likely to run him into someone. Really, he could impersonate Clint (or any of the other Avengers) perfectly well, but he'd rather just get this over with the least complications possible.
However, on the way back to his room, he could overhear a conversation coming from the communal kitchen. It was hushed, though, due to the early hour. Loki peaked around the corner.
Three Avengers- Sam, Bucky, and Steve. They all seemed to be arguing as quietly as possible.
“Get me the hell outta this old man body,” Said Bucky’s mouth, but it was obviously Sam’s pattern of speech.
“I'm in better shape than you, asshole.” Steve retorted, though it was Bucky, no doubt to it.
Bucky raised his arms to try to settle the other two. “Both of you, calm down.” Steve. “We can work this out. We’ll wait until some other Avengers wake up, and we'll figure it out from there. Until then, just be patient.”
Ah, Loki thought. So it seems to be the whole lot of us. Maybe he'd get lucky and it wasn’t Clint in his body.
He ducked away once more and completed the journey to his room. The whole time, though, his worry grew. Usually, with the cuts he'd given himself last night, he would have woken him up a few times during the night from them, which probably meant whoever was in his body was already awake. But then again, Loki was a rather light sleeper… Thought after thought just kept tumbling around his brain.
As Loki approached his door, he could hear drawers being opened and closed in a seemingly frantic sort of fashion, amongst other such noises. Which did not help the apprehension in his chest. He opened the door as softly as possible, and by the time the door closed, he’d already made his way over to his own body, knife summoned and held out in front of him. He wouldn’t have done it if he weren’t so on edge, but at least he held it somewhat casually.
“Who are you?” He demanded, Asgardian accent coming from the wrong lips.
- o 〇 o -
Okay, so maybe Clint was quite being held at knifepoint, but the knife was still pointed at him. The cold glare coming from his body’s eyes only confirmed the worst- that it indeed was Loki in his body. Although, the accent and knife made that pretty obvious as well.
“Who do you think, dipshit?” He spat. “You're the one who got us into this mess.”
“So you really are Clint. Great.” Loki's voice was sour. “And I did not do this. This is not my magic. I was just as surprised when I woke up to be in your body.”
“And what if I said I didn’t believe you?”
“What would I have to gain from switching the bodies and souls of everyone in the compound?” Loki’s exasperation was mixed with aggravation. “And why in the Nine Realms would I switch yours with my own? I don’t want you invading my body, and I do not want to be in yours.”
Clint paused for a moment. “The whole compound? Everyone’s switched up?”
“I’m guessing. Not many people are up yet, but Steve, Bucky, and Sam were in the kitchen, all three mixed up amongst each other.”
Clint didn’t know what to feel, if this wasn’t some trick Loki and his fucked-up self had wanted to play. “Then who did it?” He demanded angrily.
“How am I supposed to know?” Loki gestured with his hand that still had a knife.
“You’re magic. Figure it out.” Clint seethed, voice dangerously low.
Loki was glaring straight back at him, and his nose twitched before closing his eyes and trying to concentrate. As he did so, Clint thought it rather disconcerting to see his own body in third person, especially paired with the wrong mannerisms.
“I can feel a foreign essence that is not mine and is not yours. It’s magic… Midgardian magic. And it feels familiar, and… it feels… orange.”
“Orange?” Clint deadpanned.
“Yes. And it’s Stephen Strange’s magic.” Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. “That… that useless ᛞᚢᛜᚨ!”
Well. Clint didn’t know what that meant, but it wasn’t hard to guess.
Loki stood like that for a second more before lowering his hand and making the knife disappear for the other. He looked like he was about to leave.
Clint grabbed his arm before he could pull away. “And where the fuck do you think you're going?”
“To get Stephen to fix his mess! What else?” He went to pull his arm away, but he couldn’t free it, which reminded them both of one thing: that Loki’s alien body was much stronger than Clint’s. And currently, Clint was the one living in it.
“No. No, you don’t get to leave.” All the anger and hatred bubbled up inside of Clint. “Not after all you’ve done.”
Loki narrowed his eyes and shifted his weight to one leg. “Perhaps. But why now? After all the months I’ve been here.”
Clint ignored him, prancing around the subject he himself had brought up. “Do you mind explaining what these are?” Clint lifted the shirt, revealing the cuts.
Something flashed in Loki’s eyes, but his expression remained schooled. “No, not particularly. Why? Do you feel I don’t deserve them?”
“No. You do deserve them.”Clint clenched his teeth. “After everything you did to me. And everyone else. I know all the other Avengers seem to have forgotten New York, but I haven’t. You can’t just forget when someone seeps into your mind like that. Hollows you out and fills you with something vile, attaches strings and makes you into a puppet. You have no idea what that’s like, what you did to me. ”
“You’d be surprised.”
Clint’s nose twitched in pure rage.
“And I don’t deserve the cuts, by the way.” Loki’s voice seemed so casual compared to the emotion pouring from Clint. “It’s too good for me- I deserve much worse, and you know that.”
“I want you dead.”
“I know you do, and so do I.” Clint was so blinded by rage at this point and whole-heartedly agreed with Loki’s words, but something in him was concerned. Or perhaps suspicious was the right word- Something wasn’t right. “And you have every right to be the one to bring my downfall. I wouldn’t stop you. I’d welcome it. I just don’t think you’d be successful.”
Clint opened his mouth to retort, but Loki continued. “But even if it did work, even if you did manage to kill me, then there would be the matter of Thor- he’d be furious . And I don’t think you should be punished for doing the universe a favour. You’d need to make it look like a very, very convincing accident.”
“I could do it. Right now. I’m a highly trained assassin, I can make anything look like an accident, even if I strangled you right now while FRIDAY was recording.”
“Could you?” Loki questioned in that silky, relaxed voice that was being distorted by Clint’s voicebox. “I am still in your body, and you in mine. If you kill me like this, will it be me who dies? Or you? Neither of us know any of how this works. For all we know, killing one of us could kill both of us- And don’t you have a family?”
Clint fumed. This wasn’t fair, none of this was fair. Loki shouldn’t just get to walk free after everything. He deserved punishment. The most horrendous, torturous of sorts. So why did he get to be here, with his own personal room in the Avengers Compound, not even a puny house arrest in sight? And how come every one of Loki’s points made perfect sense? It wasn’t fair.
“You can’t do anything to me for certain until all this is fixed.” Loki said simply. “And when it is fixed, weigh your options wisely. I deserve to die. But what will it cost?”
“I don’t care what it costs.”
“Then know this- you’d better think up something grande. I’ve been almost killed in a million different ways by a million different people, myself included. And as you can see, nothing has worked.” Loki’s voice was quiet, and the sharp hatred in his eyes could have cut Clint if he were any closer. But his demeanor changed as he spoke once more- “But if you’ll excuse me, I must be off. I doubt that self-obsessed fool knows what he’s done, if he hasn’t fixed it by now.”
And with that, Clint watched as his own, real body was washed over by a green light, and then it was gone, and he was left alone in his enemy’s room. He stood staring at where Loki had been just a moment before, his rage seemingly mostly gone, too.
The cuts on his stomach stung, bringing him back to reality. He lifted up the shirt and stared at them. He’d been so blinded by the rage, rage that had taken years to accumulate and multiply. But now that the conversation was over, the strangeness of all of what Loki had said was even more apparent now. He had pretty much completely agreed with everything Clint wanted to do to him, which completely contradicted the sick, twisted, egotistical maniac Clint knew him to be.
Loki recognizing he’s an awful person doesn’t make him a good person, and it doesn’t make it a sob story either . Clint argued with himself. If anything, it means he’s an even worse person, if he can see it’s wrong and still did it! He tried to convince himself.
But something still wasn’t adding up. Loki had definitely seemed like he felt guilty, even if it hadn’t been apparent in his tone of voice. His words (and… actions) said enough. That still doesn’t excuse what he’s done! Clint countered angrily. He didn’t want to find a reason to feel sorry for Loki, he wanted to be angry. He was angry, and Loki deserved that anger. But still… There was something else at play, something Clint couldn’t put his finger on.
What had Loki said? “You’d be surprised…”
What the shit was that supposed to mean?