Unwell

Prelude

Loki's eyes turned that dark green they did when he was experiencing truly sadistic mirth. There was a playful smirk on his face and he seemed to have gained a full inch from haughtiness alone.

Clint noticed all of this and more in the mere second before the god of mischief opened his mouth.

"Kill them," it was impossible to miss the amusement in his voice. He hadn't bothered to hide it.

Clint willed himself to fight it. Fire burned behind his eyes. But it was pointless, they were tesseract blue and his body wasn't his, it was Loki's. His mind was no longer that of Agent Barton, it was a mindless machine bent on fulfilling the wishes of its master.

Against his will he began walking toward the restrained bodies of his teammates. Thor, though unable to speak, looked exceedingly hurt by his brother's actions. Stark looked somewhat concerned, his eyes darting from side to side. Steve looked ready to play the martyr, perhaps feeling he'd lived long enough already. Bruce was taking deep breaths and Clint kept hoping he would hulk out but he didn't seem nearly angry enough. He seemed like he was trying not to be angry. Natasha was the worst of all, however. There wasn't anger, fear, self-pity, or even fight in her eyes. She just looked disappointed. In Clint.

Loki seemed to sense this and he chuckled darkly. "Begin with the Russian. She does irk me so." He crossed his arms and he looked as though the only thing he was missing was popcorn to enjoy the show.

Clint hated himself so deeply and so thoroughly as he marched toward Natasha. He wanted to die as he felt her neck snap in his hands. He wanted to cry as he saw her lifeless body go limp in her restraints. But he was such a failure, such a mindless robot, that he couldn't even manage that.

He sank to his knees under the weight of what he'd done. It was unbearable. Why couldn't Loki just kill him? It would be a kindness, though kindness didn't seem to be in the god's repertoire.

"Get up," Loki commanded, "Finish the rest of these pathetic mortals."

"No," Clint said. He imagined himself saying it with resolve, with strength, but it came out as a strangled whimper.

Loki strode over and yanked the archer up by the tips of his hair. Clint kept thinking it was strange how he felt so broken. He never remembered feeling anything at all the last time he was under the tesseract's influence.

Loki positioned Clint in front of Stark, who was looking more and more like a cornered animal. Before he knew it, he was holding his bow, with an arrow aimed right at Tony's heart.

"Do it," Loki growled in his ear.

And he did it. Of course he did it. He had no choice in the matter. No strength to physically resist. He was Loki's through and through.

Loki smiled and sauntered past his brother. "We'll save you for last, great son of Odin," he said mockingly.

Thor shot him a glare that would bring a mortal man to his knees for mercy. Loki rolled his eyes.

"Mr. Feelgood or Big Green?" He put a gloved finger to his chin and looked thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose if we're creative we won't have to choose just one."

Clint found himself unable to do anything except stare into the distance as he awaited his command.

"You know what, I'm feeling old fashioned." Loki produced two handguns out of thin air. "I've heard you're ambidextrous. Let's put it to the test. Two for one."

Clint took a gun in each hand and aimed one each at Bruce and Steve. He cocked them and his fingers rested gently on the triggers.

"Wait," the god of mischief said. "I've changed my mind. I want to savor each of their deaths." He stroked his chin once more. "Shoot that one," he gestured to Bruce, and Clint fired without hesitation.

"I've got something a little more special in mind for Captain Superior." He knelt in front of Steve, who was rather adamant about not looking the god in the eye, and untied his right hand. He grabbed a handgun from Clint and shoved it in the Captain's hand.

"Here we are," Loki stood and smiled. "A little game." He walked a small circle around Clint as he spoke, "It's quite simple, really. Clint, if Steve doesn't kill himself by my count of three, you will do us all a favor and kill yourself. You will not, however, do so before my three."

The god clapped his hands together in barely restrained glee. "Ready? One..."

Steve lodged a bullet in his head without a moment's thought.

Clint let out a noise like a wounded animal as Loki smiled. "I never doubted him."

The archer kept thinking how he just wanted the whole thing to be over. Then he thought about how selfish that was. Here he was, picking his teammates off one by one and he just wanted to be finished with the whole ordeal.

Whatever Loki had in mind for Thor was likely worse. And it still didn't make sense that he was feeling all of these emotions. He deserved it, yes, but it confused him even in the midst of what was going on.

He glanced at the lifeless, sagging bodies of his teammates and a new wave of sadness washed over him. He felt a hot tear roll down his cheek and he couldn't remember the last time he'd cried. But this was his family now. Or had been.

All that was left was Thor, whose endless bravery was matched only by his foolishness when it came to Earth and its ways. He found himself wondering if he could even be killed. He was a god, wasn't he?

Hope sprang up inside of Clint. Selfish hope that perhaps one member of his family could be saved.

And then Loki produced a sword. "Cut this bastard's head off." His expression was all serious now, as if even he wasn't sure it would work.

Clint fought it with everything he had, but he still felt his traitorous body moving toward Thor, raising the sword. He screwed his eyes shut as he felt the weapon connect and slice through the god's neck with ease.

Clint collapsed to the ground as tears started pouring down his face. He couldn't bear to open his eyes, couldn't bare to see the scene before him. He could only repeat one, basic word: No. It started as a mutter and ended as a scream.

And that was how he woke up.