Chapter Text
“Clinton…” Loki entered the bedroom of Clint’s bed-stuy apartment, and when they saw him sitting on the 8th-story window sill, they immediately got worried. Sure, Clint felt safest up high, but that didn’t make the fall down any less dangerous.
The trickster crossed the room with calm, long strides, but their heart was beating too fast in their chest.
“Don’t call me that.” Clint brought it out; his voice was quiet and rough, as if it took him a lot of effort to form the words.
The archer was perched on the stone ledge, one leg propped up and his arm resting on it. He was leaning against the wall, staring off into the distance over the neighbourhood. His building wasn’t the highest in this part of the city, but there were a fair number of smaller ones around, and the view was mostly free.
“What do you want me to call you?” Loki asked, stopping a few feet from Clint, just outside his personal space.
“Not that.” Other than speaking, Clint hadn’t moved since Loki entered the room, but now he was turning to study them. Now that he had turned, he had no way of hiding the tears in his eyes anymore, but a part of him told Clint Loki would have known about them anyway.
Clint wanted to speak; he wanted to tell Loki to leave, and he wanted to ask them to stay forever. Clint wanted to say something, anything, but his mouth stayed shut, unable to put actual words to the storm of feelings and thoughts running through his mind.
“You’re not feeling good.” Loki observed. They didn’t have the connection they had at their first meeting anymore, but that didn’t mean Loki couldn’t read Clint.
A bitter chuckle escaped Clint, and he turned to look over his neighbourhood again. He could still feel Loki’s ice-blue eyes on him, but at least without seeing their expression, it was easier. Easier to ignore. Easier to hope.
“Can I touch you?” Loki asked, and their voice was much gentler than anything Clint had ever heard from them.
Again, Clint wanted to answer. He wanted to cry out that that was the last thing he wanted, and he wanted to beg and plead for Loki to hold him and never let go.
But instead of words, he just got the burning feeling of tears that didn’t want to turn into crying, and it took everything he had to shrug.
Loki closed the distance between them, lightly resting an arm on Clint’s shoulders and gazing over his head into the same distance. “I know I’m not the one you want. And I wish I could give you what you need. Who you need.” Loki stayed quiet for a moment. Maybe to give Clint room for an answer.
But there were no words still. There was just emptiness and a raging storm of emotions and memories.
“But all I have to offer is myself and a lot of patience and time.” Their gentle fingers were ghosting over the skin on Clint’s arm. “If you want me.”
“No, I don’t want you. I don't want anyone. I want him !” Clint’s mind was screaming, but his throat was tied shut, and even just continuing to breathe suddenly seemed too hard.
So instead, Clint nodded. He was still not turning to Loki, but it was the confirmation they needed to get the last half-step closer. The Jotun ran a hand through Clint’s shaggy blonde hair up the back of his head and gently guided him to lay against them.
For a moment, Clint felt the cool texture of Asgardian leather against his ear, but with a barely noticeable flick of their wrist and a flash of green sparkle, the costume turned into a simple shirt and trousers combination. Still chic enough to keep the image Loki built around themselves upright, but also soft and comfortable.
Leaning against Loki didn’t feel right. They were too tall, too thin, and too lean. Too powerful. Too ridgid. Too different from him.
“I’m sorry.” Loki breathed after a while. Clint wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Time didn’t make sense anymore. It had started to fall out of reality when Clint was still connected to Loki, but it had entirely lost its meaning when he had heard the news. When Natasha had told him what had happened.
Clint had still not been entirely clear, and for a moment, he couldn’t comprehend her words. But Natasha knew that feeling. She knew how he felt in that moment. She knew it all too well.
And she was patient with him.
But all the patience in the world didn’t make the news she had any easier.
“He’s dead.” She had said it over and over again, until the words sounded hollow, but finally started to settle in Clint’s mind. “Phil Coulson is dead.”
“You killed him.” Clint said after another long while. He could tell that some amount of time must have passed by the light over the city changing, the busy lives of the people around them calming down, and the sun slowly nearing the horizon outside of the apartment. But he still didn’t know how much time had passed. He just sat there, at his window, staring out over the city and leaning against the warm, but so wrong, figure of Loki.
“I know.” Loki whispered. Like Clint, they had barely moved over the last hour they had stood there, but now they did, summoning a soft purple blanket and draping it over Clint’s shoulders against the cold he didn’t register. “And I know there is no way to ever make that okay again.”
“You were not yourself.” Clint said, finally looking up at Loki. “You were tortured as well, right?”
Loki nodded, avoding Clint’s gaze for a moment. “That is no excuse.”
Clint wanted to protest, but a part of him agreed. Loki had killed Phil and so many others. They wanted to kill all of them. They had even been ready to leave earth to its certain doom to get Thanos what he wanted. How could there be an excuse for that?
But on the other hand… Loki hadn’t been themselves.
“Thanos, he…” Loki started, trying to find the appropriate words. “Thanos tortured me. He threatened to kill me, or worse.” Clint studied their face, but, as most times, it was hard to get a read on the half-god. “But he didn’t brainwash me. He didn’t force me to do anything. Bucky, Natasha… You.” Loki brushed a strand of hair out of his face, his touch barely there but still leaving a burning trail on Clint’s nerves. “You didn’t have a choice. You weren’t in control. You didn’t want to do it. You could never do the things you did. None of you. Not like that.” They stared out over the city for another moment. “I was fully there," they admitted. “I was scared for my life; I was in pain; I… despite everything he did, I was there. Every single thing I did was my decision. And there is no excuse for this. There is no way you can turn it so that I come out anything other than a villain and a killer.”
“You made me hurt agents.” Clint said it coldly after staring out the window again. By the time he did, it was almost dark outside, and even he started feeling the cold, despite the dissociation and the ice still running through his veins since Loki had captured him. “You wanted me to hurt Nat.”
“Yes.” Loki had decided Clint deserved the truth. They had taken enough from him; this was the least they could do. “You are an incredible man, and you are one of the best agents SHIELD has ever had.” They sighed. “I used the second to my advantage, and it almost destroyed the first. And there is nothing I can say or do to ever make that undone, either.”
“It’s hard to be mad at you if you agree with everything I say.” Clint closed his eyes, getting more comfortable against them, and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
“I don’t want you to get hurt any more than you already have because of me.” Loki wrapped their arms tighter around him.
“You’re the one who was supposed to die!” Clint’s mind screamed, and he wanted to push Loki away. He wanted to get away from the man who had killed one of the few people who had always been on his side, maybe the only person who had never tried to hurt, or kill, or stop him. Not even when exactly that was his mission. Phil Coulson had always wanted to help and protect him. “You’re the one who ruined everything, who ruined my life! You tried to kill all of us; you tried to destroy New York! YOU TOOK THE MAN I LOVED FROM ME! ”
And before Clint could do anything to stop it, he found himself actually doing it. For the first time in many hours, he was moving his body, and everything hurt. But it felt good to get his rage out and use it against the person who was responsible for his pain and everything he had done.
It felt good to scream and yell, even though his mouth was dry, and his throat hurt, and his own voice rang painfully in his ears. It felt good to tell them what they had done to him. And it felt good to hurt them, even if he could never get close to the pain Loki had dealt him. It felt good .
Loki didn’t fight back. They had no right to. And Clint had every right to be mad at them, to want to hurt them. Even to want to kill them.
They knew he would never do it. They knew he would never kill someone if he had any other choice again in his life. They had seen the pain it had caused him to hurt and kill under their influence.
But he had every right to want it, and he did .
“You’re an asshole !” Clint yelled. “ Asshole! Asshole! ASSHOLE! ” He repeated it, letting his rage and pain out through his hits. He didn’t think; he just acted; he followed his instincts, and his instincts were to hurt the god that had taken the man he loved more than himself.
By the time Clint came back to himself, Loki was bleeding. They had caught his arms by the wrist and were holding him just far enough away that he couldn’t hurt them anymore. "Enough," Loki said, their voice distorted, not as much with pain as it was because of the broken nose and split lip Clint had given them. Most of their face was red; blood was running from their nose; there was a cut in their brow, on their cheek, and a split lip; and there was already a faint bruise forming around their right eye.
“You don’t get to decide that.” Clint growled, his vision swimming with the tears that finally started spilling from his eyes.
“If you keep going, I can’t guarantee that I won’t hit back, Clint.” Loki explained, letting go when Clint pulled his arms away.
“Leave me alone.” He muttered. “I don’t want to see you here.”
“Promise me you won’t hurt yourself.” Loki pleaded. They knew they didn’t have the right to ask anything of Clint, not even that, but they couldn’t leave him without it.
He meant too much to them.
And they had caused enough pain to him and everyone else. Their leaving him alone couldn’t be the reason he got hurt even more.
“I won’t.” Clint said it bitterly. “I’ve had enough reason and opportunity throughout my life, and I have never once hurt myself. You won’t be the thing that changes that.”
It was a straight-up lie. Not a single word of it was true.
Clint had hurt himself many, many times. He had the scars to prove it all over his body, mixed in between the ones his parents, the men at the circus, his mentors, and all the ones real and training fights he had fought had left throughout his life.
No one, not even Clint himself, could tell which ones he had left himself and which ones others had given him anymore. He couldn’t count the amount of times feeling his own blood run over his skin had been the only thing that had been able to calm his racing thoughts.
He didn’t know how many times he had stood at the edge of a roof, in the beams of warehouses, or wherever his missions brought him—wherever he had been needed to hurt and kill—and thought about it. Thought about jumping, about taking one more step, and ending it all.
Yes, he felt safe up high. But it wasn’t because he had always seen better than he could hear. It wasn’t because, up there, no one could hurt him, and his bow and arrow were the truly superior weapons.
No.
It was because, up there, he was in charge of his life. He could end it all within the blink of an eye. And no one would be there quickly enough to stop him. To force him to stay.
The only person who had ever managed to do so was Phil Coulson. He had been the only reason Clint hadn’t drawn his own blood in years; he hadn’t even thought about it.
Phil was the reason Clint could climb up to his position without questioning if today was the day he didn’t climb down again.
Phil Coulson had been the man who gave his pain room to exist without destroying him. He had been the first person who actually cared about what was going on in Clint’s head, and he had been the only one to give him tools to deal with it in productive ways instead of destructive ones.
With the job at SHIELD, Phil gave him a purpose, a reason to keep going. And a home that was safe and welcoming.
And Phil had given him time. He had never asked for more than Clint could give, and he had never wanted more than Clint had to offer. He never rushed him or made him feel like he was moving too slowly. It had taken them years until they even started actually dating, and even longer until Clint felt safe enough to be intimate with him.
But Phil had just waited patiently, giving him opportunities to try and explore without pressuring him into things he wasn’t ready for yet.
They had been dating, officially, for five years when they got engaged. And it had been two since then. They wanted to get married; they really did. But between SHIELD and the Avengers, between HYDRA and Loki, between trying to save the world and trying to save themselves... They just never had enough free time to plan the wedding they wanted. Let alone the predictability of their schedules to actually set a date.
They had talked about just going to city hall when they had a day off, maybe taking their best friends, May and Natasha, whoever was not on a mission, really, and getting married. But to them, it wasn’t about being married. It was about taking the time to dedicate it to each other.
“I won’t.” Clint repeated quietly, finding the simple necklace he wore instead of an engagement ring under his sweater. It was a lie. Again.
But Loki believed him. They may have known everything about him a few days ago. But Clint was alone in his mind again. And lying had been one of the first things he learned to protect himself.
Loki nodded, swiping at their still-bleeding nose with their sleeve and looking between Clint and the open window for a moment before they left without another word.
Clint stood in the middle of the room for a moment, his hand still on the necklace and his eyes fixed on the door.
It was late. On every other day, Clint would be sitting on the couch, doing whatever. And on every other day, Phil would come home soon. He’d walk in through that door, drop his keys on the dresser, take off his shoes, and lean over the back of the couch to brush a kiss on Clint’s head. “I’m sorry it got so late again.” He’d say and hold a bag of takeout into Clint’s field of view. “I brought your favourite from the place right around the corner from the office.”
And Clint would smile up at him for a second before drawing him in with a smile and kissing him.
“I’ve missed you.” Clint would say.
And Phil would answer with, “I love you too.”
It was routine. It was safe. It was certain.
But Phil would never walk through that door again.
He’d never again be late, and he’d never bring takeout as an apology.
Clint would never kiss him again, and he’d never hear his voice or feel his gentle touches.
Everything that was left was pain and memories.
There was no reason to stay anymore. There was no reason not to step over the edge anymore.
“I’m sorry, Phil.” Clint breathed, pulling the necklace out over his shirt and wrapping his hands around the skin warmed metal. “I know I made a promise…” It was starting to get hard to breathe. “I know I..." He trailed off. Phil knew what he wanted to say. And even if he didn’t, he wasn’t here to hear him anyway. He would never be there again. “But I can’t do this.”
Clint walked up to the window and looked out over the city again. It was dark now, and the city was mostly quiet in the aftermath of the alien invasion they had fought.
He climbed onto the window sill again, this time letting his legs dangle over the edge on the outside. His right hand was still holding the necklace, and his left was now grabbing the edge of the brickwork.
Clint looked back into the apartment. In there, it still looked like Phil would come back at any moment. It was a little chaotic; they had left in a haste before this mission, and the couch and coffee table were cluttered with Clint’s and Phil’s things alike.
In there, it still looked like nothing had happened.
Out here, where Clint was now sitting, 8 stories above a dark side alley, everything had changed.
Clint looked out over the city. He could see a little bit of the destruction in the distance. A painful reminder of something he would never be able to forget.
Everything around him was a painful reminder.
He looked down
The drop must have been at least 70 feet.
But Clint wasn’t afraid.
He had never been afraid of heights, but now, more than ever, the thought of falling was actually a good one.
The pain, the grief, everything bad... It would be gone. He couldn’t hurt anymore people; he wouldn’t be the reason for any more deaths.
Except his own.
And that was long overdue anyway.
“I’m sorry.” Clint told the night again, tightening his fist around the small silver pendant protectively and pushing himself off the edge.
The drop wasn’t surprising. Clint was used to jumping from deadly heights. Just that this time there would be no one to catch him, no grappling hook arrow or soft landing. The only thing at the end of this drop was the cold, hard stone and sweet relief.
He closed his eyes, instinctively turning in the air so he’d land on his back, but forcing his body to stiffen and take the force of the fall in its entirety.
The fall took less than 3 seconds, and the landing pushed all the air out of Clint’s lungs, caved in the back of his skull, and broke his spine.
It killed him immediately.
There was no time to feel the pain of the impact, no time to regret, no time to think.
There was just the sweet relief of death that he had dreamed about for so long and the hope that, just maybe, there was an after—a place where he’d see Phil again. A place where they finally found peace.