Heat. Breathe heavy. Weight… weight on the shoulder, tear it off, rip it off- it's caught on your hand, tangling, snap the string, stomp on it, feel it break. Light to the left, white light and noise, so much noise, like a whine, grating your teeth, need to stop the noise, make noise, scream with your lungs, your own noise. Away from the white, towards the grey, shadows moving, coming for you, touching you, want your blood, take their blood, something sharp, attack the faces.

More heat, on you now, dripping. Coppery taste. In your mouth, want it out of mouth, get it out, scream it ou-

Movement. There, in the white. Anger, pulsing red, turning everything red, except the movement, turn it red too, make it red. Lift something heavy, muscles straining, lift it and use it, bludgeon until red. The noise is back, drowning out your noise, making your head rattle and the floor slide, and pain, pain in the head, crushing, dying, need to live, red to live…

The world slid into place again.

For a moment, Clint thought he was floating on a cloud of dust until he shifted and felt grit and stone dig into his already sore shoulders. It felt like the plaster dust was coating his lungs, clogging his nostrils. He huffed and coughed but it only stirred the cloud more. Everything had a haze of white, and that cringing whine was just on the edge of hearing. It took him a moment to realise someone was talking to him.

A halo of red materialised into Natasha, the low buzz of her voice becoming clearer. He was on the ground amidst a pile of debris. It looked like the Hulk had taken a sledge hammer to the room. Mind fogged, Clint looked around, listlessly noting a hand near his head- the rest of the body was buried. He tried to sit up, but the pain and nausea that arose was almost enough to knock him out; black specks coated his vision. He felt a hand on his chest, pushing him back down. It was then he tasted something metallic at the back of his throat.

Ignoring the pain and nausea, nearly mindless in his haste, Clint rolled over and retched. His stomach was empty, but he didn't care. He had lost control of himself again.

"Clint…" Natasha was beside him, her tone worried. She didn't touch him, didn't kneel too close. For that he was grateful; the last thing he wanted right now was someone in his space. He needed that space, it's assurance that he had some control, any, because he had lost it again, become some mindless thing, but this time it was worse, this time there was blood in his mouth and death in his ears and…

"Clint!" The bark of her voice froze his thoughts for just a moment, but that was all he needed to lock them away, focus on that black dot amidst the grey. Slowly, staggering slightly, Clint got to his feet and looked at her. Then he looked around him.

They were in what looked like a small lab. The wall to his right had been knocked down; it was the source of all the plaster dust. The Captain stood nearby, watching him warily. His shield was coated in white, and he was breathing a little heavier than normal. Clint ignored his questioning look, focused instead on the bodies. It was hard to tell how many, but at least a dozen. They had all died in poses of rage, their torn faces forever frozen in snarls. Vague images flashed through his mind, of his hands attacking those bodies while they still lived, but the memory was very disconnected. It was as if he had simply been watching from behind someone else's eyes.

Clint eventually had the presence of mind to wonder where Banner was, before he noticed the man crouched over a valve in the adjoining room. Concentrating on keeping his gait steady, the archer walked over the debris, plaster cracking underfoot, and inspected the broken wall, glancing at Bruce as he did so. The wooden supports had splintered, but there hadn't been any pipes in the wall to complicate matters.

"You turned off whatever that was?" His voice was dry, and he coughed; it felt like the dust was cracking on his tongue and entering his lungs. Banner tapped the valve with a pen.

"This was releasing an air-borne toxin. I'm not sure yet, but it's either the compound they have been experimenting with, or something very like it."

"I returned to normal." Banner stood up and looked him over. There was sympathy in his eyes; he knew what it was like to lose control on a regular basis. Clint looked away; he always found it hard to look straight at the man. It made the righteous anger he felt towards Loki feel cheap; Clint needed the hate to accept what he had done. Something about Banner made him feel guilty about that.

"We don't know yet how they administer this new X- serum of theirs. Likely it's by injection over a period of time, or as a transfusion. It might be that the compound you inhaled works in a limited manner."

"What about you, Tash? You were right beside me." Natasha simply shrugged, looking away dismissively. Clint took the hint; they administered various substances, as well as training, in the Red Room. Perhaps that had something to do with her apparent immunity, but either way she wouldn't want to discuss it here. The Avengers team had earned enough trust to watch her back, but her past was still private. Clint himself only knew parts of it. He had been given a dossier on the Black Widow when he had been sent to assassinate her; it had mentioned her training at the rarely-known espionage school in Russia. His time in the underworld had enlightened him as to some of what had gone on there; Natasha waking at night mumbling in Russian had shed light on other areas. But very little of what he knew had come from her own lips; they did their best to live in the now. The past had gotten them to where they are. It wouldn't help with their jobs or their mental state, and was better left shoved aside, under the bodies and lies that had led them here. Voicing memories out loud brought out a vividness that was hard to forget again.

"We'll check the both of you out when we get back. In the meantime, Clint, if you start feeling weird…" Banner looked him over and hurriedly amended; the man looked dead on his feet, coated in dust and blood. "…Any weirder, let us know."

"Right." Clint sighed. He would deal with the mental aftermath later. "Did you guys find anything?"

"Other than Natasha's vial and your corpses, Steve found some data discs that had been left soaking in a sink; even if we can get something off of them they're likely encrypted, but we'll leave that to Tony. I have some blood samples. One of the computers had drops of blood on it. Maybe we'll get some good DNA and a hit in a database, and finally put a face and name to some of these people."

The Captain shifted his shield onto his forearm. "Let's finish searching, then get you guys checked out."

Several Hours Later

Clint's eyelid twitched as the needle went into his vein. It was an involuntary action, but he turned his head slightly so Natasha wouldn't see. He cringed internally at the action. What was he, fifteen and not wanting to look weak in front of a girl? He was sitting on a bed in the tower's medical bay, Natasha standing at his side like a little guard dog. Her body language was very protective; it made Clint feel good. Banner kept glancing between the two of them, but he remained professional.

"You can lie back on the bed now." Clint was about to say he didn't need to when Natasha shot him a killer look. Clint flipped his legs up onto the bed and lay back; his head pounded worse on the descent. Since arriving back the two assassins had been through a battery of tests; blood tests, lung tests, even an MRI. Rogers had had to knock Clint on the head with his shield to stop him; in all likelihood he had a concussion. Hence the fluid drip and lying down; Bruce wanted to keep him monitored. He smirked slightly when Natasha pulled up a chair to stay beside him.

AN: Thank you for reading/reviewing!