Author's Note: I am in the bad habit of talking about my "I want to write this but I feel bad about it" ideas on my tumblr. And then people tell me to write them. A while ago I made a post talking about how I had "this awful awful awful desire to write fic where Loki early-Avengers is kind of more of a mess than usual and on the verse of falling apart and thus cuddles with mind-controlled!Clint."

And then I wrote it.

I should probably apologize. But mostly I'm going to thank my beta zaataronpita, who I do not mind control into cuddling me. Probably.

There was an electric hum in his blood. So much needed to be done, so much he needed to remember, to see to. So much that could go wrong so easily, and if he was not careful, was not so very, very, careful-

He smothered the shudder of memory that tried to tremble through him. Never again.

Loki's eyes burned. He needed to rest. He needed to make sure Selvig was moving on schedule. Put his plans to deal with the band of heroes Barton had mentioned into motion. Contact the Chitauri to ensure that they did not think he'd forgotten his promises. (If you don't…) He needed to see this succeed.

Would Thor be sent? If he was, would his orders be to kill or otherwise? His head was starting to ache. What if Selvig doesn't finish in time, what if all the careful planning comes undone and you are left naked and bare to his eyes and his punishments-

His breath snagged in his throat, and Loki tried hastily to calm it.

"Sir?" Barton was at his side, as though summoned by thought.

He hadn't slept in – in who knew how long. And could not now. His hand half rose to rub at his eyes and he pulled it down. "Do you have everything you need, Barton?"

"For the moment. You'll need more men." Loki nodded, exhaling through his nose. You need more men. You need more time. You are a failure and this will only come to failure like all the rest of your pathetic-

"Good work," he said, keeping his voice level. His body felt too tight, strung like a tripwire, and his mind was beginning to stutter in halting circles, what if what if what if. He needed to rest.

He couldn't. When he closed his eyes, he knew what would wait there.

(Your mind, flayed open. Your body, torn apart. Screaming, screaming-)

"Sir?"

Loki forced his hands to open. Barton's eyes were on him, and his first instinct was to lash out, don't look at me, but the clear unnatural blue reflected back his own image, nothing but worship and a strange, worried concern that sent chills down his spine. A lie, of course, but nonetheless, it was…good. "Yes?" He pushed out.

"I can manage things," Barton said, almost carefully. "If you need…" he trailed off, not quite unsure. "You need your rest."

No, he wanted to snap. I don't. I can't. There is no time and even if there was I think I've forgotten how and if I stop moving now everything will just- his eyes burned. He remembered feeling like this – before. Sometimes. Frigga had held him, then, Frigga or Thor, just held him until his heartbeat slowed and Loki slipped quietly into a doze. Warmth. Safety.

But that had all been a lie too. (You never came for me. None of you ever came for me. You left me to suffer alone.)

You're barely hanging on, a low murmur at the back of his mind said, brutal truth. And you expect to fight and win a war like this? As a broken, exhausted shell still jumping at shadows?

"Sir?" Barton had drawn a little closer, if cautiously, but he'd also angled himself to be between Loki and the sight of the others, as much as he could. "Can I help?"

No, on the tip of his tongue. No, go back to work, leave me, do not presume… He looked back to his hawk to order him away, and the words died on his tongue. Love, worry, care. However false… He would, if you asked him to.

Weak weak weak. "Barton." The words crawled up his throat and forced their way out. "With me." He turned, strode away from the center of this warren he had to hide in. "I require – a brief respite. I would have you ensure that I am not disturbed."

"Yes, sir." His hawkling padded after him, obedient and unquestioning. He was small and fragile and mortal and the nearest thing Loki had to a true friend in any of the nine realms. I'm better than this, he thought savagely, even as his thoughts fragmented and fell apart, and it tasted like a lie.

This is all going to fail. What then? What then? He felt his shoulders quiver with tension. Once out of sight of the other soldiers, he turned and rested a hand on Barton's shoulder, pulling them both through the fabric of space to the small rooms above ground, not spacious but clean. Barton had found them for him, but he'd left them unused. There wasn't time.

There still wasn't, but Loki knew…know too well…he couldn't continue like this.

"Little bit of warning, next time, maybe," Barton said, wobbling a little. "I should check the building, sir. Make sure it's clear."

"It is," Loki said absently. He could feel the warmth radiating off of his hawkling's body, under his hand on his shoulder. He wanted it, suddenly, wanted to crowd close to that warmth and feel the solidity of another body, wanted to feel safe and sure and grounded.

"A second check wouldn't hurt," Barton said.

"It's unnecessary," Loki said, his voice coming out too harsh. "If anyone were here, I would know." Unless they'd cloaked themselves. His magic was still weak, flickering. How far could he trust the borrowed power in the scepter? How far…

He caught the tightening of Barton's expression and realized his hand had started to squeeze what must be painfully hard for fragile mortal bodies. Loki made himself let go and for a moment absent that grip he was falling again, he was surrounded by vast blank empty darkness and it was never going to end, he would be falling forever until there was nothing but the dark gnawing away the edges of his being. Horror rose up in him like bile – feel the earth under your feet, he told himself. Smell stale air. Hold on to yourself, or are you so weak that a memory undoes you? Clint was looking at him with a small frown between his eyebrows and Loki stepped away, hoped his face showed nothing. Weakling, he thought furiously. Useless, pathetic, puling-

"You all right, sir?" Barton asked, suddenly, and Loki stared at him blankly for a moment before truly registering the question.

"Yes, of course," he said, almost automatically. And not a little tightly. If Barton could see it, could others? Did they all see, all know exactly how little he was in control of himself, how near he was to losing that little control he had left-

"Sir," Barton said, and then hesitated a moment. "…all due respect, but you don't look it. Have you eaten? Slept?"

"Don't fuss at me, Barton." Loki could hear the slight snap in his voice. Underneath it, though, a tremble. He hoped it wasn't audible. Pull yourself together. Or at least fall apart where no one can see. The edge was right under his feet and if he so much as glanced down or admitted it was there- "I will eat – and sleep, for that matter – later. I am not mortal. I don't have the same needs."

"When?" Loki shook his head slightly.

"When? – when this is over. When Midgard is mine. Then, I suppose." Not then. Not ever. Do you really think they'll let you keep control, keep power? They will take the Tesseract, and then they will take the earth, and then they will take you. And then. You know what happens then. A shudder ran through him before he could suppress it, and Barton took a step closer.

Loki took a slow breath in. "I need – I am fine." His mind was racing, moving in jerky leaps and bounds, this, then this, then this. Don't forget to see to that. Everything circling, racing, too much to contain in his skull. He would fly apart, Loki thought dizzily, come undone and disintegrate into a breath of ash and dust, and there was nothing, nothing…

He swayed. Barton's hands caught his forearms and steadied him. "What's going on?" his hawkling asked, and he looked uncertain, worried. Loki remembered that expression. It made a small, sick something curl in his chest around his heart. Longing.

It is only a reflection, a brutal voice at the back of his mind murmured, the affection you want to see. It's not truth. The fatal kind of lie is the one the teller believes. He is a tool, nothing more. Does the carpenter long for the hammer to love him? Loki pushed it down. It's what I have. He's what I have.

Barton, Loki thought, looking down at him. A good man. You have heart. Powerful loyalty. Initiative. Swift to see what needed to be done and to do it. Solid. Steady.

His, Loki thought, with a kind of desperation. Only his. No room in his thoughts for any other. He could keep his silence, would say nothing Loki did not wish him to. He would not think anything of a simple request except that it was his duty to serve. He would…

"What do you need?" Clint asked, bright blue eyes promising loyalty. Sure and unwavering. The kind he would never command except like this. (Not like – no, don't think that.) Loki stared down at him, for a moment helpless, his thoughts splinters of themselves. He was going to lose himself, burn out of his skin and he could scream but no one would hear it, no sound in the Void and had he ever left, had he ever stopped falling-

(Hush, Loki. Close your eyes. I'm right here. Nothing's going to happen while I'm watching over you. You're safe.) Hands pushing his hair back from his forehead. The soft sound of another's breathing against his chest.

The small sound that crawled up his throat and slipped from his lips made Loki burn with shame. "Come with me," he said, and pulled Barton after him, into the bedroom. "You asked – you asked what I need. I…"

He couldn't say it. Couldn't force the words out. Hold me. Barton heard them anyway. Loki searched for pity in his eyes, and didn't find it.

Only relief that he could do something, that he could serve.

"Okay," Barton said. "Just lie down, sir. Do you want to change clothes?"

After a moment's thought, Loki vanished his outer layer of leather, down to breeches and a linen tunic. He felt sickeningly vulnerable, suddenly, worse than naked, and his breathing quickened until he was almost panting. You're going to die. Worse, you won't. Something as sweet as pain. His vision greyed and you fool, you fool, how did you ever think-

Barton's hands were warm and sturdy on his arms. An anchor. "Hey," Barton was saying. "Deep breath." A gentle push, and Loki let himself be urged, folded onto the bed. His hands lifted as though of their own accord and wrapped around his hawkling's shoulders, pulling him in close until he could feel Clint's heartbeat against his own racing in his chest.

"Wanna lie back?" Barton's voice was surprisingly gentle. Yes. That sounded – Loki pulled them both back further onto the bed and lay pressed up close to the warm, fragile, mortal body. One of those archer's hands, strong and capable, found and kneaded the taut muscle of his shoulders. Loki melted helplessly into it, let everything go and just…

Barton's other arm encircled him, rubbing a hand over his back. Physical sensation tying him down. Holding him to his body. Holding him together. A kind touch. A gentle one.

Loki felt a violent shudder run through him. "You will never," he said, and his voice sounded strange, hollow. "—never speak of this to anyone." He spelled the words, just in case, laced them with power.

"I'm honored," Barton said quietly. "That you trust me to be here, sir. I would never betray that trust."

Never. He cannot, after all. This is what you have. This is all you have, and it changes nothing. You will still fail.

No, Loki thought desperately. Not this time. He could not.

"Relax," Barton said. "I can watch. Wake you up in a few hours."

He wouldn't sleep. Didn't dare to, not knowing what would come. But just to close his eyes and be, here, like this… "A few hours," Loki forced out. "No more."

"I've got it."

Whatever happened, Loki told himself, he would keep Barton safe. In his own mind, he promised that. One mortal, he could allow himself to keep.

And of course it was a lie. No true affection. But if he closed his eyes and just listened to the thud of Barton's heart, the regular warmth of his exhalations on Loki's shoulder…for a little while, it was nice to pretend.

It could almost be enough.