Loki shakes his head at the offer of water. He knows he'll need to drink some eventually, but trying to talk has his throat inflamed and the idea of drinking sounds like torture at the moment.
Instead he write. It's shaky, given his position and lack of strength, but still legible.
"We're in Venezuela right now. And you've...missed a lot. Been over a year since I've seen you, for one." Even if Loki doesn't want a drink right now, Clint has the urge to move, even if just to get up and grab a water bottle to crack open and sit by the bed.
"I need to know you're really you. I know that's paranoid, but...something only my Loki would know."
Venezuela? Is Clint on a mission? He's supposed to be retired, but that's hardly stopped him in the past. They could be on vacation, but this room hardly seems like a resort location. He's writing before Clint even starts asking for proof of his identity, too many questions swirling in his head. Perhaps one of them would count for the proof he wants.
Clint stills. Obviously, obviously if this is really Loki, he'd be concerned about the family. But he shakes his head. It's not enough. "I need to know. I need something concrete."
Loki furrows his brows in concern. Skepticism is understandable, especially given that he's apparently been 'dead' for over a year, but there's something else there. A paranoia and sadness that worries him deeply.
He thinks. There are many things he would probably know about Clint, but what is good enough to convince him when even the knowledge of their family isn't enough? Normally he would pull a trinket out of his pocket dimension, but his magic has long since left him, the energy stolen by his body's need to survive.
Plenty of people know that Loki's alive, now, and living with the Bartons. Ones he knows and, to some extent, trusts, but it's not unlikely that people that might want to do him harm might have found out.
Who would know about Lila's old curtains in the loft? When she'd grown out of the bright floral design and wanted something 'more mature'. And Loki couldn't bear to see it go and took it for himself to adorn the window of the loft.
The memory hits him like a truck, and he has to suddenly sit back down before he collapses entirely from it. "You sentimentalist," he croaks out before he can't trust his own voice anymore.
Casting aside the paper and pen, Loki reaches out to Clint. He doesn't care if he's injured, he doesn't care if it hurts, he needs to feel his arms around him. Needs it more than breathing, more than anything.
There isn't much moisture left in his body, but what little there is seems to go to the tears slipping quietly down his cheeks.
It's Loki. It has to be. He sees Loki reaching, and he slides onto the bed to make it easier to hold Loki, tight, no matter what might hurt. He'll have to explain, but he can't, can't get it out right now. Have to hold on to the only thing that matters, right in front of him.
It does hurt. Everything. The shifting as Clint slides onto the bed, the pressure of his arms around Loki, but he doesn't care. Floating in the void of space is a strange mixture of numbness and pain. Eventually it seems to seep into you, carving out who you were and leaving only empty nothingness in it's place. This, the pain, the warmth, the sensation of love that radiates around them, fills that void. For the first time since Thanos' ship loomed over the Statesman, he feels a small measure of happiness.
Loki can't get his arms around Clint, so he settles for grasping the front of his shirt. He's sure the human can feel the slight tremble to his frame, but it doesn't matter. Clint has seen him in worse states.
Whereas Loki has perhaps not seen Clint in quite this state. "I'm not letting you out of my sight," he says with a voice thick with emotion. "Not again. Don't ever leave me again."
Loki shakes his head, his grip tightening just a little. He would fight the universe itself to stay with him from now until the human draws his final breath.
He isn't sure how long they stay like that, all time feels weird after a stay in the void, especially one as long as a year. Eventually he scoots back just enough to be able to look at Clint's face and give him a weak smile.
Hugging is good, of course. But at Loki's shaky little smile, he has to take his partner gently by the face and kiss him. That alone threatens to undo Clint. It's been...too long.
"You're the first bit of good news I've had in a year."
Weak as he is, Loki does his best to return the kiss. He's more relaxed than he has been in a very long time, but at Clint's words, his eyebrows draw together again. His mind starts turning, taking in everything from the few minutes he's been conscious.
Venezuela. The dirty room, Clint's demeanor.
The silence of the space they're in.
Fast as he can, Loki reaches back to grab the pad of paper he'd been writing on earlier. He holds it up to Clint and taps insistently at something already written there.
He takes Loki's hands, lowers them, the pad and the pen and just tries to hold on. To Loki, to this moment, to himself.
"They're gone." And that's going to make Loki panic and cry and he knows, he knows, but they have to get through this. "Not dead, not...not really, at least we don't think so. More that they've just stopped existing."
Breathe. Breathe. He isn't looking at Loki, more through him, eyes settled somewhere around the godling's chest. "Thanos got all the Stones. Clicked his fingers, and in an instant, half of all life in the universe just dissolved into dust. I turned my back for a second, and they were all--"
He finally lets go of Loki's hands. In case he needs to write something more. "That was a year ago."
Loki remembers one thing from the void. A strange wash of energy that passed over him like a wave. It felt foreign, yet somehow so familiar. At the time he thought little of it. He thought little at all, actually. But now his stomach drops as he realizes with sickening revelation what that sensation was.
Half of all life. Gone. Three-fifths, in Loki's case.
A burning forms in his chest that he knows isn't from any of his physical injuries as he thinks about them, gone. Taken in there prime of their lives. He knew he would outlive them all, but that always came with the comfort of actually getting to see them live, that when their time came they would have had happy and full lives. Not this.
He thinks about Clint on the homestead. Playing or eating or even just existing until suddenly all went quiet. Clint, trying to find them, learning where they went, that they weren't coming back. Loki knows he should ask about Asgard, about Thor, but right now all he can focus on is the burning pit of too many emotions in his chest.
Trembling even harder now, he buries his face in Clint's chest again and lets out a strangled cry. It hurts and he's pretty sure he can taste blood, but it doesn't matter. The physical pain is nothing.
He stays there, as is, letting Loki get it out even if it hurts, because nothing could hurt worse. "I got hold of Tasha; she came and got me. Caught me up on what was happening. Heard about you, in time."
Had what could be called a breakdown for an amount of time he doesn't necessarily want to disclose.
Loki pulls himself impossibly closer to Clint, clinging to the one solid thing apparently left to him. What kind of cruel joke is this? He's finally found happiness, only to have it ripped away. Again.
Clint. Alone. Well, not alone, with Natasha, but still without his family. Suffering through that, then learning Loki's (supposed) fate. Fuck.
"S-Sorry." It's barely a whisper. Whispering still hurts, but not as much. Clint probably doesn't want him injuring himself more, but Loki needs to say it. "Tried to stop him."
"Shh, don't. Your throat's all fucked, and you're lucky your neck isn't snapped like a twig. Just...write. I'd say use some sign language, but uh, I don't actually know much." And certainly not any Asgardian sign, if that exists. "Don't hurt yourself more."
Loki shakes his head again. He doesn't care if it hurts, he just wants to talk! The one thing that was always his, his voice, his words, taken from him. Insult to injury.
They had talked about learning sign language as a family. Clint's hear loss seemed stable, but the doctors said it could get worse at any time. They were going to start when the children went back to school in the fall, the adults taking an online course Laura had found while the children studied it in school.
So many plans. It really did feel like they had eternity.
He tries to speak again, but this time the noises truly won't come. He lets out a whine that part frustrated, part agony. His throat is so dry, yet the idea of water still holds no draw. Nothing does but staying here in Clint's arms.
"Look...can you try to drink something?" He reaches for the water bottle to hand to Loki. "If it hurts too much, that's okay, but you were out of it for a while; you're probably dry as a bone. And I'm obviously not gonna drag you to a hospital."
Loki grimaces at the water bottle, but takes it nonetheless. It's awkward from this angle, so he does his best to sit up slightly. Just enough to be able to tip the bottle up for a small trickle of water to stream over his dry tongue. Why had he been so hesitant.
At first it feels wonderful, soothing some of the burn in his throat for a brief moment. But as Loki is wont to do, he gets greedy, tipping the bottle up more for more water. The increased flow, however, forces some liquid down his throat the wrong way, causing him to choke and cough. The bottle slips from his grip, soaking the front of his shirt and blanket, assuming Clint does not catch it first.
"Whoa-" Good reflexes come in handy, and he manages to catch it before it all spills everywhere. Damp on the shirt, yeah, and a little on the blanket, but not totally upended and soaked through.
"Okay." He sets it down. "Okay. I'll help you. C'mere, I got you." Clint coaxes Loki up to lean against him while he reaches around Loki, arranging pillows. Shifting him, tender, careful. "Get you sat up nice and comfy. I'll get a towel. And a shirt. And...some easy food? Shit. Applesauce and protein shakes and sippy soups."
While Loki is grateful Clint is there to help him, he absolutely hates feeling this helpless. He isn't a child, he shouldn't need someone to keep him from spilling water everywhere or someone to fluff his pillows and help him change. Loki grimaces, but allows Clint to maneuver him all the same. It's not much, but he does attempt to help where he can, rolling to allow access, bracing as much as his atrophied muscles will allow.
Wounded pride, despair, relief- it all swirls inside of him like a solar storm ready to burn it's way out of him at any moment. He feels so raw and tired.
When Clint moves to get said towel or shirt, Loki's grip on his hand tightens for a brief second to stop him before he brings it to his lips. A gentle kiss placed on the scarred knuckles.
Of course he stops. He doesn't actually want to leave Loki's side, even for the things he needs. The kiss leaves him with a lump in his throat, other hand coming up to stroke Loki's face, tuck hair back behind an ear.
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cuttingremark) wrote2023-01-25 07:40 am
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Instead he write. It's shaky, given his position and lack of strength, but still legible.
Thought I died too. Where are we?
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"I need to know you're really you. I know that's paranoid, but...something only my Loki would know."
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Where Laura? Kids?
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He thinks. There are many things he would probably know about Clint, but what is good enough to convince him when even the knowledge of their family isn't enough? Normally he would pull a trinket out of his pocket dimension, but his magic has long since left him, the energy stolen by his body's need to survive.
Wait. Trinket.
Are Lila's curtains still in my loft?
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Who would know about Lila's old curtains in the loft? When she'd grown out of the bright floral design and wanted something 'more mature'. And Loki couldn't bear to see it go and took it for himself to adorn the window of the loft.
The memory hits him like a truck, and he has to suddenly sit back down before he collapses entirely from it. "You sentimentalist," he croaks out before he can't trust his own voice anymore.
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There isn't much moisture left in his body, but what little there is seems to go to the tears slipping quietly down his cheeks.
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Loki can't get his arms around Clint, so he settles for grasping the front of his shirt. He's sure the human can feel the slight tremble to his frame, but it doesn't matter. Clint has seen him in worse states.
Well, at least emotionally speaking.
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He isn't sure how long they stay like that, all time feels weird after a stay in the void, especially one as long as a year. Eventually he scoots back just enough to be able to look at Clint's face and give him a weak smile.
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"You're the first bit of good news I've had in a year."
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Venezuela. The dirty room, Clint's demeanor.
The silence of the space they're in.
Fast as he can, Loki reaches back to grab the pad of paper he'd been writing on earlier. He holds it up to Clint and taps insistently at something already written there.
Where Laura? Kids?
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"They're gone." And that's going to make Loki panic and cry and he knows, he knows, but they have to get through this. "Not dead, not...not really, at least we don't think so. More that they've just stopped existing."
Breathe. Breathe. He isn't looking at Loki, more through him, eyes settled somewhere around the godling's chest. "Thanos got all the Stones. Clicked his fingers, and in an instant, half of all life in the universe just dissolved into dust. I turned my back for a second, and they were all--"
He finally lets go of Loki's hands. In case he needs to write something more. "That was a year ago."
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Loki remembers one thing from the void. A strange wash of energy that passed over him like a wave. It felt foreign, yet somehow so familiar. At the time he thought little of it. He thought little at all, actually. But now his stomach drops as he realizes with sickening revelation what that sensation was.
Half of all life. Gone. Three-fifths, in Loki's case.
A burning forms in his chest that he knows isn't from any of his physical injuries as he thinks about them, gone. Taken in there prime of their lives. He knew he would outlive them all, but that always came with the comfort of actually getting to see them live, that when their time came they would have had happy and full lives. Not this.
He thinks about Clint on the homestead. Playing or eating or even just existing until suddenly all went quiet. Clint, trying to find them, learning where they went, that they weren't coming back. Loki knows he should ask about Asgard, about Thor, but right now all he can focus on is the burning pit of too many emotions in his chest.
Trembling even harder now, he buries his face in Clint's chest again and lets out a strangled cry. It hurts and he's pretty sure he can taste blood, but it doesn't matter. The physical pain is nothing.
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He stays there, as is, letting Loki get it out even if it hurts, because nothing could hurt worse. "I got hold of Tasha; she came and got me. Caught me up on what was happening. Heard about you, in time."
Had what could be called a breakdown for an amount of time he doesn't necessarily want to disclose.
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Loki pulls himself impossibly closer to Clint, clinging to the one solid thing apparently left to him. What kind of cruel joke is this? He's finally found happiness, only to have it ripped away. Again.
Clint. Alone. Well, not alone, with Natasha, but still without his family. Suffering through that, then learning Loki's (supposed) fate. Fuck.
"S-Sorry." It's barely a whisper. Whispering still hurts, but not as much. Clint probably doesn't want him injuring himself more, but Loki needs to say it. "Tried to stop him."
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They had talked about learning sign language as a family. Clint's hear loss seemed stable, but the doctors said it could get worse at any time. They were going to start when the children went back to school in the fall, the adults taking an online course Laura had found while the children studied it in school.
So many plans. It really did feel like they had eternity.
He tries to speak again, but this time the noises truly won't come. He lets out a whine that part frustrated, part agony. His throat is so dry, yet the idea of water still holds no draw. Nothing does but staying here in Clint's arms.
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At first it feels wonderful, soothing some of the burn in his throat for a brief moment. But as Loki is wont to do, he gets greedy, tipping the bottle up more for more water. The increased flow, however, forces some liquid down his throat the wrong way, causing him to choke and cough. The bottle slips from his grip, soaking the front of his shirt and blanket, assuming Clint does not catch it first.
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"Okay." He sets it down. "Okay. I'll help you. C'mere, I got you." Clint coaxes Loki up to lean against him while he reaches around Loki, arranging pillows. Shifting him, tender, careful. "Get you sat up nice and comfy. I'll get a towel. And a shirt. And...some easy food? Shit. Applesauce and protein shakes and sippy soups."
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Wounded pride, despair, relief- it all swirls inside of him like a solar storm ready to burn it's way out of him at any moment. He feels so raw and tired.
When Clint moves to get said towel or shirt, Loki's grip on his hand tightens for a brief second to stop him before he brings it to his lips. A gentle kiss placed on the scarred knuckles.
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"I missed you. So much."
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