James Buchanan Barnes isn't a killer. He isn't merciless, or cunning, or evil.
But something in him is.
*****
A wrapper crinkles, fabric shifts, and a small, open hand jerks in front of my face. The smell of powdery chocolate and oats meets my nos...
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With the Avengers either healed or on the mend, and the compound back together in one piece, there was one pressing issue it had come the time to discuss: Thor's brother.
Or, as the hammer wielding Asgardian continuously feels the need to remind everyone, Thor's adopted brother.
Loki.
"I'm telling you, that's all I can remember." Says Barton, an arrow in his hands. The archer fiddles with its ends, and the shaft retracts into itself at the press of his palms on either end. Over and over, it recoils and extends at Barton's touch, and my ears prick at the click of metal on metal.
I roll my jaw in annoyance.
"Do you at least know where it was? For heaven's sake, what the damn walls were made of?" Stark pleads in reference to where Barton was kept while under Loki's control. The Iron Man leans on a round, glass table, sporting his usual half buttoned up white blouse and flattened black dress pants. His square glasses lie discarded two inches from his extended fingers.
"If I knew, don't you think I'd have told you by now, Tony?" Barton argues. "It wasn't like last time. Last time it was like I was there, in my head, but- but I just couldn't do anything. This time?" He pauses and takes a breath. "I wasn't there at all."
"So Loki's changing his strategy, we've noticed." Romanoff begins from beside Thor across the table. Her hair's loose at her shoulders, and an army green sweater hangs over a tight, black tank top across her torso. Black skinny jeans clothe her from the waist down. "Let's just get straight what it is, and do the same."
Steve sighs from beside Barton. "Easier said than done."
Much easier said than done.
My back presses flat against a far wall, and my feet meet the floor at an angle. My arms rest tucked beneath the crook of either shoulder, and my forehead bears its typical frown.
My eyes turn to Mila, dressed almost identically to Romanoff, only without the sweater, and with a dark maroon leather jacket instead. Her voice is strong and clear as she asks, "What do we have so far?"
It's Wilson that answers, holding up a new finger with every point, "He's still big on the mind control, he can make 'em vanish now, and he's gone from a dramatic theatre production to a subtle evening special."
Someone scoffs.
"And we're assuming it's still the scepter that he's using?" Romanoff asks.
Steve's arms cross atop a broad chest. "At this point, I honestly don't know. With the kind of sorcery he's been seen doing now, there's got to be more than that." He turns to the man at Romanoff's side. "Thor?"
My eyes follow his.
The Asgardian's look hardens. "That scepter houses the mind stone. I cannot say for certain that none of the other Infinity Stones are at play here." He taps a hand on the hilt of his hammer, set harmlessly on the glass.
