They're the wrong colour. Was the only thought going through Clint's mind as he locked eyes with a figure he hadn't seen from his teenage years in the circus. He froze, his hand moving away from the weapon at his side as he watched Loki get to his feet. He looked so different, here in the lab, compared to within the circus tent. The spear looked wrong in the man's hand compared to the little ballerina box he worked so hard on before. Loki. Loki was a God. The God of Mischief. Clint met a God all those years ago within the tent. A God called him little hawk. No wonder the man was so confused that he could always find him, he shouldn't have been able to. The God was likely using some power to make his eyes gloss over him, yet he always managed to fight through it. No wonder the others thought him crazy when he mentioned a man on the highest perch of the tent. ----- Inspired by breathe out and let go by SparrowRising on AO3
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