cognitived | mental link;

[ Clint would volunteer Sam for laundry duty whether he started it or no, lbh. And excuse you, that was perfectly accurate one handed signing while the other hand is busy smacking at Clint.

As long as they're both laughing so hard they can barely talk, though, Sam's considering this a success. And not just because despite his attempt to grab at Clint as Clint crawls over him, he's laughing too much to really find any purchase. He ends up with his fingers digging into Clint's sides as he tries to make an indignant noise when Clint snags the pizza, but it just comes out amused. ]

Don't you question my mama's parenting, she raised a perfect son.

[ ...Sam says as he shoves at Clint's hips, rolling them over so he can attempt to push Clint off the bed.

But he does it perfectly. ]

[ Clint would volunteer Sam for laundry duty even if there wasn't pizza damage anyway, tbh. But Sam would probably wind up somehow hoodwinking Clint into helping out anyway.

He's tricksy like that.

But this is good, a welcome escape from the heavy shit that's been hanging over all their heads for too long. Sam laughs so hard he's wheezing, grabbing uselessly at Clint's sides, not quite ticklish. There's a triumphant yell as Clint snags the pizza, hurriedly taking a bite of too hot goodness, even as he futile tries to wiggle his way out of Sam's grasp.

Which mostly means he's adding more force to the way Sam pushes him, shoving him clear from the bed. There's a yelp, a moment of freefall, and then Clint's arm hits the floor, hand skittering into the shadow, and he's gone. The world disappears into a whirlwind haze like some weird Lord of the Rings wraith shit. Everything's there as it was before, just, dual toned and ebbing softly at the edges. Without realizing, he reaches out, a panicked ping that echoes across the gossamer threads connecting him and his broodmates, and the closer thread that is Sam, mere feet away. ]

[ He's gotta be tricksy, when dealing with Clint. He takes pride in shit like roping Clint into helping him do laundry.

It's been a while since he laughed like this, though - hell, it was even before they got here - and even though he technically lost the battle to keep Clint away from the pizza, he just whoops back at Clint's triumphant yell. Yeah, yeah, live it up, it's not gonna stop Sam from shoving Clint's ass off the bad anyway.

He's still chuckling as Clint yelps, but it stops when he hears Clint hit the floor - or, more accurately, the way hearing Clint it the floor sounds wrong, and then Sam's clambering across the bed to stare at where Clint isn't.

There's an echo of Sam's own panic, chasing after Clint's, but Sam stamps down on it quickly. Instead he focuses on the link between him and Clint, reaching out the same way he has before when anxiety or nightmares got to be too much. ]

( Clint? Man, tell me you're still with me. )

[ As with everything Clint does, it goes from one side of the spectrum to another in 0 to 60. It's a talent, really.

Everything feels weird. The floor beneath his hands is stable, but the ebb of it settles uneasily, makes him second guess himself. The short cut sound of Sam's chuckle warbles, sort of like when his 'aids are on the fritz and sounds don't quite flow like they should. It's -- it's as if everything was just ever so slightly off. And the damn cold isn't helping one bit.

Luckily, Sam thinks fast even as Clint gets momentarily lost in a panic. The spark of Sam's mind to his is sudden, has him flinching, before Clint throws himself back into that thread. Reaches back for Sam. ]

( What the fuck is this-- ) [ He blurts, voice stitched in with a sudden onslaught of his new greyscale world. One look up, and there's Sam's worried face, even as he looks around, as if Clint had somehow simply rolled under a desk or something. ]

[ Of course it does. At least life with Clint Barton is predictable in its unpredictablity. Not that Sam can say much, but still.

He doesn't bother to try to stop the quiet surge of relief he feels when Clint reaches back for him, and he channels the remaining panic into holding onto him. It feels different, like he's close but not, and shit Sam has no idea what's happening here.

But at least he knows Clint's still there, and he exhales nice and slow to keep himself calm and steady. ]

( Invisibility, teleportation, or shapeshifting, man, what are we dealing with here? Can you tell me what you can see? )

[ If there's anything Sam Wilson could be said to be, it's stable. Maybe not always, but enough. They settle into each other, the meld of minds for once a relief, and Clint clutches his lingering panic close. It's impossible to suppress completely, and it's far too late now, the lingering tendrils of his panic reaching out for the rest of his brood.

The world shifts, greyscale, as Clint looks over the room, holds up a hand before his eyes. ]

( Still the same, I think. ) [ FOR NOW???????? This is weird, man. ] ( Invisibility, maybe? )

[ That doesn't really....feel right though. And yet -- Clint's very purposefully calm. He can't freak out right now. Later, when he's got this figured sort of out. ]

[ - Clint's panic causes his own pulse to soar, an unwelcome and alarming sensation that means he's sat straight up in his seat at the first trickle of fright and shot back a very abrupt, rough " ???? " in return. Wordless, soundless, just the pressure of his confusion and need to know what the hell has caused such a fright in a man he's come to know as deeply composed, even in the middle of a dangerous situation. ]

( Clint. ) [ Tone of voice = u tell me what is going on right this minute. ]

( Darkling-- )

[ Guilt, apology, he hadn't meant to reach out and startle everyone. He doesn't really know how to explain this, words tripping over his tongue, and so Clint lets his mind splay open beneath the Darkling's touch, ignoring the unease that trickles down his spine. The room is greyscale, if perfectly regular. Nothing unusual, beside the fact that he's clearly on the floor, and Sam's looking intently at an empty space about a foot away with an intense look on his face.

Just your average day with superheroes, y'know. ]

Edited (i can spell) 2016-09-27 04:14 (UTC)

[ Clint's mind spreads before him, invitation to look through his eyes at his experiences. He does his best, not to feel a distinct pleasure at being allowed this. So, he does what he does best - the subtle plucking of a string, a balalaika balanced across his stomach that hums and sings as he tunes the image. He needs to know what lead to this moment, as well, and presses the question upon his broodmate. He tumbled from the bed, and the world blurred into this greyscape landscape before him. It resembles the white, skeletal depths of the Darkling's inner mind. The image he had seen within Alina's mind, when she looked upon him. The Unsea, unbreakable and black, lit from within by her light. ]

( I'll be there momentarily. Please have Sam let me in. I believe I have an idea - of what may have occured. )

[ And if it is what he believes, he'll have to bite back the vicious spike of interest. ]

[ He has to fight down the instinctive urge to shutter his mind, cold gilding his spine at the insidious feeling of someone looking through his own eyes. Clint invited the Darkling in, and so he stays, silent and tense, allowing the sift of memory, the blink of eyes. Sam's anxious, questioning, and Clint sends him a little burst of sound a silent hold on.

Tries to ignore the way this feels -- right, the bond shimmering between them, light between fingers. ]

( Yeah, got it. ) [ Gruff, but the press of their minds reveals his gratefulness. And then, to Sam: ] ( Darkling's on his way, he thinks he can help. )

[ My, the bond between them is acceptable - provided he is the one facilitating the connection and its uses. It becomes an unwelcome nuisance, when others reach in his direction. Be they innocently inquisitive or in need, the press of a mind along his ( uninvited, impermissible ) does not make him any happier than it would Clint, or Bruce, or any of them. Perhaps it's simply a measure of control, this way. The way that he follows the hum that is - alarmingly, but unmistakably - Clint Barton, to the room where he and Sam had been.

It's there that he pauses, looking around the room for a moment, before stepping inside. It's Sam he addresses first: ]

He fell off the bed, and onto the floor. From there, he's nowhere to be found.

[ It's confirmation that he's looking for, as he steps closer to the edge of the bed - where the light has cast shadow across the floor. It's this shadow that he reaches down to lay a hand flat against, running his fingertips curiously over its surface. While he addresses Clint through their connection, it is open to Sam as well - there's no use keeping him out of the proceedings: ]

( You fell, Clint. A little further than you're used to falling, I believe. )

[ Still the same, Clint says, and all right, well, at least that means theoretically he didn't go too far. Invisibility seems like it'd make sense, but when Sam sweeps a hand across the floor where Clint should be, there's nothing.

There's also no relief when Clint says that Darkling might know how to help, but he moves towards the door anyway. He won't turn away any option, but he'll save anything like relief for when he actually sees Clint again. Similarly, he gives Darkling a nod as he lets him into the room, but doesn't bother with pleasantries. ]

Yeah. You seen anything like this before?

[ He can feel the Darkling, the gleam of his mind even though they've pulled away at the edges. It's -- it's strangely relieving. Especially when Sam crouches down before him and sweeps his hand -- through him? over him? It's weird, and Clint shudders, a mental spill over catching the both of them in it. Monsters and magic, nothing he was ever trained for, and it makes him uneasy.

His hands ache for a bow, a solid issue to fight. ]

( Further? ) [ Sharp, but only because that's -- not entirely what he expected. A flurry, where, how, why-- but in the end he falls silent, mind nestled in alongside the both of them, a sparking little thing. Clint can hear them regardless, but keeping contact helps. Makes it easier to ground himself, somehow. ]

I've not seen humans fall into shadow, like this. Monsters, yes.

[ His monsters, but he doesn't mention that. Instead, he kneels by the space that Sam has confirmed Clint fell to. The dark patch of shadow there, the seeking press of Clint's mind - looking for a little comfort to his uneasy. It's without ceremony that the Darkling reaches for Sam's ankle, and takes hold of it firmly as he leans over the patch of black. His mind digs into Clint's, anchoring himself and searching for rhyme and reason and method.

He uses Clint, and will apologize later for the act, tipping himself over - arm vanishing directly through the floor. No, not the floor. He's gone into the shadow. Almost immediately, he can feel the texture of a shirt. There is nothing like distance between his reach and Clint's form, it's not as though Clint is under the floor. He's just - relocated. Further. ]

( Come here, Clint. Let's see you back among us. )

[ He listens, impatient and statue still, staring into the colorless shape Sam and the Darkling make. It's useful information, maybe, but he tucks it aside for later, when he isn't stuck in some shadow world. But then the tendrils of the Darkling's mind, comfortably curled close around him, suddenly dig into the fleshy yield of Clint's mind. Fingers rifling through his brain, talons digging in in in, further and further and you have heart--

Clint doesn't respond, not a true verbal thing. Instead, he shatters under sudden, familiar, fear. The pieces of himself holding onto the both of them lash out, caught up in too blue and the crazed line of Loki's smile. Not again, not again-- a litany tripping over the flailing press of him.

The Darkling reaches for him, fingers caught in the fabric of shirt, and Clint instinctively grabs his arm in a bruising grip. Less for the want of escape, and more of a threat -- get out. ]

[ That's... well, Sam can't actually decide if that's reassuring or not. At least Darkling has some experience with this, even if it's not exactly the same. But before he can think too much into it, the Darkling's hand is curled around his ankle, and Sam's frowning curiously at him as he leans over the shadow. Sam's settled enough in Clint's mind that he feels the Darkling digging in - and more than that, he feels Clint's reaction to it. It's not the first time he's gotten wrapped up in Loki-related fear, but it is the first time it's been this intense, triggered by a repeat rather than a memory.

He doesn't try to push the Darkling out of Clint's mind or pull his ankle from the Darkling's grasp, because he's a little too caught up in Clint's panic to be able to completely sort out what's going on here, and anyway he doesn't want to try to fight Clint's battles for him. Instead he withdraws, pulling back from the connection between him and the Darkling and letting go of his own hold on Clint's mind.

But he lingers with Clint, same as he has the times when it's Clint's nightmares that send them reeling, a wordless offer of warmth and support - I'm here, I'm here, breathe with me - and this time it's accompanied by a trickle of emotion - you are your own, and you're stronger than anything they can throw at you. An unshakable faith, born from knowing and trusting Clint maybe more than he quite realized, but Sam shares it without hesitation. ]

PRACTICAL if we're gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it.	RESILIENT do you know what it's like to be unmade?
SKILLED if i miss, it means im just another dude with a bow.	DETERMINED this is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for.

mental link;

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im not sure if it was bri's turn or mine ???

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