~Let's Eat His Brains~

At first it was all white noise… my head was pouring so hard that I felt as though it might burst open and paint the walls of whatever confinement I was hidden within, with my bloodied brains.  I felt as though I was living within a TV full of static; the kind you used to watch on TV because you were so desperate for a distraction.  I remember staring at the screen, wondering which of the two would win, white or black?  I remember my mom telling me to look away or else I’d fry my brain, but of course I never listened.  Then there is that moment where all you can see is grey.  Your mind subconsciously mixing the two together to create a canvas, blank and ready for color. 
I had my eyes screwed tight.  Seeing as there was no point in opening them – because of the old bag I had over my head – I remained blind to the world around me, though my other senses were hard at work.  Thrash was stirring within me, but still unconscious.  I let myself feel the air around me discerning how cold or warm it was, or how heavy the air weighed down upon me.  I was underground, that much I knew.  I had woken up on a plane, a small jet.  My sense of direction was scrambled but at some point I could tell which way was north. 
My ears strained to hear the noise outside.  From what I had gathered, I was in a small room adjacent to a much larger base.  It wasn’t built for me, otherwise it would have been sound proofed and the walls would be thick.  I knew that the walls around me were only a few inches thick, seeing as I had purposely brushed my shoulder against the wall as I was being dragged in.
The other three walls behind me and to either side of me were made of concrete, but the one that sat before me was made of Plexiglas.  I wasn’t ready for this, I was anxious and my stomach rumbled.  For some strange reason the first thought that popped into my head was: what happened to my tots?  Thrash would kill whoever took away his tater tots.  There is a line that one must never cross with him, and he draws it at his tots. 
My face was sticky, seeing as the blood that had run from my nose had painted my lips, chin and throat red, crusting as it dried.  My hair was plastered to my temples at the sides of my head, dried in the cots of blood that had dribbled from my ears.  I felt gross and dirty, lacking in undergarments, and sanity. 
I could hear people bustling about outside.  The majority was male voices, but I had heard a woman talking about security footage before I was plopped down in here and tied to a metal folding chair.  There were boots shuffling across the cement floor and every so often someone would chuckle.  There were sounds of people cleaning and cocking guns, sharpening knives, and once or twice I had heard sparks spraying across the ground, fizzing and crackling.  
There were a pair of footsteps that drew nearer, and stopped just shy of the doorway in the Plexiglas.  I could feel eyes on me and I lifted my head, straightening up as much as I could.  This was far from S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol, but everyone I had seen wore a S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on their vests. 
“Is this her?” a voice asked.  It was slightly raspy and sounded like it belonged to an older man, there was a slight accent to it that I couldn’t place, though I thought it might have been Norwegian. 
“Yeah, it’s her.”  That was Clint’s voice.   I opened my eyes, staring at the bag in front of my face.  It was made of wool, opaque, but I could see misshapen silhouettes standing in front of the doorway. 
“You bet I’m me, jerk.”  I snorted, angered by their talk.  They talked of me as if I weren’t capable of coherent speech, like a mindless monster.  “You better start talking Birdman or I might just reconsider the whole… biting-off-heads thing.”  I added with a snarl. 
The shapes moved and the two stepped into the room walking towards me.  One of the men had a case or something, his shoulders tilted to one side.  Whatever was in there must have been either weighty or plentiful. 
“They asked me to run a few tests on you.”  The strange man said and Clint reached forward and grabbed the bag from over my head, pulling it off along with a hair or two.  Light invaded my eyes and I blinked hard once or twice as I took in my surroundings.  Everything was made of cement, from the concrete floor to the stone support beams and the concrete raftered ceiling. 
I glared at Clint before looking over at the man who was pulling up another folding chair and setting it up inches away from mine.  I stared at him, tracking his movements.  He was a little shorter than Clint, with balding blonde hair and blue eyes that were completely identical to Clint’s.  Probably some fancy contacts that did the math for you. 
“Clint, why am I here?  I’m off the radar, I’m the good guy.”  I growled up at Clint, head still throbbing. 
“That’s not why you’re here, Stacy.”  Clint said gruffly and I shook my head slowly.
“Well you better have a good freaking reason for my being here.”  I responded as the strange man propped open his case and met my eyes, grinning like a man possessed. 
“Hello Miss Blanc, I’m Dr. Erik Selvig.”  He said and held out his hand for me to shake before he realized I was tied up and chuckled, patting my knee instead.  I watched him relentlessly, eyes boring into his.  Maybe if I think hard enough his head will fall off.  “Can you open your mouth, please?”  he asked, holding up a swab.
Unable to do anything else, I opened my mouth, wincing when he grabbed my jaw and stuck the swab in my mouth and swirled it around the walls of my cheeks.  When he withdrew, he quickly placed the swab in a vile and put it in a plastic bag marked as:  Saliva Sample.   No shoot Sherlock.
Dr. Erik Selvig proceeded to poke and prod at me, and at one point requested finger prints and nail clippings, so Clint slowly untied me.  I made no move to harm anyone – I couldn’t with Thrash sleeping -.
I held out my hand while Dr. Selvig presser my pointer finger into an ink tray before pressing it on a small sheet of paper which he quickly dried and covered with plastic.  He clipped my thumbnail and I stared irritated by the look of all but one of my fingernails cut nicely.  I let my hand rest on my knee compliantly as he cleaned the inside of my arm and wound a strip of elastic tightly around the spot just above my elbow and feeling for veins.  Unfortunately, I hadn’t had any water since dinner yesterday, so they were quite difficult to find. 
Once he had stopped digging around my arm for veins, and had a decent amount of blood trapped in a pair of small clear vials, Selvig stood and packed his collected samples away before turning to leave.  I compliantly placed my hands back behind my back so Clint could tie me back up.  I tried to meet his gaze the entire time he stood over me, hands fastening the zip ties so tightly around my writing that it made me wince as my skin tightened around the band.
“Clint, listen to me.”  I whispered, and he stopped, looking down at me with a cold stare.  I furrowed my brows and swallowed hard.  “I can’t control Thrash, you know that… I can’t see you get hurt, and I won’t be able to live with myself knowing I killed you.”  I hissed, feeling Thrash stir within me every second.  He was waking up, slowly but surely.
“You won’t get far.”  Was all he said, standing up straight and turning his back on me.  Anger stirred within me as I bit the inside of my cheek.  I could’ve killed him before he had time to realize what was happening if Thrash was wake.  This was wrong.  He should be scared of me, of what I could inflict upon him.
I watched as Clint left the room behind Erik Selvig who passed off the samples to a man who quickly secured off towards a lab adjacent to the massive base.  I couldn’t tell the difference between S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers and the others, and there was no way Thrash would even care. 
“Stacy~”  I sighed in relief as Thrash spoke to me and I leaned my head back as I drew in a few deep breaths, trying to remain calm.
“I’m here buddy.”  I spoke.  “We’re stuck here for a while babe, I think somethings wrong and I need to know that Clint is okay.”  I spoke quickly.  A man walking past the room turned his head towards me and I shifted in my seat.  He’d no doubt heard me talking to Thrash and assumed I was nuts, and he walked on.
“Let’s eat his brains.”  Thrash suggested, voice coated with sarcasm but I still shook my head with a scoff.
“Don’t touch anyone, and I’ll make sure you get your tots so stay the heck away from my appendix.”  I grumbled.  The promise of tots seemed to intrude him but I still felt him moving within me.  I looked over my shoulder at my hands, and watched as coal grey tendrils began to crawl around the bands, loosening them a little and I sighed in relief, rolling my wrists, trying to get the feeling back in my fingertips. 
I observed silently for an hour or two as Thrash rambled on inside my head.  “We don’t have to kill anyone, just chew them up a little…”  he was suggesting as I saw Dr. Erik Selvig, Clint and another agent, walking towards me.
“Look, Thrash, I know they hurt us, but we can’t hurt then until we know what’s going on.  This could all be a huge misunderstanding.”  I said quickly as I felt Thrash bubbling with anger.   Clint and Selgiv heard me talking as they stepped into the room and the new agent narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. 
“Is he awake?”  Clint asked, and I looked up at him defiantly as the coal grey tendrils began to seep through my clothes and crawl around me.  Trash wanted them to know he was there and awake. 
“One wrong move.  If one of them hurt you, I will kill them.”  Thrash snarled savagely.
“Yeah, and he wants you to know he’s starving.  He likes tater tots.”  I responded as Thrash disappeared back into my skin.  Clift scoffed as the bands around my wrists snapped and I stood up, using the chair to support myself but Thrash soon stiffened within me, allowing my body to relax whist simultaneously feeling supported and strengthened.
“This is Dr. Zeek, he wants to do some imaging and tests on you.”  Clint said hand lingering at a device strapped to his hip… the high frequency resonator. 
“No MRIs!”  Thrash snarled.
“The frequency in the MRI is very harmful for him.”  I said and the Doctor nodded. 
“I’ve read your file.”  Oh, so I had a file?  Why was I surprised?  It was S.H.I.E.L.D. they keep tabs on every threat, and I was right up there with a big green rage monster, though I don’t doubt that Thrash could kick his big green butt.  “Shall we?”  the doctor motioned towards the door.
“Do I have a choice?”  I grunted as I stepped forward walking out into the large bade, and letting the doctor, Selvig and Clint guide me through the large base...