Thor was a man made for heroic speeches and grand gestures. He carried epic drama with him like a second cloak; it meant that he was a fine hand at stirring the hearts of men, a brilliant figurehead, a man whose every pose made him look like the hood ornament of some sort of terrifyingly expensive car.
It also meant that he was the worst nightmare of anyone down-to-Earth, reasonable, and concerned with small details. Such as, for example, paramedics.
Thor went from the roof to the broken front window across the street in a single bound, then rapidly crunched across the broken glass to where his brother lay fallen. There he dropped to one knee and cradled Loki in his arms. Which was a nice gesture of filial love, but not the best idea when it came to a snapped clavicle and countless severed blood vessels.
It took more than an arrow to kill a god, even an arrow shot by Hawkeye. But Loki was bleeding a lot, and something about the arrow through his shoulder seemed wrong and undignified to Thor – and Loki had always been dignified. The arrow also, it should be noted, made Loki much more difficult to hold.
Ignoring rule number one of treating impaling objects – which is, do not remove said object if you are not a professional with years of medical education under your belt and OH GOD WASH YOUR HANDS FIRST – Thor snapped the aluminum arrow and half and pulled it from his brother's shoulder.
The result was a lot more blood.
The result was also Loki cracking one eye open and giving Thor an unfocused, almost drunken sneer. "I," he said, carefully enunciating each word, "asked for cream with my shot1." Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp again.
"Loki? Brother? I don't understand. Will cream heal you?" Thor gave him a gentle shake, then thought better of doing it again when Loki's head wobbled in a most distressing manner. He tore a strip from the bottom of his cape and made an impromptu bandage. It had the added benefit of also hiding the worst of the blood.
That was the point Clint stepped into house, letting himself in through the unlocked front door. He had his bow ready, another arrow knocked. He also pointedly ignored the nasty glare Thor aimed at him. "Did you check the other rooms?"
"I have other things to worry about." Thor said.
Hawkeye took a glance at Loki, and had to admit that it was an impressive amount of blood the man had produced. Mentally, he gave himself a silver star for effort. Better than bronze, since he'd done more than wing Loki, but definitely not gold since it was just a flesh wound and that barely counted. "Maybe you should take him to a hospital."
"The healers at the mansion are better. I'll take him there."
"I don't think that's..." But Thor was already out the window. Hawkeye sighed. "Yeah, why don't you take care of that, I'll just do all the hard work here, I don't mind at all, and sure I'd love it if you bought me a steak dinner in thanks. You're a pal." Suddenly, he grinned. "Fury's gonna shit himself."
Clint carefully went over the house from top to bottom, then gave Agent Coulson a call. The basement was full of mechanical bits that Clint wasn't interested in identifying, but Coulson and his other black suits would probably have a field day.
He also found a pitcher of lemonade and a pan of brownies missing two squares in the kitchen. Feeling as if his day was really starting to look up, Clint took them out to the front porch. Sitting in Daniel Sorres' abandoned (but perfectly matched) patio furniture, he demolished the brownies while he waited for his helicopter to show up.
16 – Perhaps the safest assumption here is that Loki was referring to a shot of espresso, though that does beg the question as to why copious amounts of blood and pain would make him think he was ordering coffee. Though he had recently been at a Starbucks in London.