Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Loki looks damn good in a suit, Tony thinks. It is the only good thing about today. Tony can’t even admire Loki in a suit, because he is waiting with a disturbing amount of patience out in the hallway.Congressman Ross sits behind his desk, hands clasped nonthreateningly on top of it, and looks at Tony with this… disgustingly honest expression. He must have got it from Captain America.

“The fact of the matter is, Mr. Stark, that you agreed to work on the Avengers team with them again, and team cohesion is, according to your leader, terrible.” Tony quirks an eyebrow.

“No, it’s not, and Mr. Rogers is not my leader. Mr. James Rhodes is currently the only acting leader of the Avengers, and is aided by Mr. Jack Maverick. I myself am not a leader or even a full team member, but a consultant at this time.”

“Displeasure has been expressed at Mr. Rhode’s involvement.”

“I do not see how that is a concern; I expressed displeasure at who filled the position of the West Coast head of R&D for SI, and that was also soundly ignored. It isn’t about personal preference. If anyone has a problem with Mr. Rhodes leadership, they will need to either file for an ethics investigation, deal, or quit.”

Ross nods, all agreeable. Damn fanboy.

“Mr. Stark, when you agreed to put the Avengers back on the active roster, there was an impression that you would attempt to put behind you the events that caused your Civil War.”

“Was there?” Tony says, leaning back in his seat.

“There was.”

“It wasn’t in writing. It wasn’t even brought up, except by parties concerned for the health of myself and of The Vision.”

“Nevertheless,” Ross says, “working with people in life and death situations means you must trust them. You have the unfortunate burden of having to learn to trust them, but that it what needs to happen if you are to all form a team.” Tony raises his hand.

“I see lots of plot holes. First of all, life-and-death requires trusting people to do the jobs they are supposed to do. If Mr. Rogers is supposed to block with his energy shield, I trust him to do that. If Ms. Romanov is supposed to set a small explosive, I trust her to do that. What I don’t trust, is for someone to come over the comms and tell me to do this or that. I don’t trust Steven to do strategy. I don’t trust him to lead in a way that does not set up the extremely unhealthy dynamics that were in place before they left. That is why Rhodey is leader. Because he does not have a history of betrayal.

“Second of all, I would not be learning to trust. I would be learning to trust again, and those are two different things entirely. Furthermore, I did not choose to leave the team and demand to come back. I chose to stay and deal with the fallout. If other team members find themselves irritated with me, they are welcome to leave my building and my life,” Tony says. Ross swallows, knowing he’s been gotten.

“Very well, Mr. Stark. I will see you later then.” Loki waits to speak until they are in the car. He drags the thick tail of his braid over his shoulders and begins to tease the end.

“You know, sometimes I almost believe I was wrong about mortals. But then I see something that tells me I am right,” Loki muses as Tony sits in the car, half dead with exhaustion. With the Avengers back and fully pardoned just two weeks after they go and demanding special treatment, Tony has to scrabble to do any planning with them breathing down his neck.

It. Is. Exhausting.

“That’s okay, Lokes. I got a plan.”

Chapter Text

Tony drives into the garage entrance of the Avenger’s compound, the blue-white of his mustang’s headlights illuminating the rows of cars he keeps here. As he pulls into the parking space, he catches sight of Steve, leaning up against the elevator, and groans. It’s okay. Steve can’t hurt hi. Not right now. Not like this. Technically.

Tony climbs out of his car, pulls his briefcase over to him, and begins his strut of No Fucks Given towards the elevator.

“Stark,’ Steve begins.

“Rogers.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Shoot me an email. I’ll have FRIDAY pencil you in.”

“This is important.”

“Everything everyone wants to discuss is important. It’s almost like I have the ability to get things rolling. Or make them stop. Either way.” The elevator doors open just as he reaches them, so Tony steps inside. Steve follows after him before hte doors can close completely. What a pity.

“Tony, you’re literally right here.”

“It is six in the evening, Rogers, my time for dealing with other people’s problems ended at five. Like I said, ask FR-”

“Okay, look, this bullshit you’re pulling has gone far enough,” Steve says as the elevator doors open up to the floors Steve is allowed to go to.

“Please step off the elevator, Mr. Rogers.”

“You said the AI wouldn’t favor you.”

‘She doesn’t. JOCASTA is meant to keep the peace and respect everyone. No forced conversations and-”

“Jesus, Stark, get out here,” Clint says as he walks into the elevator and reaches for Tony’s wrist. He jerks back.

“Mr. Barton, you are violating the terms of your return. Cease and desist.”

“Call off your robot.”

“You are on camera. I would go away, if I were you,” Tony says, voice pitched low and soft. Clint just leans against the wall, next to the control panel.

“Bucky needs a new arm.”

“What? Wakanda not suit him well in that aspect?” Steve’s lips thin out as he steps a little closer to Tony. He can hear the other man’s breathing, and he knows fear when he sees it.

“You shot his arm off. You owe it to him to build him a new one.”

“I owe him nothing,” Tony hisses as his spine suddenly goes rigid with indignation. “I owe you nothing. I owe nothing of you anything, but here you are, trying to make me go and work for your ends. Your idea of truth.” Steve grits his teeth.

“Need I remind you that we are not back because you were right?”

“No, you aren’t back because I was right. You’re back because you, Captain America, private Rogers, really, are as much of a piece of propaganda as you ever were. You might as well be back in the 40s!”

“That’s not true and you know it. The world needs us. You need us. You were just too stubborn to fucking call!”

“You send me a piece of technology so archaic it’s an insult and a letter that just shows me how blind you are, and you talk about not calling? Why would I call? Now I have to deal with you and Thanos.”

“Dr. Stark, you have a guest in the foyer.”

“Take me there.” The doors close and the car begins to move.

“You might not think I was right, Rogers, but you fucking signed the Accords, and you are legally required to adhere to them or retire," Tony hisses as the car lowers. 

"This isn’t about me, this is about Bucky,” Steve says as he gets a good grip on Tony’s arm and stops him from stepping out of the elevator. He knows where the cameras are. With Barton on the other side of Tony, there isn’t a clear view of Steve gripping him.

“Isn’t it always?” Tony asks in the softest voice as he moves past Steve and into level one of the Compound. Unless they want it to look funny, they have to let Tony go. Steve looks to Clint. The archer shrugs.

“Man is not gonna give up, Steve. Your best bet is the damn council. Again.” Steven sighs and follows Tony out. When he makes it through the set of doors and turns the corner into the foyer, he sees a peculiar sight.

A man in… reddish robes?... that go down to his ankles is standing in the light cast by the evening sun. His silvering highlights at each temple make him seem stately and well put together, despite looking like he jumped straight out of a renaissance fair. Tony is already in front of him, grasping hands.

“Dr. Strange. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Dr. Stark, I presume. Tell me, why did you think it appropriate to send your trickster friend to see me?”

“He’s magic, you’re magic… I thought you might connect. Plus, If I say the world is about to end, people say ‘Tony, you’re fucking crazy’, and I didn’t want to go to lengths greater than  needed to to get a hold of you. Plus the other stuff.”

“What other stuff?” Steven interrupts. Tony turns away from the mage and the sorcerer at his sides and regards Steven with a long look.

“Uhm… nunya.”

“Tony, the last time you kept secrets, you made a murder bot.”

“You know what? That name, lovely as you’d like it to sound, is actually worse coming from your mouth than it was out of Banner's, and since neither of you have anything to do with this gentleman right here, i’m going to go ahead and say shoo. Loki? Can we go to my office?”

“I thought you said your hours were over," Steve reproaches him. 

“They are.” Tony says with a smirk as the three of them appear in Tony’s office. Loki leans his well-clothed ass against Tony’s desk and sets one hand on the glass top. He tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow.

“Really, dear, if they’re going to be that much of a hassle I’m just going to start setting magical traps around the Compound.”

“They do seem troublesome,” the man muses as Loki waggles index finger of the hand not making him look all cocky. Tony fixes him with a look.

“You’re not making tea, are you? Don’t make tea. Make… espresso. Espresso is beautiful.” Loki rolls his eyes.

“I am making tea… and regular coffee.”

“Rude.”

“I call it a compromise. Besides, our friend here drinks tea. As do I. Would you really be okay with jumping us both up on caffeine?”

“That’s not fair. I bet you don’t even sleep, do you?” Tony demands of Doctor Strange. “And you," he says with a pointed finger at Loki, "you need espresso to work like normal coffee does, so shut up.” Loki gives him a smile.

“Okay, houseguests aside, no magical traps. Part of the agreement about living in the compound is that there can be no specializing the enviroment. No magical traps in the elevators or Clint Bartons in the ceilings or Natasha trying her hand at camera hacking.”

“You throw away your superior advantage then inform me like it’s logical,” Loki says with a frown.

“Logical or not, I need you to follow the rules long enough to prove that they are being broken. We can’t do that, we can’t do anything. So can we please stop having this conversation.”

“You want me to join your superhero team… but this is your dynamic. I’m curious as to how you wound up in this state,” Stephen Strange says.

“There’s a lot of stuff, but the long and the short of it is Steven felt like we didn’t need the Accords because it would be restricting their ability to help and I felt like we did because it would restrict our ability to harm. Then, the UN bombing was blamed on Cap’s best buddy, Cap stops listening and loses his fucking mind and everyone else forms up, picks sides, and we have it out.

“Turns out some guy named Zemo’s been doing his level best to keep the situation from de-escalating, and at the end of the day we wind up in where else but fucking Siberia where I learn that Captain America knew and hid from me the fact that Bucky Barnes killed my parents… we fought, I almost died, and the american people took Ross’... also inflammatory role in this whole Civil war thing as proof that the Avengers were right and suddenly they get a second wind in which I’m supposed to be making nice with them. You can ask JOCASTA for more details on that about it,” Tony says as the coffee and tea float in on a tray.

“Strange thing for a friend of your’s to do,” Stephen Strange says as he takes his tea. Loki rests a hand on the small of Tony’s back.

“It is. To top it all off, Thanos is still coming, and now they want that lighting in a bottle type shit. So in order to keep the control I do have i kinda sorta signed an agreement that I referenced earlier about living with the team. The good thing is that is not something you have to sign so the whole super tight clique drame is not something you’ll have to be a part of for the most part.”

“This has the potential to go very badly, very quickly. I don’t think I want to be a part of the team.” Tony raises his arms.

“Done. You don’t have to be a part of the team. You don’t even have to be on the same stage as the team, except for as a public appearance thing that we’ll more or less have control of. And that’s more, by the way, where I’m concerned. Really, I don’t want to bring you in either. I like what you’ve got. I just want to work with you.”

“Just you?”

“I’m more than just an Avenger. I can work with you in any capacity, as long as I’m legit about it. I can contract the use of others outside of the of the Avengers but inside of the Accords, which you’ve already signed?” Stephen nods. “Do a partnership with me and Loki. He’s a consultant too, and he’s got a distinctive non Avenger project he could use your help on.” Stephen looks between Tony and Loki.

“You’re planning to bring others on?”

“Hell yeah.” Strange gives it another moment of thought.

“What is this thing you want to try?”

Chapter Text

“Do you have hope for him?” Strange asks as he and Loki walk the perimeter of Tony’s land. As they go, they work together to lay the foundation for a barrier.

“I do, but sometimes one must be allowed to be as he is before any peace can be found.” The walk is slow, the progress hard, and periodically, Loki pulls his hip flask out out to drip blood onto the ground. A sharp wind pierces him straight through, but Loki barely feels it. Jotunheimr tundra far outmatched land in the coldest parts of the Canadian Shield.

Strange gives Loki along, thoughtful look.

“I did not expect you to be like this.”

“Like what?”

“One moment, you’re leading an alien army in order to take over earth, and in the next, you just want to raise your kid.”

“Kids.” Loki drops more blood onto the ground.

“How many do you have? And where are they now? And why did Tony say they were all traumatized?” Strange asks. Loki deliberates for a moment. If he is to make an ally in Strange, he will need to be honest with him.

“I have Fenrir, as you well know. He was chained beyond comfort on an island, with a giant sword through his mouth. I have cast a sleeping spell on him so that he may heal from wounds meant to slow him down for eternity.

“Hel lives with her godmother, and will succeed her, if Ragnarok comes about as promised. She was killed at the moment of her birth. Sleipnir was forced to be Odin's mount, and Jormungandr is a giant snake, and my oldest. When Odin found out about his parentage, he attempted to kill him by cutting him open and dragging his unpierced innards out into the open, so that the flesh would not close. They are both in the care of his grandfather, Laufey

“Narfi, Fenrir’s twin and much more suited to warm weather, is hidden somewhere in the massive forests of Vanaheim, guarding my youngest child Vali. they were both in the care of Odin, and are trained assassins. I am very sure that they are trained in other things that children should not be trained in, but we will have to see if my suspicions are true.” Stephen just stares.

“Does everybody just kidnap and torture children, or is it just Odin?” Loki shakes his head.

“Odin moved in secret; most did not know I had children, and none knew what he did with them, except for Fenrir. They see him as a hero and a generous king for what he did to my baby.” Because Fenrir is mad. Because no one knew how he ever came to be that way.

“Jesus. You’re family’s fucked up.”

“That isn’t even the half of it. And it is bad luck to speak ill of the king.” Stephen ignores that last one.

“What else is there?”

“I was adopted by Odin. I did not know of my true father- Laufey- until I was grabbed by a frost giant in a skirmish I had a direct hand in causing, though I didn’t mean it. I intentionally let Frost Giants into Asgard with the intention of killing them and showing them how bad Thor would be, should he be king right them. The plan worked, but it led to unexpected consequences.

“The skirmish?” Loki nods.

“And the banishment. I’ll not go into detail, but that isn’t the end of my crimes.”

“What else happened?”

“I later almost fatally injured Laufey, then repaid him for my actions, which included attempted genocide, by voluntarily stabilizing his dying planet. I bought my son’s current respite by locating Laufey’s lost lover, Farbauti.”

“You don’t seem ashamed.”

“Shame… shame and debt are far more tangible to me than they are to you. I have already paid my debts. It does no good to dwell on it.” Loki runs fingers through his tied back hair as he casts another spell, Stephen’s magic wrapped beautifully around it.

“You’re a fast learner,” Loki murmurs. “How did you wind up in sorcery if you are, in fact, a doctor?” Stephen shrugs his shoulders.

“If you boil it all down? Hubris.” Loki nods.

“Happens to the best of us, I suppose. I assume it took some kind of accident, if your hands are anything to go by.” Stephen’s lips thin.

“Loki.”

“Aye.”

“If we’re going to work together, I think we need to lay down ground rules: do not fucking mention my hands,” Loki looks into his eyes for a moment, calculating, analyzing. It’s scary, knowing what he’s done. What he could still do.

“My apologies. I did not mean harm. I have a ‘ground rule’ for you.”

“What is it?"

"Do not judge or comment on my children’s appearances.” Stephen nods as well. Loki would ignore the scars and the trembling, and Strange would ignore the things that showed on his kids.

“What will you do when your brother comes back?”

“I have cut my ties to him, but some of my children may call on debt unique to Thor, when they age enough. The crown prince may be called to fill some of his father’s debts, since the burden falls to the Allfather and, therefore, Asgard. In fact, it would not surprise me if most of the actual repaying falls to him, as the Allfather is old, and only getting frailer, now that the weight of the Odinforce presses down on him harder than ever. I suppose we shall go the route of most.”

“Mutual agreement to ignore?”

“Yes.”

“And if he attacks your children?”

“I am the God of Bargains, and any deal at all must have some sort of debt exchange. Debt, of course, is useless if you don’t remember it. To cross me by hurting my children could render him unworthy, should the memory of his actions be weighed by his hammer. If that happens, I will immortalize the memory, just as Odin immortalized the right of passage, and stop him from ever using the weapon he spent a millenia mastering.” Strange looks at Loki again as another of his golden mandalas sank into the ground.

“You really weren’t kidding when you said you were a god.”

“Hmm. It’s just magic, really; inherent in all of us, but only accessible by a few.”

“How about a deal? I’ll teach you my magic if you teach me yours.”

“Very well.” Loki extends his hand and grips Strange’s and a shiver runs through the latter.

“Oh.”

“Godhood. It’s a funny thing.” Loki’s head suddenly snaps to the side.

“Oh, blasted- every damned time- we need to get back to the Compound,” Loki says as he stands back to allow Stephen to portal them in. Loki holds a hand up and walks, soft as a deer, smooth as a dancer, until he can hear the conversation.

“The only one who doesn’t fucking go back for their teammates is you, Tony! You leave them in the RAFT, you attack my friend-” What the hell is Steven yelling about?

“I never attacked your friend, you ass! I fucking attacked you. For lying to me. It’s your little buddy’s decision to jump in that even got him involved in the fight, and it’s his decision to grab the arc reactor that cost him his arm!” Tony comes back just as strong, just as angry.

“Why don’t you stop trying to pawn off your actions on a POW? I mean, I know you wouldn’t understand, Stark, but Jesus.” that must be Clint.

“Tony, ego or not, we do need to get past this, preferably before your favorite mind-raper comes back.” Widow? Likely.

“Mindraper? What the fuck is Maximoff, then? A hippie? I notice that what I do is always so fucking bad but everyone else has their fucking reasons!” Loki stops Strange, curious.

“Wanda is reformed. You know that,” Steven says so firmly that for a moment Loki believes him.

“No, I don’t. Because I only fought with her once! And her fucking magic is what drove me out of the Compound in the first place! She cost us Bruce; knocked his ass all the way back to square one, and he had to leave because of her, so she’s really not a damned angel, asshole.”

“Like you, destroying a whole fucking city with your damned… damned tinkering!” Steven finally gets out. Somehow, it always goes back to Ultron.

“I was investigated and cleared by three different agencies. Ultron was not my fault.”

“It was so your fault. You’re constantly messing with shit that you don’t understand.”

“That’s my job! That’s how there’s even such a thing as a vaccine for polio! Or that I’m even still alive! But you know what? Fine. Think what you like. I’m going to take a nap.”Tony’s about to leave the kitchen when Loki feels the familiar flair of magic. In a flash, he’s throwing up a shield around Tony and stepping into the kitchen, cool as you please.

“Miss Maximoff… you truly haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re doing. In the future, know that attacking Stark gives me leave to return fire in kind. I do not believe you want to see that,” Loki says smoothly as Strange slides in behind him and pulls Tony out with a “request”. Good man.

“Are you threatening her?” Rogers asks. Loki eyes the four main irritants. Romanov has moved closer to Maximoff, and Barton looks ready to knife him. Loki smiles a thin, razor sharp smile. “I am making a promise. That’s how these things work, dear. Do try to keep up.

“In fact, you all will leave Stark alone, or I will take more drastic measures than being a distraction.” Loki gives a thin, poisonous smile and and stalks after his lover and brand new maybe-friend.

Chapter Text

The wolf is big and mean, its giant chest puffing white clouds out into the air as it stared at both his modir and his modir’s companion.

“Let me out.”

“No,” Loki says, and he’s so gentle when he says it. He’s standing on a rock so that he is at head height with his dear son. The other one is floating high enough above that Fenrir will not be able to hurt him if he is paying attention, and he is.

“They confine me to a room, to an island, to chains. You confine me too,” he growls, trying to force his mother to give him what he wants. Loki raises one hand.

“Peace, child. You are recovering, and madness is not to be taken lightly.”

“Perhaps you are the mad one, if you believe I will forgive you for yet another cage.” His modir looks sad at that.

“No, child. I do not expect you to forgive me, sorry as I am.”

“Good. i will not forgive you. Narfi roams free and you love him. But you cage me like I am but a common mutt!”

“I know, child, and I am so sorry.”

“It does not seem like it.” Loki shakes his head and, with a wave of his hand, magics a series of magical beasts into being that bound away.

“I will take you home with me when I can, my dear. Until then, enjoy your hunt, and I will come and visit.” Fenrir’s modir disappears with another sad smile. Irritated and angry at being caged yet again, Fenrir flops down on the hard packed earth, begrudgingly enjoying the cold temperatures. Perhaps his modir is not so terrible after all.

…

Lunch, when Loki and Stephen arrive back at the Compound, is a tense affair, with Tony sitting in between the two sorcerers, and the rest of the team trying to make out like nothing’s wrong. The salad that Tony’s having a hard time getting down is less appetizing by the moment. With Wanda’s gaze boring into the three of them by turns, and Steven resolutely ignoring their argument from yesterday, all Tony honestly wants to do is sleep.

He can’t do that right now, though, because someone important is coming. Eventually, when Loki has finished his Thai takeout, he rises.

“Anthony, if you would?” he queries quietly.

“Where are you going?” Steven asks, suspicion still sneaking into his voice.

“Out, Rogers.” Tony says as Loki disappears them both.

…

Jotunheimr is a cold, dark wasteland, where the winds blow thick and freezing across endless planes of snow and ice. Tony is as bundled up as Loki can make him, with a thick coat with white fur that looks radiant against the dark backdrop of frozen tundra.

They stick close to each other as they make their slow way to the castle. By the time they get there, an extra platoon of guards has been brought out in their anticipation, and the duo are escorted under heavy eyes and weaponry to the throne room.

Laufey sits on his throne, no longer needing guards he trusts with his life to defend  him. He sits with his knees wide; a challenge to anyone low enough to see up his sarong. Thankfully, they aren’t that low. The sarong is black with gold patterns unique to Laufey’s house, and gold jewelry decorates his neck and wrists and snakes around and up from his bare, blue feet.

Rings set with various stones gleam on Laufey’s fingers and thin, plain hoops line each pointed ear.

“King Laufey,” Loki intones. He keeps his spine straight and his hands at mid thigh to give a long, low bow, his black, curly hair spilling over his shoulder in its heavy, gold-woven plate to swing in empty air. Tony copies him, though he doesn’t say anything. He’d been advised to wear his own jewelry, because apparently that’s a thing in Jotunheimr, but his ears aren’t pierced and he’s covered in heavy furs.

“Loki, of None. Who is your guest?” Laufey queries with a raised eyebrow. The gold flashes, and it’s a little more alluring against the midnight skin than Tony’s boyfriends estranged dad should be.

“Anthony Stark, of Midgard.”

“Why is he here?”

“He has agreed to host myself and my children.” Laufey’s ruby eyes are pinned like two lasers on Tony, who looks steadily back. He’s been seeing a lot of red, lately, and this isn’t even half so bad as anything else.

“You have come to collect them, then.” Laufey says.

“Yes,” Loki responds. Laufey gives a hand-wavey type signal, and one of the servants at the back of the room departs. There is nothing but silence for a few minutes before more people enter the dark, obsidian throne room. Tony and Loki turn to look.

One of the newcomers is tall, pale, and decently well muscled. His own sarong is dark green and falls to his knees. He hasn’t much in the way of jewelry, but what he does have is all green and gold and silver. His hair is riotous shock of grey and green curling strands that stop at his jaw and look like they are only barely tamed. He has long scars that run up and down his stomach, some of which look like they come from wounds that had been infected.

The second one is just like the first, only his hair is straight, and entirely silver. It extends all the way to his butt. His shoulders are exceptionally wide, and two extra pairs of arms sit tucked underneath them. He has scarring at the corners of his mouth and at each hip. Unlike his brother’s green irises, this one stares at the two of them with jotun red.

“Jormungandr. Sleipnir,” Loki greets them, holding out his arms. The two boys walk calmly, but eagerly, into his embrace.

“We are to go with you now, modir?”

“Yes. I have a home. It has some pests in it, but a home it is.” Loki murmurs. Tony stands stock still and respectful, unsure of how much he should show the king of Jotunheimr.

Presently, Loki turns back to Laufey and bows again. Another frost giant comes forward. Given that her sarong is also around her hips, Tony has to try and keep his eyes up while she hugs both the boys and Loki goodbye.

“Thank you, King Laufey. Queen Farbauti.” the couple nod, and in a moment, all four of them are gone.

…

The Compound is quiet, awashed in aghast staring as the residents are.

“Who are they?” Steven asks, unsettled by the looks of the two teenagers.

“Two of my children,” Loki says dismissively, “Jormungandr,” at this, he gestures to the one with the curling hair, “and Sleipnir. They are guests here, as are you, so try not to be disrespectful,” Loki warn with a grin that meant he really wanted a reason to show them why they should just listen.

Turning, with his children and Tony in tow, Loki walks off down the hallway. Finally, finally, he can bring his children home.

Chapter Text

People tend to assume that Tony wouldn’t do this sort of thing. That it was something that only the crews he hires would know anything about. Nevertheless, at nine on a Saturday morning, Tony Stark is standing in pants that have seen one too many explosions, an a-shirt that is much the same, and drilling holes in his ceiling.

Loki lounges on the low sectional faced towards the windows in their bedroom, a black robe only just covering him sufficiently, watching his favorite mortal work. His hair is falling around him in soft waves, and his hand holds a delicate teacup, which Tony only owns because Bruce likes tea, and he thought that it was something of a happy medium between his penchant for buying outrageously too much presents and his penchant for being uncomfortable about it.

But Bruce had left the tea set behind when he left Tony and all the responsibility for Ultron, so Tony tries not to feel guilty about getting it out for Loki. Complete with the cup with pretty green and black flowers are matching containers for the bags, sugar, water, and cream, plus plates and three more cups and a tray to hold it all. Tony can’t help but admire him between flicking his head to throw off bits of plaster from his work goggles.

Eventually, he gets the container he’s working on stuck to the ceiling and moves on, one by one, all around the edges of the room.

“I don’t see why I can’t just magic them in place,” Loki drawls as he pets his hand over the body of Jormungandr. Today he’s decided to be a red-scaled adder, and is draped around his father’s neck and shoulders. Occasionally, his tongue flicks out and back in.

“Because I want to do it myself,” Tony says around the screws in his mouth. Loki rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his tea. There’s movement in the hall, and then Sleipnir wanders in. His silver hair is all tangled up in knots, because he didn’t tie it up again last night, and he has an overlarge t-shirt that’s down to his knees. He settles under his father’s free arm, and basks in the sun pouring in from the windows.

“Can we go see Fenrir today?” Sleipnir mumbles after a while.

“Yes,” Loki answers as he fixes Sleipnir’s tea. Someone knocks on the door frame.

“Come in!” Tony shouts over the whirring of his drill. Stephen sidles in, looking relaxed. Cloak detaches from his shoulders and goes to observe Tony screw his plant pots into the ceiling. Stephen’s in casual esque clothes today, his button down gaping at the neck and revealing the collar of his long undershirt.

“Having fun?”

“Yup,” Tony says. He climbs down from his ladder and nods his hello to Stephen. “What’s up, buttercup?” Stephen rolls his eyes.

“Bit of an issue, Tony.”

“What issue? The lack of coffee? ‘Cause that is definitely an issue.” Tony walks past him and up to Loki, who sighs and conjures back his pot of coffee.

“Coffee is disgusting,” Loki informs him as Tony sighs in happiness. There is nothing as nice as fresh coffee and physical work making shit.

“You’re disgusting,” Tony fires back without any heat. Stephen smirks.

“So you mentioned at some point that Ultron had his origins in you seeing that massive army on the other side of the wormhole,” Stephen says. He keeps his voice calm and quiet. Tony stops being interested in coffee.

“What happened?”

“The eye of Agamotto and the Mind Stone are attracting the eyes of the universe, and there’s this guy on is way to collect them all.”

“So that guy is on his way here.”

“He’s been on his way, hence his, ah… takeover attempt via proxy.” Tony glances at Loki, who cocks an eyebrow. He’s paying attention now, though.

“So you’re saying I was right.”

“The whole time.”

“Yes.”

“And everyone’s been running around like I’m the batshit crazy one.”

“Yeah," Stephen confirms. Tony breathes a sigh through his nose and plops down on Loki’s free side.

“That’s really fucking annoying.”

Loki presses a kiss to the side of his head.

“You have them on leashes so short they’ll suffocate at the tiniest stumble. And you will be able to watch their faces when you tell them this.”

“I was literally choked over this shit. I’m half tempted to pull all funding and sit on my damn ass just to watch this go down. With popcorn. And sunglasses,” Tony says. Loki squeezes him a bit tighter.

“I completely understand, but I would like to live to see another day,” Stephen says with a wry, rolling tone.”

“He is likely coming for me as well,” Loki points out. “It isn’t often that he loses bot control of his pawn and whatever that pawn was supposed to do.” Tony’s mouth tightens at the words.

“Fine. I’ll help. But only because I totally plan to have an extended family of magical kids running around,” Loki grins almost manically.

“That’s a bigger challenge than you think,” Loki warns. Tony rolls his eyes, then goes deadly serious.

“Whatever. This guy. Who is he?”

“Goes by the name of Thanos. I’ve been taking look-sees through the multiverse. I have yet to find a version of earth where Thanos doesn’t win.” Tony and Loki catch each other’s eyes, and Jormungandr tightens just a bit.

“So we can start with a list of what won’t work, right?” Tony asks. Stephen nods, and smiles.

“Yes. We can do exactly that.”

…

On the windy planes of Canadian tundra, Fenrir raises his head. A huge wolf, similar in color to himself is walking quietly through the brush. A young lad is perched on his back, gripping at his thick fur. Every so often, the boy will point, and say something, and the wolf will stop.

Fenrir leaps to his feat and lopes across the hardpack ground towards his twin. For a moment, they pause several yards away from each other, Fenrir breathing a bit more deeply. The boy slides quietly off the wolf’s back, his feet making no noise as he hits the ground. His shock of curling black hair, the loops tighter than his father’s, waves in the sharp wind, along with his tunic.

He shuffles forwards, scrub brush snagging against his bare legs. Like Fenrir, the cold does not bother him. He reaches up, thin fingers looking fragile and breakable against Fenrir’s huge chest. Fenrir lowers his head, white clouds forming around his massive nostrils. The boy just barely sets his fingers against a cold, wet nose.

The boy smiles, straight white teeth flashing in the evening light, and moves closer. Fenrir lowers himself, and wraps his youngest brother in the folds of his thick fur, and the winter wolf accepts Vali and Narfi, the summer wolf, into his still-new home.

Off in the distance, on a low hillock, Loki watches. His jaw is raised, and though his poise is harsh and as cold as the air, the look in his eyes is a soft one. With the visits of his siblings, and with Narfi choosing to live here instead of at the compound, Fenrir might just come out on the other side of this all right.

Chapter Text

Tony Stark is a fucking drama queen. No, seriously. Evidently, literally everyone forgot this shit.  He’s also got this thin ribbon of petty running through him. It’s not wide, but it is deep. Loki attributes this thing about Tony that’s more like him than he’ll admit to their current situation.

Everett Ross is standing at the head of the table, face very carefully blank and his voice is even more carefully controlled as he waits for the clamouring to die down. Eventually Barton’s (it’s always fucking Barton) voice rings out clearly.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell us?” Tony looks at him, his own face even more controlled than Ross’ is, but much less careful. Tony’s petty like that.

“Remember that one time where Thor picked me up by the neck and choked me?” Tony says brightly. His smile is toothless, but his words cut regardless. Steven gets this look on his face like he just cannot believe they’re still going on about this.

“That was when the world was about to end!” Clint yells at Tony. One unimpressed brow pops up.

“Isn’t that what we’re talking about now?” Tony rolls his words out smooth and even. It’s so damning that Loki loves it. Clint opens his mouth to say something even more ironic and stupid. He’s bound to say it, too, because god forbid Tony ever be the one to, say, do the right thing the first time around and not as some effort to pay penance (Loki will have to talk to him about debt. He knows it better than Anthony, he thinks).

“You caused the last one.”

“And since there is actually an uptick in the yelling and temper tantrums, I say waiting to inform you all was a weirdly good call,” Tony says with a smirk. Loki is watching Rogers, who's watching him. Strange is, well, strangely silent. Loki can sense a bit of an issue between strange and Rogers abhorrently obvious favoritism.

“You all are so… childish,” Loki interrupts, because enough with the blame games. Seriously.

“What the hell do you have to say about any of this?” Clint bites out. Loki gives a thin, razor sharp smile and leans forward.

“Three arrows, archer.” Clint doens’t pale, per say, but he does still. He would have paled if the reaction hadn’t been trained out of him.

“What’s he talking about, Clint?” Rogers says, finally joining the conversation.

“As you all seem to love to forget, I was not quite acting of my own will when I was on earth last,” Loki says.

“So whatever was controlling you…” Natasha says.

“Occasionally turned his gigantic eye on my least favorite archer. Three times, in fact.”

“Three shots,” Clint says, all the ire gone from him. “They were… the most difficult shots I’ve taken in my life.” There’s a moment of silence, where Loki’s expression matches the way Tony is taking pains to feel right now: satisfied with having the upper hand.

“Okay, so we know at least something about Thanos,” Ross interrupts, seizing the moment of silence to pull the group of wayward heroes back to the actual issue at hand before they can get lost in the finger pointing. “He’s powerful, has a way of seeing things, and he’s headed this way.” Loki shrugs his shoulders.

“That’s what you know. I know he really wanted the tesseract, which is what I was sent here for, and he would have been… irked at losing the mind stone. He’s on his way, and he’s going to be highly pissed.”

“What does that entail?” Steven asks. Loki shrugs his shoulders, carefully nonchalant.

“Oh, torture, mind control, slavery… the usual.” The “Avengers” are staring at him like they’re so fucking surprised. Except for Anthony. Anthony is not surprised, because Loki has nightmares, same as Anthony does, so. Yeah. In any case.

“That’s his usual?” Loki’s mouth twists up into that thin, sharp smile again.

“It is for random gods found on a planet that serves as the back alley of the universe’s shadiest crack house,” Loki says with a bite to his voice. His eyes catch on Ross’.

“So that’s a few more things you know.”

“Do any of you have a plan?” Tony and those for him remain quiet, waiting. All eyes are on them. All eyes, including-

“What, Rogers? Was ‘together’ not your plan?” Tony quips, watching Steven with big eyes, trying to bait him. It’s working way too well, and everyone knows it.

“Tony, is this really the time for you to avenge your wounded ego?” Natasha asks from her place next to Rogers. Tony turns eyes as hard as the vibranium that crushed his armor on her.

“This isn’t wounded ego. This is me, asking you all where you get off sitting here all high and mighty demanding some sort of plan for an alien warlord when I told you damn near four years ago that if we did not have a plan, we would die and take the rest of earth with us over fucking stupidity!” Tony snarls at Natasha, because god, is he fucking done with her and her talk about his “ego”.

“That was right after Ultron!” Clint yells back, apparently having found his voice (or idiocy) again.

“No, it wasn’t! It was months after Ultron! It was after I was investigated and had my entire life turned upside down as people combed through my data trying to figure out if I was at fault or not! It was after I had already been proven innocent, but you all still insisted on making me out to be some reckless asshole who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Rogers counters.

“Yes, I do. Which is why you are here today. So you may take your fucking ego and your fucking words and choke on them!” Tony snarls. Then, all the air seems to go out of him, because he slumps back into his chair, looks away for a few moments. His temple seems to pulse as he forces himself to calm down. All an act, of course. Loki has seen Tony Stark in the bleeding, explosive rage that the Avengers had inspired in him, and this? This is just runoff.

“Dr. Strange is currently cataloguing strategies from other timelines, which i’m not going to explain to you all. I, fortunately for you, have stayed working on a global defense type thing. Loki is working his own magic, but we’ll do an update when we know for sure how this is going to work.”

“We should be involved in the planning process,” Natasha says, all reasonable and soft.

“You all gave up that right when you proved that all it takes for you to jump ship like a fucking idiot is Captain America’s Call To Justice. I think I’ll handle it myself and let you all know when there’s something viable.” Tony gets up, and, given that Ross doesn’t stop him, there’s not much else anyone can say. Not to the man with the brains and th resources, at least. He stalks from the conference room with Loki and Strange both on his heels.

Loki smirks. Sometimes his favorite mortal’s… vices comes in handy.

Chapter Text

It’s so quiet in the room that a pin drop could be heard from outside the Compound. Wanda raises her hand.

“Why are we doing this?” Wanda asks. Ross looks at her, blue eyes cool and unemotive.

“Because it’s been brought to the attention of various personnel of the Council that this ‘team’ is little more than a clique,” Ross says with a gesture at Captain America, “and an outgroup,” he finishes, this time pointing to Tony. “It isn’t conducive to allow conversations to continue in the style that they have been, in which everyone over talks each other and no one listens. Therefore, these rules are the ones that must be in place for every official conversation.”

“Okay, but we don’t need the rules of debate. We never actualy finish these conversations, so no conclusions get reached.” Wanda argues. Ross tilts his head and gives a bland smile so reminiscent of Coulson that something hurts in Clint’s chest.

“Since you disagree, I suppose I’ll start by showing you conversations those in this room have previously had.” The video from a few days ago starts to play. Then the second clip begins to play, from months ago. And then another, and another. The pattern is obvious, and Steven’s stomach twists uncomfortably. Ross pauses the reel of evidence.

“The way you guys talk is not built for conclusions; it’s just meant to disregard certain people on principle. Do I need to say more?” Wanda opens her mouth.

“Keep in mind that I am not asking you to do anything. I’m telling you that, in order be heard, you must follow the rules. In addition to that, Miss Maximoff, Mr. Nooneson has already set up magical fields to make sure there will be no more mind tampering.”

“You trust fucking Loki to control Wanda, but who’s controlling Loki?” Clint asks. Ross gestures at Mr. Barton.

“That’s another rule, also up there above us: no cursing. No disregarding anyone on principle. And the answer, Mr. Barton, is because Mr. Stark has already testified to his changed ways. Keep in mind that he is here via the same legislation you are. Would you like to say that he ought not receive a second chance?”

“He destroyed an entire town.”

“He did, didn’t he? I suppose it’s different from Miss Maximoff’s tampering with the Hulk’s mind, yes? And the lives lost in Johannesburg, Or Mr. Stark’s, causing the Ultron incident, in which the whole of that city was rubble?” Ross says, pleasantly enough. His words go down like poison to Steven. “How about when Captain America, the Winter Soldier, and the Black Panther decided to play tag and destroyed a bridge in Bucharest?”

“Wanda’s done good work since then,” Steven argues, and Tony wishes he would just shut up, because fuck if she’s changed. Ross shrugs a shoulder and looks to Tony. The latter shakes his head. He doesn’t want to get into the nightmare thing.

“So has Mr. Nooneson, and his record is currently besides the point. For now, be aware that he has more right to be here than you do, and that is not something you can argue against. But back to the subject at hand.

“There will be no blame throwing. There will be no cursing. Any and all conversations that touch on various events, such as Ultron, and the Fall of Shield, and any previous battles must come with proof, or the argument made will be disregarded. The rules of debate must be followed in those instances.

“Failure to comply may get you removed from the room, and no argument posed by you will be taken into consideration. These are not maybes, or possibilities. This is your new reality. Please remember that the majority of you are pardoned criminals, and you are on very thin ice, already. These rules begin now, and this meeting is over.” Ross nods to them all, and makes his escape. As he goes, he pauses by Tony’s chair.

“I trust you have gotten the Council’s latest missive?”

“Yes, sir,” Tony says, and Ross continues on out the door.  A handful of poisonous glares level on Tony.

“What the hell was that, Stark?” Clint asks. Tony shrugs one shoulder.

“That is Ross wanting a strategy to save the world, and soon, and not having time for our back and forth. Now I have children to wrangle. Loki?” Tony asks, and Loki levels the Avengers an equally poisonous glare before following.

“Ross is quite good at this wrangling thing, isn’t he?” Loki asks. Listening to him, the sorcerer could almost believe that he is not on Anthony’s side. Still, he supposes that Ross is, officially, on no one’s side, so Loki will be sure to follow his “Rules of debate” and not cause too much trouble. If he cannot be with Anthony when he is around those damn animals, there is hardly a reason to be here at all.

“Have you told them? Tony asks quietly as they make their way towards the children’s part of the Compound.

“No, and I’m not looking forward to it,” Loki murmurs back as they pass into the hallways that have the plants hanging in their boxes from the ceilings for Jormungandr. Loki’s oldest son has the propensity to turn into snakes of varying sizes, and he likes to spend his time in plants.

“Well,” Tony says as he and Loki near the large living room that tends to host the most children at any given time, “no time like the present.” Sleipnir is in the room, now.

He’s watching Batman: the Animated series with Vali curled up in his lap, all four arms bracketing his youngest brother. Tony had gotten a tailor that’s been making strange clothing for him for years to come in and measure the boy, so his button down has four sleeves, all of which are rolled to the elbow.

Sleipnir, Loki’s second oldest, looks around fifteen, and Vali looks about seven.

“Where are your siblings?” Loki asks. He comes forward carefully. Vali startles too easily, still. Tony stays by the door. The boys like him alright, but it wouldn’t be the first time a stranger played at kindness and then used their affection against them.

“Jormungandr is in my room. Narfi’s with Fenrir. Hela is still with her godmother,” Sleipnir says. He tilts his face into Loki’s hand a bit, but does his best to keep his expression straight.

“Well, try not to leave. I need to speak with you all.”

…

“As you all know, The accords council doesn’t mind your presence here, on account of the fact that you are all, technically speaking, children,” Loki says.

Narfi’s got his arm around Fenrir. The boy is less angry, now that his siblings make an effort to come and see him. Loki thinks part of the reason he was so uncontrollable before is because he thought his siblings didn’t want him. In any case, they’ve gotten to the point where he can come inside the Compound and sit for a while without biting someone.

“That does not mean that they aren’t fairly uncomfortable with the lack of knowledge they have about you.”

“So what do they want?” Jormungandr asks, one hand playing with the edge of his sarong. This one is patterned with Rainbow Dash.

“They would like a picture, and a brief description of your various forms.” Fenrir bares his teeth.

“Where oh where have we heard that one before?” Loki shakes his head.

“Doctor Strange is well aware of your presence, and as long as we maintain the peace and not break any universal laws, they won’t bother you.” Fenrir snorts and looks away.

“Look, guys, we can make this fun,” Tony speaks up. Jormungandr has looked away.

“How is this going to be fun?”

“Well, pretty much everyone wants to know who you all are.”

“Others know of us?” Vali says, speaking for the first time in a few days.

“Yes, dear. Humans are quite nosy,” Loki responds with a slight smile.

“Jor, what’s up?”

“I’m going to have to wear pants, aren’t I?” Jormungandr says after a while. Tony arches an eyebrow.

“You don’t like pants.” The kid shakes his head.

“Most of the time, I don’t even have legs. It feels like I wouldn’t be able to change if I put on a pair.” Tony is nodding.

“Well, this sounds like a good excuse to go shopping. We can get you a skirt. We can get you all the skirts. Yeah?” Tony asks, eyebrows pulled together like he’s already planning how he’s going to make that happen.

“I do not understand why we must go?” Sleipnir asks from where he sits on the other side of Narfi and Fenrir.

“They’re doing a magical registry. Same as it is everywhere else,” Loki says, voice gentle. Fenrir is eyeing his father like he’s trying to figure out what Loki’s angle is.

“Well, we can make a day of it. You guys haven’t been anywhere but Canada and the Compound, right?” Tony asks. A couple of children nod. Tony spreads his hands.

“Well, then we can spend the day in New York. I’ve got a tower there where we can spend the night. Okay? We’ll have fun and do what we’re not supposed to.” Sleipnir is smiling a bit, like he’s jonesing for some fun.

“Are you sure this isn’t a trap?” Fenrir says, finally, eyes still wary, but not as much as before.

“I’m sure. Besides: Strange likes you guys.”

“He doesn’t know us.”

“He’s also a softie. We’ll make sure the UN Accords Council does only what they say they wanted,” Tony says. Fenrir finally shrugs one shoulder. He isn’t the oldest, but his decision seems to settle everything, anyways.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Loki says, rising, “I need to go and see if I can get ahold of your sister.”

Chapter Text

Fenrir, evidently, is not one for crowds. Tony only knows this because they get to the mall and he’s thinking he’ll take the kids to whatever store catches their eye. What actually happens is they get waylaid by the row of candy machines taking up the echoey first floor entrance, and Tony’s digging out one of the rolls of quarters he has (cause arcade was on the schedule for later) when he realizes that Loki isn’t with him.

He turns around to see him disappear around the corner of the double doors, a few people shooting dirty looks at both his retreating back and Tony’s gaggle of children. Fenrir is nowhere to be seen. So Tony turns around and keeps doling out quarters, and he keeps an eye on the door.

“He doesn’t like people, very much,” Jormungandr says. He’s tossing back one mike an ike at a time, pausing to taste the artificial goodness of each individual candy. Tony keeps an eye on the rest, and especially watches for any portals. Strange had been called away unexpectedly, though he’s promised to join at some point, if he isn’t bleeding out somewhere. Also Loki said that Hela was feeling iffy on the prospect of earth and of malls and of crowds as well. She might also decide to zip on up here.

“This was supposed to be fun for everyone,” Tony says to him. He’d rather not tell the kid about how he’s feeling about this whole thing, but Fenrir and Hela have been the only two kiddoes he hasn’t been able to please or make laugh in some way.

“I doubt Fenrir knows how to have fun,” Jormungandr says, and he seems a little sad.

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. There are stand alone candy stores that would have worked for this. The rest we can do online,” Tony says as Sleipnir comes up to him. He’s a little shy, preferring to stick closer to Jormungandr or mind Narfi and Vali, rather than do anything on his own. Tony holds out a couple more quarters.

“Most of us are curious. We have not met normal midguardians yet, only yourself and your strange team, and the mage Strange. There are a lot of people though,” Jormungandr notes as he watches Vali go, machine by machine, and observe each of the colorful objects carefully. He has yet to put a single one of his four quarters in. Narfi has his hand tight around Vali’s like he’s afraid the two will get seperated. God, this is such a bad idea.

“We’ll go when Loki gets back, or at least when he texts me. There are better ways to do this,” Tony says. Jormungandr gives him a small smile, which somehow doesn’t change the seriousness of his face. Tony turns his head a bit and, keeping the other kids in his line of sight, glances at Jormungandr.

“You guys ever played Texas Hold’em?”

…

The Tower is just as Tony left it: big and empty. Perfect for a bunch of kids who just don’t do a lot of people. As soon as they reached the remodelled common room (Tony had it done shortly after he moved out of the Compound), the kids all plop down and watch the screen as FRIDAY attempts to show them the marvels of the internet, and Loki draws Fenrir away a bit for his own time to recuperate.

Tony makes his way to the kitchen, buzzing with this new idea he has. He’d had the place stocked before hand, and in about ten minutes, Tony’s walking back towards the living room, a pitcher of orange juice in one hand, and a stack of cups in the other. He sits with the kids for a while, waiting for everyone else to join the party.

Strange portals in about an hour later, a black duffel bag over one shoulder. The cloak excitedly flies off his shoulders to greet his new friends, pressing close and cozy around each of the kids’ shoulders before settling back on Vali, who looks shyly pleased at the blatant favoritism.

Tony gets up and wanders back to where Loki’s bedroom was before he left, and knocks softly on the door.

“Come in,” Loki calls, and Tony twists the handle. He comes forward and offers two glasses of orange juice. One to Loki, and one to his son, who’s curled tight and tiny into his side.

“You doing alright over there, bud?” A small nod.

“Well, since I’m well known to be the most irresponsible person on this plane of existence, I’m teaching your kids to play poker, Loki. So if you guys would like to join, we’ll deal you in, k?” Loki gives him a small smile, but doesn’t move.

“Okay,” he says, and Tony shuts the door quietly.

“My head buzzes,” Fenrir says, “when there are too many people.”

“We’ll do it better, love.”

“Do we not need clothing?”

“Anthony is very inventive. The only time you’d actually need to go out is to get your picture taken sometime in the next couple of weeks. Everything else, we can do in the house.”

“Why did you choose him, father?” Fenrir asks as he tilts his chin back to rest his cheek on Loki’s shoulder. He’s calmer. Less angry now that Narfi makes it a point to see his twin and Loki makes it a point to make that happen.

“He would die protecting you.”

“He is no thrall.” Loki smiles a little at that.

“He doesn’t need to be.”

…

“I’m warning you all,” Tony says as he rips open candy bags and doles out handfuls to everyone a the table, “If I can see your cards, I’m looking.”

“Is that not cheating?” Jormungandr asks.

“It is, but if you don’t watch your hand enough for me to see your cards, that’s your fault.”

“And if we ‘magically’ see your hand?” Narfi asks. Tony grins.

“No magic, for now. I promise not to use FRIDAY to see your hands, either.” The children sit up and look at the various cameras, mildly worried expressions on their faces.

“Very well,” Jormungandr says, and that seems to settle the matter, “peeking only.” Tony deals two cards to everyone at the table. It’s only as they’re playing through the sixth or seventh round (and god, is Vali too good at this), does a portal open up behind them.

A little girl in a black tunic steps through, her feet bare and lightly dusted in red dirt.

“Godmother says may the best man win. Where is father?” She asks as she sinks down on the other side of Vali, next to Fenrir, one body away from Stephen Strange, and across from Tony.

“He’s with Fenrir, now.”

“I want to see them both before I leave.”

“Look, we got a lot of candy. I think we could play all night.” Hela gives a small smile, and, after a moment, leans her head against Vali, who leans back and soaks up Hela’s cold sort of warmth.

They play for a few hours, after which Loki joins them, his son pressed tightly against him, as though Fenrir is trying to make up the distance the years and his own instability have caused. Tony deliberately pays them no mind, content to keep playing (and he swears, someone is counting cards because he always counts cards and he’s still just barely breaking even) while whatever the thing between Fenrir and his father heals.

Eventually, though, the kids get tired of playing poker, and most people have lost their candy piles because they’ve eaten them. So Tony instructs everyone to grab all the blankets and things and build a fort while he pulls Stephen into the kitchen because he can’t cook worth shit.

An hour or so later, the kids come sit at the large dining room table, and Loki and Fenrir trail in last, to sit down to bowls of pesto pasta with chicken. Evidently, candy does not a full stomach make, even temporarily, because no one talks for a good ten minutes. Hela sets her fork down first.

“I don’t like it,” she says, confused, “but I do?” Tony smiles.

“It’s like that for a lot of people.”

“Oh.” She continues eating. Later, after Tony’s introduced them to the miracle that is Big Hero 6 and they’ve eaten popcorn and changed into their pintsized pajamas, they all bed down in a giant spread they’ve made on the floor. Stephen’s about to go, when Loki’s voice, dry and comforting to his kids, rings out.

“If I didn’t trust you, Strange, you wouldn’t be here.” Loki, who’s in the middle, and whose sides are already taken up by Fenrir and Hela, doesn’t even open his eyes to look at the mage preparing to slip away. From the outside of the pile, Tony nods at him above where Jormungandr has decided that his chest makes a nice stuffed animal. So Strange slides into their strange bed on the opposite side from Tony, where Narfi brackets Vali, who’s playing with Hela’s hair the way sometimes babies do.

The mall might have been a bit of a bad idea, but all in all, it’s a good day.

Chapter Text

“You would treat this like a fashion show,” Doctor Strange says as he eyes the kids.

“Look at them, Strange. How could I not? They all look so good. In everything,” Tony says, a playful tilt to his smile. Loki casts an approving eye over his brood.

“They do. Fenrir, are you still okay?” Fenrir, by far the most sullen of the children, gives a noncommittal shrug Narfi reaches around Vali and lays his hand against Fenrir’s shoulder. Tony gives him a soft smile.

“You guys are going to be great, and then we’ll have icecream.” Fenrir snaps his head to Tony, a suspicious look on his face.

“All the icecream?”

“Definitely. All of it. Every flavor we can buy, a tub of each, and you can eat it until you get tired. Then we’ll put the rest in the freezer and eat it later.” Fenrir flashes his smile. He, like Narfi, has teeth that sporadically turn sharp and carnivorous. Tony likes it. It freaked Clint out the other day.

Fenrir shrugs one shoulder.

“Then I suppose I am fine.” Tony smiles, aware of what he’s doing.

“You, my guy, are smart.” The car pulls up outside the building, and Loki’s face goes shuttered and serious.

“Do remember what we practiced, children.” They did practice. It was fucking ridiculous. Hella slides her glasses down over her eyes, as does Tony. Strange snorts, but hey, glasses are the shit.

The UN Accords Building comes into view, and the especially long limo Tony had them brought in on pulls up to the curve.

“Good luck, guys,” Happy says.

“Thanks, Happy,” Tony says with a roguish grin. Happy shakes his head.

“Don’t blow anything up, yeah?”

“No promises,” Tony half sings. Loki waits until Happy comes around to open the door. Then it’s show time.

First one on the concrete is Loki, who subtly scans the area for magical signatures. He’s dressed in black on black on black, his hair trailing down his back in it’s complicated braid and woven with gold and onyx hoops. He walks directly towards the door.

Next out is Vali, who Tony managed to wrangle into a pair of harem pants with a complicated purple, gold, and blue design and a pair of back flats and matching short sleeve button down. His curling black hair just reaches his jaw, and he and Tony spent time in the bathroom making sure it was suitably wild around his ears.

After him comes the next youngest, Hela, who had been absolutely taken with the skirts with the fluff. After some searching, Tony had gotten her to fall in love with a black, sleeveless, chiffon dress with a multilayered, irregular skirt and a high mandarin neckline. A delicate trail of cherry blossoms in reds, golds, and pinks trail in a spiral from neck to hem. She wears sturdy , if stylized, leather sandals. Hela, like the rest, has gold cuffs around both wrists and a pair of tiny gold hoops in her ears. The hair on the ruined side of her face has been tucked carefully behind her ear, but the other side cures out, as wild as Vali’s. As is custom (or so she says) in the land of the dead, Hela has three black dots to the side of either big, green eye.

After Hela are the twins, Narfi and Fenrir. The only thing Fenrir had been fine with wearing had been a canvas version of a hakama, so Tony had gone out, and both he and his brother are dressed in that, plus form fitting, sleeveless black dri fit. Tony had put in a rush order, and the shirts actually have the eight-pointed chaos star emblazoned in green on the right breast.

Fenrir’s hair is stupid long, so he’d let Loki do his in a french braid, slightly larger gold pieces woven through like his father. Narfi’s hair is short, and he’d demanded to have the same hair as Tony. (No, Tony is not touched by that. He is not a sap. No matter what Pepper said when he told her).

Sleipnir, another rush job, is dressed like his father, except his waistcoat is green, his shirts all have four armholes, and not two, and that’s only true until you get to the waist.Tony had convinced him that updown downtown is the way to go, so his pants are white jeans, and his shoes are matching green converse.

He wanted his nails painted, so Tony had brought in his longtime stylist yesterday. Hela had wanted to get her nails done too, and Loki is actually a prima donna in disguise. So Tony invited Pepper along, so the five of them had gotten mani-petis.

Jormungandr, who had, by far, been the most apprehensive about clothes, had taken hours longer to decide what he wanted, but in the end, Tony had found a long, silky feeling skirt that starts black at the waist, and begins to bleed color from the midcalf to the hem, along with a pair of gold sandals. Tony paired that with a green button down done up to the neck, and a short jacket.

Tony follows after him in his own suit (gold waistcoat), as does Strange, who’s wearing this long, red tunic that looks way too good on him. Especially to a taken man, such as Tony. Jesus.

But, in any case, that’s the order that they got out of and that’s the order they walk into the building in. An aide is waiting for them, and she quickly and efficiently takes them to a room that seems half conference, with a long table with chairs and a coffee/snack station.

The other half of the room is taken up with a large, white backdrop, with lighting set up around it. Oh, god, that’s funny. Tony meant to treat it like a fashion show, but Ross evidently guessed what he’d do and prepared accordingly. Tony cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Pull out all the stops?” Tony asks with a bit of a smile. Ross is chill in his book. Ross shrugs.

“I told them that this was likely to be the only time they were going to get a genuinely cooperative chaos god and all of his children to stand still, so if we’re going to get a picture, it should be a good one.”

“That’s funny,” Tony says as he starts to make his coffee.

“That’s true,” Ross replies as he tilts his own coffee cup towards Tony just a bit. Tony starts on a second cup with too much sugar, which he takes over to Loki. his kids have all taken seats at the table. Everytime Fenrir opens his mouth, his teeth have transformed from pointy to flat and back again.

Ross approaches the two, as well as Strange, to shake Loki’s hand.

“Mr. Nooneson. Dr. Strange. I’m glad you both could make it.” They nod.

“So we’ll get a group picture first, then we’ll go from oldest to youngest. Is there anything we should know?” Ross says as he sets down a bundle of paperwork that Loki would need to fill out.

“Don’t touch them. At all. They’re trained and dangerous, and anyone who makes that mistake is responsible for repercussions.” Ross nods as he sets down a pen.

“Let’s get this started.”

The group picture is taken in the order that they walked in since everyone figures that the younger ones probably have less composure than the older ones. Once Loki’s picture is taken, along with another in his jotunn form, he sits down. Tony pulls out a pen and picks up the first packet of paper.

“What do you want me to start with?” Tony says. Loki glances at him and smiles before Strange pulls his own packet to him.

“I’ll do Jormungandr,” Strange says.

“Sleipnir,” Tony pipes up, and starts to write.

“I’ve got one here specifically for me to fill out,” Loki says as he quickly jots down the names of his kids.

“How old are your kids, anyways?” Loki shrugs one shoulder.

“In human years? Jormungandr is seventeen. Sleipnir is fifteen. Narfi and Fenrir are both thirteen. Hela is ten, and Vali is seven.”

“Oh,” Tony says, nodding.

“Oh, what?”

“What’s the conversion?” Loki pauses in his scribbling.

“Asgardians live a maximum of five thousand, five hundred years. Jotuns live slightly longer. Midguardians get to a hundred, your youth matures at eighteen, so the conversion is something like fifty five to one.”

“That makes Jormungandr nine hundred and thirty five,” Tony points out, his eyes finding Loki. As far as he’s able to piece together, Odin took most of Loki’s memories in part because he had children. From the way Thor used to talk, Loki really isn’t old at all for an Asgardian. If all of his children are less than a thousand, how old was Loki, in human years, when he started with the babies?

And how old is he now?

Is it even appropriate for Tony and Loki to be together, or is this thing they have uncomfortably close to cradle robbing? God, Tony has got to figure out what he’s doing fucking (and fucking) around with Loki, because between the Titan and Asgard, earth is in for it, and there can’t be any doubt between them when shit hits the fan.

Chapter Text

Tony wakes up covered in sweat, chest heaving (and hurting). He closes his eyes after a moment, but doesn’t relax.

“Time,” he grunts out.”

“2:52 a.m., Boss,” Friday says. They’re both quiet, because Loki’s asleep next to Tony. Normally, the other man would be awake with him right about now, but Fenrir had had a very bad day. Evidently, that includes a weird magic version of a temper tantrum. That (of course) takes a lot of energy to contain, since Fenrir, when he’s raw and uncontrolled, is very powerful.

So, yeah, Loki is out cold. Nothing short of the apocalypse (or maybe someone sneezing wrong at one of his kids), is waking him up tonight, and Tony doesn’t really want him to, either.

Fenrir is a serious handful when he gets it in his head to be. Tony swings his legs to the ground and pads out of the room with one last glance at a sleeping Loki.

The hallways of the Compound are dark and uninhabited, so Tony makes his way to the kitchen. The air on his feet makes him shiver slightly as he pulls out Bruce’s old kettle and fills it with water. While that’s boiling, he leans back against the kitchen counter, trying not to think about how he used to be able to get Bruce to drink tea with him at strange times of the night.

“Tony?” a voice from the doorway asks. Tony jumps and turns around, hand already on his watch gauntlet.

“What do you want?” Tony gets out, eyeing Clint. The other man shrugs, watching carefully. For what, Tony doesn’t know.

“At this point, not asking you anything would be willful ignorance.” His voice is inflectionless. Emotionless. Clinical.

“What are you talking about, Barton?” because the last time he had been in an official meeting, the man had been spitting mad. But the few other times, he hadn’t said anything at all, and that, ladies and gentlemen is not Clint Barton’s modus operandi.

“I’m thinking that maybe I should have made a call instead of just taking one from Steven.”

“Bit late, isn’t it.” It’s phrased like a question, but sounds like a statement. Clint’s nodding, and god, when has he ever admitted to anything? Certainly not in Tony’s presence.

“It is. It’s just, I’ve seen you with them. Loki’s kids. And I keep saying that you’ve got designs or something, but I think they’re all a little too much for any plan you may have for their abilities.” Tony cocks his head.

“You think I’m going to ask them to fight.”

“No. I mean yes, but not anymore. I’ve been thinking, I guess,” Clint says, and Tony can hear the “just a drone, no intelligence to speak of”. Sometimes he wonders if Clint does that on purpose. It’s probably a survival mechanism.

“Get to the point, Barton.”

“A truce. I’ll shut the fuck up until the invasion’s over.”

“And the rest?” Tony asks.

“I can’t promise that. There are more plans to do this or that ever day.”

“But you won’t make any,” Tony muses. Clint nods. He holds out his hand, and, after a moment, Tony takes it.

“Truce,” he says, voice still a little sleepy.

“Truce.” Clint replies.

...

“We have a serious issue,” Stephen says as he takes a seat across from Loki and Tony. the former looks at least somewhat cognitive, and the latter’s been up for nine hours already.

“What issue?”

“God,” Loki mumbles as his eyes fall shut. Stephen smiles a bit at that, where the other mage can’t see.

“There are universes where Ragnarok is started, and that weakens the earth and Asgard to the point that victory is easy,” Stephen says. Ragnarok involves Loki’s kids. Fuck that shit.

“We really need a fucking plan,” the mage says as DUM-E comes in. a small basket is clutched in his claws, which he sets down on the side table. There is tea. Loki immediately takes out a cup and the hot water and busies himself with his morning (read: almost afternoon) ritual.

“I was able to figure out that he is courting Death.” That makes Loki pause.

“The Lady Death?”

“The very same.”

“What’s the chances of her not coming topside to help with this?”

“I’m not sure. There’s a few victorious worlds out there, but their casualties were so high that they may as well have lost,” Stephen says. Tony’s fingers are tapping on the chair beside him, and Loki is busy trying to wake up properly, and they’re all sitting there, turning the information over.

“So I guess we’re going to talk to Lady Death.”

“I suppose. It can’t be easy on her, having all those extra souls dumped into her lap by the hundreds and thousands,” Loki muses. “Perhaps she will gain something.”

“In the meantime,” Tony says, drawing their attention back to him, “I want to look into shielding.”

…

It’s their second meeting as an official team, and Tony wonders if Clint has kept his word.

“There’s still no progress on an actual strategy to defeat Thanos himself, but we’ve been looking into the possibilities of shielding the earth,” Tony says. Ross and his two new friends nod at him to continue.

“We can guess that he’ll bring an army, this time with a willing commander, and that alone will reap massive damages on anyone with the unfortunance of being in the way.”

“So VERONICA?” Clint says, and it’s the first thing he’s said to Tony since last week, when he walked into the kitchen and made a truce.

“Hmm maybe. VERONICA was just meant to aid a single person- me. I think we need a more network type thing to do any real damage.

“Mages often store extra power in small objects, and while I’m not particularly loved by any in the galaxy, there are plenty whose respect I have gained since the Thing as well as before it. If we were to, say, bring the message to everyone I can think of, we can possibly assemble enough magical beings to create a shield.”

“You could do that?” Ross asks, eyes sparking with interest. After news of the Thing had officially been recorded by former SHIELD, current UN Special Ops people (plus one not-that-dead-guy), Ross had been interested in the state of affairs across the universe. This sounds like a really good way to start up both a magical registry and an alien registry. Right now Loki and his kids’ files are floating around in the Nonhostile; Extremely Dangerous logs.

“I could do that. A shield would be something of a waste of power, though, since that means even areas that aren’t affected would still have protection, and we couldn’t rally in one place without weakening another.”

“So network,” Tony says, “or networks, technically. Multitiered.”

“We can do multi tiered.”

“There’s a lot of SHIELD agents who were years away from retirement,” Clint says. All eyes turn to him, and if Tony doesn’t know any better, both Steve and Natasha are feeling betrayed.

“HYDRA hadn’t gotten to everyone. We if we can confirm non-corruption, then we have a whole lot of people who would be willing to do zero-grav training and learn new things,” Clint finishes. He’s speaking to Ross.

“That… is a good idea, Mr. Barton. I will look into it.” Ross has the same perplexed expression as Scott and Sam. Tony still doesn’t know if Clint means a truce for real, ut he’s doing a fine job of lying if he isn’t. Tony doesn’t feel relief, but he feels a little bit of momentum building up in his veins.

God, it’s good to get things rolling.

Chapter Text

Breathe, notch, draw, aim, release, breathe, notch, draw, aim, release, breathe, notch, draw, aim, release, breathe. That is Clint’s rhythm and he’s had that fucker for almost forty years, now. His focus is down to the targets. They’re interactive, designed to move faster and faster and more erratically the longer he goes on. Designed to increase the products of his “flow”, as Tony once described it.

It’s not that he’s unaware of everything around him. It’s not that he doesn’t notice the doe-eyed kid watching him from just out of sight. It’s that Tony sent him a text last night that amounted to: Vali is watching you, and he doesn’t talk to people, so don’t get offended if he acts weird.

It was very subtle, for Stark, and it was just in time, because seventeen minutes after he fired up the program, Vali appeared silently and without warning, and he’s been watching ever since. Clint tries not to be weirded out. From what he knows, Loki and his kids have all been through a lot of shit, and at least one of them is highly problematic.

Unbidden, he thinks about how much fucking work goes into taking care of even one kid with even half the baggage, and can’t help but appreciate the effort Stark is putting in (and doesn’t that make him feel like a piece of shit). Still, Stark had noticed Vali, and texted Clint, and he had already made his truce, if not his peace, with this whole Civil War thing. If Stark wanted here to be the home of Loki’s brood, well, who was Clint to stop him? Or make it harder by chasing off Vali?

Maybe the kid just wants a friend. He heard through the grapevine that the kid is a fully trained assassin, which makes him much closer to Natasha than Clint can ignore. So he lets the kid watch him go through his rhythm, and he never forgets that Vali’s there. It takes him two hours to be done, and that’s just because those eyes of his, so big and wide and innocent, are really creeping Clint the fuck out.

“You up for some food, kid?” Clint says as he pulls the last of his arrows from his targets and inserts them into his quiver. There’s a series of clicks as the arrows automatically disassemble once inside the tube.

The thing had been one of the first things Tony had ever given him. It holds more arrows and assembles them faster than Clint can draw them, and they’re very useful on a mission that doesn’t require stealth but does require he recycle some arrows. If there’s anything wrong with the thing, the tube will discard it, and Clint will be able to hear if anything goes wrong because of the small amount of noise the quiver makes.

Vali pokes his head out, and eyes Clint for a moment before nodding. Evidently one trained assassin letting another trained assassin do the Creepily Watching You ™ Routine is enough to get them to sit down together. Clint is no stranger to this. Natasha is not the only stray he’s ever brought in.

So Vali follows on silent, bare feet as Clint leads him to the kitchen to make breakfast. He lingers near the doorways of the room, always ready to disappear. Clint fills a shallow, wide cup with water and tests each egg before he cracks it into a bowl. A little milk, salt, and pepper go in after that. Clint stirs it all into a frothy yellow mix before dumping it into a wide pan and turning it over with a plastic, non-scrape spatula.

Vali eats his portion quickly, and then watches Clint. Briefly, the archer thinks about how Loki eats a solid fuckton.

“Ya wanna try some bacon?” Clint asks. Vali nods, his face not giving away anything, so Clint gets out the package of bacon, checks to make sure it hasn’t been too long (as if all the Avengers wouldn’t die for bacon cooked well enough), and pulls out the cast iron skillet. He sees a look of worry flash over Vali’s face.

“It’s cast iron, kid. You cook the bacon in it, but you don’t clean it with soap. Instead you run hot water in it and scrub it with a pad but not steel wool, then dry it with a towel or on the stove on low heat. After that you add a coating of oil or shortening,” Clint explains.

“It’s the best way to have bacon and eggs. You want more eggs? I was going to fry them.” Vali nods silently, apparently appeased by Clint’s explanation. The kid eats five more fried eggs and nearly the entire packet of bacon before wandering off. Clint pulls out his phone.

9:30 a.m.: You were right about Vali. You know anything about what he’s been through?

9:34 a.m.: No. You’d have to ask Loki, but Vali’s only recently come to live with his family. I’m not sure even he knows.

9:34 a.m.: Well I guess you can pass onto Loki that the kid watched me shoot arrows for two hours and then ate an entire pack of bacon and we went through a thing of eggs together.

9:35 a.m.: Will do.

For a moment, Clint almost misses the banter that they used to have, back before Clint burned it all. For Steve. Who evidently only actually cares about Bucky. Everyone else is expendable. It had taken Clint awhile to realize that, of course, but his constant plans to fix Barnes himself had started to put the rest of them in more danger than necessary, and after that Clint didn’t trust him to lead.

After that revelation, it took about a week for Clitn to come to terms with the fact that if he doesn’t trust Steve to lead, then he also doesn’t trust Steve’s opinion,and Steve’s opinion is very, very low when it comes to Tony. It had also made Clint recognize that all his actions were his fault. He chose to leave Laura and the kids. He chose to insight Wanda, a person he knows is on a hair trigger.

It had only been one long, painful, but honest conversation with Laura four days ago that had saved his chance at saving his marriage. Seriously. Every conversation Laura had with Clint was stilted with things unsaid.

But it’s hard to have ego when you realize that you did a lot of dumb shit for one guy who didn’t really give a fuck about you. That change of heart had made Laura… not forgive him (duh. He’s a long way away from that) but not close herself off the the idea of Clint earning forgiveness.

So while he was waiting on his wife to decide if he’s worth it (and Laura, god she’s a saint, because she refuses to talk bad about him to the kids, so Clint has working, if stiff, relationships with them) he attended to the business of things, which is, as follows:

1. Thanos is coming. He was behind the 2012 invasion, he is the reason Loki was there trying to “take over” the world, and Tony Stark was so painfully right about that.
2. The entire team of Exvengers is at a crossroads. Either they get onboard with Tony Stark (and it won’t be onboard with Steve, who will then order Tony Stark to fix things) or they go back into hiding because hello! Not exactly heroes right now.
3. Tony is willing to give Clint a chance to make peace and move on, if only to fight together, not separately, and make themselves harder to kill. That’s all it is. Just a truce, and Clint has the ability to make it or break it.
4. Clint wants to make it.
5. Vali wants to make it too, in a different way, and if his weird spying is what makes him comfortable, Clint’s gonna let him do it and just let his dad know.
6. A truce with Tony is a truce with Loki, and that one requires some sort of Conversation ™ , because Clint does not trust Loki at his back. At all. And that’s problematic.
7. If Tony can do it, he can do it. Right?

Chapter Text

Vali is still watching him, which, weird, but hey. It’s not like Natasha never watched him secretly. It’s not like Tony isn’t an absolute control freak and never had an AI constantly monitoring their activities. It’s not like that’s not still a thing.

So Clint lets him watch, and for the next three or four days, he is there when Clint goes to the gym. He is there when Clint goes to the archery range. He is there when Clint goes to the kitchen. So when Clint makes food, he makes it for two, and, right as Clint is tempted to give feeding the brat up as a lost cause, he scampers out and begins scarfing down whatever Clint’s made.

So he feels like he has some kinda friendship with the kid. Which is why he asks him if he wants to play videogames. Because that’s what the fuck Clint does: play videogames. So he plays for a while and, as is custom for whenever he wants Vali to try something, he just… sets the controller down and ignores it.

The right side of the screen is occupied by Toad on a bike, and he just sits there. Every time. About ten rounds in, Vali picks up the controller, and he learns to play Mariokart. Clint thinks he’s done a pretty good job so far. He hasn’t alienated Vali, and, despite his non-verbal habits, they communicate pretty fucking well, if he does say so himself.

Which is when it all goes to shit.

It’s 12:51. His customary saturday call with his kids (he tries to facetime every day, but sometimes they don’t want to see him. Sometimes they’re busy. So everyone is under an agreement that Clint will be on the laptop at eleven a.m. every saturday, barring world-ending event. Or a sleepover. That too) is done.

He also had another one with Laura, in which she bitches about everything and anything Clint’s done because, let’s face it, there was a lot of fucked up shit that kind of got swept under the rug. Clint does his best to listen, taking notes offscreen. He’s gonna have to fix a vast majority of this.

Laura was a SHIELD agent, and while she understood the crawling go-get-it sensation under his skin, she (and he, definitely, mostly he) failed to balance that with her own needs. So any kind of fixing requires a whole lot of growth, a lot of which can be done before Clint even gets home. Laura’s too loyal and too good, and he owes her that much.

Clint steps out of his room to go make lunch, and he’s immediately aware of Vali’s presence. PB&Js sound good.

They’re sitting in the smaller living room Vali likes to hang out in, playing Mariokart when things go to absolute, utter shit. Vali’s been getting extraordinarily good at the game in the past week or so, and Clint’s been having shit luck on Rainbow road this race, so Vali finishes first. He’s standing, while Clint sits on the couch.

“You alright, buddy? Wanna get some more juice?” Clint asks with a small glance at Vali. Slowly, tentatively, the kid leans in, skinny arms coming up to wrap around Clint’s broad chest, head resting on one shoulder. It’s strange, because Vali doesn’t do touching. At all. But the kid must just want a hug, because he stays there, blinking slowly while Clint drives off the goddamn bridge again.

And then his hand has slipped down to clutch lightly at the front of Clint’s pants.

Clint jumps up so fast he knocks over his own cup of half-drank juice, ripping out of the hug and moving back away from Vali. He’s trying to put the pieces together in his mind but his brain just isn’t computing the idea of Vali grabbing his dick. It’s Vali . Touch-phobic, half mute Vali. The kid takes a step towards him, and Clint bolts, just like he always does.

Onscreen, he comes in last place. Vali picks up the spilled cup and looks down at the mess, confusion in his eyes.

…

“Come on, come on, come on,” Clint says, nervously bouncing one knee and staring at circling icon on screen. Finally, it reveals a face.

“Laura! Oh thank god you answered!”

“Clint? We just- what happened?”

“I don’t fucking know! One moment we were playing video games and another moment the kid’s grabbing my dick like it’s one of those nasty ass illegal pornos! Oh my god, I can’t believe I led him on like that! What the fuck!” Clint says, shoving his hands into his short hair and trying to get a grip but he really can’t. The equivalent to a seven year old just grabbed his fucking dick like it was the most natural thing. What if he did something to encourage that? Should he not have let Vali hug him?

“Clint? Clint!” his eyes snap back to the screen, wild and half-confused.

“Breathe in for me, honey. Come on, now. Breathe in, breathe out. Where’s your rhythm Clint?”

“Breathe, draw, notch, aim, release,” he says, voice shaky.

“Come on now, say it again.”

“Breathe, draw, notch, aim, release,” he gets out. Laura says it with him as they repeat until Clint is calm, though his eyes look more haunted than ever.

“Talk to me now, Clint. Give me details.”

“Loki- you know he’s here. Been pardoned like us.”

“Yes.”

“He’s got kids. A bunch of them. One of them’s crazy as shit, but he’s calming down, and the rest are sweet, if a little alien-looking.”

“Yeah.”

“Well his youngest looks entirely human. It’s this seven year old named Vali. he never speaks, even though I think he actually can. We were playing video games ‘cause he started watching me and let me feed him, and he gives me this hug. And I’m like, hey, cool, he’s making progress, cause he doesn’t like being touched or touching people. Not unless it’s Loki. Next thing I know the kid’s grabbing my dick.” Laura looks away for a moment.

“I don’t know, Clint.I suggest you let his dad know.”

“Okay. Um. Thanks. For calming me down.”

“You were about ten seconds away from a panic attack,” Laura says, not unkindly. Clint shrug one shoulder.

“You still didn’t have to. I know I’ve been a piece of shit husband lately.”

“Yeah, you have,” Laura agrees, this time without all the ire that usually involves their conversations.

“Now go speak to Loki or, if you can’t handle it, Tony. As far as I know, those two are thick as thieves.” Laura signs off. Clint sits for a few more minutes, repeating his rhythm to himself. When he feels calm enough, he gets up off the desk chair and walks towards Tony’s part of the compound, looking like a man headed to be hanged.

Chapter Text

Loki had been known, on Asgard, as Lie-Smith. He used to think, back when he only had some of his memories, that it was because he lied. A lot. But a smith is not a smith merely because he works with metal, yes? No, he is a master craftsman, with knowledge and experience that sets him apart from the rest. Far enough apart to the point that they do not refer to him as a workman, but as a specific type of workman. All who hear the word know what he does.

The thing about lies? The true masterpiece of a lie is one that remains undiscovered. There is some flaw, somewhere, in the work if others can go back and unravel the foreign threads, made to look so familiar. Loki knows now that it refers to his habit. With the entirety of his life in his head, he can tell, now, why the called him Lie-Smith.

It started with little things. Not right moments where he would horde something with a possessiveness that seemed nonsensical at best. A little box, magicked to keep the moisture in, that held bread and cheese from dinner three nights ago, though Loki ate all his meals since. A small pearl of a jewel, of little value and even littler interest, hoarded away in a small space beneath the floorboards.

Then, these things would gain meaning that Loki couldn’t read. Pictures of people with no relation to him. There would be monsters that would never have seen the sun rise on the Asgardian horizon. Jotunn (ha!) charms and magical implements. Most of these things would have been made by Loki himself, from memories he no longer had.

This would escalate. He would withdraw slowly. It would go from him smoothing over conversation like everyone with a secret or even a sense of privacy does to avoiding any talking entirely. The hidden things would gain more and more meaning, each iteration slightly different, but the same in the end. They were things that reminded him of his children.

His magic would grow in an unexpected direction. The burning need to find out what he doesn’t remember pushing him to discover the lies under his own skin. Each and every time he found out, he grieved. He raged. He wept. Then he put the pieces back together again, and pretend none of it happened.

He would try to build a new separate life. He would forget, each time, the consequences of the attempt before it. Angrboda was just one of those ventures. The separate life would be the first lie that felt good. The first thing he could be happy with. It isn’t the unexplained need to draw pictures of people he’d never met. It isn’t the burning push to create charms he never studied of or saw. It is the pure, sweet taste of something that is his, and only his, and that he would cherish.

Then, there would be children. Each time, he sought to conceal his offspring, recognizing the monster he birthed and connecting him/her to the monsters he drew. Each time, Odin would see what he had blinded Loki to, and he would seek the children. He would destroy the little thing that Loki kept for himself; treasured all on his own, and on its own merit.

It was a distraction, and he is meant to serve Asgard.

Eventually, the weight of another’s lie would force his true, traumatized and scared psyche to the surface, and he would bid high and bid hard to preserve what little he had. He would save it from the burning.

Sometimes he would win. He left Hela in Helheim. Jormungandr was dissolved into the elements himself, to live as an intangible presence, so that he couldn’t be captured. Other times, though, he would lose. Vali and Narfi would fall to their grandfather’s uses. Fenrir would be chained, Sleipnir bridled.

But inevitably, he would lie, and inevitably, he would be found out. That is where the name came from. It was all so clever, but for the fact that it had been seen before. Then he would be made to forget. The family would be whole. Loki would be a good son. The cycle would start all over again. And then Loki fell, and he broke it all to pieces, including himself.

Some lessons, Loki’s found, transcend even forced amnesia and the Allfather’s manipulations. For instance, he first told Jormungandr that he would be back very soon. The very next cycle, he realized that he already had a son, and raced to see him. It took to long, and he lost his memory and Sleipnir both over that. After that, though, he never made a promise he couldn’t keep.

He never told a lie to bring any child of his some meaningless moment of security. He couldn’t be rid of the threat, and he wouldn’t let them be caught off guard by it. As such, he never, ever, lied to Vali. On purpose or otherwise.

He never broke a promise.

He never overshot.

The sun’s going down and he and his youngest son are watching the orb as it descends lower and lower into the sky.

“I had my suspicions on what Odin made you do, child of mine,” Loki says, eyes closed to soak in the retreating heat.

“He didn’t force me,” Vali responds.

“You were held captive and made to learn things like how to pleasure men and women your seniors by centuries. Sometimes by millenia.”

“I went with them willingly.”

“As any man goes when held at gunpoint,” Loki says, voice gentle. His little Vali, heart already hard enough that he could not admit to being forced to do anything.

“I suppose,” Vali agrees, as though it perhaps didn’t happen that way.

“This is not the sort of place where anyone wants you to pleasure anyone.”

“I scared the archer, today. I thought he wanted me.”

“He may be amenable to a companionship, but he wants you nowhere near his bed.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He almost had a panic attack after you attempted to stroke him.”

“They all give in eventually. Just because he is not used to it does not mean he won’t enjoy it,” Vali says, stubborn to the last, like his modir.

“You know that any adult who takes their pleasure from a child is disgusting, on this realm and any other?” Loki says, voice a little sharp.

“Isn’t that what they say about you?” Vali challenges, cute little mouth pursed together.

“They say that about me so that they can control me. I say that about them because someone must, if the standard is to be upheld. The legality of it here is that any child under seventeen years of age (mind you, they live to eighty or so) is considered protected by the law of the land and offlimits.

“But people still do it.”

“And those people are punished severely. They are outcast. They are never trusted again. They are regarded with suspicion and anger for something they knew, before they did it, was wrong.”

“Then what does he want, if it isn’t sex? I don’t know what else adults want.” Vali seems to be pouting now.

“Anthony likes to show you his explosions, does he not? He likes to teach you things.” Loki asks gently. “Tell me, if that is all you know they want, why did you not attempt to bed Anthony?”

“He is yours.”

“By your logic, that doesn’t matter.” Vali looks away from the sunset, eyes narrowed.

“It does.”

“Well, the age of one’s bed-partner matters to the entire society we are currently living in, Vali. Can you understand why no one who I allow near you is out for pleasure?” Vali nods.

“It’s not important to them. There is no prize.”

“Yes, my child. You mustn’t do that again. A misconception can be forgiven. A repeat offence might make it best for you both if he stayed away.” Vali nods. He doesn’t want to lose his new friend.

“What if he is truly like that?”

“Then I will make him regret it.” Vali’s mouth thins again.

“I do not know that.” Loki levels a serious look at him.

“Am I a merciful god?” Vali mutely shakes his head. He knows his father is not a kind man, once crossed. He has read of his exploits, the times he’s come out on top as well as on bottom.

“Then trust me, and trust my rage over the idea that you would be subject to any of that ever again,” Loki finishes. He and his son lock eyes, green on green; hundreds of years of experience making up Loki’s solemn, intense expression.

That, it seems, is good enough for Vali. The boy nods, and Loki wraps an arm around him. They lean back to watch the sunset together.

Chapter Text

She was an older woman, and Stephen trusted her. A metric fuckton, in fact. Her name is Uwimana, and she’s originally Rwandan. She was turned into a child bride when her village was sacked. Eight months later she was returned after the group that had done the sacking had been caught, and she and all their other prisoners had been liberated and returned home.

She, like a lot of the girls, had practically died with relief at seeing her village again, but after that, a strangeness had set in. She would often find herself unable to leave her pallet. Bathing, eating, and doing any sort of chore were insurmountable tasks. She did not sleep if she could avoid it, because sleep brought nightmares.

Other girls suffered the same thing. They couldn’t be cured, and no one would want them like that. Sometimes men would tell them that it was their fault. Sometimes they would attempt to beat a girl into activity. One of them died.

The preacher came three months after Uwimana returned home. He and his missionaries were informed of the predicament. There was prayer and sermons and the casting out of demons. Some of the girls began to get better after this.

By the time the preacher arrived, though, Uwimana was eating next to nothing. Her family was dead, and she too worthless, to feed. At the time, she was eleven. The preacher, a man named James Isaac, believed that the way to her salvation- to the casting out of the demons being a child bride had wrought on her soul- was to go with him to the states.

She was adopted. The United States was a strange place. She was not like those who looked like her. She had a different accent, and she hardly spoke any english at all. Those who did not look like her treated her as one would one of the strange dolls kept on a shelf in her new room: a novelty worth preserving, but nothing more.

She had no friends, except for Mr. Isaac, who was now her new father. She had not heard her own language since she had arrived. But she did have food, clothes, and an education. Mr. Isaac seemed to not mind when she couldn’t do anything but hide in the closet and wait for the bad men who weren’t actually there to go away.

He just kept praying.

Eventually, Uwimana got mostly better (they still haunted her dreams) and went on to get an education at a women’s college. She became a missionary, and went back to Rwanda just in time for their civil war in 1990. She was twenty three, and it was the second time in her life where she was made the sexual toy of men she didn’t know.

When it was over, and she went home, she went back to her father, hoping a prayer might fix things. It was then that she began to question an old teaching. When she arrived, she’d been told that she had gone through what she had gone through to be used by the Holy Father, and that this usefulness is her purpose. She was told the same thing when she arrived home for the second time, with the same ailment.

It was when she began to question why anyone who cared would subject her to the same thing twice that she began the slow divorce from christianity. As a full-on atheist diagnosed and medicated for PTSD and insomnia, she earned a Bachelor’s in psychology in 2001. She specializes in sexual and childhood trauma, as well as PTSD and conflict-based problems.

In 2011, Uwimana took her first vacation since her second trip to Rwanda, where she found herself listless in India, and struggling to handle the influx of free time. It was hard enough to keep her thoughts tamed. That is when she found herself at the temple of Kamar-Taj, where she spoke with who she would later learn was the Sorceress Supreme.

She quit India not long after, and returned to the states to settle her affairs for a long-term absence. By the end of the year, she was a student, and in December of 2012 became a master. She returned to America briefly, where she then renewed her psychology license and updated her will and things of that nature. From there, she moved to the London Sanctum and began to teach extremely troubled students with pasts like hers.

Thankfully, she had been on a Sorceress Supreme-insisted vacation when the shit with Kaecilius went down.

This is the woman who stepped out from behind Stephen Strange and into the office of Tony Stark. Uwimana is forty eight years old, now, and Tony could never guess that she had such a painful, merciless past. Loki, sitting with Tony and waiting on Strange and Uwimana, stands and offers his hand.

“Loki Nooneson. It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

“Uwimana. Most call me Mana,” the woman says. Her grip is strong and sure, and her face is gentle. She is wearing a long, deep purple skirt with white flower stitching around the hem and a white button down.

“Thank you for coming. I… do not truly know what to do about Vali.” Uwimana smiles a little sadly.

“Sometimes there is not much one can do. From what I’ve been told, you were kept from Vali for the equivalent of the first several years of his life. At some point, he picked up his propensity to not speak and his assumption that kindness equates to sex. We can’t undo that. I do not know if we will be able to medicate him should he need it.

“But I do know that being there for him, and acknowledging what he went through goes a long way towards him coming out well adjusted, Mr. Nooneson. I know it is difficult, especially considering your standing with your family.” Loki just nods.

“He’s stubborn. You likely won’t be able to get a peep out him.” Uwimana nods again.

“It is less my job to get him to speak and more to be there for when he may want to speak, Mr. Friggason. I believe we will work out just fine. Now, to begin with, I would like to speak with all of your children, and also you, sir. I need to get a good idea of the family dynamics and what the children are feeling and how they normally operate.” Loki tenses, and Tony squeezes his hand from where he’s still sitting at his desk.

“I can set you up with a small, private lounge to hold your sessions in, in addition to your own suite and complementary Stark tech,” Tony says as he smoothly directs attention away from Loki. Therapy is hard to admit a need for, and Tony will give Loki time to come to terms before he has to face Uwimana on his own.

“There is no need for that, Mr. Stark. The suite is generous enough.”

“I understand that, but the children tend to be very aware of whose territory they’re in. It’s okay if something is mine; I’m with their father, and we are one in the same, to them. But if I give you a suite than it’s yours, and they’ll be going into unknown territory then,” Tony explains.

“Besides, I like giving people who do stuff like relocate to speak to a traumatized kid and help him grow up better the best I can,” Tony says breezily as he pulls open the door to his office and begins to lead Uwimana down the hallway towards her new accomodations.

“Thank you,” Loki says quietly as he crosses his arms. Strange just watches Loki not watch him for a while. Then he sighs and steps closer to put a hand on Loki’s shoulder.

“Look. I know it’s hard. The… path to becoming who I am required some serious introspection that I balked at for as long and as hard as I possibly could. In the end, though, it was worth it, and I think it’ll help not just Vali but also your other kids and you as well. Don’t thank me, okay? Just try it. I don’t want to see anyone fall apart over this,” Stephen says.

Loki nods and just barely meets his eye. Something moves through Stephen, and before he knows it he’s wrapping Loki in a big, solid hug.

“It’s going to be okay,” Stephen soothes as Loki wraps his arms around Stephen, too.

“Is it? My child just tried to touch a man who is the equivalent of two millenia his senior.”

“And you addressed the problem and found someone to help in ways you couldn’t. That’s progress. You’d be surprised how many humans force their kids to shove this stuff under the rug and then punish them for acting out.”

“That happens?” Loki asks.

“It does,” Stephen answers, and Loki feels just a tiny bit better about this whole snafu of an affair.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“It was by no fault of your own,” Loki says. Clint jumps. He almost loses his poweraid to the floor. As it is, there is a blue spill across the counter now.

“Jesus fucking christ!” He eyes Loki like he expects the mage to attack him.

“We’re… talking about Vali,” Clint guesses. He wants the answer to be no, but he also wants it to be yes so he can get it out of his head and off his chest.

“Yes. I assumed- foolishly, I might add- that we were past discovering the truly dangerous habits of their youths. I was wrong. I suspected that Vali may have been used for pleasure, but I never had confirmation. I apologize.”

“I… it’s not your fault man. It’s a bad beat, ya know? One second your kids are fine, even if you can’t see ‘em, and the next, some creepy as dude has moved in.” Loki nods. He stands regally (he always does). His hands are held together, one in the other, though they don’t move. He seems, in that moment, unfathomably old.

“I am told it is a common crime, on Earth.”

“Yeah,” Clint says. He’s unwilling to surrender more information, but it doesn’t seem right to just… let the conversation end here.

“It’s not always something people can stop, ya know?” Clint says after a while. Loki’s eyes find his again. “Most pedophilia happens between the kid and someone they know. Dads. Moms. Uncles. Aunts. Trusted family friends. Older siblings and cousins. It’s… it’s not that it isn’t  big deal, but you aren’t… the only one. It happens to the best of us. And the worst of us,” Clint finally finishes.

“I never apologized to you for taking over your mind,” Loki says in a soft tone, “yet you stand here, trying to give me comfort.”

“I’m told it wasn’t really your fault.”

“Do you see another face in your nightmares?” Loki asks. Clint gives a thin, brittle little smile.

“No, but we don’t have the luxury of staying away from each other.”

“It seems that you are the only one who suffers from that.” Clint shrugs his shoulder.

“You know I read the official reports? From Civil War, I mean. I finally got around to it, and, god, I can’t believe Tony even puts up with being in the same room as Cap, but he is, and he works well, with or without Steve’s presence, so I can, too. Sometimes you just gotta nut up and push through.” Loki nods in understanding.

“If it helps any, when Thor returns- and he will. The fight has always drawn him like naught else- I will be in the same predicament. I truly am sorry, though. For what it is worth.” Finally- finally- Clint gets it in him to move forwards and clasp hands with Loki.

“To nutting up and pushing through,” Clint says. Loki gets a little smile about his grave, grave features, and his fingers get just a little tighter.

“Nutting up and pushing through,” he repeats. Clint snorts.

“It sounds so dirty coming from you,” he explains at Loki’s surprised look.

“I’ve been reliably informed that any expletive sounds dirty coming from me,” he says. Clint isn’t sure about Loki, but he thinks something is a little better now. They break apart.

“Go see Tony, Loki. Let him get more phrases out of you.” Loki nods, steps back, and disappears. The tension in Clint’s chest bleeds away little by little as he cleans up the spill and drinks his poweraid. That… could have gone so much worse.

…

“I dislike this… creature,” Fenrir says. His arms are crossed over his skinny chest. His little mouth is twisted in a moue. His blunt eyebrows are furrowed.

“Fenrir, it ceased being about liking and disliking things a long time ago,” Loki responds. They’re out in Canada. Loki had to bring Fenrir here when he heard the news that he, too, would be getting a therapist and he, too, must use him. At that point, he’d gotten so vehement that he’d needed to shift.

He’s spent the last three hours running around. Fenrir has been lounging on a rock.

“Just because Vali made a damned mistake doesn’t mean the rest of us have anything to say.”

“It wasn’t a mistake, and this isn’t punishment,” Loki answers back. Fenrir turns his skinny back.

“Of course it was a mistake. He got caught, yes?”

“It is wrong for grown men and women to touch children. That Vali was subjected to that is abhorrent. That all of you were subjected to punishments that you did not earn- Death’s throne, that I did not earn- is abhorrent. This is not about what Vali did. It is about healing as much of the damage as we can in the time that we have.”

“Talking will fix nothing!” he snarls.

“Fenrir,” Loki says, and his voice is so soft that Fenrir cannot help but turn to him.

“What?” he says, frown deepening.

“I know naught else in the entire nine realms that can fix this. I only know that Midgardians have been dealing with things of this nature- and things of many natures- for a relatively long time. They have made many mistakes. They have hurt so many in the pursuit of knowledge. They are at a point that they may just help. Please. Just try it.” Fenrir’s face does something complicated.

“Fine,” he spits, and then he transforms again and takes off again. Loki heaves a sigh of relief. Off in the distance, Narfi awaits him. He is also angry, and was also run over.

…

“You look exhausted,” Strange says by way of a greeting.

“I suppose.”

“How are the kids?”

“Vali cannot believe that this is not a punishment. Fenrir is angry and has refused to return. Narfi has elected to join him. Sleipnir won’t speak to anyone, now, not just his therapist. Jormungandr also refuses to take a humanoid form. Hela has, coincidentally, not come to visit as she normally does.”

“Your kids are strong willed,” Strange says by way of acceptance.

“And Anthony is gone,” Loki says, and somehow, he sounds more put out by this than by his kids throwing tantrums.

“Gone where?” Strange asks as he sets the tea tray down in front of the couch Loki is collapsed on. They’re in the Sanctum right now, so at least they have privacy.

“Meetings,” Loki says with an air of disdain so thick you could choke on it.

“I am sure he is breaking out in hives at the idea of being away from you for so long,” Strange replies. Loki takes a sip of tea and flips off the other mage.

“This day is horrid.”

“Most things involving hard decisions are,” Strange agrees again. They drink their tea, relieved, at least, that the day is over now.  

Chapter Text

“Fuck me,” Tony says, exasperation and exhaustion as he strides into his living room. It is curiously lacking in magical entities. Specifically the one that actually will fuck him.

“What has happened this time?” Strange asks as he wanders in behind Tony. As a matter of self preservation, Strange has agreed to never portal directly into the private quarters of Loki or his brood, plus a few other choice places around the compound. They, in turn, have agreed to exercise a level of caution outside of those places.

“Meetings,” Tony responds with the same level of disdain that Loki used when he told Stephen where his lover had gotten to.

“I hear they’re murder on the brain. And I should know. I am a neurosurgeon,” Stephen responds as he redirects Tony from the elevator that will take him to his lab and towards the couch.

“You are 100% right. Would you like funding to find proof of that so I can, like, stop attending them?” Strange smiles a little bit, and Loki’s tea set, combined with a coffee set, mysteriously appears in his hands. Tony smells coffee coming from one of the pots.

“Oh, you are wonderful,” he breathes as Stephen hands him a mug. After ten minutes of beating back his stress headache with delicious coffee, he gives Stephen a suspicious look.

“Why are you here?”

“Loki’s kids have taken to therapy like cats to water. They have been oscillating between sulking and throwing temper tantrums for the past week. I’ve been told to beat it and take a break before I get sick of them,” Stephen says with a shrug and a smile.

“Shit. I should be there with him. This was my idea-”

“You should sit right where you are. I know people tend to forget this, but I have, in fact, been in many a board meeting in my day, and I know that board members love to oscillate between sulking and throwing temper tantrums.” Tony shakes his head and moves to stand.

“Stark,” Stephen says. Tony looks at him.

“It has been taken care of. If we truly needed your help, we would have sprung you from those board meetings.

“I should be there, though,” Tony says.

“His children are all sulking at the moment. Loki is taking a break. I am taking a break. You just got back from a week of meetings across Europe. Take a break.” Tony pauses, digesting that.

“Why are you here?”

“Wong is also taking a break. From me,” Stephen says with a cheeky grin. Tony’s eyes roll as he turns back to the couch.

“What have you done to poor Wong?”

“I brought Vali and Narfi in for some fun at the Sanctum. Neither of them is welcome back for at least a week. I have also been banned.” Tony snorts and collapses back onto the couch for another cup of coffee. As he drinks, he kicks his shoes off.

“At least tell me it wasn’t just you two against them?”

“No. Barton has expressed an interest in becoming… I believed he called it a Tony level of accepted.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Apparently he got up the guts to ask why Vali tried to touch him, but not you. Vali said it is because he knows you are here because of his father, and therefore are like his father, as well.”

“Huh. Well. I’m glad I unknowingly dodged that pitfall.” Strange nods. He sits back to drink his tea as Tony’s eyes begin to droop closed more and more.

“Take your jacket and shoes off, Stark. You’re off the clock. Get comfortable.” Tony stands up and does just that, plus his tie. He unbuttons his cuffs as well. Half a cup of coffee later, and the man is asleep.

Stephen gently removes his mug from his relaxing grip and guide him to lay out on the couch. With a little bit of magic, he gets the man fully resting against he cushions, head on a pillow, blanket tucked around him.

He sits, quietly, and has another cup of tea.

Some time later, Stephen snaps awake in a millisecond. The source of the disturbance becomes obvious. Tony is mumbling. His face is morphing into different expressions of displeasure and then fear. Ah. He is having a nightmare.

Stephen quickly arounds the coffee table and kneels next to Tony. He sets long fingertips against the man’s face and rubs his thumb against a cheek.

“Come on, Stark,” he murmurs. His hands begin to glow. With the free one, he draws a small rune in the air. “Breathe for me.” Tony settles back into sleep, none the wiser. Strange stands up again. His eyes catch Loki’s where he’s leaning against the doorway, a fond and sad expression on his face.

“Thank you,” he mouths. He makes his way to Stephen’s couch and pours himself a cup of tea. They sit there in companionable silence, just standing guard over Tony.

…

“Wong!” Stephen calls out as he strides into the New York Sanctum. Cloak greets him at the door and hugs his shoulders.

“Lower your voice. What- Oh. No, what have you done now?” Wong asks at Strange storms into his private quarters.

“It isn’t want I’ve done. It’s what he’s done,” Strange says, agitatedly pacing back and forth.

“Which he? The last two he’s you brought destroyed the damn training room,” Wong says with one arched eyebrow.

“Loki.”

“Oh, god. I knew he was going to cause an issue.”

“Not even that kind of issue.”

“Strange what kind- oh,” Wong says, suddenly getting it.

“You like him.”

“I think he likes me! We literally sat and watched his sleeping boyfriend together. You know what kind of shit aht is? That’s homewrecker shit!”

“I thought you said those two were, and I do quote, ‘disgustingly in love’?” Wong says as he goes to heat up the kettle. This clearly calls for tea.

“I did! They are! And yet, it still happened! I spent a week with him babysitting his kids! You banned me from the Sanctums- all of them!- for a full week for the shit I pulled keeping them occupied! And now he’s giving me… giving me looks !” Stephen exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Perhaps you are reading in too much,” Wong says as he turns back with two cups of tea.

“ Looks Wong. Looks.”  Stephen takes the tea and clutches it like it’s a shield from infidelity. Wong sighs and sits down. He fixes Stephen with a look of his own.

“You are good-looking, Stephen. You receive looks from at least one out of every batch of students. Do you remember last year's batch? Six different people tried for you.”

“Yes,” Stephen says, still not understanding.

“And they did that when you were a practicing neurosurgeon.”

“Yes,” Stephen says, still not getting it.

“And no one’s looks have ever gotten you so upset.”

“No.”

“Then maybe it isn’t because Loki is giving you looks. Maybe it’s your own looks you’re worried about.” Stephen lets out a groan after a long, long moment.

“That is even worse,” he mumbles.

“Drink your tea. Nothing ever got solved with wasted drinks.” Stephen drinks, too stunned to do much more than obey. Suddenly, a crack of thunder lights across the previously clear sky. Clouds seem to materialize out of nowhere, and a storm of frightening magntiude engulfs New York.

Both warlocks sigh and stand. It appears they would indeed be wasting their beverages. After all, the other Asgardian has arrived.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Clint.” Sam says. Nowadays, Sam’s the only one talking to him. Nat is furious that information about the Other Side isn’t just BASE jumping out of his mouth and has taken to throwing knives all damn day. Steve has backed her. Wanda is sulking because the ill-gotten union the two of them had over the Compound escape didn’t last.

“Hey,” Clint says as he opens the fridge. Does he want eggs, bacon, or eggs and bacon?

“How’s it been?” Sam asks. Clint looks at him, wondering what his angle is. Friendship? Is the playing puppet again?

“Fine.”

“You been looking out for yourself?” Sam asks after a moment. New Plan: instant noodles.

“Yeah. How about you?” Clint asks. Sam shrugs one shoulder.

“I guess I’ve been doing whatever.” Sam stands up to leave. As he goes, he pauses to grab and apple out of the fruit basket. Something slides along Clint’s ass. Sam pulls back, claps Clint on the shoulder, and makes his way elsewhere.

Clint make his noodles and beats a retreat. As he sits on his bed, he pulls out the paper.

Watch out for Wanda

Clint sighs. Well, shit. His phone goes off, so he boots up his computer and sits back to wait for the call.

“Hey, Clint,” Laura says, her lovely voice filling his room. Clint gives a strained smile.

“Laura, listen, I feel like something’s about to happen,” he says. The tiny, budding smile that Clitn had given all this time to see again dies in a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean a little birdy gave me this, and I want you to be wary of any Avenger.” Clint holds up the note.

“Including your spider?” Laura says, face deadly serious.

“Especially my spider.”

“Alright. I guess you should get your hour in. the kids want to show you how far Nathan’s progressed.” Clint feels his smile becoming a little more genuine.

“Thank you. For everything,” he says. Something in his voice must have rang entirely true, because the bud of a smile comes back.

“Yeah, Clint. Just don’t fuck it up this time.” Laura’s moving back, her lovely voice floating through the house. Clint gets a pang of longing and regret so strong he loses his breath for a moment. He and the kids talk for an hour, Clint taking the time to play peek-a-boo with Nathan, before they’re interrupted by thunder strong enough to shake the compound.

“Mr. Barton, it would be prudent to suit up. Thor Odinson has just landed.” Clint gives a regretful smile to the kids.

“Hey guys I gotta go, k?” Cooper gets that angry-sad look again, and it’s all Clint’s fault. Lila tries to put on a grave face.

“By dad,” she says. Cooper stalks off.

“By darlin’,” Clint answers. With one last smile, he kills the connection, jumps into his uniform, then joins Tony and Loki out on the lawn.

“What are we up in arms for?” Clint asked.

“Thor is still a part of Odin’t house. He still sees my children as monsters,” Loki says. His eyes are grave, and all black armour covers him from head to toe.

“Right,” Clint says. He notices the rest of the Avengers piling out of the front doors as the massive, sudden storm dies down. Thor strides out of the remaining winds, blond hair whipping around his face. He comes to a stop some distance away from the two groups.

“I thought us allies. It would appear that a fight is but a moment away from being at hand,” Thor calls.

“I’d love to not look like this, big guy, but you’re coming into Loki’s home, now, and you know how these things go,” Tony responds. Clint had picked up bits and bobs of what it must have been like for Loki over the past few weeks of trying to come to turns with somehow making a child think he wants ass.

There had been a moment where Loki’s glamour had not been on, and he hadn’t been fully dressed. Loki’s skin had been laced with scars, and his spine was one neat column of brands. Tony had discretely explained what they did via FRIDAY, and asked that he be sensitive about them and about the kids and how they’d been put in harm’s way themselves.

Now, as Clint looks at Thor, he doesn’t really see a loveable alien anymore. He sees an extremely fallible man who was, at best, an enabler to the things that went wrong in Loki and his kids’ lives, and, at worse, an active, convictious participant. He sees the way Tony looked, hanging from Thor’s big hand. He sees, and he mentally prepares himself, because if it’s a fight they come to, he will be choosing sides again.

“Is this not my home as well?” Thor says, eyes critical, face serious.

“You abandoned it,” Tony responds. Clint hears “you abandoned me”.

“I have taken many sabbaticals before. Never have you called them ‘abandonments’,” Thor responds.

“I should have,” Tony rejoins. His suit clicks as he takes a step forward.

“Loki has agreed to your presence here, on a few conditions.”

“What would those… conditions… be?” Thor queries.

“You are not to approach, speak to, or tamper with any of my children for any reason, barring situations in which the consequence is immediate death for one or more of them,” Loki says. His voice rings with a strange and ancient power. It seems the entire fabric of the world shifts, matter moving over slightly for one new thread to weave through.

“You are not to engage with me in matters that do not concern the continued longevity of this planet, and or the safety of all parties affected by whatever disaster is occuring.

“You are not to engage in conversation containing matters involving me with Anthony Edward Stark, Stephen Vincent Strange, or Clint Francis Barton in anything other than a purely professional manner.

“You must abide by Midgardian laws concerning violence.” thor seems thunderous (ha!) for a moment, before his expression clears. He steps forward.

“I agree,” he says, and Clint doesn’t feel that energy.

“Swear…” Loki rejoins as he steps closer and raises one big, pale hand, “on your hammer.” Thor extends his weapon (the weapon he knows Loki could render unusable in just a few words, with power like this). Loki lays his fingers against the cool living metal. Then he raises his green eyes.

“Go on,” he says.

“I, Thor Odinson, Son of Odin, heir to the throne of Asgard, God of Fertility and the Storm, swear on my hammer to abide by the conditions set forth by Loki Nooneson, of None, God of Memories and Bargains, on pain of forfeiting my hammer and all rights to it,” Thor finishes. That strange resonance fades away. The agreement has been made. Loki steps back, careful to keep his back to Tony and Tony alone.

Clint keeps his expression blank, but he can tell by the way each person is sizing everyone else up that this will be a long, long year for them.

Chapter Text

Strange portals into one of the “safe” areas of the Compound. He steps out, cape swirling against his dark red tunic. Tony meets him, cocking an eyebrow.

“I haven’t seen that one,” Tony says with a nod to Strange’s clothes. Strange shrugs one shoulder.

“I haven’t worn this one in a while. It gets in the way sometimes.” Tony nods.

“My solution is to never change out of pajamas,” he confides as he turns to let Strange into his portion of the Compound.

“How are the kids?” Strange asks.

“I don’t know. They treated me like the incorruptible hero I so obviously am for about a day and then one of them asked me to spring them from their therapy session,” Tony says drily. Strange laughs a bit. Anxiety twists in his stomach. What if Loki does the thing again?

“And then?” he asks.

“Then I told them that it wasn’t a punishment. They say it is. I said if I did it too, would they believe me?” Tony says, and it honestly sounds like he doesn’t really like this story. Strange’s eyebrows go sky-high.

“So you have a therapist?” he asks, incredulous. They’re passing down the broad corridor now. Normally, it would be hopping with activity, but all the children are still smarting from their ‘punishments’ and Loki is trying fiercely to reach them. The mage is either dead asleep right now or wrangling someone. Or possibly trying to speak to Hela. Because the little girl is definitely ducking the fuck out on them all.

“Yeah,” Tony says, and he sounds so pouty, now. Strange huffs a laugh.

“Let me get this straight-”

“Straight? What’s that? I think that’s Cap’s thing-” Tony jumps in.

“Potts told you for years- years- ‘Tony, this can’t go on’ and ‘Tony, you’re destroying yourself’, and the thing that finally gets you into a doctor’s office is setting a good example?”

“It would seem so, ya dick. And don’t act like I’m the only one who needs therapy. I notice that you do just as much shifting in your sleep as I do in mine.”

“Yes. Wait, no. I don’t sleep. I just astral project out of it.” Strange says with a smirk.

“Well, fuck you too,” Tony says without any heat as he pokes his head into the kitchen. Damn, it really is empty in here. Strange mimes thinking about it for a moment, and then:

“Okay,” he says. Tony laughs at him as he lets him into his and Loki’s living room.

“Tea?” Tony asks as he wanders into their small kitchenette. The kitchen proper houses enough food to feed all of Loki’s children for about four days. Proportionately speaking, they all eat more than Steve. They do so literally after any magical practice sessions.

There is another room off the kitchen that has about four extra fridges and is lined with all manner of food storage bins. Recently, so much money has been going to food that Tony has invested in bulk everything. The kitchenette, by contrast, only holds a little bit of food, all packaged and made to tide someone over after a lab or magic binge until the starving party can get real food.

The true magic of the kitchenette (and it’s actually a kitchen, but they call it that due to the amount of not-cooking they do), is the drinks. Tea of all kinds, including the stuff Strange drinks, coffee of all kinds, juice of all kinds (packaged, as unprocessed as Tony could get them), etc. Lined the shelves. Meal replacement shakes are chilling in the fridge or in their boxes in the pantry. Pre-made smoothies in mason jars sit in rows in the freezer, neatly labelled with their ingredients and names, if they are for a specific person.

It’s funny, really, because before, they didn’t have more than five or six jars pre-made at one time. No one had the memory or patience or time to make a week’s worth of shit for the whole house. But, according to Clint, there isn’t enough to do around here that doesn’t involve picking a fight.

His hours in the range are usually supplemented by helping Loki take care of his kids or learning something new (apparently, Laura told him straight out that one of his problems was he wasn’t adaptable enough. She feels like being a spy has conditioned him to never be anything more. This is Clint’s attempt to rectify that). Which means making sure everyone’s got something to drink at once.

Kettles, coffee pots, bean-grinders, keurigs, mugs, tea sets, water bottles, and cups are the only real dishes they have in here. The few plates and silverware are almost always in the dishwasher.

Tony rifles around until he finds Strange’s tea and flicks the kettle on. Strange never actually told him whether or not he wants anything to drink, but it’s Strange. The man goes through calories like no one’s business. If you give him something to eat, he will eat it, and he won’t even notice, if you give him the right thing.

Loki wanders into the kitchen, and Tony opens the fridge. He pulls out a jar labelled: Loki, Mornings; Pineapple, Nectarines, Sherbert, Protein and twists the lid off before he sets it down in front of the man. Loki’s hair is an absolute fucking mess. The gold bits have either half fallen our or are entirely gone. The curls are escaping the braid he slept in. He’s got sleep in his eyes, and crusty white bits at one corner of his mouth. The hair of one eyebrow has been pushed back so that it curls every which way accept where it’s supposed to curl.

Tony turns on the keurig and slips an espresso into it before he goes for his own beloved coffee machine. Strange and Tony are careful not to talk. Mornings are no one’s favorite, and no one wants to annoy Loki this early (for him, anyways. It’s well past one. Evidently, kid wrangling is even more exhausting with magic). When Loki’s espresso is ready, and Strange’s tea is steeping, Tony elects to forgo coffee for a little bit, since this is his sixth cup today, and moves behind Loki to start on his rat’s nest.

A full twenty seven minutes goes by, and Clint has come, grabbed a meal replacement shake, and gone because no just-woke-up Loki for him, thanks, before Loki speaks.

“What is it?” he asks, voice rough and gravelly. Tony gets him his third espresso.

“We have less than a 1% chance of succeeding against Thanos,” Strange says. He waves his hand, and a flashdrive appears on the table.

“That’s for you, Tony. I know flash drives are archaic, but that’s the best method I had for recording.” Tony nods.

“Appreciated. I swear, people act like I actually keep track of paper. I don’t even watch my own paper. It’s all on a card,” he says. Loki grips his hand, an assurance of solidarity, if not victory, against this coming threat.

Just then, a portal opens in their kitchen. Hela steps through. As always, she’s barefoot, the red dust of the road against her feet and ankles. Her tunic is a dark color that’s hard to look at.

“Godmother has commanded I heed your will, Father,” Hela says, and she looks so pouty over it. “She also gives her blessing to your endeavors.”

Chapter Text

“We have the numbers,” Tony says, “and the weaponry. The problem is ability.” he projects the images on his phone into the air.

“Are those kill counts?” Strange asks. His eyebrows are pulled low as he studies the graph.

“Average kill counts, and yeah. Yous and Loki’s may not be accurate because I basically did a comparison between Loki’s fighting ability and Thor’s and then tried to weight that into something likely resembling what damage you all would have done if you’d fought with us in the Battle of New York and every one after,” Tony responds as he taps on Widow’s icon.

“Everyone we have is highly skilled but they’re all the wrong skills.” Loki shrugs.

“Can we not make something to accommodate that?”

“You got any ideas for what we could make, Reindeer games?” Tony asks. Loki tilts his head, still half asleep. As it is that head tilt leaves him half laying on Tony’s shoulder. He opens his eyes, an gives strange one of those looks again.

“I do have an idea.”

“So you are Rogers,” Hela states, green eyes wide and curious. Steve turns away from his Bigass Protein Smoothie (gee thanks for the name, Sam), and cocks an eyebrow.

“Yes…?”

“Lady Death is highly displeased with you,” Hela says as she pulls open the fridge. She takes a bite of an apple and makes a face before she pulls an orange out instead. The sticking sound of the gasket is the only thing to hear for a few moments.

“I’m sorry?” Steve asks after a moment of staring.

“Lady Death? Godmother? Surely you are not this ignorant of Father.”

“I think I am, kid,” Steve says, a little bit offended, now.

“Well I suggest you educate yourself,” Hela snips at him.

“Look, kid, I don’t know who you are, but around here there’s no cause to be so disrespectful for no reason,” Steve corrects, eyes attempting to bore into Hela. It doesn’t work.

“My apologies,” she intones. There is a pause, and then she is the one doing the boring.

“My name is Hela Lokidottr, heir apparent to the throne of Lady Death, daughter of Loki Nooneson, God of Words and Bargains. You recently attempted to kill the love of Loki in a situation that you yourself created through years of lying and misdirection. I know these things because I sit at Death’s right hand, and I know much of what you do when you think no one is looking. There is plenty cause for disrespect,” Hela explains. The apple has reformed the chunk Hela bit out of it.

“In any case, I merely came here to inform you that Lady Death eagerly awaits you, as it is not Valhalla you are bound for.” Hella puts the apple back in the fridge, drops the orange peel into the compost bin, and makes her way out of the kitchen, Steve Rogers watching with a clear feeling of dread twining around his chest.

…

“The God of Lies has returned!” the elves twitter from the trees of Alfheim.

“Nay. I am the God of Words and Bargains, now,” Loki intones, voice vibrating with the power of his godhood.

“That you are! That you are! Tell us, God of Words and Bargains, what you wish to do within Alfheim.”

“I have come to speak to the noble elf, Bjarte.”

“Does the God of Words and Bargains wish to curry favor?” one elf calls out among the titters of the rest.

“Nay.”

“Does the God of Words and Bargains wish to secure aide?” a second elf joins in.

“Aye,” Loki responds. There is more speaking, and the words slide away and around Loki like snakes.

“Come then! Let us see what inspiration you have brought!” the elves walk him through Alfheim, headed towards Bjarte’s pavilion.

“Loki!” one of his friends calls out. Loki raises his hand in greeting. Several calls of his name have three elves which were hidden behind the pavillion’s curtains emerging to see who has come. One of the elves breaks out in front of the rest. He reaches Loki first and catches up the mage’s hands in his.

“Bjarte,” Loki says, leaning his face back just slightly. Enough to suggest that Loki is not as available as he used to be.

“Is it true? Have  you truly been caught in life’s loveliest noose?” Bjarte says with a smile.

“I should think so,” Loki answers as he moves with Bjarte. Loki allows the old elf to tuck his hand into the crook of his arm. He leads Loki along the shoreline, maintaining a distance from Bjarte’s company.

“You are even more burdened than you were before,” he says after a while.

“I have bigger problems than before.”

“Fair enough. What can I do for you, Loki?” Bjarte queries as they pause at the water’s edge to watch the other elves play in the water.

“The end is coming.”

“Ragnarok? It is always coming.”

“Not that. Something else. Someone else. Something anomalous.”

“Something to do with your short-lived conquest?”

“Yes. We have potential, but at the rate we are going, we are not enough.”

“You wish for my help with this.”

“The anomaly’s name is Thanos. He draws nearer every day, and he has in his arsenal infinity stones. Not all of them, but enough of them. When he comes to earth, he will be at the site of two other gems. After that, he merely needs to locate the soul gem. Then, he will have all he wants. Instantly. Alfheim will fall. Vanaheim will fall. It all falls,” Loki finishes, voice as grave as a funeral.

“You need not argue your case with me. May I show you something?” Bjarte asks. Loki nods. Bjarte leads him to his pavillion. He draws the curtains and, with a wave of his hand, reveals hidden canvases. He leads Loki among them to a painting at the back. It is of a blue figure, hair long and wild about its head. The figure appears to be fighting a massive army of darkness, on his own. Loki can see the figure is doomed, regardless of how he fights to win.

“When…?”

“A year before you arrived,” Bjarte says. The figure is clearly Loki, despite Bjarte having no knowledge of Loki’s other form before his arrival. “I did not know what it meant, but I kept it, and I hid it, and I prepared for that figure’s coming. If you call me now, then as a seer in the Elven Court, I am bound by my divinity to aid you. And I am bound by my heart to see you through.” Loki snaps his head around to look at him, a look in his eyes.

“You lie,” he says, something like horror on his face.

“I do not. It was not intentional, and I do not expect anything to come of it. Not now that you are attached to your mortal. But know my intentions, so that you may make better decisions.” Loki nods, hesitant and a little shell-shocked. Suddenly, Bjarte’s actions from a decade or so ago make more sense.

“Right. Well. We have one more stop to make.

Chapter Text

Broccr is, predictably, less than pleased to see Loki. The kitten, though, who has now grown into a giant, vicious panther, helps Loki to not be shot on sight. It sits next to Broccr, on her side of a low table in the middle of the room. Cabinets and chests line the walls. Weaponry of from the forge of both Broccr and her ancestors hang above them. Through a doorway separated only by a curtain is a small kitchen.

“So you are a free mage now,” Broccr says to Loki. The man nods. Broccr’s large, luminous gaze falls on Bjarte. Her mouth is twisted in disappointment.

“And you have brought a friend,” she says, this time in an even less pleased voice.

“Hear me,” Loki begins as he lowers his tea cup away from his face, “not long ago, I was captured, tortured, and made to be the unwilling warlord of a man called Thanos. He draws nearer to earth at this moment, seeking the infinity stones.” Broccr’s eyebrows rise.

“I seek to eradicate him, as he wishes to eradicate us,” Loki says.

“And you wish for my help.”

“Despite my youth and my foolishness of days past,” Loki admits, “I always knew how good a blacksmith and weapons master you are. We have warriors with swords ill-equipped for their enemies. We have generals with no knowledge of the terrain and not nearly enough of the enemy. We have a battleground, but no strategy,” Loki explains.

“That is more than most of us.”

“Yes,” he pushes, “but it is not enough. Many a planet has thought it enough. Many a mage, and many a warrior, and many a general assumed it was enough. And it was not. I seek an intergalactic alliance. We know where Thanos is going. We know what he wants. That is more knowledge than most have been privy to. At this point, the best shot we have is to go where he will be and prepare for battle there,” Loki says, impassioned, yet logical. Bjarte gives him a fond smile.

Broccr is silent for a moment.

“What do you need from me?” She says long after her eyes have glazed over in thought.

“Your cooperation, and what you do best,” he says.

…

Stephen is busy making twenty peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (a quarter grape, a quarter strawberry, a quarter orange, and a quarter cherry, just like the brat demanded/manipulated/guilt tripped him into agreeing to), when Tony wanders in.

“Is that Sleipnir’s food?”

“Yes,” Stephen says, “however did you guess?” he asks drily. Tony just smiles that smile he gets when he sees anyone taking care of any of the kids and pulls their largest kettle out from under the sink. When the water is boiling, he turns to the fridge and opens it up but-

“Looks like we’re out of smoothies,” he says, a little bit sad. Stephen rolls his eyes as he moves on from the grape and begins with the strawberry jelly. Tony pulls out the cantelope and god knows what else.

“Time to make some.”

“I didn’t believe you knew how to cook until one of the kids asked me for food. Then I understood perfectly well that if you didn’t know before, you sure as hell do now,” Stephen muses. Tony huffs a laugh, breathes in a deep breath, and yells out:

“HELA! WHAT DO YOU WANT TO EAT!?” Hela appears through a rip in the fabric of the universe.

“Ramen noodles,” she says, and disappears again. Tony nods.

“Who else is in residence?” Stephen asks him.

“Just Narfi. Vali is with Fenrir, and they are both still protesting therapy. Jormungandr has decided that Therapy is Good ™, and he should convince the other two of that fact,” Tony relays as he pulls out the rice steamer.

“What’s that for?”

“Narfi is in love with sashimi,” he responds as he sets up the rice to cook.

“Do you know when Loki will be back?” Stephen asks.

“No. He’s off doing his thing.”

“You don’t miss him?” Stephen asks, curious.

“Oh, I do, but he is literally the God of Bargains. His existence is his job. He’s doing it right now. I’m sure he misses me when I go on a world trip of meetings with Pepper.”

“True. He’s quite cranky and you aren’t there to be cranky and caffeine deprived with him, so everything’s worse,” Stephen confides. He sets down his completed sandwhich and turns to look at Tony.

“You don’t look good,” he blurts out. And it’s true. Deep, dark bags have taken over Tony’s face, his hair, normally artfully messy, is a too-long-without-rest mess.

“I’m not tired,” Tony responds. Stephen wonders how long he’s been wearing those clothes.

“Fair enough,” the mage says. He flicks the coffee pot on regardless. If Tony wants to stay up for days, well, that’s his prerogative. Personally, it’s Stephen’s opinion that Loki’s absence is a direct contributor to Tony’s backsliding habits. If that is the case, though, then getting on his back about sleep will just make it worse.

“How is work?” Stephen asks as he sets down another sandwich. Cloak abandons his shoulders to wrap around Tony’s.

“The usual. The newest StarkTab just dropped, and that’s had raging success. The exvengers have been going on a lot of missions. So far I’ve been Base Ops for them, and that works better than anything else.”

“Is Iron Man not one of their heavy hitters?” Stephen questions. He’s halfway through the cherry sandwiches.

“Oh, he is, but Thor seems personally insulted that I’ve taken Loki’s side over his, never mind the fact that he also somehow believes he can still get protective of who his baby brother is bedding. Steve is spooked by something, and he thinks it’s my fault.”

“What happened?”

“No clue,” Tony responds with a shrug. Stephen sets the sandwiches down and turns to get the biggest coffee mug they have down from the cabinet.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find out eventually.”

“Yeah, sure. Clint is making progress. He’s almost a fully functioning adult. Last I heard he and Vali are spending time together again. He’s just a little more careful to explain his intent to the kid. Unfortunately, that’s putting a wedge between him and the rest. Either way, it’s too volatile for us all to be out there. The problem is it will look bad if I don’t come along on missions. So we're just keeping me as a backup, citing responsibilities abroad and at home for the decreased presence,” Tony finishes. He sounds nonchalant, but it’s all bullshit to the Sorcerer Supreme. Stephen turns to look at him again.

“I am sorry it is so difficult with them, still,” he says, fully meaning it. Tony smiles a thin, faint smile and turns away.

“It isn’t your fault, Houdini.”

Stephen hands him his coffee cup.

“No, I guess not.”

They finish making the food in relative silence. Three hours and forty minutes later, when the three present kids have all eaten and wandered off to play after the conclusion of “Kubo and the Two Strings”, Tony is dead asleep in a comfy armchair. Cloak is pressed against him, warding off the cold. Stephen carefully passes a sleeping spell over him, then gently picks him up. As he walks down the hall to Tony and Loki’s room, a portal opens right in front of them.

Loki is there. He, a very tall man with pointed ears and blond hair, and a very short, animal-like woman followed by a giant panther step through. The man’s face lights up, and he opens his mouth. Loki holds up a hand to silence him.

The mage strides forward, and stands above Tony.

“He never does sleep well when I leave,” Loki murmurs.

“I’ve cast a light spell, enough to get him to his bedroom,” Stephen responds in tones just as hushed. Loki looks at him with a soft, truly grateful smile.

“Thank you.” Stephen’s heart stops in his chest, because this is worse than all the other looks before.

Chapter Text

“But he looks so… delicious,” Bjarte says as he lounges against the bed. When Tony had woken up and realized just who would be in the compound with him, he’d taken pains to make suits that were reminiscent of both aliens’ homes. As such, Bjarte’s bedroom is almost entirely a giant lounge, with cleverly hidden storage compartments and lots of shelves with lots of books.

Tony had but him in one of the suits with the high ceilings and windows making up two full walls, which Bjarte had thoroughly enjoyed. Everything was all gauzy curtains and pastel colors and he had a giant second closet almost entirely taken up by art supplies of every kind. Wires for finished pieces also crisscrossed the ceiling.

Given that he’d actually thanked Tony with a kiss full on the mouth, which had left Tony shocked and Loki snorting, it was a given that the billionaire had, amazingly, gotten his gift perfectly right.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Broccr was housed in one of the suites with low ceilings and no windows. For whatever reason, Tony had planned to have kids around, and figured those kids might like some uniqueness with their bedrooms. As such, Broccr’s bed was actually a heavily padded dropped section of the floor.

While the ceilings are (still) far too high, Tony had made up for that with lots and lots of extra storage. What wasn’t cabinets or shelving was pegs in lots of different arrangements for her weapons. Her giant second closet was all taken up with weaponry, and she also had a second bed for her panther.

For his troubles with the dwarf’s case, he’d received a long, low bow and a small, enchanted. Loki said that was basically a full kiss on the mouth with tongue from the snappish dwarf. This all happened a week ago. Tony is now hiding from them both because wow, what the hell? It’s just a room.

“You are to leave him alone. You are making him uncomfortable.” Bjarte shifted his robe a bit, and Loki rolled his eyes at the flash of pale thigh.

“What, oh mage of mine? Are you certain you are not feeling possessive? Those who raised you certainly are.” Loki gives him a very unimpressed eyebrow.

“They may have been, but I know whatever dalliance Anthony may adopt, whether in my presence or absence, will not compare to his devotion to me and mine. It won’t even call it into question.”

“Oh? Have you not tamed him?” Bjarte asks, curious. Loki rolls his eyes.

“He is a mortal, not a hunting dog. He doesn’t need to be broken, and he would not be better for it. Not even as an item of use,” Loki informs him, somewhat offended. The older elf seems to know he is only a moment away from too far. He raises one graceful hand in aquiencense.

“Very well. My apologies. Are you sure I make him uncomfortable? Could it be that he is not quite used to me?”

“He knows when he’s being flirted with, Bjarte.”

“That kiss was merely me expressing my gratitude.”

“It was not, and you know I know it. Refrain from playing your games with him.”

“And the rest?”

“The rest are all varying levels of unstable and we intend to use them. If you bed Thor, I might consider castration.” Loki says. For all his and Bjarte’s alliance, they were still once enemies, and neither of them were afraid to show it.

“Fine. I suppose I can keep my distance.” Loki tilted his chin back just a little bit more.

“See that you do.”

…

Broccr crouched on the floor of the Rogues’ living room, head tilted to the side, giant eyes examining Steve Roger’s shield.

“It is an ancient technique, clumsily, if functionally, executed,” she says after a while. Steve is having a hard time not shifting nervously. “I am not overly sure of why you are so fond of it.”

“It’s done me well this whole time,” Steve answers, a little bit stiff. Clint fights to keep his smirk off his face. He’s lucky it’s not his weapon that Broccr turned her masterful eye on.

“Which was how long, precisely?” she asks, handing the shield back.

“Technically? A few years. But it was made and used by me decades ago.”

Broccr seems even less impressed than she was moments ago.

“That is hardly any time at all. I spent more time in the beginning stage of my apprenticeship than you did in the entirety of your career, and you expect to impress me with a disk?” Broccr asks. She does not roll her eyes, but she may as well have.

“I wasn’t trying to impress you,” Steve defends, hands coming up in defense.

“Right. You were only trying to display off a fine piece of midgarding forgery as though you do not have a maker of atomatonic armor living in the same building as you.”

“Tony’s father made it,” Steve tries one more time. Broccr really does roll her eyes.

“Only the finest weapons of my ancestors’ age hang upon the walls of my home and my forge. There are entire generations of my line that have nothing to show past their lifetimes. Just because Anthony’s father created one weapon does not mean it should be revered as you do,” Broccr responds.

“Broccr!” Jormungandr shouts as he slithers into the room. Today he’s half snake, half boy, skin gleaming with tiny patches of luminescent scales where it isn’t covered by a loose, dirty tunic.

“Little one,” Broccr replies.

“Father said you have yet to try most Midgardian food.”

“This is true.”

“Come on! Clint made smoothies yesterday!” Steve’s eyes turn to Clint, who cocks an eyebrow, not about to take any shit. Even nonverbal shit. Natasha, the other, silent observer in the room, is evidently irritated as well. Knowing full well he’s just digging himself deeper (like he cares anymore), Clint pushes himself up off the couch.

“Yeah. Let’s figure out what you like,” he says to Broccr. He leads the way out of the Rogues’ living room. They have to pause for a few moments while Jormungandr shrinks down and wraps himself around Clint’s shoulders. Clint carefully lunges, torso ramrod straight, and picks up his dirty tunic and the set of earrings he left behind.

When they’re gone, Natasha and Steve look at each other.

“We’re losing him,” Steve says. Natasha snorts.

“He’s been gone ever since his wife started letting him facetime his kids, Steve. If you were smart, you’d be trying to join him, not acting like he’s gone to the dark side.”

“He’s gone to Tony’s side.” Natasha sits forward.

“Haven’t you noticed? Tony’s side is the winning side.”

Chapter Text

Tony and Broccr stand side by side in the observation window, watching Steve Rogers work.

“I will admit that, as unimpressive as most of your weaponry is, this particular machine is useful,” Broccr says after a while. She opens up her leather notebook and writes another notation under “Simulation 3.5: Drones”. Out in the training room, one of Steve’s drones successfully decapitates an enemy sim.

“It is pretty useful,” Tony agrees. He might be smarting a bit over how… just unimpressed Broccr is, but according to Loki the dwarf is a master craftswoman so yeah, Tony knows she kinda has earned her unimpressed-ness. At least she is somewhat approving of the armor. Tony would really hate for that not to pass muster.

Out on the floor, Steve finishes the sim. He issues a mass command, and all of his sim-drones set down. Broccr leans forward and presses the intercom button.

“Again.” Steve makes a cutting motion across his neck before heading to the small stairwell to get to the observation room.

“What is it?” Broccr asks as Tony pulls up the playback. This time, a holographic Steve appears out on the floor, controls in hand.

“I just want to know why you have me controlling drones.” Broccr leans forward, large eyes trying to pick up more detail on their second run through.

“Accuracy is up by 7%,” Tony reports from where he’s looking at his own holographic screen. He issues a command, and the holographic recap lights up in a rainbow of color.

“What is that?” Steve asks, momentarily distracted.

“How likely you are to actually hit that specific target,” Tony responds. Steve shakes his head.

“I still don’t understand,” he says.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Broccr interrupts. She flips backwards, to the very beginning of the notebook.

“AKA Captain America. Biggest strengths: multitasking, strategizing, physical combat. You alone can take out one enemy at a time. But if you can focus on, say twenty drones, well, that’s twenty enemies at once. The more we equip the drones, the higher your effectiveness.”

“It’s just not my style,” Steve says, eyes on his hologram.

“Then make it your style,” Broccr responds. She narrows her eyes, flips to the end of her book and makes another notation.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Steve protests.

“Actually,” Tony interrupts, “It definitely does. You can’t throw your shield at an army that big. You’ll just lose the thing. You want to be in this fight? Then adapt to it.”

“There are roles I can fill that are more familiar.”

“Like what?” Broccr asks. Her eyes aren’t even on Steve. Hesitantly, she rewinds the display back by ten seconds. She’s still not comfortable with the technology, useful as it is.

“Like leading.”

“Not all members are comfortable with you leading. Nor are you well suited to it.”

“Yes, I am,” Steve argues. His hand twitches, and Tony knows he wishes for the shield. That Broccr doesn’t give a rat’s ass about. Broccr gives him such an irritated look that Tony has to hide both a wince and a smile.

“You encourage toxicity. You do not address problems in a fair or productive manner, and you have a high tendency to ignore what you do not want to see,” Broccr responds. She twirls her pen in her hand.

“You are, essentially, the exact last person we need to lead. Even if Iron Man could be convinced to Trust you, which I would not even attempt, due to your history, the rest of us are disinclined to fall as fodder to save those you find worthy. You are no good as a leader.”

There is dead silence in the observation room before Steve turns his eyes to Tony. the engineer really has to work not to move from his original wary, if not overly concerned, stance.

“What did you tell them?” Steve asks. It’s more like a hiss.

“The truth,” Tony answers. Just then, Loki sweeps into the room, shattering the moment.

“Anthony,” he says, “the children wish for you. Jormungandr in particular wants to, and I quote, ‘be a scarf’. Evidently I am not the neck to help him do that,” Loki finishes. He seems mildly annoyed by that fact. Tony smiles.

“I’m coming. Just… just a second, Loki.” With a nod, Loki disappears back through the doorway. “Broccr, a moment?”

Broccr pointedly snaps her book shut and makes her way out of the door.

“Look, Steve,” Tony says after a moment, “this isn’t…” he stops, mouth pursed. “This isn’t New York. We aren’t just griping. When we go out there, we have to depend on each other. I can’t do that if you lead. I already know how that one goes.”

“Loki won’t risk it, either. His children depend on him being alive, and he knows you wouldn’t come for him. Bjarte and Broccr may as well be cannon fodder, in comparison to Sam. We won’t put our lives on that line. That’s not a wire I can ask any of them, even myself, to lay on.

“Maybe it would be different if it was just you and Wanda and Widow, or something, but it won’t be, so you can’t lead. Don’t take it too hard, but you had your chance. Now is the time for something different.” Tony starts to move past him, air heavy with his speech. Steve catches his arm. Tony goes stiff.

“I am sorry. I know you don’t want to hear that, but I can’t leave my people in the hands of strangers,” he says. His eyes beg in a way his mouth never will.

Tony moves his arm out of Steve’s grip.

“I know you’re sorry Steve. Everyone is, when the consequences come,” Tony responds. He offers up a bittersweet smile to Steve. All this time, and it still hurts to tell Steve “no” like this. When he truly wants something. When he’s sure it’s the right thing to do.

“That’s not what this is about,” Steve responds.

“But it is. You wrote me an apology and the only thing you said you were sorry about was that I got hurt. Do you even understand what’s wrong with that?” Tony asks.

“You wanted me to take responsibility, and instead I just offered you something insubstantial,” Steve responds.

“That is exactly right. It’s consequences you have a problem with, Steve. Not doing right. Not ‘protecting the little guy’. Just avoiding the consequences. Well, I don’t trust you not to do that now.”

“Please,” Steve asks, because no anger and no force could make Tony do anything; he has to want to, now.

“No,” Tony answers. Then he turns on his heel and leaves. The observation room shuts down behind him, leaving Steve in half light most dormant rooms in the Compound have.

Chapter Text

There seems to be a shift in dynamics after Tony’s little heart to heart with Steve Rogers. Whether he told anyone or not, it seems as though everyone on Team Cap has come to the realization that their ship is this close to sinking, and Tony’s is the only seaworthy vessel around for miles. The good thing about that is they seem to have gotten off Clint’s back for bailing early.

The bad thing is they’re now… much more present.

“You need all the help you can get, and I need training from a real mage. Why not knock both out at the same time?” Wanda asks. Their main kitchen (not the drinks kitchen, which is the one the kids frequently hang out in) has, once again, been invaded by a member of Team Cap.

She must have planned this out very carefully. Stephen, Loki, and Tony are at that bareful functional stage where all they’re good for is caffeine intake, but Wanda is very clearly awake, alive, and ready to go. She’s in an outfit that makes her appear less abrasive than she normally does (at least to Tony), and her hair is a lovely flow of deep red-brown.

“Because your faulty control is deeply linked with your psyche, and I am not touching the latter,” Loki mumbles. He waves his hand, and the coffee, cream, and sugar all converge on his giant Mischief, Inc. mug to provide him with his second cup of the day.

Tony can tell that Wanda wants to bristle at Loki’s insinuation that her mental state has deteriorated too much to bother correcting, even with the end of the world on the horizon. Admirably, she keeps herself under control.

“I can fix it.”

“No, you can’t. I know, because I’ve tried. Even a temporary solution would cost you more in the long run,” Loki responds. Strange, who was sitting on the other side of Loki, gets up to get the bowl of fruit of the counter. When he sits back down, he’s instead flanking Tony.

“If it’s just me, why does it matter? I know you don’t care about me,” Wanda argues. Loki shakes his head.

“Your issues invariably become the problem of those around you. I would not even dream of attempting to provide you the skill to go with that raw power. Not when your purposes for your abilities tend to be nefarious.”

“I can’t gain control if you won’t teach me.”

“Actually,” Strange jumps in, saving Loki and his poor, under caffeinated brain from more arguing, “Your best bet to gain control would be to temporarily or even permanently rid yourself of your powers in order to focus on your mental health. You will never gain true physical or mental control while you have them because it is too easy to get out of hard situations with them.”

Wanda’s face does a complicated twist at that. With her occupied by Stephen’s (much more put together) explanation (because he also came to the table awake and alive), Loki has turned in his chair to repossess Tony. He’s wrapped his arm around the man and pulled him close. Tony doesn’t bother to argue. He just shifts enough to finish his coffee.

“I can. I just have to keep in mind the end goal.”

“You could, perhaps, but you won’t,” Stephen argues. Loki wants food, so he pushes Tony to lean against Stephen instead. The other mage dutifully wraps Tony up, along with Cloak, so that he’s not missing too much when Loki goes rooting around in the fridge.

“I don’t see why-”

“No,” Loki intones from his spot by the fridge. His messy hair is everywhere as he bends over to inspect the different offerings on each shelf.

“No?” Wanda asks. Her face has a sinking look on it.

“I will not train you. Doctor Strange will not train you. If you would like to help with the invasion, that is fine, but you will accept whatever,” Loki states as he straightens up, yogurt in hand, “role we assign you. You will not object, or you will find yourself sidelined. Have I made myself clear?” Though Loki’s voice had not resonated with the power of his godhood coming into effect, Wanda’s face still goes pale and she retreats quickly.

“Anthony. Breakfast.”

Tony shakes his head and burrows deeper into Stephen and Cloak, coffee and all.

“Do not make me treat you as I treat my younglings. You will eat, and you will eat well, and then you are going to sleep.”

“But I already slept,” Tony objects as Stephen adjusts him so that he can eat yogurt and have more coffee.

“No, you did not. You just came out of a lab binge. You are drinking all the coffee, then you are eating this food, and then you are going to bed,”  Loki insists. He sits back down in his chair with a disgruntled expression as Tony turns his big brown eyes on him.

“But I don’ wanna.”

“You will. I will have someone join you, if that is your concern,” Loki says in an uncharacteristically soft voice. They’d come to the conclusion that if Loki and Tony sleep together, they have less nightmares. But Loki and the children are all just waking up, and Tony hasn’t been to bed yet, so Loki cannot laze the day away with him now. Fortunately Loki is not dumb.

“In fact, Strange has not been to bed either, and I believe he could also use a lie-down,” he informs Tony. His love twists his head to look up at Stephen’s face.

“Really?” he asks, and it sounds so hopeful and yet so forcefully reserved that Stephen’s heart aches for Tony and his inability to accept that perhaps Stephen would love to spend the day asleep with Tony Stark. Nervous as Loki’s out and out permission makes him, Stephen is positive that the mage knows exactly what is happening, and that he is giving his express permission.

A conversation about all that still needs to be had, though.

…

“You did not call me for this,” Broccr hisses at him. Loki has knelt on one of the matts in her room. There are chairs, but out of respect to the dwarf, he will match her preferred method of seating.

“I know, but her rage always seems to point itself at Stark, and I will not see him harmed due to my own carelessness,” he says.

“That arrogant soldier bothers me constantly about weaponry, and now you want me to chain the witch,” Broccr rumbles.

“As a final precaution. Both Stephen and myself spend plenty of time around Anthony, so your work should not be needed, but I do not like it. Things never go this smoothly,” Loki explains. After a long, tense moment, Broccr nods.

“Very well. But only because you are correct.”

Chapter Text

Stephen wakes up slowly, head muzzy and body still sleep-warm. The comforting weight of another body half on top of his tempts him to stay there. Unfortunately, his growling stomach disagrees with the wonderful plan of not getting up. He opens his eyes and takes a moment to take in Tony Stark’s sleeping face. He looks so much less stressed like this.

Ever so carefully, he slides out of bed. Now that he’s awake, he takes a moment to look around. The windows that line the entirety of one wall are darkened with curtains, leaving both himself and Tony in a low light. The hallway, bathroom, and closet doors are all closed.

An off white laundry basket sits in one corner of the room, the sleeve of one of Loki’s tunics hanging out. A long dresser takes up almost the entire space between the hallway and the bathroom. Three different jewelry boxes, likely all belonging to Loki, sit prominently, with random pieces of jewelry, charms, and bits of parchment spread around and on them. They vy for space with two tablets, tiny robots, cheesy souvenirs (those are definitely Tony’s) and various tools and technology.

The children have clearly left their mark on the room as well. Pictures are framed and hung on the wall, each with their maker’s signature on them, along with little handmade charms that are likely magical. Most notable among the wall hangings is a piece of gear-and-circuit-board-related art, and a large piece of parchment upon which dozens of runes have been carefully inscribed.

Someone had evidently strove to welcome the kids before their work had ever been hung, because pieces clearly made by experts hang as well. A snake done in red pencil is displayed prominently next to the parchment with the runes. An abstract piece with a lot of black and butterflies that reminds Stephen a lot of Hela hangs some distance away.

The more Stephen looks, the more distracted he gets. When he starts to feel dizzy, he realizes there’s some kind of enchantment at work and lowers his head until the feeling goes away. Keeping his eyes on the ground, he grabs his tunic off the back of a chair and quietly slides out of the room… right into Jormungandr.

“Hello,” Stephen says quietly. He’s still swaying a bit.

“Is Tony awake?” Jormungandr whispers.

“Ah… no. He’s still asleep.” Jormungandr visibly deflates, a pout that a child of his age and size should not have been able to pull off curving his mouth downward.

“Booger.” For a moment, there’s an awkward silence between them before Stephen realizes he’s standing in his leggings and boxer briefs. He shrugs his tunic over his head and pulls it down before heading to the kitchen.

“Coffee?” He calls back softly. Jormungandr is quick to join him. The caffeine evidently effects some of Loki’s children a lot, and others not at all. Jormungandr is one of the former. As the snake boy sits there, legs morphing into a tail and back again underneath his blue maxi skirt, Stephen goes through the motions of putting Jormungandr’s favorite (highly expensive) coffee beans into the grinder.

When the kid has his coffee and has wandered off with a big mug and a promise to leave Tony to his sleep, Stephen pours himself a cup, as well, and takes the time to stretch, long and luxurious.

“You’re good with him,” Loki says. Stephen hadn’t heard him enter, but these days Loki’s aura isn’t hard for him to find. Stephen turns around to wave hello. Without being asked, he pours Loki coffee. Anyone who can be a caffeine addict in this house most certainly is a caffeine addict.

“Thank you,” Stephen says. The two sit together in companionable silence. For once, there are no crashes, indignant screeches (Hela), or arguments in the other room to draw one or both of them out of their little bubble. It’s three in the afternoon, but it feels like seven in the morning.

“What are you playing at?” Stephen asks after a while. Loki looks up to catch his gaze.

“I beg your pardon?” he asks, though he doesn’t look the least bit confused.

“With Tony. Excuse the abruptness, but I don’t know what’s going on,” Stephen says. Loki shrugs one shoulder and takes another drink.

“He’s attracted to you, and he trusts you. I see no reason for him not to pursue something with you.”

“How about the fact that he’s committed to you?”

“Have you ever heard Thor’s stories?” Loki asks, apropos of nothing.

“I can’t say that I have,” Stephen responds, more wary now than he was before.

“He likes to speak of his grand adventures as a youth. These stories frequently involved Lady Sif and the Warriors Three.”

“Okay,” Stephen says, still not quite following. As far as he knows, Thor and his escapades are a sore spot for Loki.

“Well Lady Sif is an oddity in Asgard. As a woman warrior, she was expected to marry a male warrior. When that happened, she would have served exclusively as an extension of him, provided she either one day bore him a healthy heir and a spare. Either that or she would have found a woman to take her place.

“That woman would lay with her husband, and Sif would serve as the babe’s mother, and the one that bore it would be the wet nurse. She would have still been required to stay home for a length of time to find such a woman, but she would have skipped all the truly problematic parts of being a wife, provided her husband wished for her skill on the battlefield.”

“It sounds like that didn’t happen,” Stephen says, wary of where this story is going.

“It did not. Asgard is a strong place, but we they haven’t the population to deny unwedded women of skill a place in their army. Simultaneously, it is believed that a woman’s desire to have a family begins as a desire for companionship, and that to tamp it down is to ruin that woman’s ability to raise children. Since it is considered dishonorable for unmarried women to carry bastard children to term, many female warriors often keep women for their enjoyment.”

“Do you intend to keep me for enjoyment?” Loki smiles.

“Of course not. You are… well. There are people who would find that suffocating, to put it mildly. The tale end of that story is that some women, Sif being one of them, find it rather convenient that their mothering and wife duties can be done vicariously. As Sif has no interest in men, she has a veritable group of women that she permanently provide for, and in many ways act as a husband to. It’s rather profitable for many of the lower class, specifically those women who are not interested in marriage

“Sif serves as the sire to the children her women bear. The women and children get her name, and the protections therein. Asgard gets more children, often with a better life, than they would if Sif had married and borne children herself. The issue of the children being bastards is skirted because, again, Sif acts as the father. Many of the children will join the army, as well as some of Sif’s women.”

Stephen stares at Loki for about five seconds, and then says:

“Did you just tell me a long and convoluted misogynistic system of practices in Asgard just so you could say that polyamory is a somewhat common and fairly well accepted practice and that if Tony likes me and I like him then you’re perfectly fine with my trying?”

“Yes,” Loki says, satisfaction curling a little bit. Stephen gives him a look.

“You are such a drama queen. I spent half that story wondering if you were going to try and castrate me.”

“I literally put you to bed with him.”

“So what? It isn’t as if you have never done anything petty!” Stephen argues. Loki half raises a hand.

“Fair enough. To make things clear, though, I would appreciate my own chance. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on your aura for quite some time.”

Stephen fights valiantly, but in the end he goes beet red.

“You… you are ridiculous. You could have just said that this is fine a long time ago.”

“I was not entirely sure you would be a good fit for both myself and Tony. I will admit, though, the way you handled the children was admirable, and went a long way in convincing me.” Stephen just gives him a look. He’d been. It’s been months!

“Right, well, I need more coffee. And I need to think.”

Loki rises.

“Do not let me stop you. Also, don’t think too hard. I’ve heard it’s dangerous.” Without waiting for a response, Loki disappears with a teasing smile.

Damn mages. Always on some convoluted, dumb shit.

Chapter Text

“Mr. Stark… there have been a number of complaints lodged against you by members of the team,” Mr. Ross states.

“Have there?” Tony asks. They sit in Ross’ office, eyeing each other. There has been an increasing amount of hostility from Ross over the past few weeks, likely the result of Steve’s displeasure and probably Wanda’s, too.

“Yes. The most prominent among them seems to be your decisions regarding Thanos’ incoming invasion. While we’ve given you and your… new friends the benefit of the doubt, there have been complaints of people not being used in the best way they can.”

“That’s because we’re coordinating with more than just the Avengers, sir. I understand the discontent, but I believe the matter at hand is not being looked at in a way conducive to working together, nevermind filling a desired role.”

“Would you mind explaining this?” Ross asks, tilting his head.

“Who’s complaining?”

“The Scarlet Witch dislikes your decision to exclude her entirely from the mission.”

“Her magic is unstable, uncontrolled, untested, and has personally been used against various members of the team. I don’t need that kind of magic. There’s three full blown mages on the docket, plus Thor who, by all accounts, is fairly well-versed in the theories of magic, even if he’s no practitioner. In addition to that, there’s also Broccr who, while no mage herself, is very well versed in magical weaponry, given that she’s one of the high smiths of Svartalfheim.”

“Mr. Rogers has shown adept battle strategy in the past.”

“And we’re working with people who have been alive for hundreds, and in cases thousands, of years. When the subject of something bigger first came up, his response is that we’d do it “together”. That’s it. No plan. No strategy. Just trusting that, when the time comes, we’d be able to frankenstein something into existence and all go home with a few scrapes and bruises and not much else.

“I don’t need that. I need guys who are content to prepare for an incident years in advance. I need people who actually have those kinds of resources and knowledge needed to make a plan. Rogers isn’t that, but Nooneson and Broccr and Bjarte all are. Strange is. We’re making progress and we’re making a lot of it. I don’t need Rogers. He’s better elsewhere.”

“And what about Odinson? He’s clearly more your pace than the rest of the Avengers, but there have been complaints about his lack of use, as well.”

“Odinson has been dealing with family drama. I don’t know if you know this or not, but some time ago Loki essentially called a reality wide court in which he exposed Odin as an abusive, manipulative monster who broke what is essentially universe wide rules to keep control of Loki. Thor fell on his father’s side, and the two have not gotten along ever since. At this point, it is a choice between the full blown mage and warrior or just the warrior. I think you know the answer to that,” Tony finishes. Ross flicks his packet into a different page.

“How about favoritism? Lodged by Steve Rogers?”

“Do you take tea with guys who tried to kill you due to circumstances they caused and were one hundred percent mentally present and accounted for?” Tony deadpans. Ross nods his head and partially extends his hand, palm-up, in a acquiescence.

“Okay. So that looks like it’s it. The only thing we really have left to discuss is why we’re going with the robot route. Last time that happened, you broke a country.”

“Last time I broke a country, I was under extreme mental duress and was absolved of nearly all responsibility in light of my attempt to fix things and several other factors, which you are already aware of,” Tony fires back.

“I have better people around me now, and they understand, at least in part, why I do what I do. Unless I suddenly, inexplicably, alienated them tomorrow, there’s no real way Ultron can happen again. We’re using robots to lessen the body count later on. That’s all. Besides, they’ll mostly be controlled by people.”

Ross, who had been writing things down this whole time, takes one last notation and sets his pen down.

“And that looks like that’s all, Mr. Stark. I look forward to our next meeting,” Ross says. He rises and shakes Tony’s hand one more time.

“Ditto, sir.”

…

Tony gets back to the compound with a migraine that won’t quit. Meetings with the Accords Council always goddamn kill him. He shuffles past the main entrance and into a broad hallway. There’s no one here to greet him. He wonders, vaguely, if the kids are mostly in Canada today.

“Stark,” A voice says, and Tony can’t believe he got into the elevator without realizing Wanda was with him.

“What?” he asks, casually reaching the press a button. His arm doesn’t move.

“What game are you playing?” She asks him, voice full of hostility.

“The ‘go take a nap’ game,” he answers, careful to keep his voice blithe, his eyebrows arched, and his face studiously unconcerned. He hopes Friday has gotten ahold of someone (even Steve would do, at this point).

“Not that,” she snaps, red around her fingers. “But you’re damned strategy. Telling them you would not be working with me. I’m a part of this team. You can’t exclude me,” she spits at him.

“Wanda… this compound is overflowing with magic. Strange is a frequent visitor. Loki lives here. Bjarte and Broccr have their own schools of magic. I’m sorry, but veteran mages beat semi-trained women with no true experience in war and a penchant for overtaxing herself at random times any day.”

“I am better than that!” she hisses, taking a step closer. Red is around his neck, now, choking him. Threatening to.

“You aren’t. Your temper also isn’t better than that, since you evidently can’t argue for a spot on the team without attempting to hurt me into doing it.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Wanda murmurs as she reaches forward and sets fingertips on Tony’s forehead. “I’m just going to fix you.”

At first, the red just feels extremely invasive. Then Tony starts to scream. A variety of colors, from Loki’s bright green to Hela’s soft black, explode outward, leaking out of Tony’s ears and eyes and nose, fighting the intrusion. Wanda pushes harder, knowing that if she just tries a little more, she’ll have Steve’s Tony. The happy one he told her about. Then they can all be together, and these imposters will go away-

Tony’s heart stops beating before she can finish the thought.

…

There’s a woman, and she hums. Sometimes it sounds like the italian lullabies that his mother once sang. They aren’t in his mother’s voice, though. No, because his mother only sang for a little while. It was Jarvis who had to memorise all the songs so that his mother’s culture- something Tony so desperately wanted to be apart of- would not be lost in the bottle before Tony ever took his first drink.

So there is a woman, and sometimes her voice is that of an old, kind man, and she hums.

“You’ve had a long road, for such a short life,” the woman says after a while. Tony can sense her near him, and realizes he’s laying down on something soft. His business suit is nowhere in sight. “I wonder what the fates were thinking, when they did that,” the voice says.

Weathered, callused fingertips glide down his face.

“Though I supposed that man needed someone who would understand him,” she muses, voice contemplative. Tony tries to open his eyes, but he can’t.

“I would not worry about that, dear.”

Chapter Text

Wanda stares down at Stark’s unresponsive face. His eyes are wide, and, while the muscles are relaxed now, she can still remember the sheer look of terror that had slipped out. She hadn’t meant- it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Honest.

“Wanda? You called?” Steve’s voice echoed from down the hallway. Wanda’s moved Stark back to her room, to at least have a little longer to come up with a plan. That, and the stink would give her away far too easily.

“Wanda?” Steve says, and he sounds worried. He must be able to smell the death. Distantly, a part of her mind cooly recites how death causes every muscle in the body to relax, resulting in defecation and urination.

“Oh my god, “ Steve breathes out, and horror seems to dance on his face as he looks up to meet her gaze. “What did you do?”

“I swear it was an accident!” Wanda bursts out. She shoves shaking hands into her hair.

“You- remember when we were talking? You said that Stark wasn’t always like this and that you guys used to hang out all the time? I was trying to fix it so that he’d be like that again. It wasn’t supposed to end like this!”

“Wanda, I never said I wanted that! I never said I wanted anything like that. I was trying to make it easier on you!” Steve yells. Wanda jumps.

“I know and I’m sorry. You gotta help me. They’ll skin me alive for this, accident or no.” Steve looks down with disbelief on his face, and something else that Wanda dreads: grief.

“You just killed a man I spent years fighting with over some memory that I didn’t even want to make a reality, and now you want- are you kidding? I can’t protect you from this, Wanda. The rules were simple! Train for Thanos, and do not. Touch. Tony.”

“It was an accident!”

“Any mind control you exerted would not have been, and Loki would have still been in here, howling for our deaths.” Steve shoves his hand through his too-long hair.

“And now I have you, and a corpse, and about two seconds to come up with a real good story for this before they come in here and gut us both,” Steve says, and he’s so quiet when he says it that Wanda feels a new layer of fear. She’d thought for sure that Steve would help her. He knows how hard it is to control herself sometimes.

“Steve?”

“Remember the goal, Wanda?” Steve asks. He crouches down to be at eye level with Stark’s body.

“Fight Thanos.”

“Uh-huh. Now you’ve ruined that for yourself. You want to ruin it for me. You likely want this whole team to throw their futures on your stupid mistake.”

“You aren’t going to vouch for me,” Wanda says, wooden and struck. Steve has always-

“You killed the one guy I cannot argue over,” Steve says in return. He pulls out his cellphone.

“I’m sorry, Wanda, but this looks like goodbye.”

“Steve?” Wanda asks. Steve turns back, and his eyes are full of grief and sadness. “Can I have a hug?”

Steve sighs and turns back to Wanda to give the last bit of comfort he can.

…

Loki steps through the portal, his kids trailing after, to an unusually quiet house.

“Anthony? Where have you gotten to?”

“Oh, thank god you’re back, Mister Nooneson!” FRIDAY exclaims from the ceiling. “I can’t find Boss! He got in the elevators and disappeared!”

“Who else can you not find? Children, armor. Now,” Loki says as he steps further into the room. His black shirt and slacks ripple into plate armor with green and gold runes etched in neat, thin lines at every seam. A cloak trails after him as he goes, and various belts and harnesses keep swords and knives on him. A helmet caps his head. Unlike his earlier iterations, the helmet has no horns are decorations of any sort, and covers his face.

“The Scarlet Witch,” FRIDAY says, still panicking.

“Easy,” Loki repeats. He flicks his fingers out, and pre-cast runes to call a certain doctor flicker into the air. A mirror like opening appears in space, and Loki can see that Strange is reading right now.

“What now?” Strange asks, but Loki can see he’s only playing at being annoyed. At the sight of Loki in full armor, Strange draws the right conclusion, dawns Cloak, and steps through his own portal. He sees the children’s armor as well, and cocks and eye at Loki.

“Anthony has gone missing, in the words of Lady FRIDAY,” Loki says.

“Not today,” Strange mutters as he casts a set of three massive, interlocked runes. Just like that, the building is rendered see through, the auras of everyone taking up space instead of walls and furniture. And people.

“No,” Loki breathes as he takes off running. It doesn’t take a genius to know what part of the compound they’re headed to. The strange colorless stain of death in all that blue makes Loki’s heart twists harder in his chest than before. When he gets to the door, he doesn’t bother to knock, just explodes right in.

Rogers is on the ground in his room. A set of gym clothes is laid out behind him, and he himself is sitting on the floor. He clutches Tony for all he’s worth, and Loki can hear mumbles.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry it wasn’t supposed to be like that. I didn’t mean to hurt you…” he says, and Loki snorts. Wanda can force the Captain to act as though he’d done something wrong, but her bloodread aura surrounds his head in a near opaque haze, and it’s laced into Anthony Stark’s still veins.

Loki’s heart stops beating as he stares down at his lover. He just got Anthony back not too long ago. He didn’t want to lose him again so soon. Loki shakes his head and moves closer.

“Rogers,” he says, gently. He has no clue how this man who betrayed Anthony will react. With so much magic in his head, he may very well attack, and Loki will need to handle the situation with dignity and with grace if they’re all to make it out alive

“I didn’t mean to,” Rogers says. He’s still holding Anthony’s corpse. Still rocking.

“I know. I merely wish to make him comfortable,” Loki answers. That seems to satisfy the strange and unfamiliar territory of Steve Rogers head, because he allows Loki to pick the corpse up and turn to the door.

“Frændi,” Jörmungandr gets out. His voice sounds so small in his chest and there are tears in his eyes. Loki stops next to him and leans over to kiss his forehead.

“I will see what can be done.”

Loki leaves, with his children and Strange following in his footsteps. Grief hangs over them all like a cloud.

…

“I’ve been killed, haven’t I?” Tony asks. The woman likes to play with his hair most days. She does so now, and Tony is drifting, wishing for Loki. For Jör. For Hela, and Narfi and Vali and everyone else. At this point he would take the rogues. In this endless black, he’s begun to hurt for company. The lady doesn’t strike him as the companion short.

“Yes. Quite unexpectedly, by the way. I suspect someone will be along soon.

Chapter Text

“So… just to make sure I have this all down,” Ross says. He’s being extra wary today. The anger and the grief in the air is palpable. With so many magical beings in residence, that could go very badly should he piss one of them off.

“Miss Maximoff killed Dr. Stark, and has charmed Mr. Rogers into taking the blame.”

“Yes,” Strange says. He would let Loki do the talking, but the lack of resident genius has rendered him capable of only two moods: all encompassing rage and eerie, terrifying muteness.

“What is it you want permission to do?”

“Miss Maximoff has gone after Dr. Stark when he was acting in his civilian capacity. She has also stepped outside the bounds of sanctioned sorcery. By both accounts her powers will have to be bound and she will have to be put away. There is another issue, however, surrounding these two.”

“What is that issue?” Ross asks, curious. He keeps an eye on Loki, who is sitting next to Strange at the table, staring listlessly off into space.

“It is highly likely that, while Mr. Stark is an atheist, he went to some sort of after life by sheer nature of his association with Mr. Nooneson,” Strange hedges. He would really like it if Loki were the one to explain this but, as Strange mentioned before: two moods.

“And where would that be?”

“Helheim.” Ross blinks.

“Helheim as in Hel. Loki’s daughter.”

“Her godmother is the Lady Death, overseer of Helheim. By human accounts, it is thought to be the land of the dishonorable dead, but since that honor had a set definition made and upheld by Asgard, it’s much more like the Grecian underworld, with good parts and bad,” Strange explains.

“Can you get him back?” Ross asks. “I am not averse to Dr. Stark’s continued existence,” he explains, “and we do need him for his skills as well as for our peace of mind.”

“We want permission to try,” Strange explains.

“At what cost?”

“That’s just it: we don’t know.”

Ross sits back in his chair. The news of Stark’s death is both sudden and jarring, and Ross would be lying if he didn’t say he wished Maximoff had never been so stupid as to actually attack him, nevermind be so uncontrolled as to kill him. Given the way Norse mythology and their living counterparts tend to act, Ross wouldn’t be surprised if getting Stark back required some sort of sacrifice, of a kind he’ll learn about later.

Since it appears Stark was the only thing keeping a bunch of rampant magical beings in line as well as communicating across what he’s quietly began calling “the great divide”, it would only make sense to grant them this.

“I want a full report. And I don’t want anyone doing extra shit.”

“Will do. Thank you sir.” Strange says. He’s already getting up and pulling Loki with him. Ross feels a pang in his heart. The man looks so lost without Iron Man.

…

Wanda sighs and leans back against the brick wall in the alleyway. She had escaped the confines of the Compound and magicked Steve into helping her. She didn’t want to do that. Steve has always been kind to her, and he’s always tried to support her even if he didn’t know how. But then he’d just… turned.

So. Wanda had done what she needed to do, and that’s all there is to it. She doubts they’ll believe the ruse for long anyways,  so he’ll be fine. It’s just she needed to get away, and having Steve there was a serious damper on that one.

She hears footsteps, and peels away from the wall and into the crowd. No getting cornered for her, thanks.

…

Unearthly, pained screams echo down the hallway as Strange, Ross, and Loki traverse it.

“Oh my god,” Ross breathes. Steve Rogers is in the cell. It contains nothing but a thin pallet on the floor, and Steve is across the room from it. He’s got his arms wrapped around his ribcage and is rocking. Tears are streaming down his face and wetting the collar of his shirt. Every now and then, he attempts to bash his head against the wall, but runes light up, and he comes away unharmed. It is him who is making the noises. He looks and sounds like an animal.

“Did she really do this?” Ross asks as he moves closer. Steve has not noticed them yet, despite the three bodies blocking the light.

“Yes. He was found sitting on the floor, holding Tony. When we separated them, he went into this state. Occasionally, he lapses catatonic, but he always comes back to this,” Strange explains.

“Can you do anything?”

“As far as we can tell, we’ll have to either completely excavate his head to get him to stop this or we can bring Tony back and see if that changes the spell.” Ross shakes his head before he looks at the two sorcerers.

“Fix this. I don’t care how. Just fix it. We’re down Iron Man and Captain America, and there’s a rogue magic user on the loose. This situation is going to set us all back by months, if not years.”

“We’ll do our best,” Strange says. Ross turns and makes his way back down the corridor after snapping a few pictures and a thirty second video.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Strange says. He carefully wraps an arm around Loki’s shoulders and guides him up out of the cells and into a portal. They walk directly into a meeting in which everyone who has ever stood for Tony, including Pepper and Rhodey, are sitting at the dining room table.

“Let’s go get our guy.”

…

“Perhaps you have questions,” the voice says. Tony sighs and nods.

“Do query me.”

“What happens if I don’t leave here?”

“You’re life is unfinished. I would have to take a look at the entirety of your existence to assign you to the correct spot. The long and the short of it is this would likely be your permanent home.”

“Would I be able to see?” Tony asks. Thin fingers scratch through his hair. It’s been months that he’s been down here, and his hair is quite a bit longer. It’s been… restful.

“Yes, my dear. You would be able to see.”

Chapter Text

Loki stands, dressed in an all black version of his mage’s robes, at the beginning of the red dust road. Hela’s small hand lays in his. They don’t speak. Instead, they walk, slowly, carefully, down the long dirt road. Things call to them, like they always do. They do not respond, like they always do.

Death’s throne is, as always, atop a towering monolith of rough hewn onyx. Together, he and Hela climb it. When they come to the top, they see Death. She reclines on her throne, which has, in the time since either of them were last there, transformed into a low sectional. The fabric looks as soft as can be.

Death reclines on one end of it, the head of a man Loki cannot properly see on her lap. Some days, her body is entirely skeletal. Today is not that day. The man is covered by a blanket, and he sleeps peacefully (or so Loki hopes). Death’s thin fingers card gently through the hair that looks long enough to be down to the shoulder.

“My dear Hela,” Lady Death says. “Mage Loki.”

“Lady Death,” Loki murmurs. He tries not to look too closely at the figure. He needs to focus.

“Are you here to make a deal with me?” Lady Death asks.

“One of ours was recently taken prematurely. I come to bargain for his life.”

“I know that much. He arrived at the foot of my throne, confused and scared. I gave him rest. Would you wake him?”

“Yes. As much as he undoubtedly needs to sleep, it is not his time.”

“You presume to tell Lady Death when someone’s time is?” Death asks.

“No. I merely sensed it. He has a while yet, yes?”

Death smiles.

“Yes, he does. When he does join me, I look forward to our conversations.”

“I would like to take him back,” Loki ventures.

“Come here. Hela, stay,” Lady Death orders. Loki feels near helpless as he draws close.

“Kneel,” Death murmurs when Loki is right next to her. He does, knees softly hitting the ground, mesmerized. Death lays a hand against his cheek, and Loki can’t stop his eyes from closing. In all his lives, he’s forgotten how much a relief death could be.

“Will you take him from this?” Death asks. With effort, Loki opens his eyes and looks down at Anthony’s face, still half covered by a blanket, eyes closed.

“He was not ready to go.”

“How do you know?”

“We were in bed together one night. I asked what he would have done had he died while I’d been gone. He said he would have bit the dust fighting before, and he felt that way now, as well.”

“Are you willing to incur debt with Death?” Lady Death asks. Loki raises his eyes to hers.

“Yes.”

“Then bring me something interesting,” she murmurs, and lets him out of her spell.

“Hela, dear,” she says as she holds out a hand. Hela moves closer and accepts the hug from her godmother. Loki gently pulls the blanket down off Anthony. He is laying in a soft pair of jeans, worn so many times they feel like butter and are shot through with holes. His arc reactor and the scars are fully visible. His feet are bare.

His eyes are blindfolded.

“Take him, and do not forget,” Lady Death says. Loki nods.

“Yes, My Lady.” He gently pulls Anthony into his arms.

“Hela, are you coming or staying?”

“Staying. I want to speak with godmother,” Hela says.

“Very well, love. I will see you later,” Loki says. He gives one last, solemn nod to Lady death, then begins the slow, measured walk back up the red dirt road.

…

Tony comes to with a start, a gasp, and a headache big enough and bad enough to split the world in two.

“Oh my god,” he says. His throat is disused and his mouth tastes like ass and unfortunance. The words croak and crack in the air.

“Here,” someone says. Tony’s back and head are supported, and the tip of a plastic straw is pressed to his lips. Tony takes a small sip, then a bigger one.

“Be careful, not to quickly,” the voice says. Tony recognizes Strange. After a while, he blinks his eyes open. The room is dimly lit, the only light softly glowing mandalas that manage not to hurt his eyes.

“Oh my god,” he says again.

“A little bit,” Strange agrees. He runs his fingers through Tony’s hair. “Just sleep some more, yeah? You’ll feel better when you’ve been alive for a bit longer.”

“Unh,” Tony says, and then he falls back asleep.

…

“Where is she?” Tony asks, some days later. Neither Strange nor Loki are eager to see him up and about. Tony is, instead, only doing work that can be done while sitting in an armchair, wrapped in a blanket, with a never ending flow of coffee in his hand. He’s been trying not to think about how he died. About how it felt like he was falling asleep, at the very end. He doesn’t like that it was so peaceful.

It feels wrong somehow, like all this violence he’s been a part of in life should follow him into death, right? But that’s not how that works, or so Loki says.

“We’re looking. Her magic is not hard to follow, but it is, in and of itself, erratic,” Loki explains as he takes Tony’s hand and presses kisses to his fingers. Jör has taken up residence against Tony’s thigh. His dress is a rose-gold a-line, today, and his thick serpentine tail stretches all the way around the chair. He sleeps now, but he couldn’t earlier.

Something about missing Tony.

“It branches in ways that confuse the trail and makes it hard to actually find her. Strange is working on it.”

“And you?” Tony asks, because there’s no way Loki would just let someone else do the vengeance part of this little soiree.

“Cleansing, mostly. The other side of the compound needs alot of magical work done. I’m also trying to figure out a way to fix Steve Rogers.

“What’s wrong with Steve?” Tony asks. This is the first he’s heard of anything wrong with the big dumbass.

“He believes he’s hurt you. That your death was his fault. It is Wanda’s doing. Unfortunately, the untrained nature of her magic has, again, complicated things. At this point, I’ve tried re-mesmerizing him to undo what she did, giving him the worst concussion I could, and separating that part of his mind from the rest of it. Nothing is working,” Loki explains.

“Maybe I should go.”

“I’d rather not. He may not have been the cause of your latest misfortune, but he sure as hell had a hand in the rest of it.”

“I know it’s just… no one deserves to be trapped in one of Wanda’s mind tricks. Even Steve.”

Loki gives Tony a long look. He takes in the sleepy, but still alert, nature of his love. He takes in how caring he is of the children. He takes in the determination in his eyes.

“Very well. I will need time to prepare for this,” Loki says. He rises and, after a kiss to both Tony’s and Jörmungandr’s forehead, departs.

Tony sighs. Guess his vacation is over.

Chapter Text

Steve is rocking. The room he is in is plain. There is a padded cot attached to the wall, a thin mattress, and a wall is one-way glass. He himself is dressed in soft sleep-pants and a reinforced straight jacket. Steve sits, and he rocks. His eyes are vacant, his face gaunt, and his expression is one of guilt.

He doesn’t look all there.

“Why is he here?” Tony asks. He’d originally had this, and a few other rooms, outfitted to keep any intruders until they could be taken away. It had made sense at the time, given how most of Iron Man’s (and, hell, Tony Stark’s) enemies tended to be at least a little unhinged.

So he’d known the straight jacket existed. He’d known that this room existed. He knows that, if Steve gets violent, gas can be released from the ceiling to render him unconscious. He also knows that handful of psychologists and other professionals are on standby in case this room ever got used.

He didn’t think it would be used like this. Not for Steve. Not for Mr. Never-truly-down-for-the-count. Well. He also didn’t think he’d be anywhere near Iron Man when he was thirty three, either, so. There’s that, as well.

“He keeps hurting himself,” Loki says. He keeps his arm around Tony. keeps his love’s shoulder tucked into his side. “We did not have a better way to address that.”

“Has he spoken?”

“A little bit. Attempting to get anything of sense out of him is like, pulling teeth. He will answer basic questions, but addressing the issue at hand sends him into a mad spiel of apologies.”

“Oh.” the two watch Steve and his listless rocking.

“I ought to say you don’t have to.” Anthony lifts his head and looks at Loki, worry and confusion clear in his eyes.

“Loki, I know it would be easier on all of us if I just… left him here. Hell, I want to. I really do.” Tony is a little ashamed to find that the statement rings true. “But no one deserves to live, for any length of time, under Maximoff’s magic.”

“Even the man who gave not one damn for the damage she’d already done?” Loki asks. He tightens his grip a little. He doesn’t like how easy it is for Anthony to say “no one deserves this” when everyone else clearly felt that wasn’t true, where he was concerned.

“Especially him. It’s too easy to treat this as my revenge and leave him.”

“Perhaps you should treat this as your chance to move on and top attaching so much meaning to it,” Loki chances. Tony shakes his head.

“All people have an intrinsic value, not connected to their actions or their character,” Tony says. “I try to remember that when I’m thinking about just drowning someone in whatever surrounds them.” Loki sighs. Perhaps that is what made him give Loki his second chance, all that time ago.

“Very well. Do what you must. If you put yourself in danger, though,  I will remove you.”

Tony nods  and presses a chaste, lingering kiss to Loki’s cheek.

“Thank you.” Loki doesn’t ask for what. The way something little in Anthony’s posture relaxes is enough to tell him Anthony had been expecting a fight.

“Shall we?” Loki asks after a moment. Anthony withdraws, tugs his clothing straight, and takes a breath. A mask settles over his face as he moves towards the room, inputs his keycode, and steps inside.

…

Strange does not want to know how Wanda Maximoff got here, but he finds he doesn’t care. The house is old and decrepit. It should have been condemned. There is water and fire damage, rodent issues and bug issues. Anything not stone has long gone to hell. The place had been ransacked, and while Strange thinks maybe someone desperate had been here for a few hours or so, no one would stay here. It’s too cold. There’s nothing here.

Nothing but a little brat, that is.

Strange carefully moves through the house, eyes taking in the gap where the stove was. The cracks in the countertops and the floors. The skittering of big, American cockroaches.  When he’s cleared the first level, Strange takes the stairs. He’s careful not to step in any of the holes.

Wanda is sitting with her back against a wall. Her hair is long, loose, and unkept. Her eyes are bloodshot, and haunted. It hasn’t been that long. Strange wonders what happened to her.

“Hey,” she says. Like nothing happened.

“I assume you know why I’m here,” Strange says.

“Yeah. I know. If it helps any, I didn’t mean to.”

“Magic only reacts like that if the intention is harmful,” Strange counters as he moves further into the room. He gets the distinct sense that something is wrong.

“Well. I never claimed to be a good person.”

“No. You only demanded you be treated like one,” Strange responds. Wanda gives a soft, listless smile. She tilts her eyes up to look at him clearly. For the first time since Strange arrived, he can clearly see Wanda’s eyes.

“That’s the funny thing about not really being a good person. You can hide for as long as you want. Well. i’m done hiding,” she says.

There’s footsteps downstairs and Strange knows he’s been tricked. He calls his magic to him and weaves a spell of armor and light around him as Wanda attacks.

Wanda’s magic is powerful, but uncontrolled in comparison to Stephen's carefully cultivated skill. They crash together and slide away like oil and water.

“How are you doing that?” Wanda asks. She’s gained her feet and is struggling to actually combat Stephen.

“Practice. And study. Both of which require discipline,” he snips. Other men pour into the room, but Stephen doesn’t give much more than a cursory glance. They are shooting at him, but they sure as hell won’t hit anything. Wanda, though, Wanda should have followed suit. The magic that makes up Stephen’s armor is reflective.

A stray bullet glances off Stephen’s shoulder and hits her dead in the cheek, leaving a little hole smattered with blood on one side, and a tunnel big enough to drive a truck through on the other.

By the time the bullets stop flying, Wanda is already on the floor, listless eyes now blind, brain matter and bone a Jackson Pollock behind her.

Well. there’s that problem solved, at least.

Chapter Text

Steve isn’t moving right now. He sits on the edge of his little cot, bare feet occasionally flexing against the floor, face a dead mask. For once, Steve Rogers seems as old as time.

“Steve?” Tony asks. Steve doesn’t respond. Tony takes a step, bringing himself into the doorframe. He rests his hand on the wall next to him and watches.

“Steve, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It’s all my fault,” Steve whispers.

“Not this time,” Tony murmurs. He’s careful to keep his voice soft. “This time was not on you.”

“I knew I was bad. I shouldn’t have hurt you like that.”

“Like what?” Tony asks. He moves himself further into the room, so now he’s only a few feet away.

“I fought you,” Steve says, “caved your chest in. Housed your nightmares. Then I stopped your heart.”

“You did, but I’m alive. My heart is still beating,” Tony answers. He thinks he knows what he has to do. He takes one last step and kneels. Ever so slowly, he takes Steve’s hand from where it hangs over his knee andn fits one thick finger against his pulse point.

“I’m alive, Steve.” For the first time, haunted blue eyes raise and connect to his. A gasp like something impossible has happened, and then Steve is urging forwards, tackling Tony to the ground.

He cradles Tony as close to him as he can and just sits there, rocking.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve whispers again. For a while, Tony just lets him do what he has to. Eventually, Steve pulls away and carefully unwinds his arms from around Tony.

“You. Probably want to get back to Loki. I’m. Thank you. For helping. I know I didn’t deserve that,” Steve ventures. Now, he’s the awkward Brooklyn boy he was when he and Tony had first moved beyond their surface issues with each other.

“No, you didn’t,” Tony confirms. It seems to hurt Steve’s heart to hear it, but to the man’s credit, he doesn’t flinch or back away.

“And you never will,” Loki intones from the door behind the two men. Steve nods in acknowledgment, backing away once it’s clear Tony can stand on his own.

“I’m just going to. Sleep. Yeah. Yes. Please,” he says. Tony wonders if he’s ever heard Steve speak so disjointedly before.

“Go on, then,” Tony says as Loki wraps a protective arm around his waist.

Steve wanders off, almost more lost than he was when he’d been under Wanda’s influence.

…

“Mr. Stark,” Ross says. He goes for a handshake, but neither of them miss how weird it feels to be touching a dead man. “It’s good to have you back,” he says. Tony wonders if it’s a genuine sentiment.

“It’s good to be back,” Tony answers as Ross turns to take a seat at his chair. Tony sits down opposite to him.

“Personally, I would rather have left you alone for a few more days to recover, but needs must, and all that,” Ross says. Tony nods. He’d known that bothering with Steve would preemptively end his recovery time when he went to the man in the first place.

“To recap, I have a report on the original incident in the elevator, in which Maximoff used her abilities to temporarily shield the two of you from view. She then attempted some sort of mental manipulation, which activated the latent magic in your… aura, causing your… death,” Ross says. He’s careful not to sound to callous, but there’s only so many ways to put that fact.

“I also have a report detailing both Loki Nooneson’s journey through Helheim to regain your life, as well as Dr. Strange’s pursuit of Maximoff, which accumulated into her death. Finally, I have a report on your current health, on the visit you made to Steve Rogers. All that’s missing now is a report on Rogers’ health and an evaluation.

“Okay,” Tony says, not sure where he’s going with this.

“Pending that report, Mr. Stark, I can do one of two things. I can green light everyone and everything to go full speed ahead, or I can make recommendations. After Maximoff’s ill-advised plan, I thought it would be prudent to ask you directly:

“Do you think any of the Rogue Avengers are fit for duty? Do you think you are fit for duty?”

“I… I would have to think about that, sir,” Tony responds. He doesn’t know. He really doesn’t. Ross nods.

“Well. I leave the decision up to you. Or at least as much as I can. I would like you to think about these things, then email me. Until then: the case isn’t closed, and you are on medical leave. I don’t want to see you anywhere but in your home, and recovering. Yes?” Ross asks.

“Yes,” Tony answers, and it’s the most consideration anyone who does not truly care for him has ever provided. Ross nods.

“Good. I am sorry, by the way.”

“Aren’t we all?” Tony asks as he stands up and shakes Ross’ hand.

“And Mr. Stark,” Ross says into the silence. Tony turns back to him.

“Yes?”

“Do keep in mind that saying you yourself are not fit for full duties will not necessarily stop you in your tracks. The Accords counsel is dedicated to working with Superheroes, not against them. If you say you need more time at home, you will get it. There are workarounds,” Ross finishes.

Tony nods again.

“Thank you, sir, have a good day.”

Chapter Text

There’s something wrong with Anthony Stark, and Loki is trying to figure out what. Despite Ross’s attempts to slow Tony’s return to duty (and his full, crushing workload), Tony himself seems determined to go full speed ahead. Now that they’re going on day three in the lab with no sign of Tony and no sign of him letting up soon, Loki is fast moving past patience.

“I am sure he’s working on something worthwhile,” Stephen tries to reassure him as Loki paces around the Sanctum Sanctorium. Normally, he’d be at the compound, minding his children, but he’s too close to snapping entirely. As it is, he’s already scared half of them off to Canada and the other half are giving him the cold shoulder over it.

While Loki knows he shouldn’t have snapped at Vali’s insistent questions about where Anthony is and what he’s doing and why hasn’t he come out to play, yet?, he also knows that they are all on a bit of a short string due to the events of the past week or so.

Either way, Clint had looked up at Loki’s response and, after Vali had run from the room, no doubt to his siblings for comfort, suggested Loki make his retreat so that they all might calm down.

“I can give him something worthwhile to work on,” Loki mutters mutinously.

“Perhaps he might take food if you were to try to feed him.”

“Why? He’ll only go back to ignoring me and the children if I do that.”

Loki is treated to Stephen’s most unimpressive glare.

“You have not been around him enough to know this, and while I can barely claim otherwise, I can tell you that when he pulls this number, it’s because something is bothering him. The man just came back from the dead. Utter destruction is on the horizon. Everyone we know and love is in harm's way and there is no way to stop that. And you’re being bitchy about a lab binge.”

“Yes! Because we are… are family now, and true family sticks together! Not leave everyone in a lurch because they felt they could do it alone!” Loki bursts out, incensed and angry and honestly just tired of not having his Anthony there with him.

“Does he know that? Or are you just expecting him to get it? From what I know, Stark has never had a genuine family. Even his team was more of a massive financial drain than anything else.”

Loki shakes his head no, something miserable on his face. Stephen sighs and rises.

“Fine. I will go speak to him. In the meanwhile, go apologize to your kids. You’ve driven them off, and, by your own admission, that is not what family does,” Stephen says. Then he summons a portal and disappears. He waits a moment to see if Loki will magic himself to the Compound himself, but when he doesn’t, Stephen breathes a sigh of relief.

As patient as the Loki can be, being unceremoniously ignored by the guy who makes everyone who is under thirty his child does not a happy man make. While he’s dealing with the consequences of his short temper, Stephen can get to the root of the problem.

“FRIDAY? What is Stark doing?”

“He’s in his lab, Dr. Strange. He’s busy working on a project for Thanos.”

“Oh, god,” Stephen mutters. Thanos’ imminent arrival had never left the minds of anyone who has to prepare for him, but most of the planning had been relegated to Bjarte and Broccr in an attempt to deal with Tony’s death at the same time. Now that their resident genius was back and mostly well, they’d all jumped, full force, back into preparations.

“Indeed, Doctor. I would advise a stealthy sort of removal from the lab, please,” FRIDAY says even as the elevator takes Strange down to Tony.

“I’m not barred from entering?”

“I am allowed to permit one person access to him should his health or that of others come in danger. Since he hasn’t responded, I must assume he needs to be checked on,” FRIDAY says.

“Clever,” Stephen responds as the elevator doors open. The hallway that skirts all the labs on this floor of the compound is broad and clear of debris. On the other end is the machinery elevator they use to move big objects, including cars, in and out of the place. Directly across from Stephen, Broccr and Bjarte sit facing each other, heads together as they work on something on the table between them.

On a hunch, Stephen motions for FRIDAY to inform them of his presence. After a few minutes, the pair appears to reach a stopping point, as they both sit back at the same time and the door opens.

“Good afternoon you two,” Stephen greets. They wave at him.

“Ah, my dear sorcerer, how do you fair?” Bjarte calls out, voice warm like honey.

“Well enough,” Stephen responds. He comes closer and sees that the two are working on a series of runes on Tony’s hologram technology.

“What is this?”

“We may be able to acquire help from our worlds, but to do that a strong front would have to be put up. We would all have to come together under one man or woman,” Bjarte answers.

“We’ve been working on magic that may help that.”

Stephen nods.

“That is interesting. YOu’ll have to tell me more about it. In the meantime, whatever is Stark working on?”

“I haven’t the faintest. I can probably find out, though,” Bjarte says with a sharp, mischievous smile. Stephen shakes his head.

“No, thank you. Have a nice day.”

…

Tony’s lab is much colder than Bjarte and Broccr’s workspace. A chill runs through Stephen as he gets used to the temperature. Soon enough, his eyes alight on a hunched over figure.

“Stark,” Stephen says as he draws closer. Tony does not react. Stephens sighs as he takes a seat on the bench next to Tony, watching him play with the holograms. Slowly, carefully, he moves into view. The genius does not even notice. Nor does he notice the increasing heat, though is eyes droop more and more. No wonder he had it so cold. He was trying to stay awake.

Deep, dark circles marr the man’s eyes, and he looks like he hasn’t showered or eaten in the longest. His face is a haunted one, and he seems determined to do an exorcism.

“Stark,” Stephen says louder. Tony gasps, his entire body spasming as his eyes find and lock on Stephen.

“Why are you here?” Tony asks, and if Stephen does not know better, he’d say Stark is genuinely scared.

“I figured you were probably hungry,” Stephen says. He sets an apple down on the worktable and turns to start the coffee pot. He has no intention of letting Tony drink it, of course, but he thinks that not pushing Tony to immediately leave the lab is the best way to deal with him.

“I’m not.”

“And yet,” Stephen answers. Tony is holding the apple, contemplating it’s meaning.

“I don’t. I’m not. I don’t need this.”

“I know, but your family is worried, and I said I would  make sure you’re alright,” Stephen says. The weird butterflies are back, twisting his stomach into knots as he hears the crunch of Tony biting the apple.

“I can’t afford to die again,” Tony says, eyes dim as he thinks about Wanda. It had only been a moment. One single second that he was not on guard, and then he had paid for it.

“I know, but you don’t have to kill yourself looking for a way to stay alive,” Stephen answers. He sits down next to Tony, facing the opposite way, and leans back against the table. Tony eats his apple in grumpy silence.

“I just. Everyone else is so much more than me. You guys are magic or aliens or gods or monster gods or alien monster gods and I am literally just a man,” Tony elaborates as Stephen hands him another apple. “ I don’t have to do the math to know that I am likely to be the first one to go. I used to be fine with that. When New York happened. Especially after Steve’s stupid stunt with SHIELD and then Ultron and the Civil War. I did not think Loki would come back, and even if he did, I was too much of a depressed bag of depressed to be any good.

But then he did come back, and now I’ve got all these kids that I feel like are mine, and I’ve got Loki and it feels like we’re married, and I don’t want to die, but the chances are the same as always,” Tony finishes. Stephen can’t help himself, then.

He leans in slowly, taking enough time that if Tony wanted to move away, he could, and presses a dry, comforting kiss to his cheek.

“How long have you wanted to do that?” Tony asks. He sits with his eyes wide open. He thought he’d imagined their chemistry.

“For a while. At least since Loki gave me the okay,” Stephen answers.

“I know how you feel, with the whole mortality thing, nad the only thing I can tell you is that there are people who want to be there and who love you right now, and spending all this time in the lab won’t grant you what you want if you’re too tired. Come upstairs with me, yeah?” Stephen ask.

Tony looks down, then gives a hesitant nod.

“Yeah.”

Chapter Text

Long past when Loki has finally gotten his children down to sleep, the door to his and Anthony’s bedchamber swings open. Anthony stands there, heasitent and sleepless, the insomnia that had magically disappeared rearing its ugly head again. Loki, who is reclining under the blankets, locks eyes with Stephen, who seems to be intent on ushering Anthony back into where he belongs.

“I believe you lost something,” Stephen says. Loki gives a slight smile and holds out one hand. Tony slowly moves into bed, still hesitant.

“Thank you,” Loki says to both Stephen and Anthony. Stephen nods his “you’re welcome” and leaves. As for Loki, he sets his thick tome aside and buries both hands into Tony’s greasy hair.

“You don’t- it’s dirty,” Tony settles on.

“I know, but I want to. Tell me, when was the last time you slept?”

“I can’t sleep. He’s. He’s coming. And. We aren’t ready,” Tony says. Loki sighs, then moves them both out of bed and into the bathroom. It takes ten minutes to get Tony’s clothes off him, and the entire time he’s listless, staring off into space and trying to come up with some way to stop what’s coming.

“Anthony, focus on me, my dear.” The water of the shower is as hot as Loki can stand it, which is enough for Anthony.

“I. I saw it, Loki. I died.” Loki begins to slide the loofah along Anthony’s skin, a pit of sadness opening up in his stomach. “I don’t want to go back,” Anthony whispers. Loki pauses at that.

“I know.” Loki enfolds Tony in a hug, both of them drained and tired after the events of the day.

“I know,” Loki whispers. If some of the water running down Loki’s chest does not come from the shower, but rather Anthony’s eyes, well, he says nothing.

“I know,” Loki sighs. He forgot how it felt to be… not reborn, but sent back. As though death did not want you, but your mortality is closer than ever.

…

Later, when they are back in bed, clean and all cried out, the door opens again. Loki looks up to see Sleipnir.

“Is… is Anthony going to be okay, father?” Sleipnir asks. Loki looks down to where Anthony lays out across the bed, head on Loki’s chest.

“I believe so, my dear. Would you like to stay here for the night?” Loki asks. He can see the shifting shadows that comprise his other children. Sleipnir does not so much as answer the question with words. Instead, he rapidly makes his way to the bed and slides under the covers. His siblings follow him, and while Anthony does not stir, Loki feels tension that he did not know was there slide away from him.

…

“What do you call it?” Loki asks. Strange and Bjarte have been working closely with Broccr on their main plan, while Loki’s been organizing all their resources, and Tony has been running the million little background things that no one else has the capacity for.

Now, though, Loki’s been called in to watch the testing of their main weapon. It’s almost done, and if this goes well, then they can move on to the next phase of their plan.

“We don’t know yet. We need to wield it first, and make sure it works,” Strange says. He and Loki make their way down to the testing chamber. The make of it was borrowed from the X-Men’s danger room, which Tony won’t admit to being in love with.

The two of them- Strange and Loki- go to the “handle”. The thing is a sphere with two grips on either side. They lock on to the thing, and it feels like nothing either has ever felt before. As one, their magic flows out of them, into the handle, and raises the massive, sharp piece of metal. Runes along the “blade” light up and flash with the meshing of Loki and Strange.

At the same time, it feels as though the two of them have become one. The sword raises, moves, turns, lands. They let go of the handle, and their magic pulls back into themselves.

Something like euphoria goes through them both. One look at each other, and suddenly, they’re laughing. Full, deep peals of both exhilaration and relief echo around the room. Impulsively, Loki grabs Strange’s head and kisses him full on the mouth.

After a second, Strange kisses him back. Hard.

Up in the observation room, Bjarte chances a look at Broccr, who appears supremely unamused.

“Imagine if we had tested the sword,” Bjarte says.

“Oh, do save me the nightmare fuel,” Broccr answers. She reaches for the PA button, but Bjarte stops her.

“Let them have their fun. I think this was a long time coming.”

“Yes,” Tony says from the doorway. Both elf and dwarf jump and turn to him. “It was,” He continues. Though Bjarte had expected some form of jealousy, all he can see in the soft expression is a desire to join in.

“Well,” Bjarte says. He sidles closer to Tony, who seems more focused on the two in the testing room than the going-ons in the observation deck. To be fair, they’ve gone from an impassioned kiss to full on making out. One can hardly blame Tony, given that Loki has his arms under Stephen’s ass to lift him up and Stephen’s hands are buried in Loki’s hair.

“We could also experience a sense of euphoria,” Bjarte says. Finally, Tony seems to realize how close Bjarte is.

“Ah. No. Nope. Nooo thank you,” Tony says. He’s beet red, and dives for the PA button.

“As entertaining as this is,” Tony interrupts. Loki and Stephen look up from where they’re pressed against the wall, “I would appreciate if we could reconvene elsewhere.”

In an instant, Loki and Stephen are in the room, and Loki is setting Stephen down.

“What a grand idea,” Loki says, a possessive gleam in his eye when he glares at Bjarte. He slides an arm around Tony’s waist, and Stephen, looking somewhat dishevelled, takes up his opposite side.

“A wonderful plan of action,” Stephen says. Then Loki blinks all three of them out of the room.

Chapter Text

Tony wakes up blessedly, beautifully, warm. He’s weighed down in the best, most gentle of ways. He does not think too hard about that; bad things happen when he rushes to leave a haven such as this. So he just lets himself relax, and float. He wakes up thrice more, each little nap lacking in nightmares, and each return to consciousness not fully shaking off the deep, lovely, restful mood he finds himself in.

Finally, though, he blinks open his eyes for the last time and notices three things. First of all, that is Loki his back is partially resting against. Second of all, that is Stephen who is partially resting against him. Third of all, they are all naked, and isn’t that just spectacular?

Stephen’s eyes are slowly blinking open and shut, so Tony decides not to talk just yet, since he is clearly in the same half-awake twilight that Tony just emerged from.

Loki’s hand slides across Tony’s stomach from behind him. Fingers gently rub at skin, and Loki’s body tucks even closer.

“Good morning, darling,” Loki says just as Stephen slips fully back into sleep.

“Hello,” Tony murmurs. He turns his head and nuzzles into the kisses Loki presses against his neck.

“I am pleased to see you in a better mood than of late,” Loki murmurs. His hand starts to slip lower, and as great an idea as that sounds, Tony catches Loki’s hand in his.

“He’s sleeping. I’d rather we not wake him up,” Tony says. Loki’s fingers press back against Tony’s belly, rubbing there in comfort and promise.

“Very well, dear. I believe he would be delighted to wake up to the sight of you on my-”

“Loki,” Tony says in admonishment and amusement. Loki curls just that much tighter into Tony, content as any to merely doze the day away.

…

“Project: DAMOCLES is successful. The only thing that’s left to do now is prep coordination,” Tony explains. His powerpoint reaches its end, and he takes a seat. Ross and the other officials are nodding, pleased with the progress. Steve looks like a ghost. Natasha is sticking close to him.

Thor is by himself, wary and somewhat angry as he watches the space between Loki and Tony. Clint is also by himself, but mostly because he seems to have picked up on the change in dynamics between Loki, Tony, and Stephen and elected to leave them to their honeymoon phase

“And how long will that take?” Ross asks. He can sense an end to this meeting; they all can.

“Not long. We have most of our strategies ironed out, and now we’re just running different situations to make sure every base is covered. We’ll continue to practice, but until Thanos arrives, the only thing really left to do is continue preparing for the relief efforts,” Tony answers.

Ross nods his head, writes down one more note, then nods again.

“Right, well, thank you for your effort gentlemen. Should any more information come to light, you are all welcome to send it my way. Please be careful out there,” Ross ends with.

The Avengers file out of the conference room and towards their separate parts of the Compound. As they go, Thor watches with a conflicted, narrow-eyed look on his face.

“Friend Steve,” he says as the two walk back to their wing.

“Yeah?” Steve asks. Ever since Tony had released him from Wanda’s curse, his head has been muzzy and his concentration hard to come by.

“May I have a few moments with you?”

“Sure,” Steve says. He follows Thor into his room, where the god sits down on the bed and invites Steve to take the chair.

“You have not been the same since your friend’s attack,” Thor says, voice low and comforting. Steve shrugs one shoulder.

“She… she was just like me, you know? She underwent dangerous experiments to help her country… and this is how she ends.”

“I am told that she wished for revenge, and that her time with Hydra only damaged her country. That is not an organization that seeks to right by anyone.” Steve shrugs one helpless shoulder.

“I don’t know anymore, Thor. I thought maybe she was just confused, or she hadn’t had the benefit of proper parents, and so would need to be taught some of the things the rest of us inherently know, but some of the most morally reprehensible people I know or have met would have known that was wrong. I don’t know how I missed it,” Steve says. Thor nods.

“Perhaps you did not want to know,” Thor answers after a while. It is, after all, often easier that way.

…

“You are Jörmungandr, yes?” Thor queries of the large ball python twisted about the stems of a thick midgardian plant. It’s base was woody, and it appeared to be a copse of trees in miniature. The ball python was close to seven feet in length, and it had a lovely pattern of green and peach.

Jörmungandr slithered down out of the plant and transformed right in front of Thor’s eyes. It was rather disgusting to watch, but at the end of it a small tear-drop necklace on a rough thong hangs around Jörmungandr’s neck and a swishy green skirt brushed against his knees. Thor guesses the necklace must keep the clothes with the boy.

“Yes,” the boy says. They stare at each other for a moment, the Thunder God’s eyes locked on to the World Snake and not letting go.

“I did not see any mention of you or your siblings in your father’s plans. Will you join him or stay back?” Thor questions. It is not like Loki to not use every ounce of available strength he has.

“My siblings and I will be helping with rescue effort. Father says that this fight is no place for young lives, and I do quote ‘especially not your lives. You’ve been through enough’.” The quote is a pointed one, as is the gaze. Thor dips his head in acknowledgement.

“Very well then. I must go now, but Thank you for speaking with me.” He heads swiftly back to his own room, the conversation heavy in his mind.

The boy is not the mindless beast he’d always assumed a creature of that form would be. In fact, he seemed perfectly calm and rational.

Thor has a lot of thinking to do.

Chapter Text

“Anthony?” Jörmungandr asks. Worry swirls in his green gaze. Tony shuts off his blowtorch.

“Yeah, Jör?”

The kid relinquishes one of the cups of coffee clutched between his fingers.

“Why does faðir hate fædera so much?” Jörmungandr ventures. Tony sighs. He does not want to have a conversation about familial hate with the kid. Lord knows he’s a prime example of who not to ask.

“Let’s sit down for a moment,” Tony says. He leads Jörmungandr over to the couch in the corner, where they both just dwell for a moment. Tony, so he can gather his words, and Jörmungandr because, while he may have sought Tony out, the topic is distinctly uncomfortable.

“When we’re young, or at least when we on earth are young, we’re taught that family is supposed to be there for you. Your parents are supposed to love you. Your siblings would miss you if you were to leave. Those you’re connected to by blood want you around and they love you simply for who you are.”

Jörmungandr nods, not quite following, but trusting they’ll get to an answer eventually. Tony forces himself to twist a little so he can monitor the kid. He does not deserve the cowardice of turning away.

“Loki’s family did not do that for him. They hurt him, over and over, just because of who they were. But then they said they loved him so that they could continue to use him. You… were hurt because they did not care to know you and they hated his… everything that makes him, him. Thor was not the main aggressor. He did not make it a point to hurt him endlessly, but nor did he lift a finger to help.

“If you were my kid, Jör, I wouldn’t want him around you either,” Tony says. He was careful to think this through before hand, when it looked like the kids were beginning to trust him. It’s felt like something has been boiling within the Thunder Prince since he arrived, and that was bound to lead to questions.

“Now, do you want to tell me why you’re only asking now, and why you came to me?” Tony asks. He tries to keep that sharp, inquisitive look off his face. It makes people nervous and he can already tell that Jörmungandr is a wreck right now.

“He spoke with me! He wanted to know… lots of stuff.” Jör says. HIs long, slender fingers worry at his skirt, and his scaly leg bounces up and down.

“Did he make you uncomfortable?”

“He… he does not scare me, but I know faðir has good reason to dislike him. I do not know what to do.”

“What are you afraid of?” Tony asks. He softens his gaze even more and moves a touch closer, offering his support silently. Jörmungandr slumps over against his chest.

“That Faðir will be angry. That Fædera truly does wish me harm, just like Odin.”

“I take it Thor made you uncomfortable?” Tony asks. At the barest nod, a stillness falls over Tony.

“Jörmungandr, I want you to look me in the eyes and listen very carefully,” Tony says. He practically hears the reluctance as Jörmungandr forces himself to raise his gaze up again.

“If you feel you are in danger, you do not have to remain in a situation. If you are uncomfortable, you do not have to remain in the situation. You are your faðir’s child, and we will look after you, okay?”

“O...okay.” Jör says. It seems like the boy is a little bit lighter than he was before the conversation

“Now, do you want me to talk to Loki? Let him know what’s going on?”

Jör nods his head, shy and anxious about the idea of him just. Not getting more involved.

“I will.”

…

“I will admit, that was more clever than I usually give you credit for,” Loki drawls. Thor whirls around. He’s on the outside of the Compound, slowly, gently, calling the storm. Testing his patience. His skill. Thinking.

“Alas, bro-” Loki raises an eyebrow at Thor’s slip.

“-Mage Nooneson, I had questions, and the one to answer them has not show himself in quite some time.”

“You are not to ask them of my children,” Loki hisses. But his face is calm. His posture is relaxed. Thor grows more tense by the moment. Men have died when he looked like that.

“May I ask them of you?” Thor asks.

“I suppose,” Loki ventures, suspicion coloring his voice.

“What would… I believe I owe you an apology,” Thor finishes with. Loki’s eyebrows raise up.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I did not look to you and aid you when you needed me. I turned my back on the dark things I did not want to see. And you paid the price for it. My nephews and niece paid the price for it. I am sorrowful,” Thor finishes.

Loki smiles like something sad and bedraggled has amused him.

“Do you suppose this changes things?”

“No. I am hoping to one day earn your trust back,” Thor says.

“Is a pretty word supposed to keep me around?”

“No. But I suppose you would enjoy hearing that I may not take the throne. Faðir did many wrong things in his time, which is to be expected. This, though, he took things too far, and nearly killed you many times over. I do not wish to be like that.”

“Why the change of heart?” Loki asks, finally. He’s curious (so kill him).

“It is very hard to see a child such as Jörmungandr as the beast I’d always preferred to think of them as.”

Loki gives another of those sharp, dangerous smiles. He pushes off the wall and begins to walk away.

“You are quickening, Thor. A month ago, your head would have been mine.”

Chapter Text

Something heavy has settled over the Compound. As the end of their world nears them, something in their chests twists tighter and tighter. They train as much as they can, every single day. Tony is gone most of the time, making sure the shelters are being handled with the utmost precaution.

As such, it’s a while before Tony and Thor run into each other. It’s very late in the evening, when even Loki’s insomniac ways can’t keep him awake. Especially since he’s currently with Stephen at the Kamar Taj and the kids are with him. They too, after all, have to work on their magic.

“Man of Iron,” Thor says, voice finally (finally) hushed in the pre-dawn silence.

“Thor,” Tony says. His voice is much cooler than it used to be.

“We have lacked the time to re-acclimate since…” thor says, trailing off.

“Since I found out that you feel torture and brainwashing is completely acceptable as long as it happens to those outside of your way of thinking?” Tony asks, voice sweet as honey. For a moment, nger, pure and undiluted, washes over Thor, but it drains away just as quickly in the face of the fact that it is, in fact, true and Thor is, in fact, guilty of just this.

“I did not know of everything,” Thor says.

“You knew enough,” Tony snips. Thor goes quiet again.

“I felt your resistance to me was due to my actions when Ultron was at large,” he says quietly. Tony turns away from where he’d been concentrated on making the most beautiful cup of coffee in existence. He points a finger in Thor’s direction.

“Oh make no mistake. I am still salty as hell about that, but you came in and made one of m-Loki’s kids uncomfortable. Like I get that people do a lot of stupid shit when they’re learning to not be assholes but really, Thor? You had to go to the kid? You couldn’t have spoken to literally anyone else? You had to bother him?”

“No one else was available,” Thor says, voice lower than before. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, as well he should. It’s not often that Tony pulls out the Disappointed Dad™ (as Clint called it when they discovered that Hela had literally eaten all four tubs of sherbet out of the freezer) face and he’s never turned it on Thor.

“You don’t drag kids into adult drama. They aren’t here to love you, or make you happy, or forgive you. They’re here to grow up. You bring adult drama to the adults involved. Every time. Without fail. Capisce?” Tony asks, eyes hard as he tries to express the absolute weight with which he believes the things he says.

“I am truly sorry,” Thor says again. Tony stares at him for a long moment before he nods.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to thank you,” Thor says. Tony cocks an eyebrow.

“You brought my brother back to himself, which is far more than i could ever ask for.”

Tony shrugs a shoulder.

“Look, thor, you’re going to be king one day. For the love of anything you find holy, don’t be a king like your dad is a king and we’ll call this whole thing even, yeah?” Thor smiles a bit.

“On Mjolnir.”

…

“Tony?” Steve asks. It’s been over two weeks since Steve has seen Tony outside of training, and even then, they don’t talk. They just work together. But now, with Tony digging around for a smoothie, Steve has his chance.

“Yeah,” Tony answers. He controls the stiffening of his posture. It’s been more than long enough to be comfortable around Steve again but, well.

“I just. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Steve. What is it?” Tony asks. He tries not to make his voice too sharp. Steve hasn’t been the same since Wanda’s mind-fuckery.

“We could die soon. Real soon. Soon enough.” Steve says. Tony gives him the faintest hint of a smile.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t want. I don’t want to die. Without making things right between us.” Tony sighs and comes and sits down at the table. He taps the opposite side, and Steve joins him.

“Look, Steve. It sounds like a great idea, but that’s just not going to happen,” he says. A weight- not a large one, but a weight nonetheless- falls off when he says that. How Steve would deal with Wanda’s crap has been bothering him for a while now.

“Please, Tony. What can I do to make this better?”

Tony gives him a thin, tight smile.

“There are things you can do that time, alone, will not fix, Steve. This is one of them, yeah? I know you’re conflicted, but you can’t make me forgive and forget. Let it go, and maybe, if we both come out alive, we can work on something more permanent,” Tony answers.

“And Natasha,” Tony says, raising his voice to be heard, “mind your business.”

Natasha steps into the kitchen.

“You aren’t the only one Wanda hurt, Tony. We’re asking to be a family again.”

Tony offers her the same placid, slightly sympathetic smile.

“I am the only one you guys didn’t give enough of a shit about to help when it wasn’t you dealing with the consequences.

…

Loki takes slow, measured steps down the red dust road, doing his best to control his galloping heart as he moved along the path, towards the Lady Death. His ceremonial armor, now all black where it was once a mix of green and gold, glints in the diffused light. A large, ancient sword is strapped to his back.

“Loki Nooneson. I was tempted to believe you would not honor your promise until after Thanos arrived,” she says. Her grinning skull of a face tracks his movements as Loki pauses at the base of Lady Death’s throne.

“You told me to bring you an interesting thing,” Loki begins. Lady Death sits forward slightly, and if interest could show on her face, it would.

“Go on,” she says.

“There is little that  would qualify. I haven’t a life that won’t pass through your hands eventually. Nor do I have a magic you cannot acquire on your own. These things are… common place for you. You cannot acquire will, though. It, by definition, must be given freely. By that logic, I, as my interesting thing, swear fealty to the Lady Death as Loki Nooneson.”

Loki pulls the sword from his back, the gem in the pommel covered by his hand, and jabs it into the red dust road. Then he kneels in front of it, head bowed, hair held back out of his face by an elaborate braid.

A cold, hard hand skates over the sword before sliding along his hair and down his face until it comes to rest at his pulse point under his jaw.

“I accept your interesting thing.”

Chapter Text

Thanos, at the end of the day, just appears. The ships and all zipped into existence not more than a day’s travel away from earth. In their final, peaceful hour, those going up gathered in the livingroom of the compound. Various drinks, most of them alcohol, rested in their hands.

“To the end of the world,” Tony says. Loki puts an arm around his waist, Stephen on the other side, hand shaking against the small of Tony’s back.

“To the end of the world,” everyone else echoes. Steve stares with something like regret and longing at the trio as he drinks his wine. It may be the last time he sees Tony, and here he is, a thousand miles away in a room only eighteen feet wide.

“Children,” Loki says after a moment. It is with clear reluctance that the kids look Loki in the eye.

“Go. Travel quickly. Do not disobey me.”

“But faðir-” Hela begins. Loki pins her with an especially hard stare.

“Do not. Disobey me.” Hela’s face scrunches up in anger.

“You may die, and you refuse to hear any other way!” she bursts out. Loki kneels in front of her and strokes her hair back from her face.

“There is no running from Thanos. Do you think this is my first time with this foe?” Understanding swirls in Hela’s eyes and across her face.

“Faðir-”

“No more. I love you. I love you all. But it is time to go now.

“Hela,” Jörmungandr says. He wraps an arm around her skinny shoulders and tugs her back against her side.

“There is nothing more to be done,” He explains.

“We just have to hope we’ll see them on the flipside.”

“And if we don’t?” Hela says, big green eyes flicking around to the faces of her siblings and her parent and pseudo parents.

“Then you’ll see them regardless,” Sleipnir quietly.

“Fly,” Loki breathes. A portal opens behind the children, Strange’s hand moving in that slow, deliberate circle of his to call it.

One by one, the kids step through the portal. The sparks draw together until there is nothing left. Loki stands up, downs his drink, and turns to face the assembled group.

“I hope you all are ready,” he says.

…

A honeycombed shield flickers into existence over the whole globe hours before Thanos’ forces touch ground. Their assembled group stand on top of it with minutes to spare. Heads tilted back to watch the incoming threat, something like peace finally (finally) descend over the rag tag, ill-content group.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Steve says. Tony flips his face plate up and steals one last kiss from Loki and another from Stephen. The first creatures hit the outer shield, invisible and unannounced, and die upon contact. They keep coming, and crowding against the contraption. Finally, one breaks through and begins its mad dash down to Earth.

“See you on the flipside,” Tony murmurs. Then he’s gone, jetting away into the atmosphere to meet the threat head on. More aliens break through, worming between the bodies of their dead comrades to try striking home. The first corpse falls to the honeycomb shield.

A true Iron Legion, perfected after last time’s nightmare, rises with Tony. Soon, it’s impossible to tell the difference between Tony and his many, many drones. Steve goes with him, his own drone posse mixing with Tony’s flawlessly as the two of them work to meet the aliens head on and provide the first line of defence.

“Broccr. You’re up,” Loki says, eyes flicking around to watch the ensuing fight. The first ship has come through, far above them. Thor stays with them while Broccr’s modified boots lift her high to do damage like the dwarves of old.

“I owe you an apology,” Thor says as he, Loki, and Strange stay on the shield while each and every one of their comrades rise to die as the volume of aliens getting through the shield increase. Tony had theorized that no shield would be able to truly withstand the sheer mass of Thanos’ army, and so devised one that was merely meant to take down the numbers to manageable levels.

“It is far, far too late. There are other things to worry about,” Loki answers. The first Leviathan hits the outer shield, and the resounding rumble shake the very air and rattles Loki’s teeth.

“Find the master ship. Break it open,” he orders. Thor swings his hammer then he, too, is gone. Loki and Strange watch, tense and more than a little scared, as those they love fight their battles while they, and they alone, wait. Cloak swirls around Stephen’s shoulders, twitchy.

It is hard to truly track the battle, but Loki can sense the master ship.

“He’s here,” Loki breathes. He and Stephen clasp hands, the spell that binds them meeting to produce a giant sword. Big enough to pierce the shell of a Leviathan. Strong enough to kill a Titan.

“Shall we?” Stephen asks. Loki squeezes his hand a little tighter.

“We shall.” Arms around each other, Cloak supporting them both, they line up, sword above their heads, Blade up, like a reverse Damocles.

“Clear a path,” Loki says into his comm unit. “We’re coming through.”

“Iron Man: Clear,” Tony says.

“Thor: Clear.”

“Captain America: Clear.” one by one, each of the fighters marks themself out of the way as Loki and Stephen begin to rise. They pick up speed as they go, cleaving through the bodies of any in the way. Unlike the way in, the passage out from behind the second shield is seamless and easy.

Stephen lets Loki lock onto their target, following his will and pushing the sword harder. Faster. Stronger. At the last second, just moments before they break the hull, Loki wraps his other arm around Stephen and does his best to protect his head as metal goes flying by them. Layers of a life they’ll never live fly by them.

They burst into a throne room the likes of which Loki has never seen.

At the last moment, the sword changes directions slightly. Instead of striking him hard through the chest, the blade sinks through the armor seam at the shoulder, cleaving limb from body. The infinity gauntlet falls to the ground, unuseable now that the wielder has quite literally lost control of his hand.

Loki and Stephen separate then, Stephen to shield Loki, and Loki to get the gauntlet off of Thanos’ hand. The roar of an enraged Titan echoes around the chamber, while the force of the space around the ship works to suck them all out into space.

“Measly godling!” Thanos roars as the pressure eases; the ship is sealing itself. There is fighting in the outer layers, though; someone has followed them in. After five minutes, Loki successfully gets Thanos’ hand out of the gauntlet and shoves his own, much smaller hand inside.

He doesn’t know if his limb is freezing or melting away, but he knows he doesn’t like it. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the force at which Thanos attacks, and knows he needs to either control the gauntlet, which he can feel he can’t do. Not without preparation, or get rid of it entirely.

“A gift for you, Oh Lady Death,” Loki says. His Lady materializes out of thin air. Her robes, which had looked dowdy and dull in the red dust and black sky of the underworld, are shining silk now. She accepts the gauntlet, and pulls it from Loki’s hand. The brief time he’d spent trying to control the thing has utterly ruined the limb.

Thanos breaks through Stephen’s shield, and aims to kill the sorcerer. Loki whirls around and jumps in the way, adding his own magic to Stephen’s eclectic mix. Iron Man bursts into the room, finally, trailing bodies in his wake.

“My dear warlock,” the Lady Death says.

“You have certainly brought me a gift. The gift of the mind. The gift of space. The gift of power. And the gift of a nuisance,” she says just as Thanos’ sword cleaves through Tony. Loki lets out an animalistic scream as he fights to keep Anthony alive.

His lover, by turns, is silent and still, just barely hanging on.

“You poor brute,” Lady Death says. She materializes directly in front of Thanos and lays a bony hand on his face.

“My Lady,” he says.

“Cursed with immortality, so you curse me by sending me my people far to early. Do you truly want to move on so badly?”

“I wish to bring balance-”

“There is no balance in terrorizing those you claim to help,” she cuts him off. Her voice is almost gentle.

“You cannot move on without me, unfortunately. I see now how much of an oversight that was. Alas, I have an heir, and my heir has others to love her. I suppose it is time to go.”

“No. My mission. My purpose-” Thanos says. The sword with Anthony on it sags, and a soft, gasping noise comes from the speakers of the iron man suit. Lady death’s face, despite having no flesh with which to make an expression, somehow grows harder.

“Was to die as an infant.”

With that, Thanos falls. Lady Death turns back to the assembled heroes- tired, beaten, and dead.

“I release you, Supplicant. Take care of my merchant, and perhaps I will see you again.” Loki muscles through the screaming void of grief and panic in his head to bow.

“Another time, perhaps,” he says, though he hardly hears himself. Both Lady Death and Thanos turns to dust, leaving a directionless army in their wake.

“Thor,” Loki says into his comm as both he and Stephen work to get Tony as comfortable as possible. His shallow breathing and blank, pained face are almost as hard to see as the giant, bloody hole in his abdomen.

“Aye,” he answers.

“Thanos is dead. Kill the rest.”

“Aye.”

Chapter Text

Late spring at the compound is a beautiful place to be. The budding plants and soft, warm air seems to entice Tony back to sleep. Loki wants him to take it easy, and Pepper’s done her best to let him do his work remotely (because there’s no way in hell he’d actually retire).

With is head on Loki’s lap and his feet on Stephen’s, he drifts back to sleep.

…

Death sits on her throne, the soft, quiet dark surrounding her. She watches her faðir and stäiffoar on the grass outside the compound, and smiles. Stäiffoar comes to visit her sometimes, almost as much as Faðir does, and she has come to enjoy the visits as much as she enjoys the quiet. She misses Guðmóðir a great deal, but she sometimes gets to talk to her, too.

Her guðmóðir was old a long time ago, and she knows that her finally passing the torch is a good thing, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

“I am glad you are happy,” Jörmungandr says. Hela lays her hand on top of his and smiles up at him.

“I was raised for this. I am glad that I truly do have a purpose.” Jörmungandr gives her the softest smile her brother has ever produced, his a-line dress a pretty spot of jewel blue in the never ending dark of Helheim.

Hela knows it will be alright. Even when her faðir is too old, and her stäiffoar is too old, and they die. Even when her siblings are too old, and they die as well, it will be alright.

Death, after all, is eternal, and they will merely join her in the end.