Chapter Text
He shunted litter down the alleyway, shivering under worn clothes and broken shoes. His punishment for attacking Asgard and attacking Midgard was to become a slave to both races; not that the Midgardian authorities knew of that. He had spent years training and working as a slave among the golden halls and after many years Odin deemed him safe enough to be sent to Midgard to spend the rest of his life there; slaving away under the Mortals, being nothing for the next few millennia before he died.
He had flashbacks of his life in training often; when he saw an alley he had cleaned became dirty again, he remembered the whips of his back for not cleaning properly, when he saw prostitutes with their customers, he remembered when he was emasculated, the pain, the scar that was left. Everywhere he went reminders of punishments and pain were in everything. His once proud physique was twisted and stunted reflecting his status as lowest of the low.
He had nowhere to sleep, no where to stay; his clothes he found from a homeless man who died, his cleaning utensils are whatever he can find in the many cluttered streets of New York. He found nourishment from the bins behind restaurants, his bed are empty dumpsters. Everyone ignored him, his hunched frame making him look weak and unintimidating, his rags show he has nothing worth stealing. It brought its own sort of protection, being nothing; nobody wants anything to do with you. However even then, his luck still ran out.
He heard the mechanical beings and the screams that came with them from the dumpster, far into the back alleys to be noticed. They had woken him, differentiating others’ screams from his own. He thought of running but when lightening flashed he just closed the dumpsters lid and hoped that Thor hadn’t seen him slacking. He didn’t want to go back to Asgard; where the pain and humiliation was much worse. He didn’t have much of a choice as his dumpster with him in went flying. Falling out he landed right at Iron Man’s feet.
He hoped the ground would swallow him up rather than letting him stay there. But, his twisted feet couldn’t let him move any more than a small shuffle and as a slave he had no entitlement to be saved. The metal thing towered over both of them, he wasn’t going to just sit there and die. He crawled away from the Man of Iron and shuffled as fast as he could, stumbling and falling over himself as he went. He felt rather than saw the robot behind him but the pain of being shot into oblivion didn’t happen; the heat and force of an explosion knocked him to the ground.
He turned to see the Man of Iron stand over him and protect him from the shards of metal and sparks coming towards him. Once it died down, he croaked out with his normally unused voice, “Thank you Son of Stark.” Before turning and shuffling back down the alleyway. He didn’t get far before metal arms grabbed him around the waist and he was once again that day, airborne.