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Loki was ready to tear his hair out. If not his, certainly Thor’s.

No one had met his eye all day besides the big oaf, acting so contrite after his quiet re-entry to the tower that morning, and Loki felt such prickling beneath his skin he didn’t know whether to scream or throw something. He’d rested well, in spite of the humiliation of last night - bearing such wounds in front of his once-enemies had, while being infinitely uncomfortable, achieved a rather advantageous effect of evoking a great deal of sympathy for him from the humans. 

Rather too well, in fact. Loki would gladly take - even if only to take advantage of - sympathy, but the pity in their eyes as they skirted around him only rankled the spinose creature in Loki’s flesh more and more.

He was standing by the kettle in the small kitchen of the penthouse - upon the resolution of their team deciding to cohabitate, Stark had set up a tea station by his own heavily frequented bar area - an attempt to prompt Doctor Banner into socialising, and eventually, also Loki. Mid-morning light streamed in through the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, the far-off bustling of Midgardians below providing a mind-numbing background to the ennervation pervading the penthouse of Stark Tower that day.

Having refilled the kettle and flipped the switch that would soon have it boiling, Loki couldn’t help but let out a huff of impatience as he loomed over the counter, intently staring at that little glowing red light within the vessel.

Behind him, the Widow had draped herself over one of the couches in the main sitting area, and was leisurely swiping through some digital pages on a StarkPad. By her, Banner was seated, a slim laptop consuming his attention, despite the Widow’s sock-clad toes having made their way to be surrepticiously pressing against his thigh. Across from them, Barton was slouched heavily down on the couch, his own booted feet up on the glass coffee table, and was apparently consumed in worshipping his own steaming mug. 

Loki had seen them when he first walked into the space, saw their small, simpering, friendly smiles (except Barton, who was conspicuously pretending to be too bleary-eyed to notice his entrance) and couldn’t stay the grimace that twisted his features and the twitch that set upon his eye in response.

One foot began tapping minutely against the cool tiles as Loki stared, the water in the kettle truly testing his patience. He could feel their gazes planted on the back of his head. The tapping increased.

“Hey, Lokes.” A voice grumbled. Stark. Of course.

Loki’s jaw was gritted too tightly to answer as the human came up on his left, reaching out and putting together some concoction of his own. He felt the man pause minutely to afford him a sideways glance; a question. Loki stared on at the kettle, focusing on his breathing and resisting the urge to spin around and scream at those damned mortals to stop radiating such pity.

“Okay…” Stark drew out the word and resumed his ministrations. Loki felt his eye twitch again and his jaw clench harder. Despite the fatigue evident in the shuffling of Stark’s feet, his hands moved nimbly and with experience. Loki’s glowering was paused as a deft twist of a lemon caught his eye, but the kettle ticked almost inaudibly and Loki’s stare was broken. He’d spotted the Doctor and the Widow out of the corner of his eye, watching them where they stood at the bar - watching him.

A single finger joined the resumed tapping of his foot. Was this damned contraption broken?

Loki felt his palms and then the tips of his fingers tingle and warm, and didn’t need to look down to know his magic was swirling, rising with his frustration. Why didn’t he just retrieve a cup of water and heat the damned thing himself? 

(It didn’t taste the same, and a property brewed cup of tea was what he was in search of - needed-, after a night like the one he’d just had)

The others wouldn’t be able to see the energy, not yet at least, but the involuntary gathering of his fettered magics only served to add fuel to Loki’s ire.

Stark had paused now, standing by the god, exuding enough discomfiture that Loki couldn’t help but look aside again, and saw the man staring at his hands. Glancing down, Loki’s momentary doubt was eased- there was no visible magic- not to a human eye, at least. Then what was the man staring at, and with that look on his face?!

Stark was holding a filled crystal tumbler close to his chest with one hand, the other hanging down by his side as dumbly as the expression he was wearing.

“What?” Loki snapped, finally. Looking at Stark, the man started but continued ogling Loki’s hand for a moment longer and the god suddenly became aware that his nails were digging into the countertop, the marble chipping up under his grip. Stark, finally, looked levelly at him- Loki’s hunched over position made them nearly equal in height. 

“You okay, man?”

The Asgardian felt his eye twitch again, and the fire within his chest double in ferocity. These stupid Midgardians, always so annoying! This was just like all those weeks ago: the first display of their endlessly irritating natures, bothering him like it was their only purpose in life!

~ O ~

Loki had been declared on house arrest until his trial. 

Ridiculous thing to name it; seeing as he wasn’t at home, not that he really had one anymore. No, instead he was here, in a cell in the lair of his latest enemies. Body and mind broken, simply sticking around because of the damnable shackles keeping him from absconding to one of his myriad of safe houses. Well, he could leave this place rather easily even without using teleportation magic, but there was reason to linger...

There was little else consuming his mind so completely as the thoughts for revenge against the Mad Titan, Thanos. The defilement and humiliations he and his lackeys had inflicted upon Loki were beyond unforgivable, and Loki would not rest until his due was paid in blood. Unfortunately, he could not go about his fair business unhindered if he was on the run from that ubiquitous irritation: Asgardian law and its omniscient Watcher. He’d bear this further embarrassment of “punishment” (it was nothing, compared to what was still branded into his skin) and then, once recovered physically, begin his investigation, rallying, and hunt.

That being said, it hadn’t even been a month and Loki was so frustrated with boredom that he was seriously considering multiple times a day to just slaughter them all and be done with it. 

A deepening point of pressure on his wrists and in the dip of his collarbone interrupted his murderous thoughts, but did little to truly cull them. The fetters were responding to every swell of his magic that had any hint of teleportation or skywalking in it, as due to their purpose; and right now, Loki wanted nothing more than to be gone from this place. Taking a deep breath, Loki tried to silently mollify his magic. 

He counted the lengths of his breaths as he paced the length of his cell - a tiny concrete room with one wall made up of thick glass, on the other side of which was a single elevator door, which remained steadfastly shut (Thor used to bring him food, but it took only a few shouting matches of Loki declaring he did not need Thor, least of all his scraps, and the fool left him alone; since then his meals arrived through a narrow mechanical doorway within his cell) and resolutely ignored the hairlines cracks littering the floor and walls.

Embarrassingly enough, since the Other’s influence had been ripped from his mind thanks to the green brute, his magic had been all over the place. 

Reacting to the slightest whim, Loki’s palms were being ever-incised by his fingernails as he constantly warred for control of his own magic, but he’d gladly take bloodied hands before humiliating himself further before the humans. All he’d have to do was think about Thor at the top of this damned tower, feasting with his new shield brothers and Loki’s magic would gather into a maelstrom of barely restrained energy, intent on manifesting his destructive urges. The bedframe would warp to the point of melting into a puddle, the sheets rent by invisible blades into tatters. The glass of Loki’s cell would crack, and then shatter. After one particularly terrible night of memory-laden nightmares, the wall disappeared entirely. 

The first few times this happened, the self-proclaimed Avengers scrambled to action like another portal had opened in the sky. Alarms blaring, they’d rushed to the below-ground floors where his cell was located, full battle armour donned, only to find Loki unmoved from the last time they’d seen him - carelessly reclined on the shitty pallet bed they’d provided, apparently unaffected by the goings-on around him.

They always left after Thor verified he was still, in fact, there, and Stark gave orders for his robots to set about replacing the wall. Loki could hear the grumblings from the humans, largely Barton, regarding how irritating it was that he kept ‘messing’ with them, just for his own amusement. Happy to take this excuse, Loki let a smirk dance across his face a few times as they left, boots crunching glass underfoot. Sometimes the Man of Iron would leave with a triticism about Loki needing more space for his ego, or having no respect for the cost of tempered glass, which was… Almost entertaining. A few times lately as they all filed out, Thor had paused to fix him with an uncharacteristically discerning stare, and it was all Loki could do to snarl back. The fool had never been percipient, not once in his life, and he certainly wouldn’t start now with unpicking Loki’s weaknesses in front of his enemies.

As soon as Thor had walked up to him after his defeat and arrest, with those damned shackles in hand, Loki knew immediately what was to happen. He prepared to amend his current glamour to include the uru cuffs and collar, and saw Thor start ever so slightly when the gyves shimmered out of sight as soon as he was done putting them on. The elder fixed him with his regular glare whenever Loki used magic. Yet, gathered himself to relay the Allfather’s decree like a good son and prince: Loki was to stay there and cause no further mischief until he served his punishment as decided upon through a trial by the mortals, at which point he’d be returned to Asgard to complete his incarceration.

The unsaid for further punishment at the end was all too obvious. Loki listened half-heartedly, focussed more on keeping his posture and glamour from wavering than really heeding the Allfather’s second-hand admonishments. It took a moment to realise Thor had stopped talking and was now only staring down at Loki, a smidgeon of suspect creasing his brow (the most discernment he’d ever expressed - Loki decided inwardly that he’d take credit for this breakthrough) as he stood there, quiet for once.

Loki felt fury burn through his pain, and memories, and the ringing in his head - there was no way Thor could discern the remnants of the Titan’s lessons. Even if he could, he had no right to be looking at Loki in such a way, with such...

It was a joke, all of it.

Norns, he’d think, staring down at the cuffs, I could leave here right now. 

Those wishes were especially irksome; he’d just begin thinking of Alfheim, of his safe house in the Viribís Green, of how easy it would be to just slip away, and those damned spikes would emerge from those damned shackles - pressing ever-threateningly into the pulse points on his wrists and the dip of his clavicle. The more his energies gathered, the deeper the spikes pushed in. Charmed with a magic-targeting spell that acted much like a bad virus- should Loki skywalk, he’d probably survive the journey, but the full deploying of the spikes would instantly drain his magic and would linger in his blood, sapping his magic for at least a week to come. They'd also just about relieve him of his hands and head.

He’d have nothing to heal himself with, and being so thoroughly impaled on multiple points would have him bled to death in a matter of minutes. A purposefully constructed, slow and difficult death. Loki was rather proud of the contraptions he’d designed so long ago, if only they weren’t currently fastened on him. The greatest mage in all the nine realms, fettered like a dog! Leashed, waiting to receive the justice of the Midgardians - he’d been made into a joke, even moreso than before.

It was a joke to call what he’d receive a trial, too. Loki knew how these things worked, he’d lived through them a hundred times. True, he’d never stepped out of line quite this badly - invading another realm in the role of conqueror, but he knew nonetheless how this would play out. 

The Allfather himself said so. Mischief was what he’d called what Loki had done, been forced to do. 

The humans would demand some blood payment, or perhaps humiliation. Whatever they’d pick; it would be bad enough to surely teach Loki true remorse, finally... Yet never quite public enough that it might stain Odin’s fine house. Any atrocities heaped upon Loki would be performed, un-objected from the Allfather, so long as they could soon be expunged from the rumour mill, or covered with a glamour.

Once, Loki would have been imagining what tortures the humans might be able to inflict on him, but now he feared no extended incarceration or experimentation, not with the Midgardians beginning to explore their biologies and blood sciences. The Allfather would never let the lowly humans get their hands on anything they could weaponise, reproduce, or worse: examine so well that they might learn their betters are no more flesh and blood than them.

So, probably going to be humiliation, then. The humans couldn’t do anything to him that hadn’t been done before, but it’s not like they didn’t have good reason to want and claim retribution. 

Loki was prepared. Since his time with the Mad Titan, he was always prepared for humiliation.

Hilariously, maybe they would demand compensation for the physical damages. What a farce that would be, the Allfather having to fork over a handful of bloody coins to quiet the humans' rustled feathers.

Or, perhaps Loki was wrong, and he’d finally be given his inevitable sentence... Again, Loki knew the Allfather would never allow the Midgardians to kill a Prince of Asgard (disgraced, disowned, defiled, unwanted prince, but they didn’t know that), but he could hope.

It was this musing he was so rudely shocked from when the alarms started blaring throughout the tower. Not on his floor, of course- there was no need for a prisoner to know that the newly-minted Avengers were being called to respond to a threat, but Stark’s basement couldn’t keep in Loki’s hearing. 

That, and his scrying - watching Thor with his new friends stoked Loki’s rage like nothing else, and many times Loki implored himself to simply stop, but something was better than the quiet. 

Quiet was when the memories crept in, and if Loki was to go mad, it would be on his own terms.

As if summoned by his thoughts - “Loki!”

With a roll of his eyes, Loki watched his terms stomp out past the quickly closing elevator doors and into the space outside his cell. Thor was striding with purpose, his garish red cape flowing behind him. 

“The Avengers are being called to arms!” The red fabric brushed against Thor’s ankle as he came to a halt. Loki found himself unable to lift his eyes from the mesmerising sway. “You will commit no nuisance in our absence.” Thor commanded.

Loki didn’t dignify his braggadocio with a response - the stripes on his back were throbbing especially tightly that day and Loki was too drained of energy to give him any more than a glare.

“Mister Odinson, the quinjet has arrived at Long Beach.” The ghost servant’s voice sounded from somewhere in the ceiling. Loki knew of Stark’s servant in the walls, and figured well enough that it would have been watching him. To finally hear the voice felt like a small victory.

“Sir and the rest of the Avengers have entered the reported premises, and are experiencing heavy fire from both human and alien weaponry. They are anticipating the need for backup, and are eagerly awaiting your arrival, Mister Odinson.”

Thor, who’d been staring at some point vaguely upwards gave a decisive nod. Ever willing to be the good little soldier, even when taking orders from an automaton. He turned to leave, one hand poised on the handle of Mjölnir, but paused in his stride, looking back at Loki.

Loki didn’t twitch from where he was slumped against the furthest wall of his cell, draped desultorily over the thin mattress. Loki knew his glamour kept his appearance far from the gruesome truth, but felt a moment of self-consciousness at knowing his thin legs hung like dead things over the side of the bed, bony ankles protruding. As soon his arrest had been finalised, he’d vanished the armour and fashioned up some basic Asgardian garb, with glamoured leathers over top. All of it felt wrong and disjointed, but he knew Thor would only see a normal appearance.

All magics aside, though, he knew his eyes looked dead and trusted that’s what caught Thor’s attention in the moment.

“You need something to do, brother.” Was all Thor said as he glanced once more around Loki’s barren cell before he left. “I will see about Stark to get you some books.”

The oaf.

Many minutes passed before Loki felt an unpleasant stirring in his gut. Sure enough, that buzzing in the ceiling (now so noticeable, since the voice had finally broken its silence) grew, then plateaued - an artificial intelligence, deliberating? Hesitating? The notion seemed nonsensical, but Loki didn’t have as much time as he’d have liked to ruminate on it.

“Mister Odinson, if-”

“That is not my name.” Loki interrupted, and didn’t feel bad about it at all.

“Apologies, Sir. What would you prefer I address you by?” The robotic voice was perfectly level, but Loki could sense a hint of… Shortness. Urgency?

Strange - Loki normally only had senses like that for real people.

As for the name, one of his classic favourites; Skytreader would be almost too obviously inviting mockery considering his current impedimenta, while Silvertongue seemed a bit prideful for his current circumstances. Friggarson would be…

“Liesmith.” Loki, ravenous for something to punish himself with, spoke before he’d fully deliberated. He’d paused for longer than the shattered remains of his pride would allow.

“Very well, Mister Liesmith. I’ve received word from Mister Odinson that the enemies they’ve encountered are both more numerous and more heavily equipped than they were expecting.” With a near-silent whoosh, the glass doorway that Loki had walked through of his own free will not a month ago slid upwards, opening just for him. In spite of the movement Loki felt himself stiffen, aching muscles protesting.

“Mister Odinson has assured the team that you could capably assist them.” 

Loki was caught off-guard once again by the something he was hearing in the robot’s voice; was that impatience, now? How peculiar. This would require further prodding, for sure.

“They are requesting your back-up, Mister Liesmith.” 

Certainly impatience, perhaps even growing concern for his human masters? How endearing! And ridiculous, or perhaps just pathetic on Stark’s part…

“Mister Liesmith?” The voice was growing sterner, and Loki blinked at it, gathering his scattered wits as best he could.

He glanced up at the ceiling for a moment then looked at the doorway. It seemed innocent enough, yet… 

“Is this some kind of test?” He said while slowly getting up, skin and flesh pulling uncomfortably. Loki pushed through it with hardly a grimace.

“I’m afraid not, Mister Liesmith. There have been some concerns raised, however Mister Odinson is assuring the others that your assistance is precisely what is needed and that you will not take the opportunity to, to quote Sir, make a run for it.”

Loki felt one side of his mouth quirk as he leisurely stepped through over the threshold of his cell. Ah, a test afterall.

“And what does Mister Odinson expect me to do about his mess?” Loki asked snippily as he watched the doors to the elevator slide soundlessly open. The small room within, compared to Loki’s cell, was warmly lit, and Loki felt his gaze soften at the champagne tones of the metal interior. It was the only way in and out of this, Loki’s level - to one who lacks magic, that is. 

As he stepped inside, the ceiling voice shifted rather disconcertingly into the elevator interior with him and continued to speak. 

“I am currently contacting any nearby SHIELD agents and sufficiently equipped law enforcement, and sending the back-up suits that Sir has, however I believe… Speed will be of great import to any help that can reach your brother and his teammates, Mister Liesmith.” Loki opened his mouth to correct the robot but the voice continued on as the polished metal doors closed in front of Loki, and the elevator began to move upwards.

“Mister Odinson has said that you will be able to teleport to them to provide assistance immediately.”

For the first time, the ridiculousness of what he was doing struck Loki. 

At first simple curiosity was what moved him, but; here he was, coming running like a trained lapdog to his enemies, to help them out of a mess of their making? How pathetic could he get?! And on top of that-

“He wants me to what?”  

“Teleport, Sir. Mister Odinson has assured us that you’re quite capable.”

Loki felt one eye twitch.

“Was Mister Odinson mistaken?” Rather impressively, Loki felt the elevator slow to almost a complete stop - it would have been near-unnoticeable to a human. 

“No, he was not.” Loki’s voice was frigid, and the elevator resumed its ascent. He was glad the voice had no more to comment, for it’s own good. 

Soon enough, the doors opened. Loki grit his teeth, clasped his hands behind his back and lifted his chin high as he strode through the penthouse of Stark Tower, resolutely not looking at the off-colour patch of bare concrete near the centre of the space. There were crumb-laden plates lying around on a few surfaces, along with half-gone cups of varied drinks. Clearly this call to arms had come at a surprise.

Loki was about to step out onto the landing pad when movement caught his eye - the invisible attendant had illuminated one of the freshly restored windows with a map of the island Loki was currently on. One box showed a picture of a grand manor on a beachfront, linked to a blinking red dot on the map- evidently where he was needed. It was certainly not the greatest distance he’d ever travelled, but it would be uncomfortable. 

Just the thought of it had pressure growing on his wrists and against his throat.

He’d be weakened when he arrived, Thor knew this. 

Contempt twisted in Loki’s gut like some thorny vine, snaking its way up to his stomach, and wrapping around his lungs. Still, the fact that Thor was imploring a weakened Loki to come and save him was enough to make up the bored god’s mind about what he was going to do.

He’d be impaired immediately, yes, so to conserve magic he’d stay with the basics. Cause no further mischief.

Alright then, Loki thought to himself, green energy swirling around him. No more mischief.

~ O ~

This is so embarrassing. 

That was the thought going through Tony’s head as he ducked back behind the concrete wall the Avengers were currently huddled behind, trying their damndest to shield each other from the frickin’ laser fire coming their way relentlessly.

“Damn Chitauri weapons,” Tony cursed as he fired the last of his shoulder missiles blindly around the corner. There was a satisfying explosion, which was then squashed quickly as the blasts didn’t stop, steadily chipping away at the wall he was taking cover behind.

As soon as aliens started flooding the city, they’d all known that any lowlife around was going to try to get their hands on fallen extraterrestrial weapons for their own use.

SHIELD was largely taking care of that little issue, but the crime lord systematically collecting, buying and stockpiling alien tech was becoming a pressing concern, even for SHIELD. In the light of SHIELD losing a number of high-level personnel in Loki’s attack, the Agreste cartel Long Beach estate was soon declared worthy of and necessitating the Avengers’ attention.

Then, of course, the moment they decide to raid the place, the guy’s biggest competitor decides to storm the villa as well in some sort of coup or whatever the crime version of that is, with his own little army of heavily armed goons.

Tony grumbled again as he took stock of their situation. They’d made it into the lower floors and burst through a set of double doors only to be greeted with a long corridor, with a whole lot of bad guys at the end, with a whole lot of foreign firepower aimed at them. There’d been two small alcoves to the left and right (thank whatever higher power made that the case) that they all ducked quickly into, but took a bit of damage nonetheless.

Behind him right now: Barton with a broken arm and busted leg and, of course, no fucking arrows. Thor, the big lump, with a few huge scorch marks along his arms and a few cuts. Also a huge chunk missing from his side thanks to the thing currently breaking down the concrete wall providing them cover. Point Break had tried to keep swinging his hammer but with each movement more blood gushed out, and now he was just using both hands to apparently hold himself together.

Across this small yet so big hallway, Cap was crouched with an unconscious Natasha slumped up against the wall, trying his best to defend them both from the stray bounce blasts with his stupid dinnerplate. 

Hulk was off somewhere, smashing things, earpiece blissfully nonexistent, of course.

They’d all scrambled like headless chickens when the set of double doors locked behind them - shit, they’d worked together once with the threat of the end of the world in their faces, that didn’t mean they were synchronized or knew how to work as a team!

Evidenced by Thor, who had just informed him that Loki could be the answer to getting out of this particular pickle. Tony had just kindly informed his teammate that he was being crazy, but was cut off by another barrage knocking out huge chunks of the concrete wall that was currently standing between Tony and a very unheroic death. 

“Arc Reactor battery at twelve per-cent, Sir.”

“Shit.” That wouldn’t be enough to even take out half of the guys at the end of the hallway- there were at least twenty and more flooding in by the second from the depths of the basement.

“Friend Stark! Loki can aid us! He can be here in a moment and clear this hallway, or at least get the wounded out!” Thor bellowed over the blasting. Tony’s face twisted up into a disgusted scowl that he would have let show even if he wasn’t wearing a helmet.

“Look bud, great idea, but your brother would totally just run! Or, I dunno, try to kill us again?!” Tony yelled back. “And then run anyway!” Tony looked across to Steve, hoping for some backup (of some sort). He watched the man twist to face him, after sacrificing one shield-holding hand to press against the growing bloodstain on Natasha’s abdomen. The man’s eyes were wide, the pupils like pinpoints in storm grey-blue irises - it seemed his normally sky blue eyes were paled by the adrenalin, along with his cheeks.

“Do we have any other options?” Rogers’ voice was uncharacteristically high and crackling with desperation, or maybe it wasn’t - what did Tony know? The guy had been thawed for like two weeks before being tossed back into that kitschy suit, and was now up against weapons he’d probably never dreamt of in his little Brooklyn boy upbringing.

Tony sighed, hating everything about this. He turned to Thor while retracting his faceplate. 

“Big guy, you said Loki can get here? And he might 'help'?” Tony ducked a little to look at Thor behind him, who was now leaning heavily against the nearest wall, looking nearly as gaunt and pale as Steve.

“Yes, my brother can teleport.” Was all Thor said, in more of a sigh than his usual hearty yell.

“I thought Loki was wearing magic-blocking cuffs?” Steve called out, his sweaty brow furrowing. Thor seemed to think for a moment.

“Nay, friend, they’re merely to track him should he attempt to flee justice! His good behaviour is ensured as he knows there is no escaping his punishments should he offend more!” Thor mustered a bit more energy to yell as the blastings continued, their tiny amount of cover being quickly chipped away at. Tony was really starting to sweat, and, well shit, he’d have to go some way or another.

“Alright. Jarvis? You heard the guy, let’s call in Reindeer Games!” 

“Already done, Sir,” Well, a little presumptuous, but okay. Tony prepared himself for JARVIS to open a line and for there to be some insults to trade, accommodations to be met, at the very least some snarky holier-than-thou banter, but JARVIS spoke again. “I predict Mister Liesmith’s arrival in--” 

Whatever JARVIS said, Tony didn’t hear it over the sound of the heavy, solid metal double doors slamming open. They clanged against the scorched, crumbling concrete walls either side loud enough to even make the blaster at the end of the corridor pause. For a moment, the only sound was the ting-ka-ting of the pieces of magnets and pins that once held the door shut, scattering on the floor.

Time seemed to slow down for a moment as Loki stepped forth and looked down, his eyes meeting Tony’s. 

His face was largely unreadable, but for a second there Tony was struck by the dark circles under his eyes, and how shallow he was looking in the cheeks. Tony could appreciate one helluva set of cheekbones, but Loki almost looked sick. Shit, he looked almost as bad as them!

The wisps of the Asgardian’s green magic faded out of existence from where it had burst through the doors, really underlining that sudden silence he brought with him. Just before Tony was sure something would break it, a new kind of light began to manifest around Loki. The god (because, look, it was cool to pretend that these guys who’d been called gods for so long were actually gods, okay? Tony wasn’t saying this out loud or anything, so it didn’t matter!) didn’t break eye contact with Tony as he took another step forward. 

Hands slightly outstretched to either side, liquid light began to gather and drip from his fingertips. Upon hitting the ground, the drops erupted into starbursts of white-hot fire, growing in size and beginning to spread across the ground despite only being on concrete.

The flame spread, quickly surrounding Loki- twisting and swirling, reaching up and toward the god as if hungry for more. Tony couldn’t help but watch the flames, hypnotised.

The trickle quickly grew into an outpouring, streaming from Loki’s hands, while over the floor the radiant flames spread forward like snakes on the hunt. 

Tony was transfixed as the light danced over Loki’s face, flickering over his jaw and cheekbones, and illuminating his sunken eyes. His eye was drawn by Loki’s hair beginning to rise and twist around, tousling and flickering around and over the mage’s face. The engineer knew the strands were probably being buffeted by the quickly heating gusts of air being generated from the inferno, but for a moment in the wake of Loki’s magic, Tony thought they looked as alive as the wildfire Loki commanded.

Their staring contest broken, Loki’s head swivelled minutely as he returned his gaze back down the corridor.

Tony watched with equal parts fascination, horror, bewilderment, and fear as Loki continued slowly and steadily forward, pressing on just like the flames that crept up the walls, creating a wall of incineration that advanced down the hallway with the sorcerer’s every step. The fire continued to spill all around, even back behind him. Tony reflexively tried to jump backwards, but; as if being tugged back on a leash, the tendrils didn’t come close enough to burn any of the Avengers where they were all still crouched. 

A few flames flicked around the boots of Tony’s suit, but system obs reported no increase in temperature at all. Just an illusion, then? It felt pretty damn real as Loki passed by.

Tony took a second to look at Thor, who was just watching the flickering tendrils of fire with a weirdly blank look on his face. What, did he not think Loki was really going to come? Was that just some sort of fucked up test for his deranged little brother?! 

He was just going to enquire about this when the screaming started.

Now that Tony was paying attention, there was a lot of noise down the end of the corridor. He heard more gunshots and laser blasts of increasing velocity soon overtaken by shouting, then crying out and now screaming.

Reading the mass of incredible heat energy Loki was radiating right now, he could watch on his blueprint of the basement the man continuing down the hallway, unrelenting. Each step perfectly measured and bringing with it the fiery fury of a god of chaos.

Tony… didn’t know what to do. He looked to Rogers, whose ghost-white face was twisted into a mask of horror as he stared down the hallway, even while his hands fluttered around trying to keep pressure on Romanov’s wounds. Turning again, Tony saw Thor still with that weirdly blank look on his face.

Barton had pulled his legs in as close to himself as he could, looking down at the fire with an expression of alarm and disgust - fair. Tony was hesitant to let any of the guy’s magic near him, and he hadn’t been mind-controlled by the weirdo for days.

Thor had knelt down and reached out one blood-wet hand out to the flame, which bent out of his way. Tony wanted to laugh for a second - it seemed Loki’s magic wanted to be around Thor as much as its owner did.

Still, the Asgardian reached out again to the fire, and managed to catch a handful. Tony spared a moment to watch as the fire quickly spread over Thor’s hand and forearm - shit! - and dripped off to rejoin the rest of itself on the floor - oh…?

Tony watched Thor’s still-blank face as the Asgardian twisted and inspected his now pristine-clean hand. Weird.

From down the hallway, the crying out had died down, and Tony twisted around once more to lean out past his cover and peek down the corridor. Through the mass of white flames he could make out the back of Loki; the dark green of the armour and robes he was wearing being the only stain of darkness in the immense light. 

Staring at their most fearsome enemy to date surrounded by the very incarnation of ruin and chaos that he’d summoned seemingly effortlessly, Tony… felt a little pee start to come out.

Loki raised his hands slightly. The flames, as if blasted by bellows, rising with his motion and swelling to double in size for just a moment. Tony was transfixed again on Loki’s hands as they tensed and then clenched into fists. 

The flames froze for a breath, then as if being buffeted by hurricane winds, swirled and grew and grew and grew until the figure of Loki wasn’t visible anymore and Tony could only squint from the glare. What the fu-

As if a bomb was set off, with a huge whoosh the flames filled the corridor and rushed back at Tony. The light exploded past them all, so bright that Tony’s vision was whited out and a ringing filled his head. The blast of burning hot air assaulting every inch of exposed skin - pressing on his cheeks, blowing back his hair, creeping down his neck - had his consciousness escaping him for more traumatic reasons.

Tony knew he was blinking, but it felt like it took a few minutes for his sight to return. When it did, he saw Rogers also trying to blink his vision clear, shaking his head but still blindly reaching out to try to keep pressure on Romanov’s injuries. Tony’s attention was soon taken by a tall figure re-entering his vision. 

Loki, hands clasped behind his back, returning from the scene of his firestorm. Tony realised he’d fallen back against the pitted concrete wall he was crouched by, and moved to get up as gracefully as he could. 

Loki paused in his deliberate, even steps at the opening of the corridor and looked down to his left and right, examining his wounded enemies with his apparently customary look of predatoriness, pride, plus a hearty dose of judgement. As Tony stood, he didn’t miss the extended glower Loki afforded Thor.

Tony took a step forward, to which Loki took a step back, but Tony ignored it to lean around once more and look down the hallway. Every inch of the concrete corridor was blackened with soot, cracked all over from the heat, and Tony spotted the melted remains of Chitauri weapons pooling on the floor amongst… Not even ash.

Tony gulped, and leaned back to look back at Loki, who was staring now at him with a measured, blank face. 

The Asgardian was back to looking all statuesque and shit with his stupid flawless cheekbones and perfectly slicked back hair; even though Tony could have sworn just a minute ago when the Asgardian made his grand entrance he was looking a hell of a lot more ragged.

“Loki…” Thor began and Tony's vision was drawn by a surprisingly visible twitch under Loki’s right eye.

“Do you have transport to get back to your tower?” The other god snapped, aggressive yet stately, though Tony was still close enough to discern the minute pursing of his lips once he was done talking. That and the fact that he looked around vaguely as he spoke, glancing over all of them but very much avoiding Thor.

The blond said nothing, and when Tony turned to look at him, he was still staring at Loki with that weirdly pinched expression. Okay…

“Uh, yeah.” Tony offered, since it seemed no one else would. 

Loki nodded once, sharply, and started to move forward again, though the movement was quickly and awkwardly aborted as he paused in the threshold of the doorway.

“I suppose I’ll… meet you back there, then.” Was all he said before he continued on through the doorway. 

What the actual fuck… Tony thought for the thousandth time that day. He gathered himself just in time to look down the way they came and see Loki’s form disappear in a shimmer of green and gold light. He turned to look at Thor, frustration growing by the second as the other was still just looking down at the scorched ground with that kind of dumb look on his face. 

“Um, what the fuck was that? What is happening?!” Tony couldn’t help but snap, but didn’t spare a second to feel bad. Thor blinked, and it seemed his trance was broken.

“That was… A rather impressive display.” Was all he said - super helpfully.

“Yeah, Thor, that was…” Rogers was standing shakily from where he’d apparently stabilised Black Widow. “That was... Really something. Was there any chance he would’ve done that to us when we were fighting?” It may have been the residual ringing in his ears, but Tony decided he’d heard the little squeak in Rogers’ voice, there. Thor took a deep breath and finally spoke.

“My brother is patron of many things. After a rather peculiar interaction with an old man, well… Loki is the keeper of the first flame.” Thor said, his tone unusually stilted. “We’ve just seen something quite remarkable, my friends.” He turned to slap a meaty hand down on Barton’s shoulder, just as the man was trying to shimmy his way up against the wall to stand. Tony winced at the wince that Barton gave (that Thor clearly didn’t see) as the Asgardian continued with a tight smile. “That was Logi - primordial fire... I think Loki was trying to impress us.” He said, a weirdly cheeky smirk pulling at his already awkwardly forced grin. Tony couldn’t really figure out how to respond to that, and was thankfully rescued by Cap.

“Well… Colour me impressed…” Muttered Rogers darkly as he stood with Romanov, still unconscious, in his arms. The man was looking down the corridor, surely seeing the remains, or rather; lack thereof, that Tony had seen. Tony watched him gulp once, then turn to leave.

A quick murmur of Tony’s to Jarvis asking him to check for survivors - zero throughout the entire rest of the basement, and zero traces of Chitauri weapons, too - was the only thing said as they all filed out of the huge beachfront house. Tony watched Rogers lay Romanov down on an available stretcher in the quinjet and strap her in, while Barton and Thor fell heavily down into their seats on the aircraft with equally heavy sighs. Tony heard some sort of dialing tone and followed the whipping up of Steve’s head to look toward the controls - Fury was ringing, and that was his cue to vamoose.

He dropped a quick I’ll meet you back at the Tower, snapped down his faceplate, and did just that, disregarding the calling out of his teammates after him. 

Tony arrived back at the Tower quickly enough, landing heavily on the penthouse floors and waving off the bot arms that came up to release him of his suit.

“J, where’s Loki?” He asked, keeping the repulsors on his gauntlets activated as he walked toward the elevators. Heat sensors reported nobody on the penthouse floor.

“Mister Liesmith has returned to Sub-Basement-C, Sir.” 

The frustration Tony had been feeling grow in his chest doubled in size - what kind of game was Loki playing here? And what the hell kind of name is that...

On the flight back, and now in the descending elevator, he watched replays of the suit’s visual feed of the moment Loki blasted through the doors. The playback went blurry as Tony’s head whipped around, then clarified into focus. Tony had a feeling that if he tried to recall the moment on his own, his memories would be just as clear, but he just… thought he saw something, and wanted to be sure. 

He had Jarvis pause on the moment their eyes met, Loki’s expression being one of…. Yep. Sadness? Why did Loki look sad in that moment, as he conjured the essence of fire around him to annihilate their attackers?

“Alright,” Tony declared as he stepped out through the elevator doors into the very, very low-down subfloor that was all Loki’s. Tony’s speech paused for a second as he realised he hadn’t really planned what he was going to confront Loki about, but knew he was going to do it well, and get some goddamned answers.

“What the fuck was that?”

Loki was lying back on his bed - if you could call that thing a bed, ew - hands folded behind his head as he stared placidly up at the ceiling. His right ankle was propped up on his left knee; the picture of relaxation. The battle armour had disappeared into what Tony guessed was more casual wear for Loki.

“I don’t know what you’re on about Stark. I was called to assist your friends, and I did.”  His voice was perfectly toned, even bored sounding, and Tony’s ire grew again. 

“Yeah, I know. Why the hell would you do that?!” He demanded as he stepped up to the glass panel that was the door to Loki’s cell. Tony’s eye was drawn for a second by the reflection of the movement of his suit in the glass - the red so stark against the barren walls, but didn’t miss Loki’s eye roll as he shifted his hands slightly under his head.

“Are you really that unfamiliar with the concept of helping others, Stark? I thought that was your whole thing now.” Loki had turned his head slightly to look at Tony and give a sassy little glare as he spoke, and even though Tony’s fury was still at a boiling point, the invitation to snark was too great to resist. 

He couldn’t help but recall Loki’s one-liner when they all grouped around him after closing the portal, and then that (frankly, perfect) impersonation of Cap just before they showed him down to this cell, and his anger lessened a little more.

“Yeah, it is my thing. It’s definitely not yours.” He responded, sternly. When Loki did nothing besides just shift slightly to resume looking at the ceiling, Tony continued, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“What, you just wanted to show up Thor, is that it?” Tony saw Loki’s brow twitch minutely. “He was acting a little pissy when he told us you were being all flashy just to try and impress him.” This time Loki’s face did a full flinch, before twisting up into a sneer. Tony decided to stay silent and simply stared until Loki spoke, which the other did after a few seconds of glaring a hole into the concrete above him.

“One would think… you would be grateful for having your life saved.” Loki said darkly.

“Sure, always, but I have a few questions before we get to the thank-you’s.” Tony stated. Loki gave the ceiling another eye roll and Tony’s irritation began to rise again.

“Why the hell would you help us?” He ground out slowly.

“Why indeed?” Loki riposted effortlessly, his tone suddenly carefree as his head swayed to the side a little - as if he was genuinely asking the concrete above him. Tony’s jaw began to grind. “Perhaps it’s all a scheme, Man of Iron. My brother and I, showing our power and tricking you all into once again fearing the might of Asgard. Have you asked yourself that?” Tony ignored the obvious bait.

“Is this part of your plan? Fooling us all into thinking maybe there’s some good in you before you skip town as soon as our backs are turned?”

“I think I’ve thoroughly proven that I wouldn’t have to wait until your backs are turned should I decide to leave this place.” Loki smirked. His voice held a hint of mocking laughter, and Tony’s patience was all but gone.

“Then why are you still here? ” He demanded as he leaned in even closer to the glass, voice cold and low. 

Loki’s smirk faded into a dark, silent stare. 

“You can’t seriously be willing to- to stay and answer for your actions!” Tony sputtered out, hands waving in his expression as he fought the urge to pace in front of the glass wall. Loki just stared on.

“I will remain until my trial and serve my due penance.” He averred. Tony’s hands clenched into fists.

“Thor told us those shackles meant you’d have to be on good behaviour ‘cos you can’t escape your weird sky pervert or whatever. Is that your plan? All your shit’s finally catching up to you, so now you’re trying to kiss-ass and do some good to get some leniency?” Tony spat, crossing his arms over his chest - as well as one could do that in the suit. 

Loki sat up suddenly, his legs swinging over the side of the thin mattress in one fluid motion, as he came to be leaning over slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared down the human with a frigid glare.

“You think I’m pursuing leniency?” He asked, his voice twisting in tone. “Do you seriously think I have any reason to fear your justice system?” He stared on and Tony was determined to not break eye contact as he continued. 

“I’ve been taking punishment for longer than your people have had language.” Loki said, his voice low.

“Then again, why are you here if you think it’s all a joke?” Loki’s face was a carefully blank mask, but Tony read all he needed to. 

“I have my business. I’d rather not be pursued by Aesir law when I’m going about it.” The Asgardian looked away slightly.

Tony felt that like a punch to the gut, and tried his hardest to not let it show.

“Is that... All this was to you? Your ‘business’?” Loki’s eyes didn’t lift from the floor. “Are you... Going to keep doing this? Trying to conquer worlds with your friends until, what- you finally succeed? Keep going from there?”

Loki’s eye twitched again but he still didn’t look back as he responded.

“That is my business, Stark. I wouldn’t expect a mortal to understand.”

Tony felt his rage bubble up again in his chest.

“I understand you killed hundreds of people because your daddy likes Thor better than you.” He spat. This time, Loki’s head whipped up to serve one a truly divine death glare. The Asgardian stood in one fluid motion and began to step toward the glass. Tony didn’t pause - he’d clearly shaken Loki and wasn’t going to back down now.

“I saw them, that… what was on the other side of that portal.”

The god’s ever so measured steps faltered as he approached the glass door panel, brow twisted in resentment and still staring down Tony.

“So, what- you’re gonna take your trial, take whatever measly punishment us humans can dish out, then run off with your friends?” Tony felt a slightly twisted laugh bubble up his throat, and let it ring out.

“Are you just waiting on some friends to come and break you out now, like the helicarrier?”

Loki’s pristine posture and expression turned ever so slightly downfallen as he finally broke his death glare and looked away again.

“No friends are coming for me.”

Silence prevailed for a minute. Tony couldn’t quite read an emphasis on any word in particular, and it was that weird blankness that was so out of place that had his anger fizzling down again.

Despite their repartee, he was back where he started: knowing nothing.

Loki’s eyes looked like they did in the playback.

“Why do you look different?” 

Loki blinked. Tony watched his eyes flicker down his own body before rising again, his chin jutting out proudly while still not quite looking at the human.

“Even mages are vulnerable to getting soot on them, Stark.”

Despite the haughty tone being back, Tony appreciated that Loki didn’t play the what do you mean game. That tiny mote of amusement turned to sheepishness as-

“Oh… Yeah. Just realised there’s no bathroom here.” Tony took a step back to glance around the cell area, pointlessly. “This was really meant to be a temporary holding cell, but… Thor assured us you wouldn’t need anything.” He took a moment to look the god up and down.

“Do you?"

Loki finally looked back at Tony, clasped his hands behind his back and widened his stance, a sarcastic little smile curling up his lips.

“I want for nothing.” He said with a snide little shrug.

Tony watched him for a moment, the little smile not faltering in the slightest. He isn’t sure where the question comes from, but again, but it’s out of his mouth before he can think.

“Did you get burned?”

Loki blinked, the smile twitching with the motion.

“You really think my own fire would burn me?” He asked, and Tony was absently surprised that it sounded like a genuine question and not an insult.

“I dunno, that was a pretty big blast.”

Loki extended his hands to either side and gave a sassy little well, I’m all clean, aren’t I? Shrug. The movement drew Tony’s eye, and another question.

“Can I see the shackles?”

Again, Tony wasn’t sure why the hell he gave voice to that urge. Loki’s casual conceit visibly froze. His expression darkened and Tony grasped for something to dig him out of this hole.

“For the- safety of everyone in the tower, y’know?” Tony stumbled. “Clearly you’ve still got a godly amount of mojo… going on...” Tony waved a hand lamely in the direction of Loki’s person.

The god just arched one perfect eyebrow. Tony could see a hint of amusement over his face, but he otherwise stayed silent.

Shit, fine.

“C’mon, I’m a scientist!” He cracked. Fuck it, it’s not like he wasn’t crazy already for talking to Loki for this long, and if the guy hadn’t smote him yet or whatever, then maybe he actually had a chance. “Besides, a pathetic human like me probably won’t even know what I’m looking at.”

Okay, too much, shut up now Tony.

Loki was silent for a long minute, and Tony inwardly started to ready himself for a verbal evisceration - shit, maybe a legit one, could Loki do that?! He probably could, if he could- 

The alien in question sighed heavily, apparently having deliberated for the long moments while Tony was warring internally. He stepped forward with no small amount of sass, extended his hands in front of him and leveled Tony with an unimpressed half glare-half smirk. 

Tony was learning pretty quickly it was a customary look for Loki, especially now when paired with the cuff me, bitch gesture.

He took a step closer to the door to peer down - well, if this is a trap, I have only myself to blame - and watched in amazement as, in a shimmering of gold and green light, metal appeared on Loki’s wrists. 

They were...  Kind of disappointingly simple looking. Twin bands of blue-black metal, with a hammer-beaten texture; more bangles than shackles. 

Tony twisted his head this way and that, looking for some cool runes, or at least the seam line. There was definitely something otherworldly about the bands upon closer inspection - the light around them shimmered in a way that made it hard for his eyes to focus, but he spotted some faint neochrome effects shining off the high points of the metal. There were flecks of what looked like silver, maybe titanium? Embedded in the metal, partly exposed by whatever polishing process Asgardins used, and- 

“Is that blood?”

This time, Tony didn’t spare a thought to berate himself. He just looked up and saw how Loki’s faintly smarmy expression paled instantly into panic. The other glanced down himself - clearly saw the hints of dried and fresh blood under the fetters that Tony had spotted - and promptly pulled his hands back toward his chest, stepping back as he did.

“Are you injured?” Tony pressed on.

He watched Loki take a deep breath, and gather his words. When he spoke, he didn’t quite meet Tony’s eye.

“Thor lied to you. The shackles inhibit and.. punish my teleportation abilities. They have no tie to our-" Loki's lips twitched in amusement, "sky pervert, as you put it.”

“Thor knows this?” Tony watched in absent fascination as Loki subtly stroked a hand over each shackle in turn, the cuffs shimmering out of sight under his touch. “... But he asked you to teleport anyway.”

“Thor is a fool, and knows nothing of magic.” Loki spat, fixing Tony with a glare of rage for a moment, still holding his hands close to his chest. “He took his first assumption as the truth… As he has always done.” Loki declared, then seemed to lose his energy. 

He let out a breath that it seemed he’d been holding, walked back over to the bed, then let out another quiet sigh as he sat down, gaze fixed on his hands cradled in his lap.

Well, shit. Tony thought. In for a penny…

JARVIS had flashed a picture up on one of the in-built screens of Tony’s gauntlet; an offer. After a moment of not really deliberating, he looked up and gave one of the myriad of cameras embedded into the walls a tiny nod.

A few minutes passed before there was a quiet whirring in the wall to Tony’s left. Tony saw Loki glance toward the sound with a small curious frown, but he ignored it to re-don the suit’s faceplate. 

A moment later, amidst some protesting from JARVIS, Tony stepped out of the armour.

Now Loki’s disconcerted frown was very much directed toward him, but he continued to not meet it as he strode over to the wall, which opened as he neared to reveal a small cabinet. 

Tony turned around and re-approached the central glass panel which, after another pointed look to the camera (the in-built light blinked angrily at him for a moment, but Tony didn’t relent), opened. 

He stepped forward. 

“You gonna… incinerate me if I wrap up your hands?” He asked, gesturing vaguely at Loki’s hands with his own; currently cupped together and full of a collection of medical supplies.

Loki, who had been watching him like a hawk as he moved, continued to stare intently.

“You do not…” His gaze flicked down to Tony’s hands, that tiny twitch showing again. “That is not needed.” 

“Well, you need to be fit to stand trial.” Tony retorted, deciding to not think too much about how genuinely caught-off-guard Loki looked. “Unless it’s your plan to wound yourself into not having to go?” He taunted, without any real venom.

Loki seemed to pick up the almost playful tone as he only stared for a moment, eyes narrowing minutely, then shifting into a little you know I’m above that look.

Tony found it a little disconcerting that he was able to read looks like that so easily from his sworn enemy, but he guessed he and Loki spoke a similar dialect of bitch. The Asgardian shifted slightly - to the side, and straightening up - as Tony came forward to sit down awkwardly on the bed next to him.

Tony dropped the handfuls of wadding and various tubes of stuff by his side and picked out the wet-wipes (those ones he knew!), shooting Loki an expectant look when the mage’s hands remained in his lap, conspicuously unmarked.

Loki’s head stayed low and he didn’t look up at Tony at any point, but with a tiny sigh extended his hands, the light of his magic shimmering over them again to reveal the cuffs, and even more crimson than the human had spotted before.

Tony reached forward, then hesitated.

What the fuck am I doing?

A question that had echoed around Tony’s head countless times in his life, often to no real answer, internally or externally. He considered it now as he paused, about to- what? Clean the wounds of his enemy that could very well be self-inflicted? Straight-up illusions?!

Tony’s brain ran at a million miles an hour for a scant few seconds, re-examining the evidence he’d seen in the past few minutes - movements, mannerisms, tone and choice of words - trying to decipher exactly if he’d been played, how and when, and what the fuck to do now.

And came up with absolutely no answer.

So, instead, he looked up.

Loki was staring at him with eyes that had seen a thousand years, and were showing it. He held himself unnaturally still, except for those shamrock green eyes that watched every motion on Tony’s face, carefully catalogued it, and stared into his soul.

For a second, ire clawed up Tony’s throat as he considered the blank stare was perhaps a challenge; you’ve fallen into this trap, stupid mortal, how are you going to get yourself out if it? - but it took only a moment to read what was actually there.

Genuine intrigue, veiled with a cautious aloofness. It appeared Loki was exceedingly curious as to what exactly Tony was going to do. Just like Tony.

Well, here goes nothing.

Tony, never one to really back down from an offer once he’d made it (and also to get away from that intense fucking stare) committed himself to doing exactly what he said he’d do.

He reached out and gently tugged back the sleeve of Loki’s...  whatever he called the tunic thing he was wearing. The fabric was silk smooth under Tony’s fingers, but moved with the resistance of something a lot tougher, and he only barely held himself back from asking exactly what it was.

He started on Loki’s left hand, and began wiping away the blood that had dried around the wrist and dripped down almost to Loki’s fingers. Annoyingly, as he wiped, the redness didn’t fully go away. 

It took longer than Tony would have liked to realise he was looking at burns on Loki’s palms. He glanced up to fix the god with a questioning look, and received that same vague, intrigued expression back. After a long moment, Tony decided to not say anything and just reached for the multitude of tubes and… Yes, JARVIS had of course included an antipyretic. 

He squeezed out a small amount and- well, fuck… Alright. Committed, committed, committed… was the chant in Tony’s mind as he made quick work of spreading the lotion in a few brusque movements, just over the pinkness. After a quick swipe of his hands on his slacks (ignoring Pepper's gasp in his mind that they were designer) he grabbed a fresh wipe and returned to the shackle. Holding the wrist in one hand, he carefully tried to slide the band further up Loki’s forearm to get to what he guessed would be some bad chafing, only to be met with resistance.

Frowning, he found that after gentle tugging, he had to pull up slightly to get any freedom. Frowning even further - I swear, if Loki gives me wrinkles, I will - he watched a metal… spike? A half-inch long triangular blade protruding from the inside of the band, dislodge from inside Loki’s wrist. The point dragged across the pale skin, threatening further damage for a moment before it quickly retracted within the shackle without a trace.

What the - fresh blood bubbling up from Loki's injury broke his shock. He quickly grabbed a square of gauze and pressed it to the puncture wound, horror growing. What kind of sick fuck designed these things?!

Glancing up at Loki, Tony saw his expression was markedly darker than before as he stared down at his own wrist in Tony’s hands. The human cleared his throat. Green eyes flicked up to meet his, just for a moment, before turning down again. This time Loki’s expression was his more carefully measured blank look, as opposed to whatever the hell Tony had been reading a moment before.

“So, you got a defence planned?” Tony asked as he reached for one of the small rolls of bandages JARVIS had supplied and began carefully winding it around the slender wrist. “I for one would love to hear good reason for invading a planet, killing dozens of people just doing their jobs, and bringing enormous ruin to a hugely populated city.” Despite being honest, Tony somehow was still aiming for levity.

“No, you wouldn't.” Loki responded after a pause, sounding… Far away, as he watched Tony’s hands revolve around his.

Tony couldn’t quite find a response. He opened his mouth to deny Loki's statement before realising it would be untrue. He wasn’t so prideful as to not be able to admit that not only was he angry with Loki, he wanted to be. He’d come down there with the intention of finding any evidence to solidify that feeling. Now he was… Well. 

“What did I see past that portal?” He tried.

Loki said nothing, but Tony thought he saw a microscopic downfall in the god’s face. 

“Was that… Lemme guess, I don’t want to know, do I?”

Loki finally looked up at him. No words were needed.

Tony tucked the end of the bandage securely under itself and sat back slightly, but didn't move to leave. When Loki - after a brief hesitation - wordlessly offered his right hand, Tony started his aid again.

He wiped the blood, and had more tissue ready for when he carefully dislodged the second spike. He pressed down on the wound for a long minute before lifting, and carefully cleaned the edges of the gash. He put down a fresh square of gauze before it could resume bleeding and similarly wound a length of bandaging around, tucking it securely in place. He didn’t think much of how he kept a gentle hold of Loki’s wrist in one of his hands as he reached beside him for the burn cream. He’d just found it and unscrewed the cap (all that practice of opening bottles one-handed finally coming in handy) when Loki spoke again.

“Thor hates when I make use of Logi-flame because I won it in a contest.” He still sounded distant, and Tony steadfastly didn’t pause in his dabbing of the burn cream over Loki’s palm, curious to see where this would go. Loki continued.

“He also had his own challenges that day but failed all three attempts he was granted. Ever since, he thinks when I summon fire that I’m doing it solely for the purpose of being vain, and reminding him of the one time I was better than him.” Tony could give any fortune teller a run for their money with how hard he was staring down at Loki’s palm, his fingers spreading the cream over the marred skin. He was resolutely trying to hide his growing frown as he listened to Loki’s story, and also as his deft fingers felt more ridges and bumps over Lok’s hands than he’d been expecting.

“It is a part of me, but if I don’t concentrate, well…” Loki’s voice darkened slightly. “Fire does burn.” 

Tony wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination or if Loki really was staring into the top of his head so hard that he could feel it.

“This isn’t the first time this has happened - Norns, the sheer number of times that he’s begged for my help getting him out of some situation, only to offer no thanks, to ridicule me when I have to resort to fire magics-!” Loki sounded like he cut himself off, and was quiet for a long few moments. Out of his periphery, Tony watched Loki’s free hand twitch as he took a deep breath, his clothing shifting with the movement. “He doesn’t understand that it’s more than natural now, it just comes out when I need it. As much as my innate magic, it’s a part of me… And he still hates it.”

Loki grew silent once more, and Tony realised he’d been stroking his fingers over Loki’s palm, rubbing in the lotion with a lot more care, and for a lot longer than was necessary. 

He stopped his massaging, just holding Loki’s hand, thumbs pressed to the palms, but didn’t look up just yet. He wasn’t sure what he’d see on Loki’s face in a second.

“Hey Loki?” It only felt right.

As if Loki was also just noticing the excessive touching, the hand grasped in Tony’s tensed minutely.

“Thank-you for saving us.”

Loki flinched, hard, and Tony let him pull his hand back toward himself.

Tony thought he’d given Loki plenty of time with his pausing, but still caught the deer in headlights look on the other’s face before it was hastily covered up.

The Asgardian made a half-aborted motion to clasp both his hands to his chest, but settled for laying them in his lap.

“Thank-you for… This, I suppose.” He said after a long pause, with a stilted gesture.

Tony smiled, surprising himself with how genuine it felt. He gathered up the remaining supplies and stood, but paused at the still-open doorway. He turned to look at Loki, who looked like it was causing him physical pain to keep his chin and eyes up and trained on the mortal.

“Are you bored down here?” Tony asked.

“To death.” Was the immediate response, accompanied by a small smirk.

“Do you…” Tony struggled for a second with the apparent return of snarky Loki, and the weird feeling of relief that came with that. “What are you into?”

“I’m partial to books.” Loki said demurely.

“Hm, okay. I’ll get you a StarkPad.” Tony decided, and walked through the doorway. It shut behind him as he walked back over to the still-open dumbwaiter to dump the unused medicaments.

“It’ll be waiting for you in your room upstairs tomorrow.” A short pause.

“'Upstairs'?” Loki’s surprise was quickly succeeded by sass. “Surely your shieldmates will think I’ve ensorcelled you.”

“I think they’ll think I’m no crazier than when I came down to walk into the belly of the beast.” Tony retorted as he turned from the dumbwaiter, casually wiping his hands together and then tucking them into his pockets, before giving a nod to the suit that was still standing where he’d left it. It turned and entered the waiting elevator, the doors remaining open. Tony strolled casually over to where the suit had been standing near the glass, and turned to look at Loki.

The Asgardian was leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees with his hands lightly clasped together - his left discreetly rubbing the palm of his right. His astute gaze trained on Tony, radiating curiosity, and his brow upturned in what may have been flattery.

“Plus it’ll make it easier for me to annoy you about magic.” Tony added. “Y’know, enemies close and all that.”

The god’s eyes narrowed in clearly playful annoyance - at least, Tony was pretty sure it was. Finally, he spoke.

“On that note, I expected someone would have surely come to rescue you by now...?” Loki asked, viridian eyes darting past Tony’s shoulder to scan the still-open elevator. 

A thought occurred to the engineer as he thought of the rest of the Avengers, standing on Long Island beach where he left them, and he didn’t hesitate to share it.

“I think... I think Nat might be the only one who can fly that plane.”

Loki blinked, his lips twitched a little, and then he apparently gave up on holding in his chuckle. Tony laughed himself, finally feeling the rush of the day slide off his shoulders.

After that, it was all surprisingly easy.

Loki didn’t have a single day of peace in his own room on the penthouse floor between Thor’s jubilations and Stark’s attempts to bribe him for answers about magic with rare books of all kinds.

The others were at first outright hostile, then suspicious, and thoroughly angered with Stark for, first of all; leaving them at the beach, then also for moving the most hated criminal on Earth into the spare bedroom on the team floor while they slept.

To Loki’s immense surprise, the man didn’t hesitate to vouch for his good behaviour to his teammates. Something so far, Loki had not proven wrong. Stark was either a fool or an annoying honey-eyed judge of character, but either way Loki wasn't going to give up the newfound luxury of his StarkPad and the endlessly entertaining mortal madhouse called Tumblr.

The other Avengers eventually adopted the “keep your enemies close” idea, and ended up more or less tolerating Loki’s presence, even if only for safety purposes. They determinedly dogged him throughout the penthouse every waking moment, furious glares keeping Loki's back warm, but that behaviour dwindled over the weeks of monotony. It seemed Loki slowly eased their ire by aiding Stark with his sciences in his laboratory (who knew spilling the secrets of Asgardian technology to Midgardians could be so fun?) and generally staying out of their way.

It was after another callout to aid (a raging inferno spanning multiple city blocks caused by a monumental chemical spill) that the Captain finally broke his silence and asked Loki about his magic. Loki could still remember the grin of delight on Stark’s face as the man watched the other give into his curiosity. 

Loki gave what Stark liked to call a ‘Spark-Notes’ version of how he had an affinity for fire energies (ignoring Thor’s glowering) as they all strapped themselves into the seats of the jet - a newly instated rule from the Captain: no taking off alone after a mission, by flight or teleportation. 

Loki had ignored the way Stark’s eye flicked to him as he chimed in his agreement to that order. 

Loki had met Stark in the lab later that day and was looking forward to more conversation on magic and technology, when he was greeted by the mortal sitting in front of multiple screens, all showing moments of Loki using his magic, from the moment he’d stepped foot on Earth to that very afternoon, taming the adephagous blaze. All were zoomed in as close as possible on Loki’s eyes, accompanied by stills of Barton’s eyes and those of so many Loki had placed under his thrall.

Loki, exhausted by the use of so much magic throughout the day, and the running and maneuvering required having reopened so many of his wounds, could spare no energy to equivocate.

With one question answered, Loki's tentative peace was rent apart.

Stark insisted on telling the others the truth, and Loki told himself he didn’t care either way- he knew better than to think this would really change anything, even if they did believe him.

Stark called them all down to his lab, citing that it wasn’t an emergency, but was important. They all arrived swiftly.

Thor was quiet throughout the explanation, until Stark showed him the evidence he’d collected. He asked Loki once if it was true that he’d been under someone else’s influence- been acting under duress. 

Loki dared a single yes and was suddenly gripped in a bear hug to challenge any Thor had given him before. He didn’t hesitate to teleport out of Thor’s grasp, ignoring the alarm that flickered over Stark’s face. Loki also ignored Thor’s inane babbling of explaining all to Father.

The Doctor asked if it had been the ‘Hulk-smashing’ that broke the control. Upon Loki’s nod, he apologised if more force was used by his alter self than was needed. Loki assured him, genuinely, that he would have taken the ‘smashing’ a thousand-fold if it meant the control was broken. The man did not seem comforted by the comment.

The Captain asked more details of who, exactly, was controlling Loki. The god described in short a being who was the true seeker of the tesseract - the one who gave him the sceptre, and the soldiers. Thor didn’t hesitate to corroborate Loki’s story, chiming in at the most unhelpful times of how Loki had caused mischief in the past but never truly meant harm, and had no past interactions with the Chitauri race ever, and so of course could not have been their true leader. Loki decided to ignore that this was apparently only occurring to Thor now.

The Captain asked how Loki had come into contact with these, the real invaders. Loki graced them with an abridged recounting of finding himself in the void between worlds, where they and their leaders dwell. He very briefly mentioned that he’d had no way to escape, and so there was all the time in the universe for them to persuade him to do their bidding. Loki saw the Captain frown during his speech, his expression soon paling in comprehension.

Black Widow asked what this meant for the sceptre, and the Tesseract. Would there be more forces coming to retrieve both? Upon hearing Loki’s yes, their ire had resurfaced.

When, exactly, were you going to tell us this? The woman had asked. Loki assured them that the missile sent their way would have greatly damaged their forces, and it would take at least a few years for them to reach Midgard, even with their advanced technology.

So what, you were just going to give us last minute notice as soon as you’re hopping off-planet that they’ll be coming here again?

No, Loki responded, his tone as dark as the void he was seeing in the corners of his vision, because as soon I’m rid of these damned shackles, I’m going to exterminate them all myself.

There had been few questions after that, mostly from the Widow and the Captain. Banner had excused himself when the woman asked for more detail about the persuasions used on Loki, which he expertly skipped around answering.

Barton had left the lab as soon as he saw Loki wasn’t murdering anyone.

In the days following, the Avengers’ treatment of Loki shifted again. He’d been forewarned by the Widow that as soon as his trial was underway, he’d be questioned extensively by SHIELD. Loki didn’t really care for her thinly veiled threats. With the exception of that momentary declaration, they all were so unsure around him from then on. The awkwardness was so palpable, Loki could almost choke on it when he entered a room. 

Weeks passed this way, of being tiptoed around and cosseted on the few missions he was asked to partake in, until the ice was finally broken.

Stark had shown the others a recording he’d secretly taken of Loki conversing with one of the robots in the lab - a very serious conversation on the importance of not placing nuts, bolts, nor any other sort of inorganic paraphernalia in the blender when making concoctions meant for human consumption. Loki thought it was a reasonable admonishment to give, but for a moment feared retaliation at the chiding of someone else’s progeny. 

When he walked into the living area (JARVIS had just let him know there was now an area of the bar specifically stocked for Loki with the best Midgardian teas and recommended he go to the kitchen now to inspect the selection) where Stark was showing the others (sans Barton) the recording, he was greeted by eyes creased with laughter. When their attention turned to him, the ebullience remained, with hardly a trace of ridicule. Apparently this was enough to break through the standoffishness that Loki naturally exuded - the Captain made an effort to speak with Loki whenever he saw him, to the point of annoyance. The Widow extended an invitation to spar with them at some point, citing curiosity about foreign fighting styles. Banner greeted him and enquired to his well-being whenever he ventured into Stark’s lab for a consultation on some scientific matter, or when they crossed paths at the communal bar area.

Even Colonel Rhodes tried to make casual conversation when he’d visit the tower, and the first time Loki met the truly fearsome figure that was Lady Pepper Potts, she expressed how it was a relief she now had something more than ‘random change of heart’ to put into the public image campaign Stark had requested she arrange on Loki’s behalf. She’d left to resume her business before Loki could really ask about what that meant, but the headlines pasted over his StarkPad the next morning about how Loki the Invader had been under duress throughout the invasion garnered Stark a rather heated exchange. 

Loki couldn't help but rant his wishes to simply take his punishment and be done with the whole thing, and how humiliating it was to have his weaknesses being exposed for the world to see, for the pathetic aim of garnering pity. 

Have I not been thoroughly humbled, Stark? Do you truly seek more?!

The human had much to say on that. It ended with the two of them, more exhausted than any debate had ever left them, collapsed onto the beaten-up couch that Loki so often claimed while the human worked frenetically at his stations. DUM-E had wheeled over to bug Loki to pet his topmost camera while the god spoke. 

They’d discussed the matter for hours, voices getting softer and softer, sharp minatory edges being rounded by assurances of deserving a fair trial and treatment, until Loki was nodding off, only to be woken by--

~ O ~

“Loki? You okay?” Warm hands encircled his own; rough fingertips rubbing over his palm.

A metallic ding! broke Loki’s trance fully and drew him further from the memories. The god blinked and his hands were released, suddenly feeling cold.

Stark was leaning past him. Lifting the metal carafe from its seat and pouring out boiling water into the cup Loki had set before himself what felt like hours ago, and had apparently neglected to fill. 

It was a small thing, rough earthenware on the outside with some artful inscribings marring the surface, and ebony black ceramic within, always silk-soft against Loki’s lip. It was a piece of some set Stark had purchased for Banner, and was simply the first item Loki grabbed from the cupboard. The roiling water had the loose tea leaves swirling in no time - one heaped teaspoon, just the way Loki liked it. When did Stark start paying attention to how Loki took his tea? 

It was the kind that he’d taken a liking to lately, too, the spiced vanilla blend that he’d tried upon recommendation from JARVIS.

Steam rose between them, permeating the tension-filled air; swirled, and faded. The unfurling leaves soon settled at the bottom of the cup, almost invisible, nestled in the inky warmth. 

Watching this gentle dance- almost against his will; Loki took a deep breath in, gasped out a shaky exhale, and felt the roiling fire within him begin to settle, too.

“Stark, I…” Loki felt rough hands touch his again, just for a moment. Reminding himself that Stark was a friend, Loki let his stiff hands be wrapped around the quickly warming demitasse. 

The god stared down at the cup of tea between his palms, chest feeling tight.

“I…” Loki looked up, ignored the look on Stark’s face for fear of what he might read there and glanced to the Widow and Doctor instead. They too were watching him with concerned faces. “... Apologise.” Was all Loki could manage before his gaze lowered again to the cup. He heard Stark exhale quietly in front of him, and then heard a rustle from the couches. 

Not having nearly enough energy to deal with the conversation sure to follow - humans, always so wonderfully, annoyingly talkative - Loki spun on his heel and retreated to his room as quickly as possible without breaking into an outright run.

He slammed the door shut behind him and struggled with engaging the lock. JARVIS did it for him after a minute of fumbling.

He curled up against the wall, cradled the now mostly-spilled cup of tea between his hands, pressed to his chest, and tried to breathe.

vastation: a renewal or purification through fire; the burning away of evil attributes