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The Avengers Tower is a surprisingly pleasant place to live for Loki. The Avengers are irritating roommates, but at least they know all he is capable of here. They do not mock him for using his seiðr like those on Asgard did. For the most part, they simply ignore him.
He’s just another person in the already popular tower. He’s even made almost– loathe as he is to say it– friends with some of them. The Widow will never forgive him, but she seems content to hold a truce during his exile to her planet, occasionally handing him a cup of coffee when he joins her in the common space late into the night.
Stark, who is on equal footing with Loki in terms of refusing to call their companionship a friendship, has been surprisingly decent company. With Loki’s knowledge of Asgard’s almost equivalent of science, and Stark’s with Misgards, they often spend hours in his lab together, wasting time.
Not to mention the sprawling library the billionaire has given Loki free roam of, a room he spends the majority of his day in. There he created a truce with Barnes, when they would often sit together and read in silence. At some point, that evolved into the two of them occasionally bothering to complain about what they were reading.
Presently, that is exactly what he’s doing. He’s sitting in the library, legs pulled up into the chair, book propped on top of them. It’s not his typical book, but it’d proved worth reading thus far. Barnes is draped over the loveseat, propped into a position that Loki’s sure he will regret later, but not enough to never sit in it again.
He doesn’t even notice. Not at first, not right away, because it’s something he can put off as not important. The occasional upset stomach is due to the increasingly lengthening list of foods he’s discovering he can’t eat on this planet, that’s it. The acrid taste in his mouth is because he didn’t brush his teeth this morning, compounded by the prior reason.
It’s not a new aura symptom that even makes him click into a brief panic. It’s just sitting there, trying to swallow down the taste in his mouth and the bile in his throat, and the sudden realization that he’s a fool that is wasting precious seconds.
He doesn’t bother to stick the bookmark in his book. He hardly even cares enough to set it carefully on the table beside him, practically tossing it aside. He stands from the chair and surveys the room, his head swimming from the sudden movement.
“Loki?” Barnes’ rough voice is familiar. It’s wary, not concerned. Loki doesn’t waste the energy responding to him, carefully focusing on his steps and movements so he doesn’t tumble to the floor before he’s ready.
There aren’t many ideal spaces in this library to have a seizure, and who knows? Perhaps it’s not a big one, but he’d rather be safer than sorry, carefully drifting to the floor in the most open space he can manage.
Barnes’ movements register in the peripheral of Loki’s mind, “What’re you doin’, man?” He asks, crouching beside the trickster god. Loki hums, closing his eyes against the overhead lights. He swallows hard, and tries to force his tongue to follow his direction.
Clearing his throat, he says, “I am about to have a seizure,” he declares, carefully calm. It’s nothing new, an issue he’s dealt with for centuries, and one that’s rarely been a true threat to his health, “I would appreciate if you could time it.”
Barnes’ cursing brings a small smirk to his lips, one that falls when a wave of disorientation hits him and he briefly feels like he’s floating. His stomach leaps, but he will not be throwing up in front of anybody, thank you very much.
He turns his head, despite the way it seems to make everything spin when he opens his eyes, “Apologies,” he hums, “I…” he drifts off, and loses his train of thought. More words try to leave his mouth, and he’s unsure if the way they come out as jumbled and slurred is him not quite processing the sound or their actual form, but he does see Barnes’ alarmed attention return to him.
“I’ll be right here. Tony’s on his way, probably bringing Bruce, alright?” He attempts to reassure, although it doesn’t do much good. If there’s anybody Loki didn’t want to see, it’s Banner.
He feels his muscles tighten and twist, before he’s blacked out completely.
…
Loki, God of Mischief and Chaos, Trickster, Asgardian, and invader of earth, is having a seizure in front of him. It’s the last thing he expected from the alien, to be frank, and it’s also the last thing Bucky wanted to be dealing with today. Or ever. He’d rather be blowing up a HYDRA base on his day off, actually.
He fumbles to press the start button on his phones stopwatch app when Loki’s eyes flutter and his arm jerks against the carpeted floor. He’s shot off a message to Tony already, and when he checks to the responses he sees about six messages of what the fuck, your kidding right?, im asking J.A.R.V.I.S, shit, and, finally, omw calling bruce
He feels helpless, sitting crouched while his maybe-friend is going through something terrible. He can’t do anything, he’s never learned seizure care. He can only sit and watch Loki’s face contort and his limbs twist.
It’s thirty seconds in that Bucky hears a loud thwack and twists his head to see Loki has slammed his ankle into the nearby chair, and realizes he can do a little. He can move the furniture as far away as possible.
At sixty seconds, Tony and Bruce come running through the library doors, sweaty and out of breath. Scientists, he mentally scoffs. They were only a few floors away, there’s no reason to be as tired as they are, “Oh, shit,” Tony breathes.
“Yeah. It’s been about a minute,” Bucky relays.
Bruce is at Loki’s other side in an instant, lifting Loki’s head carefully to place a folded blanket beneath it. Smart thinking to grab it, had Bucky thought to grab one of the pillows nearby and do the same thing he probably would’ve prevented the bruise that’s surely going to form there tomorrow, “What happened?”
“We were reading, and out of nowhere he dropped his book and stood, came over here, and laid down. I asked what was wrong and he told me I’m gonna have a seizure,” He says, running a hand through his hair.
Bruce hums, “That means he knows what an aura is, probably has some sort of seizure condition he didn’t tell us about.”
Tony’s laugh is strained from where he stands at a distance, arms crossed and shoulders tense, clearly uncomfortable but unable to leave, “Sorry, the Asgardian God has epilepsy? You’re kidding, right?”
“It might not be epilepsy.” Bruce shrugs, “But yes, more or less that’s what I’m saying.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Why didn’t he tell anybody?” Bucky frowns.
“Likely he saw it as a sign of weakness, one he didn’t want to expose to us. Maybe he rarely has seizures, thought he would be able to get away with hiding them.”
“He wouldn’t have,” Tony scoffs, “J.A.R.V.I.S would’ve reported them to me.”
“He didn’t, though,” Bucky raises a brow, “I texted you. He probably asked Jarvis to keep it quiet.”
Tony glares, then turns his ire toward the ceiling, “You wouldn’t do that, would you, J.A.R.V.I.S?”
“I would, and I did, sir. Mr. Laufeyson declared he would be more comfortable with his medical condition kept private, and you did not ask.”
“You’re kidding me. Teenagers, all of you children, you drive me nuts,” Tony buries his face in his hands, “J.A.R.V.I.S, maybe when someone in the tower has a potentially life threatening condition I don’t know about, you tell me.”
“Seizure disorders aren’t necessarily–,”
“I would have informed you had Mr. Laufeyson had a seizure that would have resulted in serious harm.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Sirs, Mr. Laufeyson appears to be rousing from his seizure. It lasted approximately one minute and forty seven seconds.”
“What was even the point of me timing it if you do it for him?” Bucky grumbles, “Loki, you there, man?”
“Give him a minute, Bucky, he’s probably confused.”
Loki’s jerks and convulsions have dripped down into little more than twitches now, his eyes clenching shut and a soft, tired groan leaving his throat. He murmurs something that Bucky can’t understand.
…
There’s speaking around Loki when he comes to, muscles sore and still twitching with aftershocks. There’s a familiar, distinct fuzziness coating everything. It’s difficult to hear, and worse, to remember where he is or who is speaking.
Words he’s sure he’s heard before bursts through the fog. He tries to speak, but All-Speak doesn’t come to him and he’s not sure he’s translating correctly. He realizes, a second later, those initial words likely weren’t translated, either.
Hm. Perhaps he should look into learning a language himself one day. It could be fun, if never useful.
He blinks his eyes open, squinting at the fluorescent. Maybe he can get Tony to replace them, some day. Put in something warmer lining the walls, or floor lamps, or a chandelier that isn’t quite so painful to look at.
His brows furrow. Tony, right. He’s in the tower, yes? In the library. He’d been with Barnes, reading, if he’s not mistaken… though it’s entirely plausible he’s missing an event after such a time.
Loki’s awareness flickers around to those surrounding him, and their moving mouths. Right. He closes his eyes, pulsing seiðr across his skin. It stings against the clasps around his wrists, and he’s forced to remember the way it’s bound against his will. Still, it kickstarts his brain enough to understand and translate the words coming to him.
“Loki, can you hear me?” Banner’s voice is firm, but there’s an undercurrent of concern beneath it that nearly shocks the young god. He manages a grunt, inelegant and not quite what he was going for, but it works, “Good. Can you tell me where you are?”
He works his tongue, eyes fluttering. He hums, mouth feeling heavy and thick with saliva, “Tower.”
“Right, and who’s here with you?”
He lets his eyes close, taking a deep breath through his nose. “I rem’ber…” That’s distasteful. He pauses, trying to work around the slur in his voice, to speak a little clearer. He’d like to preserve his dignity, if at all possible, “I was reading with Barnes.”
It’s not perfect, but it’s clearer, and that’ll do for now, “Good. Okay, you had a seizure. It lasted for… Jarvis?”
“Approximately one minute and forty-seven seconds.”
He hums. That’s not bad, he’s certainly had worse. This was hardly anything to lead him to the healers. “Right. And we’re to understand you have a seizure condition?” He nods. There’s not much more to it to elaborate on, even if he were feeling up to it, “Do you feel like you need to be seen by a doctor?”
He blinks his eyes back open, “No.”
“What?” Tony Stark’s raucous voice startles him, “There’s no way he’s not seeing a doctor. Bruce, he just had a seizure on my library floor.”
“Yeah, and clearly he’s had them before,” Barnes scoffs, “Come on, Loki, I’ll help you back to your room.”
He hums. His eyelids feel heavy suddenly, “That would be… appreciated.”
“Think you can stand?”
He’s not even certain he can sit up, with the way all his muscles feel weak and exhausted, but he does his best. Barnes’ hand is on his back when he begins to sway, and despite his typical aversion to the feeling, Loki finds that the fact it’s a metal hand helping him stand to be less stressful than a flesh one.
They leave Stark and Banner behind, and it’s not long after the doors shut behind them that not-so hushed arguing begins. He hears Barnes scoff beside him, from where his heavy arm is wrapped around Loki’s waist to keep him up when his legs attempt to slip out from beneath him.
“I would like to… apologize.” The trickster god murmurs when they approach his quarters, “For springing that upon you. If I had noticed before, I would have left sooner.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Barnes shrugged his free arm, “Not that I want you to have less notice, or anything, just… I’m glad you weren’t alone.”
Something twists in Loki’s chest, and he suddenly feels naked and uncomfortable. He slips away from the soldiers grip and takes the final steps to his room alone, “Thank you, for your help. Good night, Barnes.”
“Night, Loki. You know where to find me.”
“Indeed I do.”
He slips between his silk sheets the moment he’s stripped down to comfortable clothes, longing for the ability to switch outfits with a wave of his hand. He is positively spent.