Downward Facing Dog - EndlessStairway (2024)

Chapter 1: Feeding Time

Chapter Text

“Down.”

Loki assumed his down position; kneeling, his elbows, hands, and forehead on the ground. His knees ached on the hard floor. They were always bruised and sore, never getting a chance to heal. Loki kept any trace of discomfort from his face though. Anything that could be interpreted as resistance, or insolence, or even just independent thought would result in more training.

“Floor.”

The next command came a mere few minutes after the last. It was a mercy that he was not left for hours, the whole night, or for days and days. It had happened before. Loki's nerve endings sparked at the few moments delay and he scrambled to the floor position; face-down, flat on the ground, arms and legs spread.

The floor of his cell was cold, harsh metal against his bare skin. The freezing burn of it was painful, but not painful enough for him to risk moving. Moving from his assigned position meant more training. He knew that now. He knew all the rules. His owner had educated him with inhuman patience, both in person and through his greater-self, embodied in his machines.

“Show.”

Loki moved again, back up to his knees and elbows, but he did not curl his back and make himself a tight ball this time. Instead he spread his knees, arched his back and raised his hips, his ass in the air. It was an invitation for violation, for the most demeaning usage that he could be put to. Loki despised himself for it, but he did it.

Loki never knew if his owner was watching, if the voice from overhead was real or a recording, or even a simulacrum, generated by his greater-self. Once, years ago, before Loki had given up keeping track, his owner had left him in the care of his machines for weeks. Loki had not known it until the man had returned, sunshine glowing on his skin, and told him that he had been utterly alone, trained by a machine and watched by a machine.

If he was there, Loki's owner may come into the cell after ordering Loki into the show position. He may want to train him further, to remind of his place. Loki pressed his shaking fingers to the cold floor, closed his eyes and waited. He was cold, he was tired and he was hungry. All day he had been pouring his life-force into his owners devices, channeling the energies of Yggdrasil into storage crystals, letting the flood of power strip him bare, hollow him out and leave him as he was. An empty vessel.

All he wanted was to eat and to rest, but he had to earn it first. Despite his work during the day in his owner's workshop, Loki had not yet earned the right to eat. He was required to perform some manner of training before every meal, in the morning and at night. He never, ever was given food without earning it. And why should he be? He was a worthless, nameless slave. He was property. He had no value other than the work he could perform. If his owner wanted him trained, wanted him exhausted, desperate and obedient, wanted him ready to submit himself to any use, it was his right. Loki had no choice but to comply.

He held the show position. He had long ago given up counting the seconds. There was no point to it, as there was no pattern that he could discern. Sometimes he would be ordered through this routine in less than an hour, sometimes it took all night. Sometimes his owner would interrupt and take a more personal approach to Loki’s training, or sometimes he would to teach him something new. Loki could never tell what would come next, and trying to predict it confused and frustrated him. Better just to obey.

Loki jerked awake to fire coursing through his body. He had fallen asleep! He had fallen asleep and slumped to the floor, and the dozens of tiny implants his owner has inserted under his skin roared to life, burning his nerves. Lightening struck down his spine over and over, shocking him until his limbs were flailing uncontrollably, blood filled his mouth from his bitten tongue, his head smashed into the floor, stars bursting before his eyes with each impact.

Loki did not know how long he suffered. It was an eternity before the torture stopped, and the calm voice came again from the speakers above.

“Down.”

Sobbing, his chest heaving, limbs weak and shaking, Loki obeyed.

It was hours later. Hours of this training, of down, floor, show, penance, display, balance and the hated downward facing dog. Loki knew them all perfectly, and he performed them all to the best that his aching, tired body could. He tried . He tried to be pleasing, to be obedient, to be humble and grateful and to please be allowed to eat and to rest.

He held downward facing dog , his heels flat to the ground as he had been taught, back straight, his head parallel to his arms. His tears dripped onto the floor, a helpless flood that he could not stop. If he was to be punished for crying, his punishments would never end.

“Rest.”

Loki dropped to the floor, boneless. Rest was his reprieve, the signal that his training was done. If he had performed well enough, he would be allowed to eat. Loki only allowed himself a few seconds to recuperate. If sustenance would be provided, he needed to be ready.

Loki forced himself back to his hands and knees and crawled painfully, shaking and trembling, to the wall of his cell next to the door. He knelt facing the wall and gripped his hands behind his back, palms sweaty. He gave little thought this this now, to the manner that his owner saw fit to feed him. The burning rage and humiliation was gone. This was but one more degradation piled on his head, one among a thousand. It did not make a dent now. Once so arrogant, Loki’s princely pride was gone, utterly gone, shattered and broken. What remained was this broken thing. A tool. A toy. A crawling, mewling wreck, who was so desperate that he knelt on the floor and waited to be fed like the lowliest of whor*s.

The panel before Loki’s face slid upwards, and Loki’s mouth watered as he saw his meal. He knew he was being trained by this. He knew it, but he could not stop it. A large, flesh colored dild* hovered before his face. His owner had told him that it was an exact replica of his own co*ck.

To eat, Loki had to suck it. He had to suck it hard enough to pull the thin, gritty liquid his owner called protein shake through the narrow tube in the center of the plastic co*ck. Loki had starved himself at first, years ago. He had refused. He had refused . He would rather die from hunger than do it. But his owner had been patient and implacable, and he had shown Loki the error of his ways.

Loki opened his mouth and swallowed the dild*, pushing it down his throat until his nose hit the button at the base that opened the tube. Loki sucked and swallowed, sucked and swallowed, until he was forced to pull back to breathe. He only took a few gasps of air before he forced his head down again. He had no time to waste. Feeding time was five minutes at night, three minutes in the morning. Loki barely tasted the liquid that he swallowed, letting it flow down his throat and into his stomach.

Before he was even halfway satisfied, the dild* retracted. Loki chased the last few swallows before it was gone and panel clicked closed. Feeding time was over.

Breathless, panting, red-faced, Loki crawled to the thin, narrow mat on the floor. There was nothing for him to do now but sleep. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

Chapter 2: Rise and Shine

Chapter Text

Loki’s owner liked him to be clean, inside and out. For that purpose, a tiny bathing chamber adjoined his cell. The door to the bathing room unlocked when the harsh buzzer sounded in the morning, jerking Loki from his restless sleep.

Loki had completed this routine hundreds of times. He could do it in his sleep. Before his eyes were fully open, he rolled off the sleeping mat and clambered to his feet, stumbling to the bathing chamber, just as exhausted as he had been when he had fallen asleep.

He was only supplied with cold water, but Loki was used to it by now, even for the internal cleaning that he was required to perform. He did not hesitate, he let his hands take the lead, not thinking about what came next as he unrolled the flexible tubing. He used soap to ease the nozzle into his anus, then turned the tap to the highest flow he could bear. Chill water filled up his insides and he counted the seconds in his head, ignoring the inevitable cramps in his gut.

He kept his eyes down, staring blankly at the dull, scratched tile. If he allowed himself to look around he would see the merciless machine his owner had installed to clean him when he had refused to do it himself. Loki knew better now, of course. His owner had been very patient with him. He had shown Loki his choices, and Loki had chosen this. He had begged for it, in fact, for the cold water and the length of hose, because the alternative was the machine. The alternative was the implants firing under his skin, and a pitiless robotic device spreading his buttocks and filling him with a chemical brew until his belly was round and sloshing, pumped full and then plugged tight while he twitched helplessly on the floor.

Loki had endured twenty-eight days of the machine, even though on the second day, and every day after he had begged to complete the task himself. His owner later told him it was to ensure that he understood that it was a privilege to be allowed to clean himself. And he did understand. Loki was well trained, and he never let any hint of discontent show on his face.

His owner had a machine for everything, and if he didn't, he would have one the day after he decided he needed one. That was where Loki's feeding device had come from. His owner had asked him how well he sucked co*ck and Loki, truthfully, had confessed that he had never done it. Of course he had not. He had thought he was a prince, and princes have no secrets. Loki's destiny had been to make a political marriage and strengthen Asgard’s ties to whatever realm the Allfather had selected. Probably it would have been Jotunheim. No one, even the Jotun, wanted used goods, and Loki had taken his duty to Asgard and to his family seriously. As such he had taken no liberties with his body beyond the snatched kisses and over-clothes fumbling that all adolescents pursued.

Even now, Loki remained unused; unused but well-trained. His owner had made the feeding device and told Loki that he may as well practice, because once his magic dried up it was all he would be good for.

And so Loki practiced. He practiced with his mouth and he cleaned himself thoroughly, and everyday he wondered if this would be the day that the slender thread of his magic would snap, and his owner would order him to the ‘show’ position and… and…

It was going to happen. It was inevitable.

Loki’s magic could not last. Asgard was destroyed. Odin was dead. Frigga was dead. Hela was dead. Even Thor, who had loved Loki despite his many faults, was dead. The refugees from the destruction of Asgard had been killed by Thanos. Of the entire realm of Asgard, only Loki remained, and he was no Asgardian. The cycle would turn and rebirth would begin. The wheels were already moving, Loki was sure of it. His magic was growing weaker. Yggdrasil was growing a new branch, and the branch Loki had been grafted onto would wither and die, leaving him bereft of his power, bereft of any purpose except the use of his flesh.

Loki removed the hose and let the water flush him out. His owner wanted him clean, and so he would be clean. Whether he would be used that way today, or tomorrow, or any other day was not his concern. His only concern was to obey. Loki picked up the round brush he had been given to use in the shower, turned on the water and stepped under the icy spray.

When he had performed his poses and been allowed to suck his owner’s replica co*ck for his morning meal, another panel slid open with Loki's work clothes. He was permitted to dress for his time in his owner’s workshop, a set of pants and a buttonless shirt in grey, Property of Stark Industries stamped on them in dark red.

Clean, fed and dressed in his work uniform, Loki faced the door of the cell in his ‘ready’ position. Kneeling up, wrists crossed behind him, back straight, eyes lowered. He could wait here for a few minutes, or an hour, or sometimes all day, if his owner had no use for him. Those were the worst days, when he had to wait, knowing he was useless and unwanted. If his usefulness to his owner ran out, Loki had nowhere else in the nine-realms to go.

Today the door slid open after only a short wait, less than an hour, as far as Loki’s unreliable body-clock could tell. Loki stood and padded through the door on bare feet, turning to the left, toward his owner’s workshop, not to the right, which led to far less pleasant places. He did not even look in that direction, lest he tempt his owner's ire.

At the door of the workshop, Loki could see his owner through the glass. As always, he was surrounded by his machines, and by twisting, glowing streaks of light. Loki's owner was a mage in his own right, creating terror and wonder from his mind as much as any mage of Asgard had ever done, even including Loki himself.

Loki had learned not to underestimate Midgard. Its powers were different than the other realms to be sure, cold and steel instead of fire and flesh, but no less powerful for it. It was no less devastating when those powers were turned against you.

Thanos himself had died on a blade of Midgardian making, his heart pierced and destroyed from within. Titan-Breakerwas a one-hit destroyer, dissolving into millions of tiny machines, tearing through flesh and bone once Thor had delivered the axe-blade through Thanos' skin. Thor had died though, striking that final blow. The machines had as little mercy for their wielder as they had for his intended victim.

That was when Loki had known his fate was sealed. The last Asgardian had died, and their imposter-prince, alive when he should have died a hundred times over, was likewise felled by Midgardian technology.

The workshop door opened, and Loki shook off his dark thoughts and entered. His usual work-area was gone, replaced by a clear-sided cube, about ten feet in each direction. The walls of the cube sparked with energy, a bright blue glow that Loki had never seen before. Loki swallowed hard. Surprises rarely boded well for him, especially those of his owner's machines that looked as though they needed a test subject.

“Get over here,” Loki’s owner ordered, and Loki bowed his head and hurried to the man’s side. He rarely was so close to his owner. He could go days without seeing him at all, as long as he completed his assigned tasks in the workshop correctly.

Loki dared to sneak a single glance at his owner. The man was focussed on his machines, light from his screens and projections shining in his eyes like the light from a thousand stars. Tony Stark held the universe in his hands, just as easily as he held Loki himself. He had ended the threat of Thanos, he had forged fragile new alliances with other worlds, with the Skrull, the Kree, with Sakaar and with Nowhere. Loki did not know how he had done it, and it was not his concern to dare to ask.

He had no concern other than to serve, and when Stark snapped his fingers Loki fell to his knees and bowed his head. He waited in trembling silence until a finger lifted his chin and those golden eyes, deep as infinity itself, met his own.

“Charge the containment field,” Stark ordered, pointing at the transparent cube. “I'm picking up inter-dimensional vibrations. Someone’s knocking on my door, and I’m going to open it for them.”

Loki nodded, then remembered himself. “Yes master,” he said, and hurried to obey.

Chapter 3: A Visitor

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Loki channeled his power as ordered. He sent pulses of energy into the giant cube until the bright blue sparks stabilized into a steady field, surrounding the space inside. Loki focused on his work, kept his face steady. There was no point turning away from his owner, the cameras and sensors all around the workshop fed their electronic eyes directly back to him. Tony Stark saw all, including every expression that Loki allowed to cross his face. It was safer to show nothing at all.

Loki shivered despite himself. Using his magic for something other than charging his owner's storage crystals was a heady rush. It was so often denied him. He starved for it, more even than he starved for real food instead of the gritty liquid he was fed twice daily. Loki was a creature half made of magic, but the implants in his flesh punished him if he used it without permission.

He had tried, of course. After Thor’s death, when Stark taken advantage of his grief and despair to capture him. The implants had been under his skin before he knew it. The pain had been nothing compared to the horror of it, after he had just seen his brother eaten alive by the Titan-Breaker. Loki had tried to escape, to cast his magic and be gone, but the devices could sense the power gathering in his body. They sent fire burning through him and cut his strings like a broken marionette every time he tried.

Loki knew better now. He did as his owner commanded, and sometimes a whole day could go by without the implants triggering, without the pain, without the helpless terror of reliving his brother’s last moments. Stark had told him that the same tiny machines that had been inside Titan-Breaker were inside Loki now, and if he did not comply they would be his end.

And so Loki complied.

Despite it all, despite the pain, the humiliation, the daily reminders of his worthlessness, Loki wanted to live. Coward that he was, he was not yet ready to face his fate; to be devoured and digested in the belly of the great wyrm Nidhogg. The warriors of Asgard feasted in Valhalla and in Fólkvangr, their children played in Freya’s fields, but Loki would never see any of it. Not even the cold wastes of Hel would accept a miserable wretch such as him. Loki would be punished in the afterlife, and he was in this life, for his many, many failings. For the destruction of Asgard. For his mother's death. For Thor's death, when fate had surely meant to take Loki, instead. For failing to save the Asgardian refugees from Thanos’ destruction. For impersonating a prince of Asgard. For everything, from his mis-birth to whatever miserable and pathetic death he would meet.

“Basket.” The command came as soon as the containment field was charged. Loki was not allowed to linger, to stand around unoccupied. He had completed his task and his master had no further use for him at present.

Loki dropped to his hands and knees and crawled to the side of the room, where a large, shallow, woven basket was placed under a table. He climbed into the basket, out of the way, and curled up on his side, facing the wall as he had been trained to do. He had no business watching what his owner did, and Loki found he had little energy to be curious anymore. He wrapped his arms around his knees, hugged himself, and waited.

He did not have to wait long. Small sounds came from behind him, machines whirring and clicking, and then the wall before his eyes lit up, reflecting the light glowing from the cube. Long arcs and sizzles of the containment field flashed as it struggled with whatever was breaking through. The heavy blast door at the back of the workshop clanged as Loki’s owner took shelter there. Loki squeezed his eyes shut. The light burned through his eyelids, and the reinforced floor of the workshop trembled, shaking the basket he lay in. A roar assaulted his ears. Loki cried out, his voice lost in the violent shuddering of the cube, the heavy, grinding growl battering him, even under the table.

A sudden blast blew Loki's tangled hair toward the cube, his clothes too, wind whipping him until a single, powerful woomph sucked the air and sound from the room, and the smell of ozone filled it instead.

Silence, and then, “Hey, it worked!”

It was his owners voice, but coming from the cube, not from behind him where he had taken shelter.

“Who are you?” His owners voice again, but coming from the air now, from the speakers that were everywhere in the workshop. Loki stared at the wall, his fingernails digging into the woven basket, his every muscle twitching and straining with the urge to look around.

“Greetings! I come in peace!” Loki gave up the fight and twisted around in the shadow of the desk to look at the cube. He saw his owner standing inside. It was him , but not him. He was older, with greying hair, lines around his eyes, and he was wearing a strange grey and red costume. The implants sparked and Loki jerked his head down, more confused than before. What had happened?

“Who are you?” his master’s voice demanded again, his tone suspicious, angry.

A laugh came from inside the cube. “You know who I am. Scan me or whatever, you’ll see. Anyway, I do come in peace. Actually I come looking for a favor. Can we talk?”

This older version of Tony Stark kept up a stream of chatter as Loki’s master ran his scans and confirmed that he was indeed who he claimed to be. The visitor seemed different, not just in appearance but in manner too, more open, less suspicious. Silent under the table, Loki heard about half of what they spoke of. Dimensions and alternate timelines, Thanos and infinity stones, and some terrible disaster that had befallen this other Tony Stark. They moved in and out of Loki’s hearing, and sometimes machines whirred and drowned them out. Loki was utterly ignored, curled up in his basket on the floor. Loki was sure the new Tony Stark did not even know that he was there.

Eventually, the door of the workshop opened and then closed behind them. Still Loki waited. He did not dare move. The implants had already given him a warning, and they would not do so again. If Loki moved from his assigned position, he would be punished. He stared at the wall, and he waited.

Chapter 4: Show and Tell

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“Penthouse, now.”

The voice came over the air, perhaps Loki’s master himself, perhaps his greater-self commanding him. Not that it mattered, of course. Loki owed his obedience to all aspects, mortal and immortal, flesh and machine. He was slave to them all.

He rolled out of his basket and stumbled to his feet in the darkness of the workshop. The automated lights had turned off hours ago, and there were no windows or clocks, no way for Loki to know how much time had passed. His legs were numb, as unsteady as a new-born lamb. He had been in the woven basket for hours, unable to move, unable to stretch or change his position. But he had been summoned and he must not delay. He must not keep his owner waiting.

Off balance, Loki tripped and crashed to the ground. He hit his cheek on the hard floor and scrambled up again. He clung to the tables and furniture as he passed, trying to stay upright, heading for the elevator.

He was never called to the penthouse. Never. He was a slave, a prisoner. Why would he go to the upper floors where his master lived, where he entertained his guests? There was no reason, unless he was to serve there, and so far his master had not required any such personal service from him. Perhaps that would change now. Perhaps this mysterious visitor wanted such things, and his owner had no reason not to oblige him. Perhaps Loki was to be a gift. Perhaps he was to be sold.

Loki’s thoughts spiralled, and he was shaking when the elevator door opened, the bright interior dazzling to his dark-accustomed eyes. Despite his alarm, he was careful not to touch anything, not to get his fingerprints on the gleaming mirrors or the polished metal. He should not leave any trace of his presence here. This was not a place for the likes of him.

He glimpsed himself in the mirror that covered the back wall. His clothes were ill-fitting, Property of Stark Industries printed on his chest. His hair was tangled, as he had no comb or brush to smooth it down. He did his best with his fingers and the harsh soap he was given, but still his unruly curls sprang up. The woven basket had left imprints on his face, a criss-cross pattern on his cheek where he had laid his head. He stared at himself as the elevator rose, ashamed of what he had become. He had thought himself a prince, but this is what he truly was. A slave, utterly dependent on his owner for everything; for food, for shelter, for the clothes he wore.

Loki touched his neck with his fingertips. Under the thin skin he could see the dark outline of the implants. They were another mark of his status, of his master's leash on him. There was a web of them all over his body, a cage that he carried with him everywhere.

The elevator doors opened and Loki exited on silent feet, feeling entirely misplaced in the luxurious penthouse. There was rich wood and a thick rug under his bare toes, warm and cozy. A sensory memory sprang unwanted in his mind, of a time when such things had been common for him, but he pushed it away. That time was gone, and he could not allow himself to forget it.

“Come here.”

Loki hurried over towards the voice, and found his master and the visitor sitting across from each other on a semi-circular couch. A bottle of liquor was open on the bar, and the visitor held a crystal glass in his hand. He swirled the golden liquid around and around, a smooth circular motion, a gentle sloshing sound that seemed to mirror the beat of Loki’s heart.

He leaned forward, staring at Loki with naked curiosity. “Well sh*t,” he said, “Reindeer games, it really is you!”

Loki did not know if he was allowed to speak. He looked to his master, reclined on the couch, a look of pride and satisfaction on his face. They were so alike, and despite himself Loki looked between them, comparing them. The visitor was older, Loki had already noticed that, but he also seemed more worn, as though he had fought many battles. Where Loki's owner was fit and healthy, this other was leaner, showing the strength of hard work rather than careful exercise.

“Down.”

Loki's owner snapped his fingers, and without a thought Loki dropped where he stood; knees, toes, hands, elbows, forehead on the floor. He had been staring. He had not been behaving as he should. He checked himself over and over; he aligned his hands, palms down, fingers straight. Fear shivering through him that he had made a mistake and now there were two of them and they would find fault with him and he would be punished. Knees, toes, hands, elbows, forehead.

Loki held his breath, and heard a soft exhale from the older Tony. “What’s this?” he asked, addressing Loki’s master. His voice was colder now. Perhaps he had realized what Loki was, what his purpose was here. He was only here to serve. Panicked, Loki felt for the thread of his magic. It was still there, wound tighter every day, more delicate, dwindling and failing until one day it would snap, and then Loki would not be useful in the workshop anymore. He breathed. It was not today. He still had some purposes other than….that.

“I’ve been training him,” The voice was so similar to that of the visitor, but unmistakably the voice of Loki's owner. The edge of it slid under Loki's fingernails and he tasted it like blood in his mouth. His master's voice. Loki shut his eyes. Knees, toes, hands, elbows, forehead. If he performed, he would not be hurt. That was the bargain he had accepted years ago, once he had realized he had no other choice. Obedience, in exchange for mercy. At least, most of the time.

“Training him for what?”

The couch rustled as Loki’s owner leaned forward. Loki could smell the liquor in the air. He could smell food too, and the citrus-scented polish used on the wooden floor. Everything smelled so good. The very air up here was refined, clean and fresh and entirely unlike the stale, greasy air of the workshop and of Loki’s cell. Loki’s head was spinning, and he almost missed his master’s question.

“What are you trained for?”

Loki didn’t move, but his heart thumped in his chest. He had to speak. But what to say? What was the correct answer? What did his master want to hear?

“Anything you wish, master,” he tried that, speaking into the floor, not daring to raise his head from his submissive pose.

His master laughed, unsatisfied. “What specifically?”

Loki wracked his brain, unsure of the right answer. What was he trained for? He was trained to obey, to fear his owner, and to submit, but he could sense that those were not the answers his master wanted. When they were alone, perhaps. When Loki’s owner came to his cell to test his obedience and to train him personally, then he liked to hear such things. He liked to hear Loki’s submission from his lips, he liked whatever desperate words of abasem*nt that Loki could string together, but that was not what was needed now. Loki tried to be more specific.

“To assist you in your work, master, in any way that I can. To provide arcane energy. To clean your workshop. To test your machines. To be...to be useful, master.”

“What did you do to him?”

Loki stared at the floor, dark wood with an even darker grain running through it. The visitor wanted to know how he had been trained. How he had been turned into his pathetic, grovelling creature. Loki had no doubt that if he wanted a demonstration, his owner would give it to him.

His owner chuckled and avoided the question. “Just time and patience. Ready.”

It Loki a moment to understand that that was a command to perform the ‘ready’ pose. Although it was only a fraction of a second delay he panicked and almost fell backwards when he moved too fast, trying to catch up. He was sweaty, his heart was pounding at the sight of two Tony Starks, sitting at their ease on the cream couch while he debased himself on the floor between them, failing even at that, at the simplest pose his owner had taught him. Loki couldn’t breathe. He scrambled up on his knees and clutched his hands behind his back, sure that he was doing it wrong, that he was going to be punished.

“Take it easy there, Prancer.” Loki looked up at the visitor before he could stop himself, finding golden-brown eyes looking back at him with an odd mixture of curiosity and compassion. Loki found himself frozen, fixated by that look. It had been so long since someone had looked at him as anything other than a worm beneath their heel. Loki could not help but drink it in.

Loki’s master shifted in his seat and the older Tony looked away, gesturing Loki to look back down at the ground. Loki did, unsure why the implants had not already triggered to punish him for his mistake. He waited in the ready position, while the two Tony Starks looked at each other, a strange tension rising between them.

Chapter 5: Not A Problem

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“So he’s dead in your world,” his owner said, gesturing to Loki, without a care that he could hear them.

A slow nod, and the older Tony sipped his drink, the golden liquor shining in his glass. “Yeah, him and half the population of the universe,” he said. He rubbed his chest, as though remembering an old injury.

Loki raised his eyes again. Somehow the presence of this man drove out his good sense, his years of discipline and training. If Loki was dead, perhaps... “My brother,” he blurted out, unable to stop himself. The very idea that there may be another world where Thor had lived was too much for him to contain.

Almost before the first word passed his lips the implants fired, felling Loki like a tree. He crashed to the ground, the soft rug under him the only grace he had received in many months. As his nerves burned, he heard mocking laughter, and then nothing.

****

Loki came to in a haze of pain and confusion. The fur of the rug under his fingers transported his memory back to when he had last been in the penthouse.

It had been the day Thor died. The day Loki’s life had ended and this new existence of servitude had begun. He had not known it at the time, of course. He had known nothing but his overwhelming grief and anguish at his brother’s demise, and his rage at this arrogant mortal's attempt to capture Loki of Asgard. Loki had been tossed on a rug like this, perhaps this very one, immobilized by dozens of implants buried in his flesh. Furious, he had listened to his future master pacing the floor, bargaining with his allies, signing papers and making trades as the sun set over the city.

Tony Stark had ended the day with the gratitude of the realm, and with the unquestioned ownership of Loki, signed and sealed.

Loki had been dragged down to a cell, stripped and left there, alone and naked in the dark. Loki did not know how much time passed. Weeks, months even. Loki had explored the cell by feel, finding the small bathing room with the faucet that gave him water, but no food. The sleeping mat also had come later, at first there was nothing for him but bare metal floors. Loki tried over and over to transport away. He had not yet realized that every time he summoned his magic and attempted to cast he was simply giving his master more information. The scanners ran constantly, training the implants to control him better. Again and again Loki was punished, the shocks increasing, targeting his nerves more precisely each time they fired. He could not even cast a witch-light, he could not access his most basic and fundamental powers.

Loki had raged. He had scratched his nails to bloody shreds on the walls, screamed into the darkness until his voice was gone, until the darkness itself transformed into wild colors, into vivid hallucinations of his mother, of his brother, even Odin himself appearing before him, casting judgement and disappointment upon him.

He did not know how long he suffered in the dark like a blinded animal. He was little more than a beast, starved and feral, when he finally heard his captor’s voice, offering a bargain. He would turn on the lights, and all Loki had to do was say please.

That was how it had begun, step by step, one compromise after another, for light, for food, for mercy, for the thin mat to sleep on. Anytime Loki refused, he was shown that his cooperation was irrelevant. His master would have his will, one way or another.

Now here Loki was, back in the penthouse, on that same rug, broken and trained, a disciplined, obedient pet instead of a raging beast.

Loki had fallen far, but he still could fall further, and he was well aware of his precarious position. As soon as he recovered control of himself he struggled back to the ‘ready’ pose, his limbs weak and shaking from the shocks he had earned for speaking out of turn.

His master and the visitor were standing now, looking down at him. Loki cringed, willing himself to be smaller, to be less obtrusive, to be invisible and ignored. But it was not to be. Loki’s master was flushed, his mouth a thin line, no doubt angry with his slave for triggering the implants and misbehaving in front of his guest. For some reason, the older Tony Stark looked angry too, his cheeks pale, his movements harsh and abrupt. A long silence hung over them, then the visitor exhaled a long breath and turned to Loki.

“Thor’s alive,” he said, and Loki’s heart burst in his chest. His brother was alive! Alive! Perhaps in this other world, Loki himself had taken Titan-Breaker and had taken Thor’s death as well. Perhaps the tiny machines had gnawed through his own flesh instead of his brother’s, leaving Thor alive, keeping the branch of Yggdrasil from withering away.

Loki’s owner huffed and turned away, picking up the bottle from the bar and refilling his glass.

“You don’t need to feel sorry for him,” he said, gesturing at Loki. “Unless on your world he didn’t invade Earth twice, try to kill Thor multiple times, lead an alien army to New York and make a deal with Thanos to give him the Tesseract in exchange for his help conquering the planet.”

The visitor shrugged, looking down at Loki. “Yeah he did all that,” the man said, “But he died fighting Thanos, or at least that’s what Thor said.” Loki’s eyes prickled with tears and he tried to blink them away. His brother spoke well of him. He had died an honorable death, in this other world. He had died as a warrior, even though it seemed he had failed to kill the Titan. Loki’s master strolled over, slung an arm around the visitor’s shoulders, both of them standing over Loki now, looking down at him.

“Not here,” Loki's master said, sipping his drink. “Here, he’s a coward and a traitor, and if it wasn’t for what was left of his magic he would have no use at all except to sit on my co*ck.”

The visitor gasped and stepped back, shaking off the friendly arm around his shoulders. Loki’s face was wet now, the truth of his station spoken out loud. It mattered not what his counterpart in another world had done, here, he was nothing. He was less that nothing. He was destined for Nidhogg’s maw and nothing could change that.

“You’re f*cking him?” the visitor hissed, outraged that his alternate self would sully himself with a creature such as Loki.

Loki’s owner ran a hand through Loki’s hair, his fingers snagging on the tangles and pulling at his scalp. He grabbed a handful and yanked, forcing Loki to scramble forward on his knees, off balance and terrified.

“Not yet,” he said, seeming to enjoy this visitor’s outrage, “But he wants it. Don’t you?” He shook Loki by his hair and Loki knew the correct response, although he had never been trained to give it.

“Yes master,” he gasped, “Please, yes I do.”

“Floor,” Stark ordered and let go of Loki’s hair, dropping him to the rug where he spread himself out, arms and legs stretched as far as he could. A weight pushed down on his back and it took Loki a moment to realize that it was his master’s foot, that he was stepping on him, that he was under his owner’s heel literally as well as figuratively. Loki didn’t move. He barely breathed, his shallow gasps the only sound in the room.

“Wow,” the visitor said, his voice thick with restrained emotion. “I guess he’s not the only thing different in this universe, huh?”

“Is that going to be a problem?” Loki master asked, his tone solicitous, his foot pressing into Loki’s spine. "I would hate to have to send you back to your world without my help "

The older Tony threw himself back onto the couch, bringing himself back into Loki's line of sight. He looked down and there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something could have been regret, if Loki had been worth such an emotion.

“No,” the visitor said, shaking his head, looking up at his counterpart, “Not a problem. He’s your prisoner, do what you want. He's not important.”

Loki closed his eyes. He didn't know what else he could have expected. This other Tony Stark owed him nothing, and he was right. Loki was not important.

Chapter 6: Training

Chapter Text

That night, Loki was in his cell being fed when the door opened with a harsh clang, and his owner entered.

"Don't move," he ordered. Loki froze, his mouth and throat filled with the plastic co*ck that delivered his liquid meals. He blinked, unable to breathe, trying to communicate his predicament, but his owner was unconcerned. He stood over Loki, put a knee in his back, and pushed.

With a helpless whine, Loki slid further down on the dild* until his nose was pressed against the wall, his jaw stretched wide.

"Stay."

Loki stayed, swallowing convulsively around the intrusion, his chest heaving, fighting the urge to gag. He could hold his breath for longer than a human, but not forever. He had half-expected this visit tonight. He had not behaved well in the penthouse, he had spoken out of turn when he asked the visitor about his brother. Such behavior was not acceptable, but Loki had hoped that his master's guest would perhaps distract him from delivering his well-deserved training. But it was not to be. Loki's fate had found him, as it always did.

Loki could only see the few inches of the wall before his face. Already his vision was blurring, stars spinning at the edges of his eyes, the lack of oxygen making itself known. He swallowed again, trying to clear his airway. There was perhaps some angle he could hold himself at, that would allow him to breathe even with the dild* so deep in his mouth, but he could not move to find it. All he could do was choke and drool and swallow his master's co*ck.

Loki's arms were wrenched back, wrist to elbow, and bound there, straining his shoulders and forcing him to arch his back. Loki did not move or resist as his arms were strapped behind his back. Even if he had not had the plastic co*ck in his mouth, Loki would not have questioned it. His master wished to train him, to teach him, and that was his absolute right. Loki would obey, and he would learn. He would perform as he was required to. He had no doubt about that. There was no resistance in his heart, no secret chamber that he kept for himself. Not anymore. Loki was his master's creature.

A hand gripped his hair and dragged his head back until Loki was able to gasp for air, dizzy and red-faced. The dild* popped from his mouth, shining and slick with his saliva.

"You're getting good at that," his master said, his tone approving, and for a moment Loki felt the praise as warmth on his bare skin, rare and valuable. He had done well, he had been pleasing.

But then reality returned.

"Shame you couldn't keep quiet upstairs. Guess you need to be reminded what your mouth is for."

Loki hung his head. There was nothing he could say, no apology that he could make that would earn him the slightest measure of forgiveness. Loki's master did not forgive. He punished, and he trained, and he got what he wanted. Loki had stepped out of line, up in the penthouse, and now he would experience the consequences.

Loki could see more straps and buckles from the corner of his eye, a bundle of red leather and shining gold. He realized that whatever this was, it was something his master already had prepared. Too little time had passed since Loki had been returned to his cell to perform his poses and to eat, for this to be a spontaneous training.

His master would have done this to him sooner or later, and Loki tried to take comfort from that. He would not have been spared this training even if he had minded his manners upstairs and not asked about Thor.

The straps around Loki's arms were tight, pinching into his skin. His fingers were already going numb, but he did not dare wriggle them to try to get the circulation moving. He did not dare do anything but breathe, and stare at the plump, pink dild* in front of his face.

With a surprisingly tender gesture, Loki's hair was smoothed back. It snagged on his owner's fingers, dry and brittle, and Loki again was ashamed of his shabby appearance. Never mind that he did his best. Never mind that the man responsible for his current state had every power to remedy it, if he had any wish to. Loki held still, as his master had told him to, kneeling on hard metal; naked, cold, hungry, and afraid.

Loki flinched as the red straps were lowered over his head, but the implants buzzed and he controlled himself. Flinching was not allowed. He was to accept whatever his master did to him, without question, without complaint, and without attempting to avoid it.

Loki was confused, though. At first he thought the straps would form an elaborate collar, but they didn’t. Buckles and straps tightened around his head, and Loki's stomach dropped as he realized that it was a harness, like a horse's bridle. The straps didn't cover his eyes or his mouth, and Loki didn't understand the purpose of it until his master looped his fingers into the heavy gold rings hanging by his jaw, said, "Open wide," and pulled Loki's mouth back onto the dild*.

The rings connected to the base of the dild* by two hooks. Loki was caught, the dild* in his mouth, the harness preventing him from raising his head. Loki could not help himself; he struggled, he fought it, but the hooks tightened with a mechanical whine and dragged his head down farther, shoving the dild* into his throat and choking him. Loki sputtered and gagged. His legs slid out from under him in his panic, which only pulled on the hooks harder and resulted in them tightening more. Loki had thought himself strong, once, but his natural strength was nothing compared to the power of his master’s machines. Loki was like a child fighting against their parent. Overpowered, outmatched, overwhelmed.

His master chuckled. "I'll let you figure that out," he said, amused at Loki's desperation and confusion.

His scornful words gave Loki the clue he needed, though. That there was something to figure out; that Loki was not just intended to choke and suffocate for his master's pleasure. Loki stopped resisting. That was always the lesson. Don't fight, just obey. His master would have his way. Loki stopping pulling back on the straps, got his legs back under him and the hooks relented slightly. It was enough that Loki could raise himself back up on his knees and angle his head to breathe. He held his mouth open, wheezing for breath, the plastic co*ck pushing his tongue down, filling his mouth and grazing the back of his throat. Another fraction of an inch and it would block his airway.

Loki's master knew exactly what he was doing.

He ruffled Loki's hair, a mockery of affection. "Got it?" he asked, but of course Loki could not answer. All he could do was balance and drool and breathe. Already his back was aching, not to mention his knees, his thighs, his shoulders, his neck, forced to hold this awkward pose or to choke himself on the dild*. Loki tried to control his breathing. He was close to hyperventilating, afraid of this training, of his master's displeasure, of how long he would be kept like this.

Loki forced himself to nod. His vision blurred from the miserable tears that ran down his face, joining the saliva that dripped from his open mouth.

"Next time I have a guest, keep your mouth shut," Stark said, amusem*nt gone from his voice, "Or you'll have to keep it open. Understand?"

Loki did understand. He did, and he regretted ever asking the other-worldly visitor about Thor. What did it matter, if in some alternate universe his brother lived? If some far-away world Loki was a dead hero, rather than a living slave? His master was right, and he was right to train such irrelevant thoughts out of him. Loki was here, in this world, where his brother was dead and where he was nothing. He was a slave, and if his master wanted to turn him into this, into a wretched, half-suffocated creature, he could. If he wanted to strap him to a dild* and train him not to fight the use of his mouth, then he could. He could do anything he wanted, and Loki just had to take it.

Loki nodded, awkward and careful, trying not to trigger the harness to choke him again. He understood. He understood, and he would not make the same mistake again.

Loki's master paced around him, looking down at his slave. Loki could feel his eyes on his bare skin, taking him in from every angle. He had no idea if he was pleasing to the man or not, if his owner found him desirable or if he only found the idea of breaking him attractive. It didn't matter anyway, none of it was under Loki's control and none of it would change the way he was treated.

Stark knelt behind him, and Loki froze. He was naked, as he was always required to be in his cell. He was on his knees, in an awkward crouch, his arms bound behind him, his head strapped to the wall by the two hooks. If...if his master wanted to take him now, all he would need to do would be to unzip his pants and shove his way inside. Loki could do nothing to prevent such use, and his master's every thrust would shove the dild* down Loki's throat, choking him on the same co*ck that was f*cking his ass. Tears dripped down Loki's face, helpless, unstoppable and irrelevant. Loki was utterly in his owner's hands, and at his non-existent mercy.

Stark leaned over him, put a hand on the back of his head and pushed. Loki felt himself slide back down the plastic co*ck, his master's golden eyes watching the huge thing vanish between his lips, watching Loki's throat bulge out as he was forced to swallow it. Slowly, slowly he let Loki raise his head. Inch by inch the replica co*ck reappeared until Loki could breathe again.

His gaze intent, Stark pushed him down again and slipped one hand around Loki's throat. He slid Loki's head up an inch and then back down, feeling the hard lump move in his throat.

"Tempting," the man said. He repeated the action, working Loki helplessly on the plastic co*ck, squeezing his hand on his throat to feel it move inside him. Loki tried to hold back his broken whine, his hopeless plea for air. He could feel his master’s heat, coming off him in waves even though his clothes, his arousal at Loki’s debasem*nt all too apparent.

"If I ever get bored with super-models sucking my dick," Stark mused, "I'll come down here and f*ck your face like this. Would you like that?"

Loki forced himself to nod. He knew enough to answer such a question correctly. Of course the answer was yes. Of course it was.

"Not today though," the man added, as though it was of little consequence. "This is all about you. You just get comfortable now."

He let go of Loki's head and stood up. Loki reared back, forgetting that if he pulled on the harness it would pull back. He was only able to take a single gasping breath before the hooks tightened and pulled his head down, filling his throat again, the smooth plastic of the dild* sliding into his throat, implacable and merciless.

Loki's owner laughed and bent down to whisper in his ear, a mockery of intimacy that make Loki shiver. "We won't have to repeat this lesson, will we?"

Loki shook his head as vehemently as he dared. Tears dripped from his eyes and his nose was stuffed up, making it almost impossible for him to breathe now.

"I thought not," came the reply. As though content with his work, Loki's master stretched and yawned. "OK,” he said, “I'm all done here. You have a good night."

Loki's eyes widened and he almost screamed in horror as footsteps faded behind him. He twisted his head in the restraints in time to see the heavy door of the cell clang shut, leaving him alone. His movement triggered the device again. Before he could take another breath the hooks yanked his head down and forced his master's plastic co*ck back down his throat.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 7: Gratitude and Submission

Chapter Text

Loki was on the edge of breaking. The very edge. His body was a wreck, his muscles burned with acid, his throat was swollen and sore, his mouth tasted of blood. At any moment he would collapse from the strain of it. He was at the end of his strength and he could not hold this agonizing pose for another second.

But he had to.

It was that or choke. It was that or suffocate and die, and Nidhogg's maw awaited him, as open and welcoming as Loki's own mouth was for the plastic co*ck that tormented him.

Loki had no more tears. He had no more whines and sobs. It was only endless, grinding terror of his ultimate fate that kept his head up, and his airway clear. If he allowed his eyes to close, he would fall asleep, and if he fell asleep he would not wake up, so Loki forced himself to keep his eyes open. All feeling was gone from his arms, but the numbness was better than the pain from having them twisted behind his back. Loki did not allow himself to wonder if the feeling would come back. He could not think of the future, even five minutes into the future. All he could think about was now. Keeping his head up. Keeping his airway open. Acceptance. Accepting this lesson, and understanding what his master was trying to teach him.

Loki's master had even been kind enough to tell him the lesson, not leaving him to doubt.

Keep your mouth shut.

Loki had spoken when it wasn't his place to do so. He had questioned his master's guest, He had been disrespectful. He deserved this training, it would help him remember.

Keep your mouth shut.

It was a blessing of the fates, a rare, bright thread woven in the patchwork of his life, when without warning, the hooks in the wall released from the harness. Loki crumpled in slow motion, hunched over, his arms still bound. His mouth was an open wound, his lips cracked and dry, his throat so swollen and sore that his breath whistled in his throat. Tears of gratitude at his master’s mercy fell from Loki’s staring eyes. He did not know how long it had been. He had no way to tell time, and to him, it had been an eternity.

The cell door clanged open and Loki’s owner strode in. A wave of fresh, clean air came with him, soap and the bitter, enticing smell of coffee, and an undertone of metal. Stark carried a chair with him, he sat by the door and regarded Loki, sipping from the cup he held.

Loki was a limp rag. He felt boneless, but he rolled over onto his belly and put his face on the floor. He knew what was required of him. If he could have made himself any lower he would have. If he could have scratched out a pit of dirt and laid himself in it, he would have. If he could have squirmed on his belly under his master’s feet, he would have been glad to.

“Here.” Loki’s master snapped his fingers, and as though pulled by a magnet, by a force outside of his body, Loki squirmed and struggled and pushed himself toward the chair. He moved like a worm, his arms bound and useless, his feet slowly, laboriously shoving him belly down across the floor. Loki was almost sure he had blacked out along the way, maybe more than once. His vision faded and returned in waves, and each time he was closer to his owner.

He put his face on the floor at his owner’s feet. He was unworthy of mercy, but still he craved it. The alternative was unthinkable. If he was denied mercy, all that was left for him was to suffer. His master was the only force in this world that cared to keep him alive, that cared to keep him from Nidhogg’s jaws, that had some use for him. He had spoken out of turn and he had been taught the error of his ways. Would he be allowed to serve again? Would he be allowed to return to the workshop and use his magic to further his master’s goals? To help, in whatever pitiful, meaningless way he could?

Loki realized he was crying. His chest heaved with silent, sobbing breaths, but he did not make a sound.

The soft plastic straw held to his lips was absolution, and Loki let water flow into the mouth, almost forgetting to swallow in the rapture of it. He was given water, and water meant life. He was not useless to his owner. Not yet.

Quick, clever hands worked the straps holding his arms back, and when the buckles opened his arms flopped useless to his sides. He could not even move his fingers, but he did not want to, because he had not been told to. All he wanted was to know that his training was over, and that what he had learned was deemed acceptable by his owner.

Stark let him lie at his feet for a while, Loki did not know how long. Perhaps he blacked out again, because when he was roused by his master’s foot in his ribs, his arms were an agony of buzzing, shrieking nerves as the blood returned to its full circulation. Loki would have sobbed if he had the strength to do so.

“I want you in the workshop today,” Stark said, and Loki nodded, knowing better than to speak. He would go where his master wanted him. He would do what his master wanted him to do. He would obey, and submit, and he would live.

Loki was given more water, the cool drink harsh on his inflamed throat. He could hardly swallow it, even drawing a breath was painful.

“I’m going to help you,” Stark said, and then added, “Turn over.”

Loki rolled onto his back, remembering how his muscles worked, his strength feebly returning to him. He tried to assume the display pose that he had been taught, without even thinking about it. He just knew how his body should be arranged before his master; on his back, his hands by his head, palms up. Legs bent and spread, knees splayed. It was a muscle memory.

He was ungainly, his arms were as limp and and bendable as willow, his legs shook, his feet were not parallel, his knees were not at equal heights. The shuddering and trembling of his body was not desirable, it was not good behavior, but it was the best Loki could do.

The harness was still wrapped around his head, the two golden rings heavy at his jaw, and Loki froze as Stark leaned down and hooked the rings in his finger and thumb, rocking Loki’s head from side to side. So close, Loki could smell the soap-and-metal of his master’s skin, and it took everything in his power not to flinch. That smell came with its own muscle memory too. Despite all Loki’s training, despite his exhaustion and fear, that smell almost triggered his flight response.

But he had nowhere to fly to, except to his death. So he stilled, and presented his body in the display pose, allowed his head to be rocked, and waited.

His master’s other hand held something above his face, and it took Loki a few moments to focus on it, but even when he saw it he didn’t understand what it was. A short bar with loops at each end, as long as his hand. In the center, a hinged piece of metal shaped like the letter U. Loki stared at it, confused, unsure what it was and what his reaction was supposed to be.

Stark sighed. He tipped a final swallow of water into Loki’s mouth and explained. “It’s to help you today. He will be in the workshop, and I know you don’t want to make any mistakes.” Loki’s master spun the thing between his fingers, and then tapped it on Loki’s lips.

“Open up,” he ordered, and Loki did, parting his lips obediently. Despite what he had just endured, his training still forced him to obey. Stark slipped the hinged metal piece into the Loki’s mouth and clipped the looped ends of the bar to the harness. All at once, Loki realized what it was. It was a bit. The short bar between his teeth was wrapped in leather, and the hinged metal piece held his tongue down, silencing him.

Loki stared up at his master, silent and grateful. The buckles were adjusted until everything fit right. The bit was held in Loki's mouth, not cruelly tight. Loki would not make any mistakes. He would not speak out of turn because he could not. He would not need further training. His master was kind, and Loki suppressed the urge to kiss the ground under his feet. He had not been told to move, and so he did not.

Loki was sure his master knew, though. Knew of his gratitude and his acceptance. Stark stroked one finger along Loki’s jawline, gentle, his golden eyes unreadable.

“OK,” he said, “You go ahead and get cleaned up. Meet me in the workshop when you’re done.”

Loki’s owner left the cell, taking the chair and leaving the door open behind him. Loki didn’t look at it, or even look in that direction. He rolled to his hands and knees, then to his feet, weak and staggering, and made his way to the small bathing room. He had orders to follow. He was to be useful today, to attend his master in his workshop, and for that he needed to be clean.

The bit was far more comfortable than the dild*, even though it rubbed at the sore corners of his mouth. The metal plate was awkward to swallow around, but it kept his tongue still and prevented him from making any intelligible sound at all. His sore and abraded throat would have a chance to heal; perhaps by the end of the day, his every breath would not be painful, burning on its way to his lungs.

He gave no thought to the indignity of it. To being put in bit and bridle like a horse, to be trained and broken to his master’s will.

With slow, painstaking movements, his hands still shaking and weak, Loki got out his cleaning equipment. As he followed his usual steps, he stared at the basin with dull eyes. A splash of water on the tile made him startle, and it took him a long moment before he realized it was a tear.

He brushed it away, and unrolled the length of hose.

Chapter 8: Into the Chamber

Chapter Text

Loki waited outside the workshop. His master and his guest were inside. Loki could see their shadows and reflections, hear their muffled voices distorted through the thick glass. They were arguing, it seemed. The visitor was greatly animated, pacing the workshop, his arms gesticulating, pointing to Loki as he waited humbly outside the door. Loki could not hear their words, and of course he did not try to. He focused on the gleaming floor, only raising his head when he had to swallow around the bit in his mouth.

Loki did not let himself wonder what their discussion was about. It was no concern of his, his master would tell him what he needed to know. Loki could no longer ask any impertinent or irrelevant questions. It was a great relief not to have to worry about that, and the awkwardness of the bit was a constant reminder of his thankfulness.

Eventually the door opened, and Loki entered the room. The tension was thick; Loki could feel it crawling over his skin. Both men were watching him. His master's gaze was possessive, looking him up and down as though he could see beneath his clothes, beneath his skin and even into his mind. Loki was used to that gaze. Golden, and knowing, and backed up by scanners and analysis from his greater-self. There was little his master did not understand, when it came to Loki.

The visitor's gaze was not knowing, however. It was outraged, burning against Loki's skin as he stood in his thin clothes and bare feet. Loki swallowed, raising his head to ensure the metal plate didn't choke him as he did so. Loki did not understand the reason for the visitor's anger. Surely he could see that Loki had already been punished. The insolent slave had been disciplined and his master's guest would not be bothered by him again.

The silence hung in the air, the three of them a triangle of fear, anger and contented dominance.

“Charge the containment field.”

Loki’s master broke the impasse, and Loki was glad to have an excuse to turn his back and busy himself with that task. As usual, Loki's heart lifted a little when his magic flowed through his fingers. It was a bitter-sweet feeling; he could relish the feel of his power even as he knew it was no longer his to command, and that it would eventually come to an end. Every day the flow seemed less, the thread finer, the pool of arcane power that had once been bottomless now was shallow and finite. But for now, Loki could follow his master’s order; he could serve in this way for another day.

No one spoke, and Loki could feel eyes on him. He had done his best to shower and clean himself around the bit and harness, but he was sure his hair was a tangled mess. The effects of his sleepless night and a full day without food would also be apparent. Loki could not stop his hands from shaking, or stop himself from swaying on his feet as he directed his magic to charge the clear cube. And of course the bit in his mouth told its story well enough. Loki had been disciplined for speaking out of turn, and he was forbidden the use of his mouth until his master deemed the lesson had been learned.

Loki hoped that when his task was complete he would be sent to his basket, and be able to sleep there. It was risky to sleep in his master’s presence, but Loki was exhausted. The comforting darkness of his woven basket under the table was the closest thing he could get to safety, and he would not be able to keep his eyes open.

When the field was charged, Loki was not given that respite. The next order came right away.

“Into the chamber.”

Loki made the mistake of hesitating, unsure if he had understood correctly, but the implants buzzed and a sting of pain ran through his body. He had heard, and he had to obey. The door of the containment chamber swung open, and Loki shuffled inside.

The clear walls were thick, and the interior space was much smaller that the exterior appeared. Having no other orders, Loki assumed the ready position. The floor was the same transparent material as the walls, and it was no softer on his knees than the metal and concrete floors he habitually knelt on.

Outside the cube, Loki’s master and his guest were talking in low voices. Perhaps they did not realize that Loki could hear them. He did not want to, he knew he should not, but he could not stop the words from finding their way into his brain.

The sharper tone of his master came first. “He’ll be fine. He’s tougher than he looks.”

“It’s not that he won’t survive! It’s not even necessary to test it like this, I can give you the formulas…”

“Will you though? Or will you give me some bullsh*t? No offense, I know we’re the same person and all, but I don’t know you well enough to trust you.”

“Billions of lives are on the line in my world! I’m not going to f*ck around!”

Loki knelt silently as they argued back and forth, talking over and around him. He was ignored, kneeling inside the test chamber, waiting for his fate to be decided. It was not up to him. The two versions of Tony Stark would come to an agreement or they would not. Loki had little doubt that his master would prevail in any argument. He was ruthless, and the visitor seemed...not exactly kind, but kinder, at least. He had looked at Loki with sympathetic eyes up in the penthouse. He had answered his question about Thor. He had not hurt him, or mocked him, and even now he seemed to be arguing that Loki should not to be used as a test subject.

Loki gripped his hands behind his back. Despite himself, his eyes were drooping closed. Loki was just too tired, he had no reserves, and his nervous tension could no longer overcome his exhaustion. He faded out and missed a chunk of the conversation, before he snapped back into the present when his master yelled, frustrated.

“Take it or leave it, OK! If you want to know how I defeated Thanos, I want a fair trade. Inter-dimensional travel. If it works, I’ll give you all the info you need!”

“Fine! Fine. We’ll do it your way. Who cares anyway? He threw me out of a window, you can test it on him if you want. Fire it up!”

It wasn't even me, Loki thought bitterly as the containment field shimmered and clicked. He had not thrown Tony Stark out of any windows. He was certain he would not have been allowed to forget it if he had. It made no difference if he had committed that crime or not; he would be punished for it regardless. The machine around him hummed into life, and static filled the air. Loki's skin started to itch. He looked up, anxious, seeking reassurance but his master was not even looking in his direction. He was watching the screens, watching the dancing lights around him as he and his technology worked their Midgardian magic.

The visitor was watching Loki, though. Loki could feel his eyes on him, the same golden color as his master, so similar but so different. The visitor watched him with sympathy, frowning, and chewing on his lip. The machine whirred up to a higher speed and he seemed to make a decision.

“Wait, is that gag metal?” The visitor jumped out of his chair and pointed at the bit in Loki’s mouth.

Loki’s master nodded. “Titanium. Is that a problem?”

The visitor hummed and shrugged. “Maybe,” he said slowly. “I excluded as many variables as possible when I made the jump. No metal, no radiation, inert materials as much as possible...I’m just gonna take it off him. I don’t want him to f*ck up the test.”

Loki’s master looked uncertain, but the visitor grabbed a dust rag from a nearby table and balled it up in his fist. “This'll hold him,” he said. Loki's master rolled his eyes, impatient, gesturing for him to get on with it. The visitor pulled the heavy door open and leaned down over Loki, reaching for the buckles on the harness.

Loki did not want the gag off. He dug his fingernails into his palms and tossed his head, trying to delay, hoping his master would refuse to allow it. He clamped his teeth down on the bit. It was keeping him safe! It was protecting him from his own worst instincts. His master had given it to him, and this interloper had no right to take it away.

The visitor grabbed a strap of the harness and stilled Loki's head. Loki knew better than to pull away, or to actively resist. He had no choice in this, as he had no choice in any other aspect of his life. His preference was irrelevant.

But the visitor didn’t remove the harness. He stood in front of Loki, partially blocking his master’s view. Instead of undoing the buckles he patted the center of his own chest, making an unexpected hard tapping sound. Loki looked up, surprised, and met the visitor’s calm, steady gaze.

“Hold tight, Reindeer Games,” he said under his breath. Before Loki could react, he turned and slammed the door to the chamber. The sensation of static filled the enclosed area, and sparks lit in the corners of Loki’s eyes. The visitor grabbed Loki in his arms, pulling him close against his chest. The hard imprint of whatever device he had under his shirt pressed against Loki’s cheek.

Loki’s master was shouting in the background, running towards the chamber, but Loki could not make out the words. His head filled with static. Colored lights burned in his eyes, and he could not breathe. The horrible truth struck him like bile rising in his stomach, too late to stop it.

He was being stolen.

Everything vanished from view, and Loki fell.

Chapter 9: Welcome to Universe 1

Chapter Text

Loki slammed into the floor. It was a split-second later, but that second had been stretched out over a multitude of heartbeats. Loki's every cell had been pulled apart, stretched to the limit of breaking, and perhaps beyond.

Bright lights beamed down at him and Loki blinked, confused, unable to see past the glow. He wasn’t sure where he was or what had just happened.

“Holy sh*t Tones! Is that…?”

“Yep. And also nope.” The voice of Loki’s master...no...it was the voice of the thief who had stolen him! Loki looked over, the thief was sitting on the shining white floor beside him, his head in his hands.

Another man looked up from the floor level, and Loki realized he and Stark were on a raised platform. The lower half of the man's body was supported by a metal frame man, and he looked tired, his dark skin ashen. He put his hands on his hips and glared at Loki. Loki ducked his head, remembered he still had the bit in his mouth and raised his head in order to swallow. It was that or drool on himself, and Loki did not think that would endear him to his master…

His master wasn’t here!

Loki looked around frantically, as though expecting his owner to appear behind him, to step out from a shadow or for his voice to come from the ceiling. Loki had not been out of sight of his master in many years, either in person or through his greater-self. The implants under his skin tingled a warning.

The same ravenous dust that had killed Thanos and Thor was inside Loki, and he was terrified that it would activate and devour him. He should not be here! Loki tried to calm himself. He had not run away. He had not escaped or rebelled, or even thought about it. He had been stolen, taken away from his master against his will. Surely the implants would not punish him for that.

Would they?

Loki had to return! He had to get back to his master, and he would be safe. He tried to speak and remembered again that he had the bit in his mouth. The comforting bite of it between his teeth was so easy to forget, and Loki’s head spun with confusion. He couldn’t take it off. But he couldn’t speak with it on. His hands gripped the straps that secured the bit in his mouth, uncertain. The implants itched, stronger this time, followed by an unpleasant shifting sensation that make Loki grunt in alarm.

“You want that off?”

Loki startled. He was not alone. He was not paying attention to his surroundings, and that was dangerous for a slave. The tired man had come up on to the platform, and Loki had not even seen it happen. The two of them looked down at Loki, Stark’s expression wary but concerned, his companion with folded arms and furrowed brow.

No! Loki shook his head. He did not want the gag off. His master had put it on him, and he was the only one who could remove it. Loki was unmoored, like a kite without a string, like a bubble of soap that could pop at any moment. His master was not here, and Loki needed him! He moaned again, the implants vibrating, a threat under his skin, and Loki’s heart began to pound, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Stark tried to grab the buckles of the gag but Loki jerked back, sprawling on his back, his bare feet scrabbling on the smooth surface of the platform.

“What’s his problem?” Stark’s companion asked, unsympathetic. “Where did he come from anyway? We need to talk, man.”

“Don’t give me a hard time, Rhodey,” Stark said, rubbing his face, “I couldn’t leave him there. Quick update: Universe 163 is where the Evil Me lives. Like, supervillain style. Long story short, I rescued Prancer over there from myself.”

Loki shook his head, staring up at Stark wide-eyed. What he said made no sense, but there was no time to put it together. The implants vibrated at an increased pitch and Loki screamed though the gag, panicked, clawing at his skin. He had no time, and he didn’t know what to do!

“Boss,” A voice came from the ceiling, and Loki almost wept with relief before he realized the voice was female. It was not his master. “Your guest has neuro-nanite implants, and they are activating in increasing quantities.”

“Shut them down,” Stark ordered at once. He grabbed Loki before he could squirm away again, roughly unbuckled the harness and ripped the gag out of his mouth. “What’s happening?” he demanded.

“It’s a closed system, boss, I can’t shut it down,” the voice replied after a few moments, and Loki shuddered, knowing that he was doomed. That there was no way Stark could send him back to his master fast enough, even if he believed his explanation. He drew a long, sobbing breath, pain blooming under his skin, twenty-four points all over his body, exactly as his master had told him. He looked up at the man who had killed him, who even now held him in his arms, gentle like a lover, like a parent comforting their child.

“My master will kill me before he will let me go,” Loki whispered, “It’s too late. You can’t stop it. Thanos and Thor died this way, and now I will too.”

Loki held up his hand. Blood pooled under his skin, a purple and black bruise that grew before his eyes. Loki knew the same was happening all over his body. The dust had been unleashed and he was being eaten from the inside. It was slower than the death that had been given to his brother, but it was no more than he deserved, a slow death, so he could understand and feel what was happening.

“No!” Stark said, one hand fisted in Loki’s shirt, the other cradling his shoulders. “Rhodey! Do something!”

Behind him, Stark’s companion, Rhodey , scrambled back up on the platform, a red bag in his hand. He threw himself to the floor next to Loki, the metal frame that supported him clattering on the hard floor. There was a sting in his thigh as Loki was injected with something, but it didn’t matter what it was. No medicine could help. Only his master could save him.

Loki's head cleared. Whatever medicine he had been given washed through him like a bright wave, intensifying the pain but clearing his thoughts.

Only his master could save him.

Stark had stolen him. He had snatched away and taken him to another world, another universe. There was no way back. Slaves taken in battle were the property of their captors; you could steal a dog the same way. Loki took a desperate breath, his lungs tight, his vision already fading.

“Claim me,” he croaked. His breath wheezed in his chest and blood bubbled on his lips. He looked up at his captor. If he wanted a slave, Loki could live. And if nothing else, Loki wanted to live. He had to convince Stark. “I will serve you. I will be loyal...you can...you can use me…”

Stark paled, but the voice from the ceiling spoke up, “Boss, neuro-nanite activity is slowing.”

“It’s the shot,” Stark said, but his voice was uncertain.

Rhodey held up the brightly colored injector he had used. “Dude, I've only got one epi-pen,” he said, “If you’re gonna do something, do it now.”

“Please,” Loki sobbed, the eternal darkness of Nidhogg’s maw opening under his feet, “I beg you. Master.”

Stark hesitated, and the voice said, “Neuro-nanite activity increasing. Cardiac arrest in under twenty seconds.”

Loki squeezed his eyes shut. He was not wanted. He was worthless, and powerless, and he was going to die.

“OK, fine. Fine. I guess I took you, so you’re mine.” Stark's half-hearted agreement did nothing.

The voice continued, “Ten seconds.”

“sh*t. sh*t. Loki, listen to me. Open your eyes. Look at me.”

Loki ignored him. It was pointless. Stark didn’t want him. The implants knew he wasn’t Loki’s master, because Loki knew it.

“Five Seconds.”

Loki’s head was flung to the side by a ferocious slap, and his eyes snapped open to find Stark glaring at him. “Loki, you are not allowed to die. I forbid it. You’re mine, and I don’t allow my slaves to die." Stark gripped Loki and shook him, his fingers digging into Loki's flesh. "No dying, understand? You have to obey me. You’re my slave, and I...I am your master.”

Loki nodded, and slipped into darkness.

Chapter 10: Rest and Healing

Chapter Text

Loki was floating. Everything was calm and serene, and nothing hurt. To have no pain was a novelty, and Loki contemplated it for a long time. He didn't think that this was a dream, but he could not imagine any other explanation. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't cold. His joints and bones didn't ache, and the constant twist in his gut from his daily cleaning was gone. He was warm and comfortable and confused.

He briefly wondered if he were dead, but he knew in his heart that his afterlife would hold no such comfort. He must be alive. It was puzzling, but Loki was bone-tired, and so he allowed himself to drift.

He woke to voices somewhere near him. His eyes were too heavy to open, and so he didn't. He just tried to listen, maybe to understand where he was, and what had happened to him.

"... he's gonna be OK?"

"Yeah. I mean, I think so. It was close....tissue damage and blood loss....epi-pen, man?"

"...in doubt, epi-pen! Constricts blood vessels…"

The voices moved around and faded in and out. Listening to them was giving Loki a headache, and he couldn't keep his focus for long enough to understand what they were saying. He gave up and sank back into his restful state.

"...how long until he wakes up?"

"Could be anytime... I'll call you..."

Loki recognized his master's voice this time. That voice had commanded his every action for years; Loki was too well trained not to respond to the implied order. His master expected him to wake up, and so he must. Loki fought against the sleep that dragged at him. It was not the shallow, anxious sleep he was used to, but true sleep; deep and restful and enticing.

Loki's eyes fluttered open, the bright light dazzling him. His master was standing beside him, and a jolt of fear struck Loki's heart. He should not have been sleeping! He should not have been resting while his master was waiting on him. Loki tried to sit up, to scramble off the soft bed he found himself on and present himself on the floor where he should be, but he was unable to move. He looked down and saw thick leather straps around his wrists and ankles, holding him down on the bed.

He calmed down, relieved. If he was restrained, he was where he was supposed to be. If his master wanted him on the floor, he would have put him there. He was in his master's hands.

"Hey," his master said, "How're you feeling?"

Loki blinked, confused. His master didn't speak to him like that. His master gave orders and imparted information that Loki needed in order to perform his duties correctly. He had never once asked how Loki was feeling, and the question felt wrong in Loki's mind, triggering his recent memories.

The soft bed, the lack of pain, the warmth, and the fresh, clean clothes he was wearing. It came back to him in an anxious rush. Loki had been stolen, his old master was in a different universe, and Loki belonged to this man now. He wore the same face as Loki's former owner, but he was not the same man.

He was Loki's new master, and he was waiting for a reply. Loki licked his lips, forcing his lips and tongue to work, trying to banish the fuzzy, drifting feeling in his head.

"I feel good, master," he managed to croak, and his new master smiled, the expression almost shocking on that familiar face.

"Yeah I bet, you're on enough pain-killers to lay out a horse! You want a drink?" Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed a cup with a plastic straw and held it to Loki's mouth. Loki parted his lips without thinking, trained to open his mouth whenever his master wanted to put something in it. It took a moment for his brain to catch up and realize that he was being given water. He sucked the straw, the cool liquid like nectar on his tongue. Loki drank it as fast as he could, waiting for the cup to be snatched away. It didn't happen. Loki was allowed to drain the cup, sucking the last drops through the straw to his master's obvious amusem*nt.

"Wow, you're thirsty," he said. "I guess almost dying will do that for you. Well, bad news Prancer, I'm weaning you off the happy-drugs. And before you ask, more bad news - the cuffs are staying on. No getting up or wandering around. OK?"

Loki didn't know what to say to that. He raised his hands a few inches, letting the comforting weight of the cuffs catch him, holding him to the bed with thick leather straps. The light-brown cuffs were even lined with soft fur, gentle on his skin. He was comfortable, and safe, and he did not want the cuffs off. He wanted them on.

"Thank you, master," he said when it became apparent that he was supposed to say something.

His master looked at him with a strange, sideways expression, then shrugged and left the room. As he closed the door behind him, he said, "If you need anything, just ask FRIDAY."

Loki had no chance to ask who this Friday was, or where they were. But it was no matter. Loki did not need anything beyond the luxuries he had already had been given. The room was warm, the bed was soft, and Loki had no pain. He wriggled in his restraints, the hold on his wrists and ankles reassuring, like an anchor. He was in the right place, and his body was in the correct position. He had no duties to attend to other than this; to be bound at his master's will.

His mind at ease, Loki let his eyes drift closed.

***

When Loki became aware again, the pain was back. His body ached and burned. His brief respite was over. Perhaps it had been a dream, after all. Loki opened his eyes and found he was alone in the small room. He jerked his wrists, relieved to find that the cuffs were still in place; he was still unable to move from the bed.

His relief did not last long. His slight movement triggered a cascading reaction, his tender flesh screaming through his nerves, far more intense than his usual litany of aches and pains. Loki moaned and bit his lip, trying to silence himself. What he could see of his arms were blotched almost black by deep bruises under his skin. Blood had pooled where the dust had activated, where his flesh had been eaten away from his bones. He was bruised like a soft fruit. It was as though there was nothing under his skin but pulp and seeds.

Loki swallowed, nauseated, the room spinning around him. He looked away, tried to control his breathing, tried to think of nothing. Tried not to think of being eaten alive from the inside by millions of tiny machines. His brother's fate flashed before his eyes. Thor's last look had been to Loki, a silent plea to his brother for help that Loki simply couldn't provide. Loki couldn't stop the machines, not even with his magic. There were too many, and before he had even understood what was happening, it had been too late. Thor was gone.

"Hey, you're awake." Loki's master strolled into the room just as Loki let out a loud sob, unable to hold it back. It was not the pain, as much as the realization that he had almost met the same fate as Thor. He still would meet that fate if his new master grew tired of him or had no use for him. He had to learn what this new master wanted from him, and quickly.

"Hurts?" his master asked. Loki nodded, tears running down his face.

"Yeah, I'm not surprised, you look like sh*t. You look like you were hit by a truck, and then hit by ten more trucks. But hey, not a problem, right? You can heal yourself." Stark waved his hand over Loki, imitating a spell-caster. "Use your mojo. You have my permission, or whatever."

"Yes master," Loki said automatically, shocked that his master would even think of allowing him to heal his injuries. He could just ignore his slave's pain and force him to work regardless, and there was nothing Loki would be able to do about it. That was what his former master had done often enough.

Loki reached for his power, eager to end his pain before his master changed his mind. A moment later, he froze in horror and panic, his breath stopped in his chest.

The slender thread connecting him to Yggdrasil had snapped. Loki was holding one end of a broken string, connected to nothing.

His magic was gone.

Chapter 11: Colonel Rhodes

Chapter Text

Loki stared at his master, mute, his eyes wide as all the blood drained from his body. His vision narrowed, darkening at the edges until he could only see his master’s confused face. His mouth was moving, but Loki couldn’t hear him over the roaring in his ears. Loki squeezed his eyes shut and prayed, like a child, that when he opened them this would be nothing but a nightmare.

He had no magic.

His connection to Ygdrassil was severed. The only thing that made him useful, valuable and worth keeping had evaporated while he slept.

Loki knew what that meant. His master had told him often enough. If he was good for nothing else, he would be turned into a vessel for his master’s pleasure. His master would spill his seed inside him. In his mouth, in his body, he would...he would…

The pain was rising again. Loki’s abused body sent frantic signals to his brain to stop moving, to lie still and stop thrashing on the bed, to stop pulling against the restraints, but Loki could not heed them. His deep, bloody bruises were crushed against the mattress, against the leather straps, against his master’s hands as he tried to hold him down. Perhaps his master was going to make use of him right now. Perhaps he already knew; his owner always knew everything. The command to heal himself must have been a test, a trick. Stark already knew that Loki had no use other than that of his body. He already had him strapped to the bed, and the restraints that Loki had been so thankful for took on a far more sinister aspect.

The implants triggered. Even in Loki's pain and panic the harsh burn got his attention, jolting his body like a rag-doll, over and over until he was limp and crying, helpless, his muscles out of his control, unable even to beg for it to end.

The door slammed open and someone else rushed in, shouting. A moment later a needle stabbed deeply into Loki's thigh, and then there was nothing.

****

When Loki awoke, the bright lights in the room had dimmed to a soft yellow, and the restraints around his wrists and ankles had been augmented by additional straps across his chest and thighs. Loki lay silently, staring at the ceiling. Despite his knowledge of what was coming, and how he would be used, the restraints still comforted him. If he knew nothing else, at least he knew that he was in the right place, and in the right position.

He flexed his wrists and the soft fur of the cuffs brushed against his skin, a strange, gentle sensation that Loki could not help but repeat. He could not move much beyond that, and with the strap over his chest he could no longer even sit up. Loki wondered how he could induce his new master to gag him again. It would be better for him if he was not able to panic and say the wrong words, try to refuse or beg for mercy when his master came for him. With the bit in his teeth, Loki knew he would be compliant and pleasing. His master would be satisfied with him; he would keep him, use him as he desired and Loki would be safe.

“You’re awake.”

The voice startled Loki out of his reverie. His body jerked against the restraints, sending a wave of pain from head to toe. He craned his neck to see who was there; it was not his master’s voice.

The man who had twice injected him with medicine was sprawled out in a comfortable chair by the bed, idly thumbing at an electronic device.

He was awaiting a reply, eyebrows raised. Loki was not used the amount of talking he was expected to do in this place. He was expected to acknowledge such comments instead of waiting silently for orders. He was expected to respond to remarks that were not direct questions. It was confusing, and Loki could already tell he was frustrating his new master and his friend with the long pauses he left in their conversation.

“Yes, sir,” Loki said, after a brief consideration of the man's correct title. He was clearly his master’s friend and confidant, and as such he deserved a respectful form of address. Loki let his head fall back to the pillow, his neck aching. The bed whirred and moved; Loki found himself sitting up, the back of the bed raising up behind him.

“Thank you, sir,” Loki said, uncertainly.

“My name is Colonel James Rhodes,” the man said, “You can call me...well I guess we’ll stick with Colonel Rhodes for now.”

“Yes, Colonel Rhodes, sir,” Loki said after another long pause.

Rhodes leaned forward in his chair, the mechanical device around his legs not hindering his movements in the slightest. "Let me tell you something, Loki," he said, his dark eyes drilling into Loki's head. "Tony brought you here because he felt sorry for you. But it's not gonna take too many of those little freak-outs for him to change his mind about that. And I don’t give a single, solitary, damn about you. If you cause trouble here, which includes screaming and yelling and trying to break the restraints, I will do everything I can to convince Tony to toss you in a cell and throw away the key. He doesn't need that sh*t. You understand me?”

Loki pressed back against the bed, trying to escape that harsh glare. His time alone in the dark of his cell came back to him, seeping into his memory like water into a sponge. Weeks and months of nothing but darkness, hallucinations, and nightmares.

“Yes, Colonel Rhodes, sir. I understand,” he said, his voice low.

Rhodes was looking at him, a steady, even gaze that Loki did not know how to interpret. Loki lowered his eyes, waiting for his judgement. He did not know what kind of training Rhodes would deliver on him. He deserved it, though. His behavior had been atrocious and his master would want such disobedience trained out of him.

Rhodes sat back in his chair. “Alright, now we’re clear about that, you wanna tell me what that little sh*t-fit was about?”

Loki looked up, surprised. Surely a mild scolding would not be the only consequence for his behavior; for disobeying his master’s command to heal himself and not even explaining himself. Loki squirmed in the restraints, twisting his wrists unconsciously, tugging the bindings just to feel the strength of them.

“I cannot access my magic,” he eventually blurted out, unable to think of a better way to explain.

Rhodes was unfazed. “Uh huh? Well, tough luck. I guess you’ll have to heal the old fashioned way. And don’t worry, we're going to verify that. We’ll be putting you in a whole bunch of scanners just as soon as we can.”

Loki soldiered on. Rhodes was his owner’s representative. Loki had displeased his master so much that he no longer wanted Loki in his presence. He had to earn back his owner's regard somehow. “Please,” he said, “Please, tell my master that I will serve him as he wishes. I will...I will do as he desires. Anything. My master did not...I mean, my former master ... he trained me but he did not claim his rights."

Rhodes raised his eyebrows. "Huh?"

Loki closed his eyes and twisted his hands in the cuffs. He would have to make it clear; he still had value, even without his magic. He was not worthless, useless, disposable. "He did not take me. My master would be the first. To have me."

Rhodes choked and scrambled to his feet with a faint whine of machinery. “No!" he said, “No! Absolutely not. No way. Nuh-uh. That’s not happening.” Rhodes held up his hands, backed away from the bed, “Listen, I don’t like having you here Loki, but I can tell you one thing for absolutely certain: Tony’s not going to f*cking rape you. No one is, actually, butespecially not Tony. He’s a married man! And he’s just not going to do that. Not in a million years.”

Loki stared, taken aback by the man’s vehemence. He did not know what to make of his outburst. It mattered not that his master was married. It was hardly infidelity to make use of a slave. It was expected to do so, married men and women both enjoyed the use of well-trained bed-slaves. But for some reason, Rhodes did not want Loki to serve his master in that way. Loki could not speculate why. Perhaps he wanted Loki gone, he had already said he would prefer Loki to be locked up the dark again.

If Rhodes would not pass on Loki's plea, Loki would appear worthless, valueless, nothing but a nuisance. His fate would be sealed, and he could not allow that to happen.

Loki had no other choice. He was willing to serve, and if Rhodes would not help him find his place in his owner's household, Loki would have to find it himself.

Chapter 12: Citrus

Chapter Text

Colonel Rhodes produced a set of heavy chains from under his chair and attached them to the wrist and ankle cuffs, connecting wrist to wrist and ankle to ankle. He gave Loki a hard look, his hand hovering over the buckles that held Loki's cuffs to the bed.

“Bathroom time is a privilege,” he warned, pushing aside his light jacket to show Loki the weapon holstered at his waist.

Loki nodded. He understood, and he understood the implied threat. He would behave, or Rhodes would make him behave.

Rhodes released the cuffs from the bed. “You have five minutes,” he said, pointing to a door behind the bed. Loki swung his legs off the bed and stumbled to his feet. His ankles were connected by the short length of chain, making it hard to maneuver. The long period lying on the bed did not help, his muscles were stiff and aching, and it took time for him to get his balance and stand upright.

“Starting now,” Rhodes added, as Loki wasted precious seconds leaning on the edge of the bed.

The chain restricted him to a slow, careful shuffle, and the walk to the windowless bathroom seemed to take an age, his allotted time ticking away. The bathroom was bright, the overhead light almost blinding compared to the dim room he had come from. Loki did not have time to set his eyes adjust. He used the toilet first, taking care of his most immediate needs. He did not know when he would be allowed to return. His former master had granted him the use of the bathroom in his cell twice a day, and Loki was used to ignoring the calls of his body. Making a request to attend to his needs was unacceptable, and making messes was even worse. Loki’s former master had taught him that with great patience and much repetition until Loki had been able to abide by his simple rules.

Loki opened the cabinets but could not find anything to attend to his cleaning. There was a shower, but the water emerged from a metal pipe embedded in the wall, there was no hose, nothing Loki could use to clean himself. He searched through the cabinets again, hands shaking. Loki knew his responsibilities, but he was running out of time, he must have already used at least one of his minutes. If his master came to him Loki absolutely could not present himself for use without taking care of his cleaning. He could not. If he was in less than pristine condition...well, Loki already knew what Tony Stark was capable of. His twenty-eight days of the brutal cleaning machine was more than enough for Loki to be terrified of ignoring his training. He had no desire for this master to start creating machines.

“Three minutes,” Rhodes shouted from the other room, and Loki bit his lip.

He would have to ask.

He touched the doorknob. There was no lock on the door, of course, and Loki had no excuse or reason to hesitate. He had been humiliated many, many times before. This would be just one more step down that ladder. To beg for a length of hose to prepare himself to be taken by his new master. Was that any worse than what he had already done?

He had performed his poses hundreds of times; naked and shivering, contorting his body in whatever demeaning position his master demanded. He had fed from a replica of his master’s co*ck, sucking on it as eagerly and deeply as any whor*. He had parted his legs for his master’s inspections, he had been scanned and probed and photographed. He had been spread out in his master’s workshop, bound and helpless as his master’s machines penetrated him, pushing into his mouth and his ass with cold, inhuman precision. His master had not even watched. He had turned away as Loki wept, occasionally glancing over at the screens that monitored Loki’s training, otherwise attending to more important matters.

This was nothing, compared to that.

Loki opened the door. “Sir,” he said, his eyes lowered, his hands wrapped in the length of chain, twisting it around his own wrists. “Sir, please may I have...something…”

Rhodes huffed. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Loki. And two minutes.”

“To clean myself,” Loki added. He was unable to force more words from his lips, trapped between humiliating himself now, or taking his punishment later.

“There’s soap in the shower.” Rhodes said flatly. “Better hurry up.”

Loki gave up. The unsympathetic stare of Colonel Rhodes had defeated him. He could not ask that man for what he needed. Rhodes didn’t want him to serve his master that way, and he would no doubt enjoy his humiliation and then deny him anyway. The shower was his only option, then. He would at least be clean on the outside.

“The chains,” Loki said, holding out his hands, pretending that was what he had wanted all along, “I can’t take off my clothes.”

Rhodes scowled at him, but he saw it was a reasonable request. “Fine,” he said, “Come here.” Rhodes was cautious, unlocking the wrist chain first, then locking it back on before releasing Loki’s ankles for him to remove his pants. Loki stripped, hardly caring that Colonel Rhodes would see his bare flesh. Nudity hardly registered with him anymore. He had spent most of the past years naked, observed by his former master and his machines.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, careful to mind his manners.

“Two minutes,” Rhodes said, pointing back into the bathroom. Loki hurried, glad the man at least had not counted his time while he was undressing.

He stepped into the cubicle, turning on the water and pouring the soap onto his hand. He hurried to wash himself in his remaining time. The cuffs and chain were not easy to work around, but Loki managed, and just as Rhodes yelled “One minute!” Loki straightened up to rinse off, the pleasant smell of citrus surrounding him like a cloud.

Citrus.

Loki stomach dropped. He grabbed the soap bottle; it was a cheery orange color, pictures of fruit printed on the label. This was not for slaves! This was not for him; he had used his master's soap, and the smell of it was all over him! Loki scrambled to stand directly under the water, to wash it off, to hide the evidence of his crime, but he forgot that his feet were chained and the floor was slippery. He tripped and crashed to the floor, water cascading over him, his head cracking on the hard tile.

The bathroom door slammed open and Rhodes appeared, weapon in his hand. His stormy expression softened a little when he saw Loki crumpled on the floor of the shower cubicle, water raining down on him, his chained feet twisted up under him.

“You look like a drowned rat,” Rhodes said gruffly. He reached into the cubicle to shut off the water, and tossed a towel down to him. Rhodes tucked his weapon back in the holster and braced himself against the wall before he offered Loki his hand. Loki took it, expecting some trick, expecting to be helped up and then shoved back down, to be kicked or slapped. He was naked and chained and Rhodes was armed and was his master’s ally. He could do as he liked with Loki. If he had a mind to, he could bend him over the basin right here and relieve Loki of any claim to worth or value. His master would not want him after he had been used, after all.

But Rhodes did none of those things. He got Loki on his feet and steadied him, then he let go of him and stepped back. He did not say anything at all about the citrus soap and Loki did not know what to make of it. Surely he would not be forgiven for that lapse. More likely his master would be informed and his punishment would be decided by him.

“Get dressed,” Rhodes ordered, and handed him a clean set of the cotton clothes he had been wearing. Pale blue pants and a short sleeved shirt with no buttons. Loki unfolded the shirt and for the first time he noticed there was nothing written on it.

Property of Stark Industries was gone.

When he was dried and dressed, with Rhodes’ help with the chains, he lay back down on the bed and Rhodes re-attached the cuffs to the bed. The man was efficient but not ungentle, and Loki did not protest or complain. He did not give any indication that he had any opinion about Rhodes' actions at all.

“Will my master have any need of me today?” he meekly asked as the restraints were tightened around his ankles.

Rhodes snorted. “It’s past midnight, man,” he said, “Tony’s got better things to do than visit with you.”

Loki hung his head. “Of course,” he said, mixed feelings churning through his belly. He was disappointed that he would have no chance to improve his standing today, but relieved that he would not have to face his master. “Thank you for allowing me to use the bathroom,” he added, remembering to show the gratitude and deference due from a slave.

Rhodes pressed his lips together and nodded. “You hungry?” he asked.

Loki shook his head without even thinking about it. He was ravenous, but he could not accept food from anyone except his master. It was forbidden. Loki had been very well trained in that regard. His master decided if Loki deserved to eat or not. No one else. “No thank you, Colonel Rhodes, sir,” he said.

Rhodes turned to go. “OK then. Ask FRIDAY if you want anything,” he said, just as Loki’s master had done. He left before Loki could ask who Friday was, and where they were. He needed to ask for his cleaning supplies, and perhaps this Friday person would be easier to ask than Colonel Rhodes. Loki must take care of his body before his master found out that he had been neglecting that duty.

Loki had nothing else to do, nowhere else to be, no food to eat and no poses to perform. He closed his eyes, and was asleep in moments.

Chapter 13: Miss Potts-Stark

Chapter Text

When Loki awoke there was a child sitting on the end of his bed. He blinked, squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, but when he looked again she was still there. A small, dark haired girl, sitting crossed-legged in white pajamas with rockets printed on them. She had a banana in one hand, and an apple in the other, both half-eaten.

The smell of the fruit reached Loki's senses. He had not eaten in two days, and had drunk a single cup of water in that time. He would not have been surprised by a hallucination, but the sharp scent of the apple and the sweet scent of the banana were so vivid, so intense, that he knew she must be real.

“Hello,” the girl said, a slight lisp softening her voice, “My name’s Morgan, what’s yours?”

Loki twisted his hands on the cuffs, unsure what to do. He had no idea who this child was, but he was very sure that he was not allowed to speak to her, to be with her, to subject her to his presence. She had the clean, healthy look of the well-loved, well cared-for daughter of someone important. Loki's head was pounding, he could not think straight, and the smell of her fruit filled his mind. Loki's gut crawled. He was going to be punished for this, he knew it. He just didn't know what to do to lessen his punishment as much as possible.

The girl took a thoughtful bite of her apple and tipped her head to the side, studying Loki with golden-brown eyes that suddenly looked horribly familiar.

“Are you stuck?” she asked, setting down her banana and reaching one small hand for the cuff around Loki’s left ankle.

“No!” Loki said, spurred into a response by fear that she might touch him, that her clean fingers might come into contact with his clothes or skin and then his punishment would be ten-fold. “Please don't. I am where I am supposed to be."

"Are you in trouble?" The girl asked, lowering her head and folding her arms.

Loki stared at the ceiling. How to even answer that question? He certainly was in trouble, because he should not be conversing with his betters, but he could not tell the girl to go away. He could not be rude to her or upset her, but she was a danger to him, if she was who Loki thought she was.

"Is your father Tony Stark?" Loki asked, his mouth dry, the pain in his head intensifying at the very thought of what her answer would be.

Morgan nodded. She took a bite of her apple, and added "I'm Morgan Potts-Stark," pointing at herself.

Loki moaned under his breath, his heart pounding with fear. His master's daughter was in his room. He should not be speaking to her. He should not be looking at her. He should not even be inhaling the same air as her. He pulled on the cuffs, reassuring himself that he was still restrained, that at the very least he was in the correct place, in the correct position.

"Miss Potts-Stark," he said, keeping his eyes closed, trying not to breathe in her direction. "You honor me with your visit, but perhaps it is time for you to go back to your parents. Will they not be looking for you?"

Morgan shrugged, "I got hungry," she said, as though that answered Loki's desperately politely phrased request for her to leave. Loki wracked his brain for another option, but he realized it was too late when he heard running feet in the hallway. The door to the room slammed open and his master burst through, a glowing gauntlet on one hand. He scooped Morgan off the bed and cradled her in his arms, checking her all over.

"Are you OK, sweetheart?" he asked, "What happened, what did he say to you?"

To Loki's immense relief and gratitude, the little girl scowled and said in subdued tones, "He wouldn't tell me his name, and he told me to go back to my parents!"

Stark shot Loki a confused look, but he turned and strode out, ignoring Loki where he lay bound to the bed. As he left Loki heard, "Missy, your mother is going to have words with you..."

Loki was vibrating with anxiety and fear by the time Stark returned. Loki knew what was coming, and he had been left to anticipate it for over an hour.

Training.

He would be trained on the proper way to behave before his master's daughter. To supplicate himself, to submit, to be silent and unnoticed. Never mind that he was in these restraints and unable to move. Never mind that the girl had found him, not the other way around. It mattered not the slightest bit. Loki would be trained, and he would learn his lessons and he would thank his master for his discipline. Loki twisted his hands in the cuffs, finding the edge of the stiff leather under the fur lining and rubbing it against his skin, calming himself with the repetitive sensation.

Stark shut the door behind him and threw himself into the comfortable chair Rhodes had occupied.

"This goes without saying, but I'm gonna say it anyway," he said, his face a cold, flat, mask. "If you do anything, anything to her, if you touch a hair on her head, if you cause her to shed a single tear, or cause a single scratch or bruise, I'll put a f*cking bullet in your head. I'll use as many bullets as it takes to end your miserable life. Understand?"

Loki nodded, his eyes watering. "Yes master," he said because that is what he had to say. But he could not help pleading, "Master, I would never hurt a child! Never!"

Stark sneered at him. "You killed eighty-seven people in New York, and sixteen of them were children, so don't give me that bullsh*t."
Stark slammed the door behind him, and Loki swallowed down his desperate sob. It didn't matter, and there was no one to hear him, but he whispered it to himself anyway. "That wasn't me."

Chapter 14: Broth and Bread

Chapter Text

Hunger was all Loki could think about now. Two days without food was more than he could bear, especially after years of minimal rations. Loki had no reserves, his body was trying to heal from the damage caused by the implants, but he simply couldn’t. The bed was soft and comfortable but Loki could not move, could not turn or roll or relieve the pressure on the injuries on his back. His belly was a churning, aching pit, and he could not even sleep to get away from it.

At this point, Loki would even welcome the dild* feeding device. His former master had given him barely enough to survive on, but at least Loki had known how to earn it. The rules had been strict and brutal but they had been clear. Here, Loki did not know when and how he would have a chance to earn his food, and the uncertainty was as bad as the hunger.

The room had no window; Loki had no way to judge the passing time, and no one came to see him. Loki closed his eyes. He could not stop the tears that rolled down his cheeks. From pain, from hunger, from despair and hopelessness. His new master had stolen him but he seemed to have no use for him. Stark was going to let him lie here alone; abandoned and hungry. Loki rubbed his wrists on the hard edge of the leather cuffs, the rough scrape grounding him, reminding him that he was alive. He still could feel and his actions had some meaning, even if only to him.

“What are you crying about?”

Loki snapped his eyes open, horrified. His master was in his room, and Loki had not even heard the door open! He blinked, forcing his eyes to focus, trying to dismiss the shadows that covered his vision. His master was here, and Loki was weeping to himself. He must be a pathetic sight. But he had been asked a question, and his master was waiting for his answer.

“I apologize master,” he said, his voice choked and tremulous. “I...I am sorry.”

For some reason Stark was concerned. “Are you in pain?” he asked, his brow furrowed, his eyes looking Loki up and down. He set down the tray he was holding and pulled up Loki’s shirt, checking the bruises under his skin, still deep and dark. "I thought you’d be all healed up by now,” he remarked, frowning. “These still hurt?”

Loki nodded. Of course they hurt; the implants had eaten away at his flesh all over his body. In his weakened state Loki was unable to heal himself, and he had no access to arcane energy to augment his natural healing.

“Hmm,” Stark said, biting his lip. “OK, well I’ll get you something for the pain after you move. You’re in medical right now, and as you found out, it’s not a secure area. I’m going to take you down to holding. No curious kids down there.”

“Yes master,” Loki said, because what else could he say?

“OK cool. Before we move, I have some questions for you, and some lunch.” Stark maneuvered a table over to the bed, and Loki saw what was on the tray. A cup of broth, a cup of water, a small piece of bread. He almost cried with relief. He was going to be fed. The food was right there. He didn’t care how he would have to earn it. Whatever his master wanted from him, he would do.

The smell of the broth was intoxicating, it was even warm . Loki could see the steam rising from the cup. Stark released one of Loki’s hands from the restraint and attached the heavy chain instead, giving him one hand to eat with. He raised up the bed until Loki was in a sitting position. There was a spoon on the tray, and Loki fixated his gaze on it. A spoon. He would be able to feed himself from a spoon. As soon as his master gave him permission, he would pick up the spoon and take his first taste of warm food in years. His first taste of anything other than the room temperature protein shake; gritty liquid frantically sucked from a replica of his masters co*ck. Loki's hands were shaking, he gripped the chain, winding it around his wrist, trying to keep his hand still.

“OK, questions,” Stark said, sitting back down in his chair. “Most important: Is Evil Me going to try and take you back?” Loki opened his mouth to answer, but his master kept talking, his eyes distant. “I did what I could to close the door behind us since we got back. I set up blockers for the quantum channels I used, so if he just reverse engineers from his readings he won’t be able to come here. But if he can figure out the underlying principles, and he probably can, because I did, he can come through another channel. I won’t be able to block them all. So. Question. Will he do it, or does he have more important things to do?”

Loki’s head spun. He had not even considered that his former master would not just let him go, that he would come and claim him back. He had uses for him, Loki knew that. Loki had been his source of arcane energy, something that as far as Loki knew he could not get anywhere else. He owed his new master the truth, even though it may not be what he wanted to hear.

“Yes master,” he said miserably, squirming in his cuffs, afraid that the tray with the food would be removed if his master did not like his answer. “He was using me for his work, to charge his devices with arcane energy. He will want me back. If there is a way to do it, he will try.”

“Yeah that’s what I was worried about.” Stark said, resting his feet on the base of Loki’s bed. “I mean, I kind of took you on impulse because that guy was an ass, so now I’ve gotta deal with it. Pepper and Morgan are heading out today with Rhodey. They don’t need to be around if he shows up. Um...I guess I shouldn't have yelled at you before. Morgan gets everywhere she's not supposed to be..." Stark trailed off, and Loki was unaccountably glad that the little girl would be taken to a safe location. It was not his concern, of course. His master knew best and his decisions were the correct ones. Loki's opinions were irrelevant.

Stark rubbed his eyes and asked a different question. "So Evil Tony seemed pretty bad. Was he...what was he doing to you?”

Loki shrugged. His master had been training him and using him as was his right. He had told Loki that many times. Loki was a slave, sentenced as such for his crimes on Earth. His master owned him, and there were no limits to the ways he could be used. But his current master was waiting, and Loki had to answer. “He had me work in his workshop...” he began, but Stark waved his hand.

“Yeah, I know that, but the rest of it..." He paused and seemed to change his mind. "Actually you don’t have to answer that, unless you want to. I guess it seemed like he was torturing you, and that’s why I took you. You don’t have to give the details, but was I right about that? I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

Loki stared at the silver spoon on the tray, the glint of the overhead lights shining on the curve of the metal. The spoon blurred and swam as Loki’s eyes filled with tears again. Had he been tortured? He had been trained, he had been forced into compliance through pain and deprivation. His body had been modified, the implants inserted into his flesh to control his behavior. He had been penetrated by his master’s machines, his insides had been flushed out with freezing cold water and harsh chemicals. His master had broken his bones to see how long it would take them to heal. He had been kept in utter darkness for weeks. He had been starved and beaten.

Was that torture? For a master to do to such things a slave, to someone that they owned? If Loki was better behaved, he would not have been hurt. His master had every right to train him, and to correct him when he did not perform to expectations. Loki twisted his wrists in the cuffs and tried to take a breath, his chest was tight and he was dizzy, confused, uncertain.

“Loki?” His master sat on the edge of his bed, a soft cloth in his hand. His touch was gentle as he wiped Loki's tears away. “It’s OK. You don’t have to answer. I guess I already know.”

Loki nodded, relieved that he did not have to respond, that he did not have to understand and categorize his experience. It was too difficult, too close, and he could not make sense of it.

Stark took a deep breath. “So what’s up, you’re not hungry?” he said, gesturing to the food on Loki’s tray. “You look like you need about twenty home-cooked dinners, but I don’t cook, so home-reheated-from-a-can is the best I can do. But it’s still good!”

Loki looked up, frantic. “Yes master!” he said, horrified that he had not appeared grateful enough. He had been too busy with his pathetic crying, and had unwittingly given some offense. The food would be taken away before he had even taken one bite! “Yes, please, yes I am very hungry, please don’t take it away! I will do whatever you want, just tell me what I must do, I do want it, very much. Please master!” Loki was babbling but he couldn’t stop himself. He hurt all over, and he knew that just a few spoonfuls of that warm broth would ease his pain. He wanted it so much, but he didn’t know how to earn it.

Stark looked at him, realization and compassion dawning in his deep brown eyes. “It’s yours,” he said, nudging the tray a little closer. “You don’t have to do anything. You can eat it.”

Loki sobbed with relief. He had permission to eat. His hand shook so badly that he fumbled and dropped the spoon, spilling a few drops of broth on the tray. His hunger was so close to being sated that he could not control himself. His fingers were numb, clumsy. He could not get a grip on the narrow metal handle and he dropped it again.

“Hey, hey, it’s OK,” Stark said. He eased the spoon from Loki's shaking hand. “OK, take it easy. I’ll help you.” He dipped the spoon in the broth and brought it to Loki’s lips, tipping it into his waiting mouth. The broth was beyond anything Loki had imagined; the taste and the warmth on his tongue sent more tears down his face. Before he could process that one bite, the spoon was at his mouth again, full.

His master slowly and carefully fed him the entire cup, tearing off pieces of bread and soaking them in the broth, letting Loki eat at his own pace until the meal was all gone. It took a long time, and Loki cried with every mouthful, overwhelmed with the food and with the simple act of being fed. His master was so kind, so gentle and patient. It was as though he had nothing to do other than to see to his slave’s needs.

“Better?” Stark asked, when the cup was empty and the bread was gone.

Loki nodded, desperate to show his gratitude. He could not fall to the ground as he wished to. He could not kiss his master's feet and supplicate himself. All he had were his words, but he tried. “Thank you master,” he said, "Thank you. Thank you. Please tell me how I can serve you. I will do whatever you want. Anything, master. Anything. Please don't send me back, I want to stay with you, I will be good, I will learn what you like, how to please you. You can train me. You do not have to hurt me, I swear it, I am willing, you can use me as you please. I will be glad to lie down for you, to give myself to you..."

Stark set the spoon down on the tray with a firm click. He gave Loki a hard look, and Loki shut his mouth at once. He was babbling again, and that was not good behavior. He did not have to offer himself to his master, because he had nothing to offer that his master did not already own. Anything he wanted from Loki, he would take.

"We're gonna talk about that," Stark said eventually. "About all of that. But for now just know this:I'm not him,OK? Whatever he did, whatever he told you, whatever threats he made, that was him, and I'm not him."

"Yes master," Loki said, unsure what that meant. Of course his new master was different. He had saved him, he had fed him from his own hands and wiped the tears from his face. He was not the same as Loki's former master. He was caring and merciful and benevolent, and Loki would do whatever he needed to do to earn his place with him.

Chapter 15: Home sweet home

Chapter Text

Loki fell asleep again on the way down to the containment area. The warm broth in his belly and the memory of his master’s gentle touch soothed him to sleep as his bed was wheeled out of the medical area and into the elevator. His master had not even re-secured his wrist to the leather strap, leaving the length of chain that allowed Loki to sleepily brush the last tears from his face.

When he awoke, Loki jerked his hands, seeking the comforting weight of the cuffs. Instead his hands flew up over his head, weightless. He slapped them down immediately, pressing his palms to the mattress by his sides.

The cuffs, the leather straps, even the length of chain were gone. He was unrestrained. He shrank back into the mattress. The smell was different, the pillow had a freshly cleaned scent, and the bed was not as soft. Loki sat up, slow and careful.

He was in the holding facility that his master has talked about. He was alone in a simple, clean room with three white walls and one thick glass wall across the front. Instead of a door, there was a glass cylinder with an opening on one side.

Something was wrong, but Loki could not quite understand what it was. He was in a cell and the door was locked, which was good. That meant he was supposed to be here. The cell was different than the room his former master has kept him in, but that was not the source of the wrongness. This cell was clean and bright, and positively luxurious for a slave. Loki lay on raised bench with a plush top instead of a thin pad on the floor. There was a table and a chair. The bathing facilities were behind a curtain that Loki could access at any time, not behind a locked door, only available on his master’s whim.

Loki swung his bare feet to the floor and padded over to the table. There was a neat stack of items on the white surface. A blanket, folded into a soft square. A plastic bag containing a toothbrush and a comb. A bottle of water. Loki let his fingertips touch the woven cotton blanket, the threads soft against his skin. He stroked the back of his hand against it, the delicate brush of it almost unbearable on the sensitive skin. He could hardly imagine sleeping under a blanket. For years he had slept naked and shivering, separated from the chill metal floor only by the thin padding of the mat his master provided.

He paused. There it was again; the feeling of wrongness.

Loki was dressed! He was dressed alone in his cell and that was wrong, wrong, wrong. He should be naked. His master wanted him stripped bare and hiding nothing when he was in his cell, and Loki had been very well trained to obey that rule. He struggled out of the shirt he was wearing, kicked his way out of the pants and folded them as neatly as he could with his shaking hands.

How long had he been wearing clothes? How long had he been here alone, unconscious and disobedient? Loki's heart lurched in his chest, his stomach churning. He had touched the blanket. He had touched it twice, with his fingers and with the back of his hand. He clenched the offending hand into a fist, shoved it behind his back. He should not have touched the soft, inviting blanket. He did not have permission, and his master would know that he had done it.

His new master would train him to respect his property, just as his former master had done. Loki had only made that mistake once before, but he had paid the price for it many times over. Twenty-seven times, to be exact. There were twenty-seven bones in the human hand, and Loki’s master had been interested to note that the same was true for Loki. His master knew the names of all of them.

Loki flexed his hand, the memory of pain shooting up his arm, pain and fever and every slight movement triggering the grinding of jagged bones inside puffy, swollen flesh. He swallowed, his head swimming with sick fear and panic. He had to prove to his master that he was well trained, that he was obedient and compliant and that he would be no trouble. Perhaps he still could avoid training.

There was no voice in the ceiling to tell Loki what to do next, but he knew anyway. He had done it hundreds of times.

He faced the glass wall and began. Knees, toes, hands, elbows, forehead on the ground. Fingers straight. Knees and feet parallel.

Down, he whispered to himself, down.

Chapter 16: House Call

Chapter Text

“What’s he doing?” Tony peered over Rhodey’s shoulder, looking at the live feed of the cell where he had left Loki sleeping.

Rhodes frowned and wrinkled his nose. “I’m gonna call it 'naked yoga',” he said, “with a side-helping of shaking and crying.”

Tony stared at the screen, his mouth open, the lunch and pain medication on his tray forgotten. Sure, it had taken him a while to find a good pain-relief option for Loki, based on his analysis of Thor’s physiology and Loki’s reaction to the sedative they had used on him when he first arrived. But he had hoped Loki would sleep, not that he would do...whatever he was doing.

“Jesus,” Tony said, watching Loki spread his painfully thin frame out on the floor of the cell. He was still covered in deep, dark bruises, and he very clearly had not been fed enough for a long time. “Has he said anything?”

“He’s muttering to himself but I can’t make it out. You sure you wanna go down there, man? You can send the food through the dumb-waiter and FRIDAY can check up on him.”

Tony shrugged. “I took him,” he said, rearranging the objects on the tray, lining them up perfectly. Sandwich, juice, water, banana, and the small cup of pills. “I’m responsible for him.”

Rhodes gave him a dark look but he turned back to the screen and rubbed his chin. “This guy’s messed up, Tones,” he said. “He needs serious help, not to have his slave-fantasy delusion indulged. He thinks you own him. He thinks you’re gonna...do things to him.”

“I’m not!” Tony snapped. “But you saw what happened when he arrived here. Those f*cking nanites nearly ate him alive! That was my fault. I can’t risk it. Until we get those things deactivated, he IS my slave. He needs to believe it, or who knows what’s going to happen to him.”

“Whatever you say, Tones,” Rhodes said wearily. “Glad you got Pepper and Morgan out of here though. You can’t keep that kid out of anything!”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony said, and a warm, soft smile spread over his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. After a moment he shook himself and straightened his tray again. “OK, I’m gonna go talk to him,” he said. “He knows about Evil Me, and he knows about Thanos. Maybe he can help us if we can get him to chill out even a little bit.”

Rhodes raised his eyebrows but didn’t disagree. He turned back to the screen and Tony headed for the elevator.

****

“Downward facing dog.”

Loki jerked in surprise at his master's voice coming from outside his cell. His sweaty hands lost their grip on the smooth tile and he slammed face first into the floor.

“sh*t! sh*t! I didn’t mean to distract you! Are you OK?”

Loki automatically curled up into down pose. Pain radiated from his nose, from his cheek, from his front teeth. Something was dripping from his lower lip, and he supposed it was probably blood. His master was here, and yet again Loki had failed to impress him.

“Hey, sit up please.”

Loki heard the command, but the closest pose he could find was ready. He got up on his knees, hands behind his back, head down.

“sh*t. Oh well, so much for containment. FRIDAY, send up an ice pack,” Stark ordered.

“Sure thing boss.” It was the female voice again. Loki realized that this was the 'Friday' that his master and Colonel Rhodes had mentioned. Not a person at all, but the voice in the ceiling. Loki shivered. He would not be able to ask her for anything. The voice in the ceiling was his master's greater-self, and asking her would be the same as asking his master directly. Loki bit his lip and tasted copper. He still had no way to obtain the supplies that he needed, short of begging his master for them. Perhaps that is what he was supposed to do.

Before his thoughts could spiral too far, Loki saw Stark stand in the cylinder, a tray in his hands. The cylinder rotated and the opening moved to Loki’s side, delivering his master into the cell with him. Loki twitched and resisted taking the down pose again. Or floor. Or anything more appropriate than ready. He was in the pose he had been ordered to. He was naked and presented according to his master's wishes. He took as deep a breath as he could manage.

He was ready for his training.

“OK,” Stark set the tray down on the table, next to the blanket. Loki frantically wondered if his fingers had left any residue on the soft cloth. If he had smeared it or sullied it, that would only add to the training that his master had come to deliver. A hatch in the wall opened and Loki twitched. He did not know what he expected his master to pick up, but the small cloth wrapped bundle was not it. Stark sighed and looked back at Loki. “You're bleeding,” he said, “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Um...so I’m guessing that wasn't yoga for relaxation?”

“Yoga, master?” Loki asked. His lip stung as he spoke, but he ignored it. He was unsure what Stark’s question meant, unsure what was in the bundle and how much it was going to hurt.

“Yeah, yoga,” Stark said, tossing the bundle onto the tray. To Loki’s utter shock he got down on the floor and performed a perfect downward facing dog pose. Back straight, knees locked, heels down.

Loki fell back on his ass, his head spinning, his eyes wide and staring. “Master…” he stammered, but he could not even finish his thought. He could not understand what he was looking at. His master was performing the pose of a slave, the same pose Loki had been forced to perform, to hold for hours and agonizing hours. How was that possible?

Stark dropped back to the floor, an easy smile on his face, as thought he had done nothing of note.

“Still got it!" he said, but the smile faded from his face as he saw Loki's stunned expression. He stood up to grab the tray and the cloth wrapped bundle from the table. "How about you put on some pants, and we can talk about it?” he suggested.

Chapter 17: Appleberry Juice

Chapter Text

Put on some pants.

Loki was required to dress, but he was in his cell, which meant he was required to be naked. But his master had ordered him to dress. Loki’s head hurt, and the pulpy, bloody bruises all over his body throbbed. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his split lip, which stung and oozed.

“Alright, stop.”

Loki stopped, frozen in place, fallen back on his hands, sprawled on the floor where he had fallen. He looked at his master’s feet, clad in soft, faded shoes. His master was dressed, and Loki was naked, and that was how it was supposed to be.

Stark sighed, “Something’s wrong. Tell me what it is.”

Loki was relieved to be given a direct order, one that didn’t contradict any other orders and perhaps would help him out of this situation.

“Master,” he said, his voice low, humble. He did not want to accuse his master, only inform him that Loki could not follow both of his orders. “Please forgive me for my disobedience. I must be naked when I am in my cell.”

Stark crossed his legs, sat up straight on the floor, the tray of food and medicine between them.

“Uh huh,” he said. “Says who?”

“You…” Loki began, and then realized his mistake. His breath stopped. His new master had NOT ordered him to be naked. He had not trained him over and over to remove his clothes when he entered his cell. He had not hosed him down with freezing water when he had refused. He had not left him in his dripping wet clothes as the temperature in his cell plummeted and his breath hung like smoke in the air, burning his glamored lungs like fire. He had done none of that, but he had ordered Loki to dress, and Loki had not obeyed.

With a cry, Loki flung himself across the room to the chair where he had folded his clothes. He stumbled and fell, the pants tangled around his ankles, luckily avoiding hitting his head on the table. Stark watched him with cool, calm eyes as he struggled and finally got the pants on. Heart pounding, he was back in down pose before he even thought about it. There was a long pause, Loki’s frantic breathing the only sound in the cell.

Eventually Stark spoke. “OK, good job. First lesson: I’m not him. You remember that one?”

“Yes master,” Loki replied immediately, ashamed that he had already forgotten what his master had told him. He clenched his hands into fists, digging his ragged nails into his palms, but even that was wrong. His palms should be flat to the floor, fingers straight. He could do nothing right, and he was practically begging for training.

“Come back here,” Stark said, his voice mild. He did not sound angry, at least, but Loki knew that was no indication of what would come next. A master did not have to be angry to train their slave. Loki crawled, head down, as small as he could make himself, and knelt before his owner. How had he messed up so badly, so quickly?

“Sit down, opposite me,” Stark said, “Copy me. I want you to sit just like I’m sitting.”

Loki cautiously looked up, unsure what he would find. Stark was right where he had been, his legs crossed, his hands resting in his lap, palms up. Loki did his best to copy him. He was stiff and awkward where his master was loose and comfortable, but it was a reasonable attempt. Sitting upright, Loki was taller than his owner so he hunched his shoulders and ducked his head to bring himself to the correct height.

“Head up,” Stark ordered at once, “Back straight. Look at me. There you go. This is the Cheater’s Lotus pose. I’m sure it has a proper name, but that’s what I call it. Pepper can do the full lotus but my knees are too messed up for that. Too many superhero landings, you know? Anyway, this is a new pose for you. Cheaters Lotus. Add it to your list. Are you ready for lesson two?”

Loki nodded, bewildered at his master’s ability and willingness to perform such poses. He even claimed his wife would do it too. Loki simply did not know what to make of it, but all he could say was “Yes, master.” In truth he was far from ready for lesson two, but he was unable to express anything other than obedience to his master’s will.

“You’re mine now,” Stark said, leaning forward in his cheater’s lotus pose. “Mine, not his. His rules don’t apply anymore. Mine do. Understand?”

“Yes master,” Loki nodded. As he heard his master’s words, the pulsing, throbbing pain of the implants seemed to lessen, as though eased by his master’s claim. Stark wanted Loki to follow his rules, not his former master’s. He expected Loki’s obedience, and it was his right to retrain him to his own preference. Loki was used goods, already broken in, already trained. He was not a clean slate for his master's lessons, but that was not his master’s problem, it was Loki’s. He would have to learn these new rules, and adhere to them.

Stark nodded and nudged the tray towards Loki. “For your face,” he said, pointing to the cloth wrapped bundle. Loki cautiously picked it up and felt cool, damp moisture on his fingers. He held it to his face, to his bruised and cut lip, his swollen cheekbone, and let out an involuntary sigh as the pain lessened.

Next, Stark pointed to the paper cup that held six white pills. “Those are for the pain, they’ll send you to sleep and you won’t feel anything for the next twelve hours or so. Take them after you eat. The food’s for you, you can eat it.”

Loki reached out his fingers, touched the very edge of the plastic tray. Nothing happened. He pulled it a few inches closer to him, and looked up at his master, waiting to see when it would be snatched back, when his hand would be slapped, or worse. Twenty-seven bones, he thought to himself. Another inch, and all he saw was his master’s patient nod.

Loki could not hold it back anymore. “I touched your blanket,” he blurted out, releasing the tray and dropping the cool cloth. He hung his head and wrapped his arms around himself, tucking his hands under his arms.

Stark looked over at the table, the neatly folded blanket. “Hmm,” he said. He took the bottle of juice off the tray, twisted the lid off and drank from it, slow and careful. “Friday, send up another…” he paused and looked at the label, “Send up another appleberry juice.”

This time, Loki heard the click of the delivery system behind the wall, and the swish of the door opening. “Go get it,” Stark ordered, “That one’s yours.” Loki did as he was told, picking up the juice and putting it on the tray, exactly where the first one had been. He sat back down on the floor opposite his master, crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap. Stark nodded approvingly, and a warm wave washed over Loki from head to toe.

“So here’s the deal. Lesson three.” Stark said, “The blanket, the bed, the chair, that table, everything in here is OK for you to touch. It’s all for you to use. The shower, the bathroom, everything. I put all this stuff in here, and I put you in here too. I didn’t do it to trick you, or to tempt you and then punish you later. I did it so that you would be somewhat comfortable in here while you heal up. Understand?”

“Yes, master,” Loki whispered. Everything in this cell was for him. The toothbrush, the comb, the soft, fluffy blanket. It was overwhelming to have such things without having done anything to earn them, and it took Loki far too long to remember what came next. “Thank you, master,” he added in a rush.

Stark nodded, accepting his slave's belated gratitude without comment. Instead he said, “Tell me the three things I just told you.”

Loki tensed. He was being tested. His master had told him his rules and he wanted to know that Loki had been paying attention. He had, of course. Nothing was more important than his master’s words, his master’s orders. “Yes master. One: you are not my former master. Two: I belong to you, and I will follow your rules. Three: I can use everything in this cell.”

Stark smiled, and Loki felt it like the sun on his face. “Good job,” he said, and took another long drink of juice. “You’re doing well. I have lots of questions for you, and I think you can help me with my work, but for right now the only thing I want you to do is to eat, sleep, and heal. Can you do that for me, Loki?"

“Yes master, of course master, yes,” Loki said, so eager to please that he would agree to anything, to any order, never mind such an easy one. Eat, sleep, heal. He could do that.

He would do it, and the next day he would be healed and he would ready himself to serve.

Chapter 18: Problem

Chapter Text

“He’s not healing.” Tony slumped in the chair next to Rhodes, rubbed his hands over his face. “Those bruises looks as bad as when he got them, and it’s been over 24 hours. Thor can heal just like that,” Tony snapped his fingers, then realized when he had done and grimaced. “I mean, he can heal quickly. Loki’s Asgardian, why isn’t he healing?”

Rhodes grunted, watching the screen as Loki stared at the tray of food, still sitting crossed-legged on the floor of the cell. “Maybe he should eat something,” he remarked.

“I told him to!” Tony groaned, “I ordered him to, in fact. I’m pretty sure he has to at this point, or he’s gonna get ‘encouraged’ until he does.” Tony made sarcastic air-quotes around the world ‘encouraged’, his face twisted.

“Maybe you should call Thor,” Rhodes suggested, and Tony groaned again, sliding down in the chair until his chin rested on his chest, glowering up at his friend.

“Yeah, I don’t even know what to say about that,” he said, “Thor didn’t take things so well, remember? He’s up in Norway drinking and playing f*cking fortnite. Hey, I don’t begrudge the guy, I’ve been there! But do you really think he’s a good candidate to help him?” He pointed at the screen, where Loki had progressed to drinking from the cup of water from his tray. The two men watched silently as he finished the water, set the cup back on the tray and tentatively picked up the sandwich. Tony leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the screen, waiting for Loki to take a bite.

“He’s the closest thing we’ve got to an expert,” Rhodes pointed out, “And maybe it would do him good to see his baby brother alive and well.”

Tony made a non-committal noise. “He saw Loki die three times already,” he said. “Let’s at least make sure this one’s gonna stick around before we bring Point Break in. I honestly don’t think he could handle it if it went bad. What if he comes in here, grabs baby-bro and flies off? You saw what happened when I got him here, those nanites nearly killed him.”

On the screen, Loki had opened up the sandwich and was looking through the contents. “You didn’t poison it did you?” Rhodes asked.

Tony huffed. “No,” he said, “But even if I did, and he knew about it, he’d still have to eat it. At least I think that’s how it works.”

“That’s messed up,” Rhodes said, but still he watched carefully as Loki picked up a piece of turkey and studied it. Loki was still bare-chested, as Tony had not ordered him to put the shirt on. The bruises on his back, chest and arms were clearly visible on his pale skin. The dark purple marks were sore and swollen, more like wet, bloody blisters than bruises. They must be painful, but apart from Loki’s slightly slow movements and tight shoulders he gave no sign of it. Tony didn’t like to think about what that meant.

Tony’s phone chimed and he glanced down, smiling as an image of Pepper and Morgan, faces squished together, appeared on the screen.

“Daddy!” Morgan called, “Daddy it’s bedtime!”

“Are you sure?” Tony said, making a show of checking his non-existent watch, “I thought your bedtime was bumped up to midnight now that you’re four years old?”

“No Daddy!” the girl laughed, “You’re wrong, it’s now!”

“That’s right, it’s now,” Pepper added from the side of the screen, “The story of the day is The Girl with the Laser Beam Eye.” Morgan held the chosen book up to the camera, blocking Tony’s view of everything except the giant, blurred image of the cover.

Tony laughed and turned away from the screens monitoring Loki. He leaned down over his phone, giving the conversation his full attention. “OK, OK,” he said, “That’s actually my favorite book of all time, so it’s awesome that I get to read it to you again. Are you ready? PJs on? Teeth brushed? Tucked in?”

“Yessssss!” Morgan confirmed. The image stabilized as Pepper took the phone from Morgan. She leaned it up on a side table, showing Tony the two of them cuddled up on cozy pillows, wearing matching flannel pajamas.

“That is too cute,” Tony said, his eyes soft, “You two are my favorites, you know that?”

“Story!” Morgan demanded, and Tony smiled and started reciting from memory. “Once upon a time, there was a girl with one normal eye. Her eye was so normal, in fact, that there was no reason to think there was anything special about her at all. Her parents told everyone that she loved pirates, but the truth was…”

Tony told the story as Morgan turned the pages and looked at the pictures. Pepper propped up the book as the girl got sleepier and sleepier, until her eyes drifted closed and her little fingers relaxed, the book resting on her blankets, ready to be picked up as soon as she woke.

“Aww, I was just getting to the good part,” Tony said, and Pepper smiled at him through the phone.

“We miss you,” she said, “How long do you think this is going to take?”

“I miss you too,” Tony said. The cool edges of the phone under his fingers were no substitute for the comfort and warmth of being with his family, of feeling their breath, of tucking his daughter into bed with his own hands. “I’ll know pretty soon if this is going to work out. If Loki can help us get back what we lost. I hate to be away from you, but…”

“I know,” Pepper said, “I know. Call us tomorrow, OK?”

“Sure thing. I love you, Ms Potts.”

“Love you too, Tony.”

They ended the call and Tony sat for a few minutes, his back to Rhodes and the screens monitoring his new guest. He already missed Pepper and Morgan so much that the ache of it was physical in his chest. He hated to be apart from them, without them he felt brittle, on edge, as though he was missing some part of himself. But he had to do it. This was his mission, ever since he had become Iron Man. He knew there was a way to reverse what had been done, to bring back everyone that had been lost. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He had to finish the job.

“How’s he doing?” He asked, turning back to Rhodes, who had diplomatically pretended not to hear the previous conversation.

“He’s puking,” Rhodes said, pointing at the screen. The half eaten sandwich sat on the tray, and Loki was hunched over the toilet, half hidden behind the curtain, unmistakably bringing up everything he had just eaten.

“sh*t!” Tony said, jumping up from his chair, “sh*t, that’s not going to end well.”

He took off for the stairwell at a run.

Chapter 19: Lesson One

Chapter Text

Loki’s stomach cramped, his throat burned, his eyes dripped with helpless tears. The implants under his skin pulsed and throbbed, churning inside his barely-healed flesh. He retched again, helpless to prevent it, but there was nothing more to bring up. He wiped his mouth on the back of his shaking hand, tried to recover himself a little before he had to turn back to the tray and eat more of the food his master had given him. He would have to eat it all, and he was miserably certain that he would have to vomit it all back up. His master had been very clear, his orders had been given and Loki had to obey.

He wanted to believe that it was an accident, that his master had given him that food without realizing that his stomach could not tolerate it, but in the end it didn’t matter. Accident or not, Loki had to eat.

He crawled back to the tray, the implants already burning under his skin. He picked up the food again, taking the meat and cheese from the center. He would not be able to keep the filling down, but if he was very lucky and saved the simple bread until last, perhaps he would be able to eat that, at least. He steeled himself, ready to eat the food that he knew would send him back to the toilet, his stomach in painful knots.

“Loki!” Loki’s master skidded into the room, slamming his hands on the glass barrier. “You don’t have to eat that.”

Loki froze, the food in his hand, his mouth open. His master never changed his mind. Never took back any order once he had given it. Begging and pleading had no effect on him, unless it was to increase his discipline, to bring more pain and punishment on Loki's head. Loki was afraid to move, afraid to put the food down and afraid to put it in his mouth. His master had said he did not have to eat it, but was he still supposed to? Would it please his master if he followed his order anyway, now that it was optional? His hand shook, and a helpless sob escaped his lips.

He did not know what to do, and the implants were starting to burn.

The cylinder rotated at the entrance to the cell. A warm hand covered Loki's fingers, and golden-brown eyes met his own tearful ones. “It’s OK,” his master said, his voice low, “It’s OK, put it down. It was a mistake, I didn’t know you couldn’t eat it.”

Loki let his hand fall, let the food drop from his fingers, relief sweeping over him. His master was helping him follow his orders, helping him to be pleasing and obedient. Loki bowed his head, hiding his tears, his red face, his sweaty, tangled hair. His breath, no doubt foul with the smell of his vomit, could not be allowed to drift in his master’s direction.

Loki feebly reached for the tray, trying to clean it up and move it out of his master's view.

“It's OK,” Stark said, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of it.” He quickly collected up the tray and the half-eaten sandwich and shoved it in the compartment behind the sliding door. As he did that, Loki slid into his down position. He curled into himself, his elbows tucked close to his sides, his head resting on the floor, his aching belly protected. He had not been able to follow his master’s orders, he had forced the man to come back to his cell and deal with him. He did not know what to expect now.

His former master would have simply left him to suffer, if he had even been aware of the situation. There was no possible chance that he would have come running back into the cell to help, to tell Loki that his order had been a mistake. Loki stared at the floor, his master’s feet visible from the edge of his eye.

“Alright, listen carefully,” Stark said. He sat down on the bed, hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees. “I want you to think about this before you answer. Are you done throwing up?”

Loki opened his mouth, eager to assure his master that he was well, that he was ready and able to serve, but he paused, absorbing his master’s words. Instead of speaking without thinking, Loki attended to the signals from his body that he had ignored for so long.

Everything hurt. That was his first reaction, and he bit down on a pained gasp as the signals screamed from his nerve-endings. Loki's cramping belly was the least of his concerns. The implants formed twenty-four individual pools of torment on his body. If he allowed himself to be open to it, Loki could feel the damage the implants had done to him. They had chewed through his flesh, his nerves, his veins and capillaries. Loki swallowed, horrified at the condition of his body, at his vulnerability, at his utter reliance on his master’s mercy. At his master's word, Loki could be utterly destroyed. He could be reduced to a puddle of blood and sinew, cast into Nidhogg’s maw with no hope of rebirth. Loki scratched his fingernails on the cool floor. He shoved those sickening sensations away, forced them back down and away from him. His master had asked him a question, and he had to respond.

He nodded. “Yes, master,” he said, his voice scratchy, "It is over."

“Good,” Stark said, “That’s good. Now, this is what I want you to do. Listen carefully. Get up and rinse your mouth out with water. Clean your teeth, drink some water, wash your face. When you’re done, sit on the chair. Take your time, there’s no rush.”

Loki strained to listen, to absorb his owner’s orders so that he could execute them precisely and perfectly. Loki repeated the instructions in his head as he got to his feet. He washed out his mouth, cleaned his teeth using the brush he had found on the table. Obviously his new master felt the same way as his previous master had felt about cleanliness. Loki should be clean, he should not have bad breath or the traces of vomit on his lips. His hands trembled as he did as he was told and cleaned himself. He was weak, so weak. Even the effort of vomiting had tired him, and left to his own devices he probably would have let himself fall asleep on the hard floor by the toilet.

As though reading his mind, his master said, “I’m sure you just wanna pass out right now, but try and stay awake for a little while longer.”

“Yes, of course master,” Loki replied, wishing his voice did not shake as he spoke. He was not too weak to obey. He was not too weak to work. He had worked in far worse condition than this. He had worked with his hand smashed and his bones pulverized. He had worked after his master’s machines had forced his body to yield to their violations. He had worked after he had been starved for days on end, after his master had beaten him with an agonizing electrified whip, after he had screamed and cried and begged. None of it mattered. Slaves worked, and so Loki would work.

Stark sat on the bed while Loki followed his orders, cleaning himself and making himself acceptable to be in his master’s presence. When he was ready, he only hesitated a moment before he sat down on the chair. The chair was higher than the bed where his owner sat at his ease, but Loki had been ordered to sit there, and so he did. He did not want to trigger the implants again, to feel that deep pulse under his skin, to become aware of the bloody wounds all over his body. So he sat, feet and knees together, hands folded in his lap, head lowered.

The hatch in the wall clicked and Stark opened the sliding door, taking a gently steaming cup out of the compartment. He set it down on the table in front of Loki, scooting the blanket and other items to the side. It was another cup of broth, a spoon set on the table next to it.

“Eat slowly, and only as much as you want," Stark warned, and went back to his seat on the bed. Loki stared at the cup, the smell of it teasing his senses. His belly, so recently violently emptied, called out from some scrap of sustenance. He picked up the spoon, glanced over at his master, uncertain. Stark was sitting on the bed, leaning back against the wall, one hand resting on his knee. If he was about to jump up to berate and punish Loki for wasting food, he was not showing any sign of it.

Emboldened by his master's relaxed demeanor, Loki took a sip of the warm broth. It eased his sore throat and was welcomed into his empty stomach, soothing the painful cramps. He looked up again, anxious that he was doing what he should be doing. Stark nodded and gestured him back to the cup.

"Take your time," he said.

There was no sound in the cell except the quiet hum of the air circulation, and the soft clink of Loki's spoon on the cup as he ate. Loki could not have imagined this even one day ago. To be eating warm broth from a spoon, sitting up in a chair, clothed and warm and under his master's watchful eye.

Stark is not him, Loki realized, the thought like a shard of light piercing his shadowed mind. He’s not the same. Lesson one.

Chapter 20: Wake Up

Chapter Text

That night, Loki dreamed of home. Not the home of his birth but the home of his heart - Asgard. It was all so real; the majestic towers and spires, the cheers drifting from the training grounds, the heady scent of sun-warmed gold. Loki could taste it, he could feel it. His body and his mind filled with longing, and with a hunger for comfort and peace that he had not allowed himself to feel for many years. Loki knew he had no home, but his dream-self rejected that knowledge. The solace of belonging seeped through his mind like honey on his tongue. He craved it; home and safety and family and love.

It was too much weight for the dream to bear. His desperation was his undoing, the dream could not contain his yearning, and started to unravel. Threads came apart and the vision split at the seams. The golden floor dropped under his feet, and the walls of the palace crumbled to dust. The stars and nebulae over the observatory drifted up into the distance, rising slowly at first and then faster, faster, as though Loki was falling, as though he was falling forever, forgotten and alone into the void.

He awoke with a smack on a hard floor, tangled in a blanket, his body aching and shivering and hot. He wanted to weep. The last lingering glow from his dream faded away, vanishing like water through his fingers. Loki pressed his palms to the smooth, cool floor, dizzy and feverish, unsure where he was, why his mouth was so dry, why he hurt all over.

“Loki, do you require assistance?” A female voice floated over his head, and it took Loki a while to realize she was talking to him. Did he need assistance? Loki didn’t know. He tried to sit up, and eventually managed to shuffle himself around so that his back was resting on the wall, propped up awkwardly, stars floating before his eyes.

Loki saw the glass wall in front of him, and remembered; he was in a cell, and he was a slave. Loki did weep, helpless, dripping tears, when he remembered that Asgard was gone, utterly destroyed, first by Hela’s army of draugr and then by the demon Surtur. It had been smashed and defiled and destroyed, just like Loki himself.

He leaned his head back on the wall, and tried to collect his thoughts. He was floating, disconnected from his body, and he could not keep his eyes focused. He should be doing something, Loki knew that much, but he could not recall what tasks he had been given. Slaves worked, if they wanted to eat. Food was not free.

Loki drifted for a while, sleeping with his eyes open. He tried to recapture the splendid dream that was now beyond the reach of his fingertips, almost beyond the reach of his memory.

“Loki, are you unwell?” The female voice came again, and Loki let his head fall to the side and smiled at the air. Was he unwell? He didn’t know the answer to that either. He hurt all over, a deep ache that ground against his bones like glass. His skin was tight; dry and squeezed, as though it might split like an overripe banana. He closed his eyes. It was so hot, and he was so thirsty. If he slept, maybe he could have the dream again, and his mother would rest her cool hand against his burning forehead and soothe his pain.

Loki awoke for the second time with his master in his cell, crouching by his side, his brow furrowed. Loki smiled dreamily, “Good morning, master,” he said, his tongue thick in his mouth, “I remember you. You are not him. Lesson one.”

“Yeah, good job, Buddy,” the human muttered, staring at a device in his hand. “Your temperature is 108. Is that normal for Asgardians, because it's super high for humans? Are you sick?”

Loki tried to wave his hand, but it was very heavy and he could only manage to wriggle his fingers. “Not Asgardian, master,” he said, “Jotun. That’s why I am here. That’s why all of this…” he trailed off, staring at his master’s golden brown eyes, lost.

“OK, you’re sick,” Stark decided, “Jotun or Asgardian or whatever you are, you need to get to bed.” He untangled the blanket from Loki’s legs, and held out his hand, trying to encourage Loki to climb back into the bed. Loki blinked, his head stuffed with wool, his thoughts sluggish.

“You wish me on the bed, master?” he asked, looking from the bed to his master's hand and back again, trying to understand what was being asked of him.

“Yeah, bed. Let’s go,” Stark confirmed, pointing at the padded surface. In a rush it made sense. Of course. Loki was sick, too sick for the kind of work his master wanted from him. So his master would have him on the bed, he would make use of him in whatever way he wished, and Loki would still be useful. Still be wanted, and needed. He would not be thrown away.

Loki tried to comply. He rolled to his knees and tried to climb up on the bed. He realized his still was wearing the soft pants his master had given him. He would have to remove those to be ready for his master, and that thought reminded him that he had not cleaned himself for two days, which was unacceptable and must be rectified at once.

He tried to explain. "Master, I am not ready. I must clean myself."

"Shower later," Stark said, "Bed now. You're gonna pass out in a minute."

Loki bit his lip. He was to serve now. His master did not want to wait, and Loki would finally, finally be claimed, he would be taken as he had been trained. He shuddered as he recalled his master’s machines piercing him, thrusting and churning at his insides, forcing him into compliance, training him for this use. Perhaps, he hoped, his new master would be kind. Kinder than the machines, at least. Loki could hope, but his master was already impatient and gesturing Loki to hurry up and get on the bed, and Loki was trying, he truly was. His limbs were shaking and weak, and the implants were starting to pulse and burn.

With a final push, Loki managed to roll up onto the low bed. The throbbing of the implants eased as he sprawled on his back, breathing hard from the exertion. Stark looked down at him, muttering to himself, something about fever and temperature and water that Loki could not understand. What he did understand, was that his master was waiting and that he himself was still dressed. Stark turned away, headed for the delivery hatch in the wall for whatever supplies he required. Loki took the opportunity to squirm out of his pants, leaving them wrapped around one ankle and the rest of him bare. He was too weak to turn over and take the correct show position - knees and elbows with his back arched and his ass in the air. He simply couldn’t do it, but he hoped display would be acceptable - on his back, legs bent and spread, hands up over his head. He maneuvered himself as best he could and immediately felt better. He was naked and willing and ready for use. His master would be pleased.

He stared at the ceiling, pure white, and blinding like a sun. Loki's eyes watered, the light above dizzying him, flickers and flares burning into his retinas. His headache was returning, and the heat and ache of his body distracted him from what was about to happen. He told himself it didn’t matter, and it really didn’t. Stark had been kind to him, he had saved him, he had fed him and dressed him and put him in his comfortable cell. His body was the least of what Loki owed him, and he was glad to give it. He was glad.

A crash from the other side of the cell, and a muffled exclamation, but when Loki turned his head the room turned with him. His vision blurred and shifted, the bed tipped and spun. Loki tried to hold on, tried to grip the soft padding but his hands would not close, his fingers were shaking and weak. He could not see, his vision faded into dancing lights. The urgent voice of his master floated over his head as Loki fell into unconsciousness.

Chapter 21: Ice

Chapter Text

“Alright, we’re back under 102!”

Loki opened his eyes again, wondering if this time was real or if he was still dreaming. He had had bright, feverish dreams, intense and confusing. He had been carried in metal arms, voices spoke over his head, the sound of running water, and through it all the ache and throb of the implants. Now, he felt as though he were floating, cool and comfortable. It must be another dream.

“Loki, are you with me?”

Loki blinked and looked up. The room was bright, but it was not his cell. It was a different place, gleaming stone and clear glass. His vision was blurred, he raised his hand to wipe his eyes and realized that his arm was wet, and a moment later realized that he was lying in cool water.

“Master?” he mumbled, trying to focus, trying to understand what was happening.

“Hey! There you are!” A shadow loomed and Loki shook his head until his vision cleared up enough to show it was his master, his face drawn and worried, his clothes wet. Stark shivered, and Loki didn’t understand why, because it was still so hot. Why was his master shivering? Loki didn’t understand where he was or what had happened. The last he remembered his master was ready to use him, and now he was unconscious in a pool pf water? It made no sense at all. Even if Stark had wanted him to clean himself, why would he remove him from his cell?

“What…?” Loki tried to ask. He couldn’t sit up, something was wrapped around his chest keeping him in position in the bath. A shiver of fear ran through him. What was his master planning to do with him? Was this training? Had he displeased his master somehow, and now he would be taught the error of his ways?

“Is he awake?” Another voice came from further away, and then Colonel Rhodes appeared, a plastic sack over his shoulder that crunched as he moved. Without waiting for an answer, Rhodes tore open the sack and poured the contents over Loki. Loki braced himself for something. He did not know what was happening, what they were doing with him, what the two of them had already done with him while he was unconscious. Did his master intend to share him? Had he already done so?

The contents of the sack fell over him, but instead of a painful impact Loki just heard a splash. He looked down, finally able to see where he was. He was in a bathtub, filled with water and ice. Colonel Rhodes had just dumped another bag of ice into the bath, and even now he was turning away with a comment that he would go get more.

Stark sat on the edge of the tub, his clothes soaked. He hugged himself and tucked his hands under his arms, still shivering. “Hey, you still there? OK, so you had a crazy high fever. Crazy high. Hence the ice bath. Are you following me?”

Loki nodded. He understood what Stark had said, at least. He was sick, and he remembered now that Stark had said the same thing when he had come to claim him in his cell. Stark held a bottle to Loki’s mouth and automatically Loki sucked from the straw, the drink sweet and cold.

“OK, good job. Um...so couple things you should know. You’re having an immune response to the implants, your body’s trying to kill them off, like a virus. They’re not a virus though, they’re machines, so high fever won’t kill them, but it will kill you. Evil Me must have had you on immune suppressants to stop this from happening. You’re also having withdrawal symptoms from some kind of downers, I don’t know what kind, probably synthetic, something he made himself to keep you docile. Was he giving you any medication?”

Loki shook his head. His former master had given him nothing, except the protein shakes. The word 'docile' echoed in his mind. It was true; he had been very thoroughly tamed. Trained and broken and domesticated. He was docile.

Stark pondered, “He probably put it in your food. It must have been long acting or we would have seen a reaction before now. What did he give you to eat? Anything he could hide medication in?”

Loki closed his eyes and leaning his head back on the smooth edge of the bathtub. His former master had been drugging him. Of course he had. Loki wasn’t even surprised, he was just ashamed that he had not suspected it before now. He nodded, then forced himself to speak. His master had asked him a question, and he was waiting for an answer. “Yes master,” he said, his voice hoarse, “He gave me protein shakes.”

Stark nodded. “Uh huh. Yeah, that’d do it. Pretty perfect actually, they’re already nasty, you wouldn’t notice anything unusual about the taste. He made them up for you?”

“He had a…” Loki hesitated. Did he really want Stark to know the depths he had sunk to? “He had a feeding device,” he ended.

Rhodes appeared again, dumped another bag of ice in the bath. “What kind of feeding device?” he asked, curious.

Loki could not help the whimper that escaped his lips. The vivid, feverish memory of kneeling before the altar of his master’s co*ck, willingly taking it down his throat, sucking and nursing it in his mouth like the eagerest of whor*s. It was too much, too shameful, and he wished he could slide under the icy water and never emerge.

“Never mind about that,” Stark said after a few moments of tense silence. “Until we figure something else, you’re gonna have to stay cool. You hit 110 before we got you up here and I’m sure that’s not good news, even for you. So welcome to my bathroom,” Stark spread his arms, drawing Loki’s attention back to the room. He was in his master’s private rooms. In the many years he had been with his former master he had only been in the penthouse living area twice; the day he was captured and the day Stark came. He had never been in his master’s chambers. But here he was, lounging in his master’s bathtub, in his personal space. Stark did not seem bothered by it, and so Loki tried not to be concerned either. He knew what type of slaves attended their owners in their private rooms, but he pushed the thought away. He belonged to Stark, and if he wanted him to serve in his bedchamber, Loki would do it. He would do anything that he was required to do.

Rhodes picked up a robe hanging on the wall and handed it to Stark, “Put that on man,” he said, “We don’t need you getting sick too.”

Stark shrugged the robe on gratefully, easing his shivering. “One more thing” he said as he tied the cozy robe around himself. “Thor’s on his way. We had to tell him you were here. We need his help to fix this mess.”

Chapter 22: Loki, Brother of Thor

Chapter Text

Chapter 23: Bathroom Meeting

Chapter Text

Then, they were all talking at once. Thor demanded explanations, Stark and Rhodes tried to give them, but Thor interrupted and talked over everyone even as they tried to answer him. It was chaos, but even in that chaos Thor did not let go of Loki, his arm looped around Loki’s waist, holding him up, keeping him close. Loki did not raise his head from his brother’s shoulder, his eyes closed, his fingers gripping the soft fabric of his shirt.

For the first time in many years, he felt safe.

The feeling lasted less than a minute before Loki started to get anxious. The implants were throbbing again, a burning pain spreading through his bruised and tender flesh. His head was spinning, and he could feel his temperature rising moment by moment.

“Thor,” he said, his voice an unheard whisper in the noisy bathroom, the louder voices around him echoing off the marble walls and floor. Loki pushed against his brother’s chest, his arms too weak to move him, too weak to even be noticed. Loki’s heart-rate increased as his pain level ramped up.

Loki knew he was not behaving as he should. He was embracing his master’s ally, without permission. He had not shown the prince of Asgard due respect. He was out of the bath, despite his master telling to stay in it. Loki gasped a panicked breath, the burn of the implants spreading, scorching his veins. He was too weak to survive much more abuse from the nanites; his body had already been taken to the limit. “Thor,” he said again, if anything his voice quieter than before.

No one heard him.

With his last strength Loki raised his hand and cupped his brother’s neck. The palm of his hand fitted against his throat as it always had, under the scruffy beard and roughly braided hair. Thor froze, stopped his inarticulate shouting and looked down at Loki, “What is it, brother?” he said,

“Bath,” Loki managed to whisper, and in the background he heard Stark say “sh*t!” and then his vision swam and his knees collapsed under him. The noise rose again, but thankfully someone must have yelled the correct information because Thor picked him up bodily and lowered him back into the freezing bath. The cold, icy water was a balm, and Loki moaned at the relief of it, his skin already crackling hot from the few minutes Thor had been holding him. Loki found his cup and dumped cold water over his head, knowing he must look a half-drowned rat, but the blessedly cool sensation was worth it. The implants calmed, and the burn of the nanites eased.

Thor leaned over him, his face scrunched up with his concern, his eyes red and watery. “Loki,” he said, uncaring that his own shirt was getting soaked through, “Loki, I care not what world you are from, or how you came to be here. Know only this: For five years I have mourned for you, but today that mourning is over because my brother is returned to me.” Thor reached out and returned Loki’s gesture, cupped the side of his neck in his warm, rough palm. Loki gasped at the sensation. It was a gesture that he had given his brother so many times, in affection, in patience and in frustration, with counsel or with mischief. Thor mirrored it back to him now for the first time.

Loki put his hand over Thor's and squeezed, tears standing in his eyes. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

When they looked up, they saw that Stark and Rhodes had taken the opportunity to drag some chairs into the increasingly damp, cramped bathroom. They all sat in a rough circle, Loki in his tub by their side.

Stark held up his hand, “OK, here’s the short version,” he said to Thor. “I’ve been working on inter-dimensional travel, looking for worlds with a high degree of similarity to ours, but where Thanos was defeated.” Thor flinched at the mention of that name, and Loki looked at him curiously. Stark continued, “I found one, and I went there. Turns out, Thanos was defeated by Evil Me, you’re dead there,” he pointed at Thor, “and he’s alive,” he pointed at Loki. “Evil Me is an asshole, he was...um...I’m gonna go with ‘abusing’ Loki, so I... word-choice here is not ideal, but I’ll say ‘stole’ him and brought him back to our universe. Any questions so far?”

“Abusing?” Thor rumbled, and Loki cringed. The thought of explaining to his brother what he had done, and how far he had fallen, made Loki's breath catch in his throat. Luckily, Stark waved his hand and glossed over it.

“Yeah, it wasn't pretty. But the good news is: he’s here now! The bad news is that...well...he’s got a bunch of nanites inside him that hurt him if he doesn’t behave. His body is trying to reject them by killing them with a fever which isn’t going to work unless he can get his temperature up to about three thousand degrees. Hence the ice-bath.”

“Behave?” Thor said, seeming able to hone in on the exact topics that Loki didn’t want to discuss.

“Yeah, well, I guess there's one more thing." Stark coughed and shifted in his seat. "Technically, Loki's my slave now."

Thor lurched to his feet with a roar his hand raised to summon his weapon. A crash sounded from the outer rooms as a gigantic axe smashed through the wall and smacked into Thor’s palm. Loki's eyes bulged at the sight of it, and although he knew it could not be the Titan-breaker. Thor was alive after wielding it, for one thing. Looking closer Loki could tell it was Uru and the handle was braided wood, not fashioned of Earth metal.

“Loki is what ?” Thor yelled, lightning flashing in his eyes, reflecting in the dust that hung in the air.

With a shock, Loki realized that Thor was threatening his master. Threatening him on his behalf. Loki could not allow it. He threw himself out of the bath, once again sending water cascading everywhere, soaking everything that wasn’t already soaked. He had to protect his master. He had to. He staggered and fell to his knees, tried to scramble back to his feet, slipped again and bashed his head against the marble floor.

“No!” he begged, giving up on standing and grabbing at his brother’s raised arm from his knees, “No, Thor, please, do not!”

"Loki, what is this madness?” Thor demanded, even as Stark was yelling at Thor to put Loki back in the bath, and Loki was crying and begging Thor not to harm his master.

A blast of energy shot across the room and hit Thor in the chest, sending him back into his chair, and sending the room into silence. Colonel Rhodes stood in the doorway of the bathroom, one hand covered by a dull metal gauntlet, raised and charged.

“Alright, everybody shut the hell up,” he ordered, and, perhaps purely out of shock and surprise, everyone did so. “Loki, get back in the goddamn tub and stay there!” Rhodes continued. “Thor, drop the axe."

Stark gave Thor a nervous look, but he helped Loki back to his feet and back into the tub. Loki laid down again, the new pain in his head soothed by the cold water, blending in with all the other pains on his body

Rhodes nodded in satisfaction. “OK good. If we have to tie you in there, you know we will! Stay put or you’re going to die, man!”

Loki sank down in the water, tears springing from his eyes at the scolding. If he didn’t know better, it sounded as though Rhodes actually cared if he lived or died, and Loki did not know what to do with that information.

The room was silent and still for a moment, until Rhodes lowered his arm. “Alright, idiots,” he said, “We’re going to talk about this like reasonable people.”

Chapter 24: Decisions

Chapter Text

Thor deflated, tossing his axe aside with a crunch that was probably one of Stark’s expensive marble tiles breaking. He slumped back in his chair, one arm falling into the cool water to grip Loki’s hand. Loki took it, squeezing his soft, warm fingers, lacking the calluses that he remembered from constant weapons training. But it was no matter; Loki took his hand and cherished it. He still was worthy of his brother’s affection, at least.

Loki caught his master’s glance from the corner of his eye and snatched his hand back, shoving it under the water. He had forgotten himself again! Holding hands with his master's guests, he should know better than to take such liberties. He clasped his hands together, trying to appear presentable, but in truth he did not know what to do with himself. Sitting in the deep water of the bath he could not take any of his assigned poses, and his master had given him no instructions as to how to arrange himself. Loki almost wished Rhodes would make good on his threat and bind him again. If he were restrained, he would not have to worry about anything. He would just have to endure.

Stark gave him a nod, as though reading his mind. “Just like that, Loki, you’re fine,” he said. Immediately Loki was comforted, the itch and burn under his skin lessening, the turmoil of his mind calming.

Thor looked between them, sullen. “Loki is no slave,” he declared, “You are lying.”

Stark shook his head, “I wish I was, man,” he said. Loki hunched further down in his bath, exposed and with nowhere to hide. It was one thing to be a slave, but to be an unwanted slave was far, far worse.

Thor opened his mouth to argue, but Stark held up his hand to forestall him. “Tell him, Loki," Stark ordered, and Loki had no choice but to obey. Shame burned through himas he opened his mouth to speak. Every time he thought himself free of it, thought that surely he had endured the most shame it was possible to bear, he was proved wrong. His former master had delighted in it, in reminding him of his humiliation, but his current master seemed to do it by accident.

“It is true,” he said, hanging his head, staring at his own hands under the water, blurred by the ripples and by the tears in his eyes. “I am a slave, and Tony Stark is my master.”

Thor shifted in his seat, too big for it, his broad shoulders looming over the back, his weight making it creak. “End it then,” he said to Stark, his face screwed up, confused and frustrated. “End it. Free him. Whatever price you paid for him, I will make it good…”

Stark said, “It’s not about money, Thor!” at the same time as Rhodes said, “We all know you don’t have any money, man.”

Thor growled, “What then?” he demanded, wiping his face with the hand that had been in the bath, looking at it puzzled, as though uncertain why Loki's hand was no longer holding his.

Stark sighed. “OK, one - I stole him, I didn’t pay for him. Two - remember about the nanites? Evil Me put them in him, and ...well… if he doesn’t have a master I’m pretty sure they’d kill him. If the fever doesn’t kill him first. Or the malnutrition.”

“Fever,” Thor said, concentrating hard, picking up only one concept at a time. Loki noticed his eyes were bloodshot, his lips chapped and sore. Perhaps he had been ill and was still recovering, his mind slowed by sickness. Loki tried to convince himself, but he knew in his heart that it was not so. Something had happened to his brother, just as it had happened to Loki. Neither of them had escaped these past years unscathed.

“Yeah, remember?" Stark said, patient, "The immune response is a high fever. But he won’t be able to get hot enough. The nanites are silicon-titanium, as best as I can tell. Heat won't affect them until they hit about 3000 degrees, so…”

Thor dipped his hand back into the water again, swirled it around, something brewing behind his eyes. He picked up one the few remaining chunks of ice and held it on his palm. “What about cold?” he asked, and Loki froze, terrified. Thor knew! He knew and he was going to tell! Even as he thought his shame could go no deeper, he realized that it could, that it was endless, bottomless, a deep well that would never run dry.

“Please,” he begged, reaching for Thor’s hand, stopping himself when he realized his master had told him to stay in his previous position. Loki made himself sit as he had been, hands clasped under the water, but his desperate eyes were fixed on Thor. Stark looked between the two of them, but he answered Thor's question without asking his own.

“Same problem, Thor. He couldn’t get cold enough without it killing him first. The ice bath isn’t going to do it. Speaking of which, we need to top you up.” The ice was almost all melted, and Loki could feel his temperature gradually rising.

Rhodes hauled himself to his feet, his mechanical supports soundless. “I’ll get it,” he said, "I'll order us some food too." He left the room, leaving his gauntlet on the counter.

Thor gave Loki a meaningful look, his eyes piercing despite their puffed and shadowed sockets, but he did not say anything more.

“OK,” Tony said, “Loki, I’ve got some human-standard immune suppressants if you want to give them a try. I don't know if they'll have any effect on your, but I doubt they'll do any harm. It will take me a few days to synthesize something that’s tailored for you, so you can try what I have or, I guess, live in my bathtub for a while. Although actually, I could probably find a walk-in refrigerator on one of the lower floors and clear it out for you, get you set up in there, more comfortable than my bathtub at least..." Stark stopped himself, refocusing on the matter at hand, "So what do you want to do? Human drugs, or wait?”

Loki stared at him, then remembered his training and looked down. He was being asked to make a choice. Was this a trick? A test? Slaves did as they were told, and Loki had been trained to accept that for years. He did make decisions, he just obeyed. He twisted his fingers together under the water, biting his lip.

“I will do as you decide, master,” he said, his voice a whisper. He somehow hoped that his brother would not hear him call Stark ‘master’, even though Thor was sitting closer to him than his master was.

“Yeah, well, I’m not drugging you without your agreement, so if you want to try the immune suppressants you need to tell me.”

Loki looked up at Thor, trying not to panic. Thor would decide for him. He was the older brother, he should make such choices, it was his right. Thor squeezed his neck again, “It is up to you, Loki,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically low. “You must make the choice.”

Stark and Thor both were waiting for his answer, waiting for him to make a decision, and Loki’s heart started to pound, his vision darkening at the edges. They didn't understand, he was not allowed to decide what happened to him, to decide how his body was used. This must be a test. It must be. What did his master want him to do? Loki tried to calm himself and consider it. He was in his master’s bathroom, in his private space. Surely he wanted Loki gone from there, and back in his cell. He had already said Loki was unwanted, that he wished he was not his slave. Loki needed to remove himself from his master’s presence before he made his wish a reality.

“I will try the drugs, please Master,” he muttered, looking down at the shimmering surface of the water. If the drugs worked, his master would be spared Loki’s presence in his private chambers, spared the effort of finding alternate accommodation for him, and from having the create a drug tailored for him. That must be the correct answer. No slave was worth that kind of effort, and Loki knew he certainly was not. He wanted to go back to his cell, where he could remain out of his master’s way until he had work for him to perform.

“OK, cool. Wait here, I’ll get them.” Stark left the room too, leaving Loki and his brother alone. At once, Thor turned to Loki, his eyes intent.

“Brother,” he said, “Hear me out. You cannot get your temperature high enough, but…”

“No!” Loki said, afraid to let him even finish his sentence. FRIDAY was listening and she would report everything back to his master, he knew she would. “No, Thor, please! Please, I cannot.” Even in the depth of his despair Loki had not considered revealing his Jotun form. Neither of his owners knew of it, and he wanted to keep it that way.

There was no guarantee that it would even work, to freeze the nanites in his super-cooled Jotun blood. If it did not, Loki would be nothing but a freak to be toyed with, to be experimented on. Loki shuddered, remembering his former master’s laboratory, where he had spent so much time in the grip of his machines, stripped and clamped in place, his every secret exposed, spread open like an oyster, mined in search of a pearl. “Please,” he whispered again, his eyes distant and watery. “Please have mercy, I beg you.”

“Loki...” Thor started, but he could not finish because Stark returned, a canister of pills in his hand and a bottle of water tucked under his arm.

He frowned, looking at the now ice-free water of the bathtub. “Where’s Rhodey?” he asked, “Didn’t he come back with the ice?”

They stared silently at one another, tension rising. “FRIDAY, where’s Rhodey?” Stark asked.

They waited, but there was no reply.

Chapter 25: Reclaimed

Chapter Text

Stark grabbed the gauntlet that Rhodes had discarded on the counter. “Thor, come with me,” he said, “Bring the big axe. You,” he pointed at Loki, “Stay here.”

Before Loki could protest, before he could beg to be allowed to come with them, to stay with his master, to protect him, to shield him, to have some sliver of hope that he may yet die in battle, they were gone. Loki was left alone in the bathtub, the water not much cooler than the surrounding air. Loki’s fever started to creep up, and he considered running the cold water, but was too afraid of the noise. The penthouse was eerily silent with his brother and his master gone, and Loki didn't dare attract attention. The bottle of pills his master had brought were on the counter on the other side of the room where Loki could not reach. He could not get out of the tub to get them, as he had been ordered to stay. He considered trying it. He could get out of the tub, grab the pills and jump back in before the implants punished him too severely, but it was a risk, and Loki no longer took risks. He had lost too many times.

Minutes ticked by, Loki’s panic growing. He sank down in the tub. It was impossible to hide himself, but he had no other protection. His heart was pounding, his breath coming in gasps, his vision narrowed to the strip of the doorway. He prayed to the norns that his master would come through that door. Or his brother. Or Colonel Rhodes. Anyone. Anyone. He was alone and helpless, and very much aware of his vulnerability. His eyes blurred, he was afraid to blink, afraid to make the slightest movement. His chest was heavy, a weight pressed down on him, compressing his lungs, stealing the breath from his body, stealing the oxygen from his brain.

He almost fainted in relief when he heard footsteps approaching, “Master?” he called anxiously, worried that he had been forgotten, left in the bathtub, his fever growing, abandoned. But when the figure walked through the door, horror crawled up Loki’s throat and slipped icy fingers around his brain. It was not Stark. It was not Stark.

It was him.

Younger than Stark, healthier, golden eyes glowing like a tiger's, a smile of predatory delight on his face. “Yes,” he said, “Correct. It’s your master.”

The bathtub was small, it was too small and Loki wanted to escape, to sink down into the water and never emerge, to sink down and to simply end, to end and never open his eyes again. But if the bath was a hundred fathoms deep it would still not be deep enough to drown him and save him from his fate.

His master was here.

“Master,” he said, a terrified whisper. Everything Stark had told him was gone, every claim he had made on him erased, his kindness, his healing, feeding him from his hand, his gentle teaching, his mercy for Loki's lapses. It was all gone, because his true master was here. The nanites realigned themselves, they required no convincing, only the calm words of certainty that he had uttered. Loki was taken, he was reclaimed, he belonged to this man again, and there was nothing he could do.

His master leaned over the tub, slow and easy, put the palm of his hand over Loki’s face and guided him down and under the water. Loki didn’t resist. There was no point. If his master wanted to drown him in this bathtub like an unwanted kitten, he could. Loki was limp and helpless, fever and fear paralyzing his thoughts. He stared up through the water, the shimmering surface blurring and blending, deforming the sight of his master’s face looking down at him.

Don’t fight. Don’t fight. Don’t fight.

That was the lesson. That was always the lesson. Don’t fight. Don’t resist. Submit. Obey. Loki knew it, he knew the lessons, he knew and he would comply. He held his breath, stared up at his master, and waited for his fate.

His master let him up, gasping and panting, desperate for breath. “You’re mine,” he said, and Loki nodded frantically, wheezing as he tried to agree, to confirm that he belonged to him, that he had not wanted to leave, he was loyal; he had been stolen and it wasn’t his fault! But before he could form a single one of those words he was shoved under the surface again, and this time it burned in his lungs, caught mid-gasp, swallowing water and breathing it in as he was submerged. He screamed in his panic, soundless, underwater and unheard. His eyes were open but his vision was black, his feet kicking, his hands scrabbling against the smooth sides of the tub, fingers hooked to claws, nails scraping uselessly against the stone.

He was a limp rag when his master hauled him out and dumped him on the floor, soaked and trembling, heaving water from his lungs, sobbing and crying.

“Pathetic,” his master sneered, and he was correct. Loki was pathetic, he was pitiful, he was a waste of space and unworthy of his master’s efforts. His master took the time to discipline him and this is how was repaid, with his slave abandoning him, following some other version of him, thinking him replaceable. Shame flooded through Loki's body. He rolled onto his belly and put his face on the floor, knowing no other way to communicate his submission, his gratitude, his utter worthlessness before his master’s grace.

In one swift motion, Loki’s black shirt was torn down the side. His master pinched the soft flesh of Loki's arm in a spot that was not overly bruised. He produced a needle filled with clear liquid and pushed it into his slave's arm, pressing the plunger and injecting the liquid into him. He didn’t explain himself and Loki didn’t ask. He had no right. As the liquid spread, his arm felt blessedly chill. The sweet sensation spread throughout his body, cool and calming, his fever abating, leaving him shivering on the floor of the bathroom in his clothes soaked with cold water.

“Up,” his master ordered, and Loki scrambled to his feet, keeping his head down, eyes averted. He caught a glimpse in a mirror, and saw his master there. He was wearing a light grey protective suit, matt and shell-like. A clear, curved panel covered one side of his face, showing figures and charts, diagrams, what looked like a map.

He looked Loki up and down, shaking his head, unhappy with what he saw. Loki went to hug himself, then remembered his training and put his hands behind his back instead. Loki’s brain was screaming at him, screaming about his brother, about Stark, about Colonel Rhodes who had been kind to him when he did not have any reason to. He shut it out. He shut it all out. If they were not already dead he would not help them by reminding his master of that fact. The best they could hope for was that his master took Loki, left their world and never returned.

“One more stop,” Loki’s master said, gesturing him to follow. Loki walked two paces behind, as he had been trained to do, already his many, many lessons coming back to him. They went up the stairs to the roof, the night cold enough to mist their breath on the air. A small craft was waiting for them, the same matt grey material as his master’s protective suit. The rear doors opened and Loki was directed to a heavy chair attached to the wall. With swift hands his master buckled straps around his wrists, ankles, chest and thighs. Secured, Loki sagged, his strength almost gone, his arms and legs shaking, his wet clothes crackling with cold.

“He took something of mine,” Loki’s master said grimly, “So I’m going to take something of his. We're heading upstate.”

Realization dawned on Loki as his master turned his back and settled into the flight seat, controls lighting up under his fingers. Stark’s wife, his daughter. His master was going to…

The door to the roof slammed open and Stark burst through it, running for the craft, one leg stumbling and weak. Loki strained against his restraints, knowing Stark was not fast enough. He would not make it, but he was trying, he was trying.

Loki’s master was concentrating on flying, he had not noticed Stark's approach. The rear door of the craft was closing, and Loki did the only thing he could do.

Morgan, he mouthed silently, staring into Stark's eyes, willing him to understand. Morgan, Morgan, Morgan.

Horror spread on Stark’s face, then a moment later the rear door closed and the craft leapt into the air.

Chapter 26: Showdown

Chapter Text

The flight was fast, but smooth; the only indication of their speed were the lights below them, blurred and frenzied as they whipped past. Loki was securely tied to the seat, and he didn’t fight. It was too late for him. His master had come for him and Loki would never escape him ever again. His only respite would be death, followed by Nithogg's maw. Loki rubbed his wrists against the straps, drawing beads of blood to the surface of his abused skin. It did not help him find peace though, not this time.

They landed by a dark house next to a lake only a few minutes later. Loki’s master stood up from his seat, ignoring his bound slave on his way to the rear door. Loki was secured, stowed like the property that he was. He needed no attention and so he got none. Still, he kept his eyes down and head bowed. He tried to still his trembling, to silence his breathing. Tried to vanish, invisible, into the seat.

The rear door lowered without a sound and Loki’s master flipped the half-visor down over his face, glowing with data, with numbers and diagrams. The area was silent. No other craft were swooping in, no alarms, no shouted warnings. Loki’s head buzzed with tension, his body crawling with it. The norns had no mercy for him, wretched slave that he was, but he silently begged them to have mercy on Morgan, the little girl with her curious smile and her rocket-ship pajamas. She had done nothing wrong, and she did not deserve to meet Loki's master. Please, please, please. Loki implored them. Let her not be here, let her be safe. He had no reason to care for her, but still he did. Loki had always cared for children, and they for him, delighting in his mischief and tricks, loving wild places and wild things just as he did. His prayer was no doubt met with indifference by fate. It was accompanied by no sacrifice, by no acts of devotion, but he had nothing else to give, and so he prayed.

Loki's master headed for the dark house, footsteps silent on the grass. When he was halfway there, the front door slammed open and an figure appeared in the shadows. Loki held his breath. Had Stark somehow made it to the house after all? Had his prayer been answered? The figure stepped forward and Loki saw that he was mistaken. It was a woman, half-armored, her face grim, her hair tangled about her head as though she had been at her pillow moments before. Her armor was unfinished, covering her chest and arms, a blue glow on her left side, but open panels and trailing wires on the right.

She raised her left arm, her palm glowing, but she issued no threat, made no demands and asked no questions. She just fired her weapon, the range close, her target in her sights and impossible to miss. The bolt of energy splashed against a force-shield and Loki’s master laughed and advanced on her.

“Virginia Potts,” he said, his voice rough. The woman paled, perhaps the invader's voice reminding her too closely of her husband. She shot again, but the blast did nothing, and the man before her kept walking forward. “I'm glad I fired you," he said, "It made me stronger to be alone." He stood at the foot of the shallow steps leading up to the house, looking at the defiant woman. "But now I realize what I need - an heir. I’m taking the kid. She’s mine, or close enough. Stand aside and you won’t get hurt,”

Potts straightened her back. “I’ll die before I let you take her,” she said, her voice as cold and imperious as any queen.

“Fine, have it your way,” Loki’s master snapped. He raised his hand, a slender weapon glowing in his palm.

Potts punched him. Loki gasped, unable to believe her bravery. She faced his weapon and instead of surrender, she launched herself off the porch, armored hand clenched, and punched him full in the face. His energy shield was useless against her physical attack, and his glowing visor crunched under her fist, shards of clear ceramic scattering around them. The invader staggered back, shocked, splattered blood staining his suit. Taking her advantage, Potts grabbed a narrow wooden bat from the porch and swung it. She had lost the element of surprise, however, and her blow flew over her opponent's head as he ducked.

Loki finally, finally heard the high pitched whine of an incoming aircraft. He twisted in his restraints and saw a glowing streak in the sky, homing in on their location. Hurry, hurry, hurry, he begged silently, knowing that it must be Stark coming to save his family.

Loki’s master yelled out his fury, but Potts did not back down, glancing up at the sky as Loki had done, knowing she only had to hold out for a few more minutes.

"You should run," she panted, "Tony will kill you when he gets here."

Her answer was a blast from her attacker's weapon. She twisted to take it on her armored shoulder, the metal sparking and seizing, the bat dropping from her numb hand. Her arm immobilized, Potts again flung herself at the intruder, her weight and the weight of the suit knocking him down. Loki bit his lip as they fell, a tiny sliver of hope forming that perhaps his fate was not sealed, after all. Stark must be only seconds away, and he would not let this interloper live, surely? He had threatened his daughter, he had attacked his wife! Perhaps Loki could return to Stark's service, his eternally grateful and devoted slave. Loki rubbed his wrists on the straps and prayed to the norns, his own blood his offering to them, pre-payment on the debts that would inevitably be taken from his flesh.

It was not to be. Loki's master was ready for Potts' attack this time, and he twisted and landed on top of her as they fell, his fist raised against her unprotected face. With a dull thud, her head hit the ground, and stayed there.

The whine of engines was unmistakable now. Loki’s master raised his head, the side of his face bleeding where the visor had broken. Loki shuddered. He had never seen his master’s blood before, although he had seen his own many, many times. He would be punished for it, he was sure, for having his eyes fall on the evidence of his master’s mortality. It would be added to the list of his sins.

With a final blast of air and a flash of light, a man in red and gold armor landed before the house, his left leg stumbling at the impact. It was Stark, and Loki's heart pounded in his chest at the sight of him. Just like Potts, he shot first. Even when the energy bent harmlessly around the energy shield, he kept shooting, forcing Loki’s master to step back and away from Potts' fallen body, Stark's blasts more powerful that those from his wife’s half-finished armor.

“Pepper!” he yelled, his voice distorted by the mask over his face. “Pepper Potts! Wake up!" Loki saw Potts breathing, but she didn't wake. Stark could not stand between both her and the house, and he hovered between the two, glowing palms raised.

"You won’t get away!" he said to his enemy, “Anything you do here will just make it worse!”

Loki’s master shot him, but the blast from his weapon was noticeably less bright than when he had shot Potts. Stark’s armor took the blast, sparking and hissing, but otherwise undamaged.

“You can’t have all this!” the invader screamed, gesturing at the house, at the unconscious woman, “You don’t deserve it - you failed! This should be mine. My wife! My daughter! I lost everything!”

Stark paused, and despite his mask Loki could almost see his face soften in compassion. No, Loki thought desperately to himself, No, don’t listen to him! His master was an expert manipulator, he could hone in on a weakness within minute of meeting someone, and he would not hesitate to take any advantage he could.

But Stark was no mind reader, and perhaps he still thought of the man facing him as himself. A different version of himself, to be sure, shaped by different events, but still the same. He flipped up the face-plate of his armor. “Hey,” he said, “It’s not too late for you, people can change, I know that for sure.”

Loki tried to scream a warning, but his throat was closed, his breath trapped in his lungs. All he could do was watch.

“Sentiment,” his master said with a sneer.

He raised his weapon and shot Stark full in the face.

Chapter 27: Return to Universe 163

Chapter Text

Stark fell, and Loki could not help the pathetic whimper that escaped his lips. His eyes locked on the figure on the ground. Loki could not give up on hope. The blast had been weak, the streak of energy dark orange instead of bright white, but Stark was mortal, and the range had been close. Loki did not breathe as he stared at the fallen man, felled by the weapon that Loki himself had charged with arcane power. Loki’s master stood over Stark, kicked his armored side with a dull clunk. Stark must have been breathing, because his assailant raised his weapon again, point blank against Stark’s unconscious forehead. He pulled the trigger but nothing happened, and Loki finally let out his breath. Just as Loki’s own power had failed, the power of the weapon had failed, far from the branches of Yggdrasil that powered it. A snarl, and the weapon was thrown to the ground, useless.

Loki’s master left the two fallen warriors where they lay, and headed into the house. Loki knew who he was looking for, and he prayed she was not there. But where else would a child be? She would be with her mother, of course. Potts had been ready to die to defend her home, and that meant the girl was there. Minutes ticked by with nothing but the occasional bang and crash from inside the house. Perhaps the child was hidden. Without his visor Loki’s master would not be able to scan and find her heat.

Potts stirred on the grass, weak and disoriented, trying to sit up.

“Stay down,” Loki hissed, panicked. The woman turned her head to look at him, before her eyes could focus, she had fallen unconscious again. Loki was glad. She was in no state to fight, and Loki knew that his master would only hurt her more if he thought she was still a threat.

A flicker of movement at the edge of the grass caught Loki's eye, and he froze, horrified. There was a small structure near the lake; Loki had taken it for an animal pen, chickens, perhaps, but as he stared into the shadows he realized that it was a miniature house. A play house, painted with flowers, and peering from the window was the terrified face of a little girl. Morgan Potts-Stark. Her playhouse faced the lake, and from her tiny window she could not see the grass area and her fallen parents. But she could see Loki, strapped to his seat and shivering in his wet clothes, blood dripping from his abraded wrists.

Loki looked back at the house, checking for his master. A crash echoed from an upstairs window, and Loki flicked his eyes back to the playhouse. He spoke quietly, praying that his voice did not shake.

“Morgan, listen to me," he said, "Stay exactly where you are. Still and silent. Do not move. Do not make a sound. You are a little mouse and you must hide.”

Morgan chewed her lip, and through the window Loki could see her shadowy nod. She was brave, like her mother, but she was only a child. If Loki’s master found her, she would have no defense against him. She would have no way to fight, to resist his manipulations. She would be molded in whatever manner her kidnapper desired, just as Loki himself had been. If his master wanted an heir, she would become his heir. Loki strained at his bonds. He could not help her. He could not help any of them! He was useless. He was the tool of his master, his possession, his creature. He had been so easily captured, he had given himself up without a shred of resistance. Even his prayers were worthless, the offering of his blood rejected by fate.

The door of the house slammed open and Loki’s master stormed out.

“Where is she?” he yelled to the two unconscious figures on the grass. Loki flinched away, looking down. He dared not look at his master, or at the colorful little house that sheltered Morgan. His eyes would give her away, and so he stared at the ground. In the silence, the distinctive thunking rhythm of a Midgardian helicopter grew, and from the road less than a mile away, sirens. Help was coming, and Loki's master was running out of time. Morgan only had to stay hidden a few minutes more.

Loki’s master muttered to himself, looking between Potts and Stark and his craft. Loki glanced up, silent and uncertain. Something was about to happen, tension was growing in the air, Loki could feel it crawling over his skin. A decision was being made, and the threads of fate raveled and twisted around the clearing.

Loki’s master grabbed Stark’s feet and dragged him towards the craft. What was he doing? He already had a slave, he had Loki! He dumped Stark on the floor of the craft and turned back. He must be heading for Potts. He would take them both!

“Master,” Loki whispered, horrified. He could be replaced, even in this. Even in this lowly station, he could be replaced with someone better than him. Someone with more worth, with more value. Loki would have no purpose at all, and his master would not hesitate to end him.

“Quiet,” his master replied. The implants buzzed and Loki whimpered, shutting his mouth and lowering his head. But even that slight delay had been enough. The helicopter was above them, hovering over the house, guns pointed at their craft. Loki stared up, sure that he could see the taciturn face of Colonel Rhodes through the window. Where is Thor? he thought to himself, Why does he not open the bifrost? He rubbed his wrists on the straps. Loki had seen his brother die once. His master had killed him almost as an afterthought five years ago. What had he done to him this time?

He did not have time to wonder, because his master cursed up at the guns on the helicopter and slapped the switch to close the rear door. Vehicles screeched up the driveway next to the house, unloading armed agents in black body-armor. Loki watched desperately through the window as they ran toward the craft. They would not care to save him, of course, but they would want to save Stark, and perhaps Stark would take him, too, out of pity.

They were not even halfway to the craft when Loki's master fired the engines and they leapt into the air. Loki twisted in his seat, strained to see through the window. In the few moments they hung in the air he saw Potts sit up on the grass, her arms reaching for the craft above her, her mouth open in a soundless cry of anguish.

The craft jumped, flinging Loki sideways in his seat and bouncing his head off the bulkhead next to him. He saw stars, dizzy and nauseous from the blow, and then came that endless stretched out second, the timeless moment when they traveled between worlds. A hollow pop, and they were back in his own universe, back in the city, rain beating on their craft like a drum.

And now they were two. Loki and Stark, his master's prisoners.

Stark had been dumped face-down on the floor. He was alive at least. His armored fingers twitched, and his rough breath rasped in his lungs. Loki could do nothing but stare. He could not think anymore. He was blank, his ears ringing, his eyes blurred and watery. He was empty, fear and stress and panic had burned out of him, and all he could do was sit and shiver in his restraints. His master would decide his fate.

They landed on the roof of Loki’s master’s tower, buffeted by the wind and pounded by the rain. When the rear door opened the rain swirled in wind, drenching Loki in his seat. He was already wet from the bath, chilled to the bones, and now he was exposed to the rooftop wind and rain. His master ignored him. He took Stark’s ankle and dragged him from the craft, his heavy armor scraping on the ground.

Loki watched them go, obedient to his master's demand for his silence. The light from the elevator cast a warm orange stripe on the rainy rooftop, but even that was gone a moment later when the doors closed.

Loki was left on the rooftop, strapped into his seat. Freezing rain soaked his clothes and dripped from his hair, and the wind stole what little warmth remained in his body. He turned his face away from the rain and hunched down in his seat as much as he could. He would wait for his master to remember him, to have some use for him.

There was nothing else he could do.

Chapter 28: One Day

Chapter Text

Dawn was breaking in the sky when Loki’s master returned for him. The rain had stopped several hours ago, but the wind had not dropped, and Loki’s fingertips were turning blue from cold. Not the bright, clear blue of his Jotun form, thank the norns, but the chill, deathly blue of the Aesir. He was beyond shivering, beyond distress, beyond even fear. He was a body strapped to a chair, waiting.

“Wake up,” came the clear, crisp order, but Loki struggled to focus. He was not sleeping, but he was fading in and out of consciousness. He had not eaten since Stark had given him a second cup of broth in his cell, and he honestly did not know how long ago that had been. Loki could go a long time without food. He could go a long time without all the necessities of life; food, water, air, even sleep, but that did not mean he did not suffer from the lack.

“Yes master,” he whispered, letting his head loll on his shoulder until the figure of his master came into his view. His owner looked refreshed, his clothes clean and ironed, his hair damp from the shower. A waft of soap brushed Loki's nose, and he almost cried. The smell triggered his memory, and there were so many memories that they were an avalanche that buried him. His master’s hands had smelled of that soap as he bound Loki, as he positioned him, pushed his devices inside him, in his mouth and his anus, and he had not stopped there. He had forced probes into Loki's urethra, plugs into his ears, tubes into his nose. There was no part of Loki that had not been invaded, violated, and that smell had lingered over all of it. Clean, fresh soap. Loki longed for Stark's soap, as stupid and pointless as that was. A part of him knew his mind was wandering. He was on a freezing rooftop in an entirely different universe, but still he longed for the smell of citrus.

His master released the straps and Loki dropped to the floor, his mind jerking back into the moment. His limbs trembled, numb from the cold and from the night in the hard metal chair. Just as he had done to Stark, Loki's master took hold of his feet and dragged him across the rough surface of the roof to the elevator. The bright lights were dazzling and Loki closed his eyes, too weak even to throw an arm across his face to shield himself.

Loki awoke on a table. He had not even felt himself passing out. It was as though he had skipped through time and landed at the very moment, without passing through any of the moments in between. The table was hard metal, and the bright lights above him told Loki that he was in his master’s laboratory. This was the place where he conducted his experiments.

“Awake now?” came that calm, implacable voice. Loki tried to nod, ignoring the inexplicable wetness that gathered in his eyes and ran down his face.

“Yes, master,” he croaked. There was a needle in his arm, a clear tube delivering liquid into his veins. There was another tube in his mouth, snaking down his throat, and he almost gagged on it before he controlled himself. If it was there, it was because his master wanted it there. Loki blinked up at the lights, awaiting further instructions. He was back in his master’s hands and at his master's mercy, and Loki knew enough not to let his fear show on his face.

His master leaned over the table, his golden eyes intent. He checked Loki over, putting his hands all over him, touching him, pressing on his bruises, rubbing his wrists where he had broken his skin, moving and turning him as he please. He checked him as thoroughly as the buyer checks the livestock, and he did not seem impressed with what he saw.

“You’re lucky I found you,” he said, and Loki nodded.

“Yes, master,” was the only reply he could give.

“He didn’t feed you, he didn’t give you your medicine, he let you hurt yourself.” Harsh fingers closed around Loki’s wrist, claiming the spot where Loki had given his blood to the fates for his useless prayer of protection for Morgan Potts-Stark.

“You shouldn't have gone with him.” His master’s tone was mild, but Loki shivered nonetheless. It held promises, and Loki knew they would all be fulfilled.

“He took me,” he protested helplessly “Master, he took me away from you. I did not want…”

One finger over Loki’s mouth was enough to shut him up.

“You should not have gone with him,” his master repeated, harsher this time. The implants vibrated in Loki’s bones and the nanites swirled in his blood, like hunters looking for prey.

Loki gasped, a single harsh breath that slammed him back in time, back through the past few days to where he needed to be. Broken, submitted, compliant, obedient.

“Yes, master,” he whispered, “I am sorry, I beg for your forgiveness, please, I was wrong to go with him! I will never leave you ever again.”

A grim smile was his reward, and his wrist was released.

“Get up." The needle was jerked from his arm, and the tube pulled from his throat, a long, slick slide that made him retch. As it came out, Loki tasted protein shake on his tongue. His master had fed him through the tube, while he lay unconscious. A small voice in Loki's head screamed at him. The food was drugged. His master wanted Loki dazed and compliant and unresisting, and he would drug his food to get him back to that state. There was nothing Loki could do though. He had already been fed. It was done, and his consent was irrelevant.

Loki struggled up from the table, an ungainly stumble to his feet before he remembered himself and dropped to his knees, and then lower, flat on his belly, his face to the floor, his harsh breath the only sound in the room.

His master was amused now, mocking Loki's display of humility, even though he would punish him for not performing it. “Is there something you want to say to me?” he asked, placing one heavy foot on Loki’s back, keeping him down, keeping him where he belonged.

“Thank you,” Loki’s words tumbled from his mouth almost without thinking. “Thank you, master. Thank you for finding me.”

“Hmm,” his master said, but he removed his foot and ordered Loki back to the ready position. Loki glanced around the lab. In the far corner, standing at still as a statue, was a monument to a different world; Stark’s armor. It was bright red and gold on the outside, but it was lifeless and empty now. The back of it was cracked and spread open like a blood eagle. His master followed his eyes and laughed.

“Ancient technology,” he said, “It’s like archeology, trying to understand it. But don’t worry, he’ll be punished for taking you. Soon he’ll be just as eager to please as you are. He's going to take me to new worlds.” Loki’s master let his hand rest on Loki’s head, and for a split second Loki leaned into it, following that familiar, possessive touch. His mind was already reforming into old patterns, and it wasn’t the drugs. It was Loki’s nature asserting itself, weak and desperate for any scraps of approval he could get.

It was only a moment, and then the touch was gone, leaving Loki swaying and unsteady. The weapon that had shot Stark clattered to the floor before him. “Charge that,” his master ordered, “Then you can go to your basket.”

Loki stared at the weapon as though it was a snake; venomous, dangerous, alive and hissing at him. He desperately reached for his magic, for even the slenderest of threads that would allow him to access the power of Yggdrasil, but there was nothing. An empty, echoing void lay heavy in his chest where once that bottomless pool of power had resided. The void dragged Loki down, it shrank his lungs and stilled his heart. Stars danced before his eyes, and his vision narrowed until he could see only the weapon on the floor.

“Master,” he said, helpless and terrified, “Master, I cannot.”

“What do you mean you cannot?” his master snapped, his full attention whipping back to his slave, the force of it driving Loki to the down position. He opened his mouth but only a thin gasp emerged. He could not speak it. He could not tell his owner that he had only one purpose left now.

He didn’t have to say it. His panic must have spoken for him, because his master crouched next to him and put one hand on the back of his neck. He hissed in his slave's ear, “You have lost your magic! You had better find it again, Loki, or you will serve me in the only manner left to you. You have one day.”

Loki nodded, trying to breathe, trying not to black out. He had one day. One day. His master was generous. Perhaps back in this universe Loki could find the connection again. He could. He must . The hand on his neck squeezed, and another harsh whisper brought Loki back to the moment.

“Tell me,” his owner said, his voice low and rough, “Tell me what will happen if you don’t find that magic again.”

Loki knew, and it came to him in blinding flashes, overwhelming him. Years of training, of pain and violation and threats. And now the threats would come true. Loki tried to speak, because he had to. “You will...you will use me, master," he managed.

He was shaken by the scruff, like a kitten in his master’s hand. “Use you for what, Loki?”

Loki swallowed, choked back a sob and tried again. “You will use... my body...for your pleasure, master.” He forced himself to say it. He could endure it. He had endured the training, after all. He had endured the endless sessions, machines spreading and splitting him like an overripe peach, slowly turning him from a person into a thing, into a warm hole, into a receptacle with the desired stretch and heat and friction to please his owner's co*ck.

“One day,” his master repeated. “Go to your cell.”

Loki obeyed. His feet knew the way, and he did not spare a single thought for resistance. Loki was not alone. He was always watched, his location, and his vital signs were always known to his master. His master's greater self was always watching, ready to punish him at the slightest sign of rebellion. He kept his head down and found his way back to his cell.

The door did not open until Loki stripped. He took off the shirt and pants Stark had given him and folded them neatly outside the door. They would be gone when he returned, vanished as though they had never been. The door slid open and Loki entered, naked and defeated, ready to perform his poses until he was allowed to clean himself and rest.

“Loki!”

Loki's head snapped up at the unexpected sound. On the far side of the cell, chained to the wall by a collar around his neck, was Tony Stark.

Chapter 29: Say Please

Chapter Text

Loki staggered, falling back against the door. The shock of it was too much, the sight of Stark in his cell, in the one place he thought himself utterly isolated and alone, in the belly of his master’s domain.

"Loki! Pepper and Morgan, did he...?" Stark jumped up, yanked on the short chain that bound him, his neck already red and sore above the collar of the shirt he still wore.

Loki shook his head. “No, Master,” he said. Before he could realize his mistake the nanites fired and he dropped, his every muscle seizing. Loki was given no warning jolt for a crime of such magnitude, for calling another man master. His head hit the hard metal floor, and his vision blurred, pain burning through his nerves, lighting up every neuron in his brain, all of them screaming.

“Loki! Loki!” He heard Stark calling for him but he could not respond. He could do nothing until his punishment was ended, and that was up to his master. His true master.

When the pain ebbed, Loki curled into the down position, his chest heaving with silent sobs. He waited for orders, waited to see what his master would have him do next, what his penance would be. It mattered not that Stark was present. He would see first-hand whatever degrading acts Loki was forced to perform, and he would know the depth of Loki’s subjugation to his master’s will. Loki tried to calm his breathing. He pressed his fingertips to the cool metal of the floor, ten points of contact, equal pressure. His fingers were where they should be, and he comforted himself with that, at least.

“...can you hear me?” Stark was talking to him again. Perhaps he had been talking to him for a while. Loki didn’t know. He ignored him. Stark was no longer his master, and Loki had been brutally reminded of that fact. He would not move or speak until his master gave him permission. He did not need more training, he was already obedient. He was.

Loki stayed where he was, his legs cramped and aching. He didn’t try to count the seconds, because it didn't matter how long he waited. He would wait as long as his master wanted him to wait. Stark didn't stop talking though, and Loki couldn't stop him. Stark's voice rolled over him, calm and low, telling him that he was not alone, that Stark was here with him, that they were together, even if they were not safe yet. Loki tried to block it out. He knew Stark could not help him. No one could.

“Show.”

The feared order came eventually, and Loki closed his eyes as he obeyed. He changed his position to the pose he dreaded, the one his master would order him into when his day of grace was over and his power was not returned. The position that he would have to hold as his master took him. Show . And he did show, arching his back and spreading his knees, putting himself on display, offering himself for use. Stark could see everything now. Loki had nowhere to hide, and not even a scrap of clothing to cover himself with.

“Loki...sh*t…”

Loki squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his fingertips to the floor. He did not need Stark’s pity. He did not need anything from him. Stark should never have stolen him, he should have left Loki as he was. Before Stark had come, Loki had no longer remembered the taste of hot food, or the feel of a soft blanket, or the warmth of a kind touch. Now he remembered it all, but he still had to perform, and now he had to do it before Stark as well, stripped and exposed. His humiliation multiplied exponentially.

An hour later he was in balance pose, on his hands and toes, his body a straight line, his core muscles burning and twitching as he fought his exhaustion. Already he had been shocked twice for poor form, for allowing his back to bend, for allowing his knees to dip out of line. He did not know how much longer he would be able to hold it, and if he could not perform the pose for as long as his master desired, he would be punished until he did. His master always, always made him perform.

The voice of his master came over the air, speaking in a conversational tone to Stark, as though Loki was not even there. “He can do this for hours you know. Given the right motivation.”

“f*ck you,” Stark shot back.

Loki’s master laughed. “No, that’s not how this is going to work. It’s going to be f*ck him.”

Loki’s arms shook. He was so weak, so pathetic. He was going to fall and Stark would see him beg for mercy that would not come.

“What do you want?” Stark demanded, still thinking he could negotiate, that he would not end up the same as Loki, broken and twisted into a shadow of who he used to be.

“I'm doing what I want," the overhead voice said, the metallic edge gleeful. "But if it's bothering you, ask me nicely and I'll let him stop.”

“f*ck you, liar,” Stark replied, and Loki bit his lip on his pitiful whimper. Stark was right, of course. It would not stop if Stark begged for mercy for Loki. They would not be freed and released. All that would stop was this moment, this single moment of pain and humiliation. Still, Loki wished for it, wished that Stark would ask and Loki would be allowed to collapse to the floor and rest. Was Stark's pride worth more than Loki’s suffering? Loki knew the answer to that. Of course it was. Loki’s pain was of no consequence. None at all.

“Let me know when you change your mind.”

“Loki,” Stark said, “Loki, I’m sorry. I can’t...once you start saying yes it’s impossible to stop. I’ve been here before. I’m sorry.”

Loki focused on holding his pose. It mattered little why Stark refused. Loki was a sacrifice that Stark could make with a clear conscience. He understood what his master was doing. Loki was not yet utterly useless, he could be used for his master’s pleasures as well as for this; a weapon to hurt Stark with, a tool to make him compliant.

Loki's knee dipped again and the burn of the implants came at once. His hand slipped and he fell, his knee and elbow hitting the hard floor, the shocks of the nanites ripping through him in pulses. He gasped and whined as he struggled back to his pose, his arms shaking with the strain of it. Cold sweat covered him, and it was not long before he fell again. He was so tired, and he could not rest. His master would not break first. He had made his offer to Stark and now he would let his slave suffer until Stark asked for clemency. Loki’s master was patient, and he would wait.

Loki twisted his head, trying to see Stark through his sweat-stung eyes. Stark was closer now, at the end of his length of chain, kneeling on the floor as close as he could get to Loki, but unable to reach him. “Please,” Loki begged, not to his master but to Stark. Stark could end this. Of course, it would start again as soon as his master wished, but it would end now . Loki’s master would honor the bargain he had offered and let Loki rest.

That was how he had trained Loki. He had offered him a trade; light in exchange for Loki's begging, and he had kept to it. It had been the first step of a hundred such steps. A long path that started with 'please' and ended with Loki trained and broken to his owner's will.

“Please,” Loki repeated, his voice low and weak. Perhaps Stark did not hear him. Or if he did, perhaps he did not care.

“Alright!” Stark yelled, glaring up at the ceiling, “Alright, that's enough!”

There was a long pause. Loki’s knees dipped again, his back bent, his elbows would not lock and he collapsed, convulsing on the floor as the implants disciplined him.

“Stop! Stop!” Stark yelled, “I said it, alright! Stop!”

“Say please.”

Loki’s vision was fading, he could not breathe, he could not even scream through the pain. He was on fire, he was burning from the inside and he could not do anything to help himself.

“f*ck you! f*ck you! Please stop!”

There was silence for a long moment, and then the pain ended, so abruptly that Loki gasped, as if cold water had drenched him. He lay twitching on the floor, his breath a high-pitched whistle in his throat. Tears blurred his vision, and he was too ashamed to even lift his head, to face the man who had had mercy on him, who had heard his plea and taken that same first step that Loki had taken, years ago.

It was not enough that Loki had been turned into a slave; now he would be the tool by which his master broke Stark, as well.

Chapter 30: Waiting

Chapter Text

Loki could not move. He lay where he had fallen, limbs splayed out on the cold metal floor of the cell, exhausted and trembling. The last aftershocks of the implants faded away, leaving his nerves tender, and sore; empty pathways that would carry pain when his master decided that they would.

“Loki,” Stark said, his voice low, tentative, but Loki could not face him. He turned away, curled up on his side, his back to the other man.

“Please don’t,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around his head, unsure what he was asking for. He just knew that anything, anything at all was too much. The weight of words made his head pound, his thoughts were knives in his brain. He was trapped again, helplessly and hopelessly trapped. His master would use him as he pleased, use him for pleasure or for pain, and Loki could do nothing but submit to it. Worse, Stark would see every last shred of his shame.

Loki tried to calm himself and clear his mind. He tried to enter a meditative state and find the drifting threads of Yggdrasil and what remained of the shallow pool of magic that dwelled there. It had not been exhausted, but Loki had been cut off from that power when Stark had taken him between universes. If he could only find it again, he would not have to...he would not yet have to submit his body to his master’s desires.

Loki crawled to his sleeping mat. He was already losing track of time. There was no clock, no window, no indication of time passing at all. It had been dawn when his master had taken him from the roof, but he had passed out after that, then remained unconscious long enough to be fed through the tube and to have his drugs flow into his veins. He did not know if it was still morning, or afternoon, or even night.

He sat on the thin mat, his back to the wall, his legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees. Stark was watching him, sitting against his own wall, the silver chain and collar keeping him to a small section of the room. Stark had been allowed to keep his clothes, although his shoes were gone. A bruise covered half his face; dark, puffy flesh where his master had shot him with the energy weapon. Thankfully it had been almost out of power by that time. The injury looked painful, but Stark didn’t complain. He didn’t speak at all, waiting instead for Loki to speak to him, respecting Loki's request for silence.

Loki tried to focus, to ignore the cold and shame and pain, to find his center, but the first thing to drop into his mind spilled out of his mouth without a pause. “Is my brother alive?” he asked, staring at Stark sitting across from him.

Stark tipped his head to the side, thoughtful. “Do you think I should answer that?” he asked gently, and Loki shook his head and looked down. Stark was right. No matter what the answer was, it was information that Stark had but Loki’s master did not. It was not wise to give it away. Loki closed his eyes. Stark would not tell him his brother's fate, he would withhold that knowledge and use it to negotiate, to bargain. He would be foolish to do anything else.

Stark still was staring at him, and Loki shifted on his mat. Did Stark want something from him? Loki had nothing to give, nothing at all, not even a stitch of clothing or a morsel of food. Loki glanced over at the sliding panel that concealed his feeding device. Soon or later Stark would see that too. He would see Loki choke himself on the replica of his master's co*ck and suck down his meager, unpleasant, and drugged meal. No doubt Stark's compassion for Loki's sorry state would lessen once he realized just how broken he was.

Loki took comfort from the fact that his master would probably not feed him again that day. His humiliations would be spaced out, at least, not piled one atop the other until Loki burned alive from shame. Loki had no idea what Stark had eaten. The silver chain did not reach as far the feeding area, so that possibility was out of the question. Perhaps he was to be given real food. Another torment for Loki, to watch Stark eat while he himself was denied.

Eyes closed, Loki pushed those thoughts away. He tried to find the faintest drifting thread that might lead him back to his magic. Instead, all he felt were the sands of time slipping through his fingers, the clock counting down to his ultimate debasem*nt.

He gave up. He did not have much time, but with his focus this bad he would only push the arcane energy further away if he did anything at all. When he looked up, Stark was sitting with his head in his hands, one palm pressed to the bruise on his face, dark circles shadowing his eyes. Loki bit his lip. He did not know what his master had done with Stark while Loki had been restrained up on the roof. How he had removed Stark from his armor, if he had been conscious or not when it had happened. The cracked and broken shell of the armor stood in his master’s laboratory now, a monument to his superiority.

“He’s going to have me,” Loki said, the words bubbling up from his chest, from his belly, unstoppable. Stark could not help him, but at least he could listen to him. “In one day. He told me that if I don’t find my magic again, I have no other use and he will use me for…that.”

Stark shuffled closer. The chain stopped him from reaching Loki’s mat, but he stretched out his hand, his fingers tap-tap-tapping on the metal floor. “I’m sorry Loki,” he said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

“You tried,” Loki said, realizing that it was true, that Stark really had tried to rescue him. He had tried to take him to his own universe where he would have treated him far more kindly than this. “What were you planning to do with me, when you took me?” he asked. It did not matter now, of course, but still Loki wanted to know what use Stark would have had for him. It would be better than this, he knew. Better than a cold cell, drugged food, pain and the prospect of becoming his owner's whor*.

Stark shrugged, “I didn’t think about it,” he said, “I just grabbed you.”

Loki stared at him. “Why?” he asked, mystified.

Stark tugged the collar around his neck, tried to lessen the discomfort of it before he answered. “He was hurting you,” he said, as though that was all the explanation he needed, as though that made the slightest scrap of sense. Stark had incurred the wrath of a man like Loki’s master, half-immortal, his mind expanded throughout the world by his technology, powerful and ruthless and dangerous, for no reason other than because he was hurting his slave.

Loki let his head rest on the wall, looking up at the many cameras and sensors that studded the ceiling, symmetrical and perfectly aligned. “He will hurt me more, now,” he said, “Unless you do his bidding.”

“I know," Stark said, with a heavy sigh, pressing his thumbs into his temples. “I know. It would have been better for you if I had never come here.”

Loki hummed and rubbed his fingers together, remembering the impossibly soft feeling of the blanket Stark had given him, the taste of the warm broth on his tongue, the comfort of a bed under him, Stark's smile, Rhodes' rough compassion, Morgan's bright eyes. More than anything else, he remembered his brother, the smell of summer on his skin, the heady crush of his embrace, the ache in Loki's soul that had eased to see him again.

Loki stretched out his hand, let his fingers brush over Stark’s, a fleeting touch of warmth and comfort.

“It is not your fault,” he said, "The fates brought you here, and perhaps one day we will learn the reason why."

Chapter 31: It's Time

Chapter Text

They sat that way, fingertips touching, for a long time. There was nothing to discuss, and the more they said, the more information they gave away to their captor. Silence was better, but it meant that there was nothing to distract Loki from the knowledge of time passing. His last moments vanished through his fingers before he knew it.

“Loki, clean yourself.”

The voice came from the ceiling. There was a slight metallic edge to it that told Loki’s trained ear that it was not his master’s human voice, but the voice of his greater-self. Not that it mattered, of course, as Loki had to obey either way.

The door to the small bathing room clicked and Loki deliberately did not look at Stark as he entered and softly closed the door behind him. Muscle memory took over; he retrieved and unrolled the length of hose without hesitation. It was though he had never left this place, as though his time with Stark in the comfort and kindness of his home was nothing but a dream. The frigid water and the painful, shivering, cramps were so familiar to him - this was where he belonged.

Loki looked down, staring at the tile. The hated cleaning machine still lurked in the corner, a mechanical arm with heavy clamps and a thick metal tube, its purpose clear. Loki cringed as he realized Stark must have been in this room already. His chain allowed him to reach it and he had been imprisoned for long enough to need it. He must have seen the machine, and if he was as resourceful as Loki knew him to be, he had opened the cabinet and seen the hose as well. And even now, with the bathing room door closed, it would hardly be a mystery what Loki was doing.

Loki purposely didn’t think about Stark’s opinion of him, or about what would happen next. He could only think about the current moment; the cold water creeping into his bowels, the smooth hose in his hand, the scratched tile surrounding the basin, the seconds ticking by in his head. That was all there was.

He showered, after. He had been ordered to clean himself, and it would not do to be found lacking. His master would not want him unless he was in a pristine state, but Loki was not foolish enough to think that that was a way out. No, if he was not in the condition his master wanted he would be made to regret it, and his mistakes would be patiently rectified. There was no escape.

He returned to the cell, still naked, wet and shivering, as he was given no towel to dry himself. He went to the ready position, and Stark looked up at him, his face distraught. They both knew his time was almost over, and Loki's compliance would not be enough to avoid whatever games his master wished to play. He would not waste an opportunity like this.

Loki almost jumped out of his skin when the hatch that usually stored his working clothes slid up with a sharp clack. There were no clothes in there today. Instead, there was a bottle of protein shake, a tube of lubricant, and a fat, pink plug. Loki stared into the hatch, frozen to the spot. He knew what those things were for. They were to prepare him for his violation, and Loki did not know if he could do it.

As it turned out, that didn’t matter at all.

“Leave the bottle. Give the rest to Stark.”

Loki knew better than to hesitate. He picked up the two items, holding them gingerly, as though they could hurt him if he gripped them too tightly, as if they would become too real. He set them on the floor by Stark's knee, before he retreated to the formality of the ready position, not knowing what else to do.

“Stark,” the voice said, “Get him ready for me.”

Loki flinched, a helpless twitch that he could not prevent. The sting of the implants quickly reminded him of his role, and he controlled himself.

Stark sat on the floor, his hands gripping his knees, staring at Loki, his face pale. Loki's heart dropped. Once again he was a pawn for his master to use to manipulate his prisoner. He did not know what purpose his master had in making Stark take part in Loki's debasem*nt, and it was not his concern anyway. His understanding was irrelevant; Loki was a slave and his master would use him as he pleased.

An amused sigh floated from the ceiling at Stark's hesitation. “In thirty minutes he’ll be bending over for me. It’s up to you how painful it’s going to be for him. Oh, and I’m sure you’re getting hungry by now. If you want food, you’ll find it’s wise to do what you’re told.”

Loki hung his head, his ragged fingernails pressing into the palms of his hands. Thirty minutes. That’s how long he had left. It was not long but also it was interminable. Each second Stark waited stretched out to an endless eternity for Loki, his heartbeat increasing, his breath coming in panting gasps, stress clouding his eyes, the bright pink of the plug glowing in his peripheral vision.

“Imagine how tight he’ll be," his master mused, "It’s his first time you know, unless you count inanimate objects. Do you think he’ll cry?”

“Shut up, you sick f*ck,” Stark spat, but Loki’s master ignored him and carried on talking. Loki let the words flow over his head, trying not to listen.

“I suppose it doesn't matter if he gets torn up. He's nothing. He's a worthless, forgotten remnant of a destroyed civilization. He's the perfect little plaything because no one on this world or any other cares about him at all."

"You’re wrong!" Stark snapped, and shut his mouth even as Loki's master laughed.

"That was too easy!" he crowed, "You're weak, emotional, sentimental. We're nothing alike. It's pathetic. You may as well shove that plug in him now, you already told me what I want to know. He'll beg you for it if you like.”

Stark looked over at Loki, biting his lip.

“Please do it,” Loki blurted out, sure that that was his cue to beg, as his master had suggested. There was no turning back, his master never went back on his word. If he said it was time for Loki to be used then nothing would dissuade him, and Loki was still cowardly enough to be afraid of the pain.

"You don't have to..." Stark said, but he gave up halfway through and just beckoned him over. "It's OK," he said, "I’ll do it, come here."

Loki shuffled over to him, still on his knees, and Stark mirrored his pose. He rubbed his hands briskly together to warm them up, a kindness that almost brought tears to Loki's eyes. "Alright," he said to Loki, "Hold on to me if you want. You can put your hands on my shoulders."

Loki did it, shivering and stiff and awkward, unsure how to present himself. Stark put a warm hand on his shoulder, turned his head to face him and looked into his eyes.

“It’s going to be OK,” he said.

Loki nodded jerkily. He would be fine. He would survive. He had been violated before. His master’s machines had had no mercy on him. The pain was survivable. He had been bent over and strapped down and spread open. He could endure it again. It mattered not that this time it would not be a machine, it would be his master himself using Loki’s body. Hot flesh instead of cold metal.

“Take a deep breath and let it out slowly,” Stark told him, spreading the clear gel on his fingers. Loki tried, but his breathing was shallow, his pulse pounding, his body shaking outside of his control. Stark scooted closer, almost to the limit of his chain, allowing Loki to lean on him, to feel the warmth of his body. “The trick is to use way more lube than you think you need,” he said, reaching back, his fingers sure and steady. They slid down between Loki’s buttocks, a slow, gentle pressure on his entrance until one slick finger slipped inside. Loki gasped and clenched. It was different when it was a person, not a machine. His body could tell. This was the first time any other person had been inside him, and Loki found himself glad that it was Stark, and not his master who had breached him.

“Keep breathing,” Stark said. Loki realized his lungs were burning, his fingers hooked and digging into Stark’s shoulders. He exhaled and tried to relax his grip. Stark took the opportunity to slip his finger in and out a few times, adding more lubricant, doing his best to prepare Loki for what was to come.

Loki told himself that he was lucky. Lucky that Stark was helping him, lucky that Stark knew how to prepare him. Lucky that he did not have to face this fate alone. Loki's thoughts were spinning away from him, anything to avoid thinking about what was happening to him, what was about to happen.

Stark picked up the plug, spread more of the gel on it, covering it in the slick substance. “I’m going to hold it and let you move when you're ready,” Stark said. “Go at your own pace. Nice and slow. Take your time.” The head of the thing poked at Loki’s tender bud, and he flinched despite himself, a low whimper coming from his lips. He swayed closer to Stark, almost clinging to him now, arms wrapped around his neck. Stark slipped an arm around Loki’s waist, steadying him. “Easy,” he said, moving closer, his lips almost to Loki’s ear, “Easy. Push down on it and just keep breathing. Try not to clench up and take it slow."

Loki pushed down on the plug and let the thing slide into him, slippery and disgusting, settling into place inside him, holding him open, readying him to receive his master’s co*ck. Loki clutched his fists in Stark’s shirt and buried his face in his shoulder, a single sob forced out of him, his mind blanking out on the sensation, dizzy and scared and revolted.

Stark rubbed his back, wiping his slick hand on his own pants, holding Loki close to him, comforting him.

"You can get through this, Loki," Stark whispered in his ear, "I used plenty of lube. Just let him have what he wants and remember to breathe. Don’t give him an excuse to hurt you more.”

Loki nodded, already getting accustomed to the intrusion, the plug warmed by his body, his muscles adjusting to it. Loki blinked back his tears, his head resting on Stark’s shoulder. They stayed that way, kneeling together, neither of them speaking, until the door clicked and swung open onto the empty hallway.

“Well, that was very touching," Loki's master said from the ceiling. It was his real voice this time, not his greater-self, "I could almost believe you did it for him, not for the food. Loki, give him the bottle.”

Loki took the bottle from the hatch, out of reach out Stark's chain, and handed it to him. There was no way to tell if it was drugged or tampered with, but Stark had to eat, just as Loki himself did. Stark took the bottle, clearly thinking the same thing, examining the bottle and the seal around the plastic cap.

“Enough stalling,” Loki’s master said, “Loki, unless you miraculously got your magic back, it's time for you to earn your keep. Come to the lab."

Loki took a deep breath. It was time.

Chapter 32: Ouroboros

Chapter Text

Loki headed to the lab in a dream, his head filled with noise, his thoughts were a snake eating their own tail in an endless loop. It was going to happen. It was going to happen. He was walking calmly toward his rapist with a fat plug inserted inside him, ready to submit. He wasn’t even going to fight. He was every bit as weak and pathetic and worthless as his master had told him that he was.

A quiet, still part of him knew that he couldn’t fight, knew that fighting would only result in his master hurting him more. He would be tortured and beaten and then raped anyway. But, he told himself, at least he would have tried.

And so the snake swallowed its tail, over and over.

Loki’s master was waiting for him, arms folded, standing by the moveable metal bench that he had built for Loki’s training. The bench allowed the slave to be securely strapped down while the height and angle of the bench could be adjusted to position its helpless occupant exactly his owner required.

Wordless, his master pointed to the bench, and Loki knew what to do. He walked towards it, his vision tunneling down to the bare metal with reinforced straps and buckles hanging from it. It seemed to retreat before him as he walked, like a dream. Like a nightmare. But unlike a nightmare, it did not end, and Loki stumbled and almost fell when he reached it, shaking out of his skin, the metal of the bench freezing cold under his fingers.

“Get on,” his master ordered, dark delight in his tone, already aroused as Loki showed him the depths of his submission. Loki did as he was told, the position familiar to him from his training; bent over the high bench, his head and body angled down, his legs spread wide. He closed his eyes. There were too many reflective surfaces in the lab, and Loki had no wish to see the distorted images of his own degradation.

His master fastened the straps, taking his time. He smoothed the straps down and ratcheted them tight, leaving Loki barely enough room to breathe. The restraints went around Loki's back, his shoulders, his waist. His wrists were cuffed behind his back and his elbows cinched until they almost touched. His feet came off the floor, spread wide by a metal bar tied to his ankles and another between his thighs. The bars were welded to the bench, and the whole thing was bolted to the floor. Loki was immobilized, bound and helpless, his plugged anus presented to his master, ready for his use.

Loki gasped for breath, the straps compressed his chest, restricting his breathing, making him dizzy and confused. Tears ran down his face, as unstoppable as rain. He did not resist. He did not fight. He submitted, he obeyed, he complied, and still the snake in his mind spun around and around, swallowing its tail, but it was too late. Loki was bound, his master had told him what would happen next, and his master never, ever went back on his word.

Behind him, out of his sight, Loki’s master tapped on the plug, an intimate touch that Loki could do nothing but accept. The intrusion shifted inside him, squirming against his flesh, a horrifying, revolting reminder of what was to come. His master's own co*ck would be inside him soon, Loki’s most tender flesh used for such low purpose, used as a hole for his master to pleasure himself with. Loki himself was reduced to nothing; he was a slave and his only purpose was to receive his master’s co*ck. Loki bit his lip as his master twisted the plug. It spun easily, slick and well lubricated; Stark’s work in preparing him had been thorough, at least.

Loki's master walked around the bench, stood before him and yanked his head up by his hair, forcing Loki to look at him. Loki did not know how he had ever thought that Stark and his master were alike. Stark was warm, gentle, kind. Loki’s master was his opposite. He was cold and merciless, he was half- machine, the clear visor was over his eye even now, displaying data for his review, his mind almost merged with his greater-self. Only a small amount of his attention was needed to deal with this otherwise-useless slave.

Loki was not sure if his master even desired him, or if, as when he had been forced to suckle on the dild*, if his master desired only his degradation, his destruction, the annihilation of his self and his utter subjugation. That is what fueled his arousal, and looking up at him now, Loki knew it was so. His master had little desire for him, little desire even for his own pleasure. What he wanted was domination, and he was going to get it.

“Tell me what’s going to happen,” his master demanded, his eyes alight with his lust, “In detail.”

Loki tried to marshal his thoughts, tried to form an appropriate response, but all that came to his mind was Stark’s advice. Remember to breathe.

A stinging slap landed on Loki’s face, and another, backhanded to the other cheek. Loki took a gasping breath and blurted out, “You’re going to rape me, master!”

Loki’s master laughed long and loud at that, and then slapped him again, holding him by the hair, forcing him to take the blows. “Rape you?” he asked, amused, “You think this is rape? You think you have rights here? You think anything I decide to do to you is a crime on this world?" He was working himself into his desired state of passion, and Loki was helpless to prevent it. "Let me tell you something Loki," he continued, his eyes dark, the pupils huge and black. "I own you and I own your body and your life. Signed and sealed. You’re unrapeable. f*cking you isn’t a crime. Killing you isn’t a crime. You’re nothing, you’re property. You belong to me and if I want to shove my co*ck in you, I will.” His voice rose with his excitement, his own words, his own power, his own domination of Loki all he needed. The scent of his arousal was palpable; musk and heat, the force of his will made flesh. Loki was the locus of it, the center of his lustful attention, and when that dam burst, Loki would suffer the full force of his master's pent up power.

His master let go of his hair, and Loki closed his eyes again, let his head hang down. He tried to ignore his own body, tried to dissociate himself from it. He tried to float away.

Remember to breathe.

There were hands on his flesh. The plug was pulled out of him, a long, slow slide that send shudders of disgust down Loki’s spine.

Breathe.

Loki floated in darkness, ignoring the words that came from behind him, the gloating, the sound of unfastening clothes. Loki was alone in peaceful darkness, lit only by the light of slender golden threads. Like falling starlight, like a gentle waterfall, the threads brushed against Loki where he floated, detached from his body, detached almost from his mind.

Two hands gripped his buttocks, spread them, exposing his secret core to the lascivious gaze of the man who owned him, but Loki didn’t care. He drifted, until one of the golden threads brushed against his hand with a sizzling sting of familiar energy, and the snake suddenly spat out its tail.

Loki grabbed the thread and slammed back into his body. The fat head of his master’s co*ck nudged against his clenched bud and he screamed, “I have my magic! I have it! I found it! Please master please please please I have it back, please I swear it is true please I beg you!"

For an endless moment, nothing moved. The only sound was Loki's desperate panting breaths. His master's fingers were tight on his hips, his master's co*ck ready to pierce him. All Loki had were his words, and his knowledge that his master had never yet broken a bargain with him.

“Please, master,” he whispered, one final entreaty, and then all he could do was wait.

Chapter 33: Loki's Punishment

Chapter Text

“Show me,” Loki’s master growled. He didn’t move, didn’t release his grip on Loki’s hips, his co*ck still pressed to Loki’s lubricated entrance. All he had to do was push forward and Loki’s flesh would yield, he would be taken and it could never be undone. Loki scrambled frantically for the source of the golden thread, racing to find the precious pool of Yggdrasil’s power. He had but a few seconds to prove himself or his master would have no reason to hold back. With a desperate gasp, Loki yanked on the thread as hard as he dared until he could cast a witchlight over his palm, tiny and wavering, hardly visible in the bright lights of the lab. The small ball of arcane power was the only thing standing between him and his violation, and he could only hope that it would be enough.

There was silence as the witchlight sputtered and grew stronger. Loki’s flow of magic regulated itself, the connection growing, relief warring inside him with fear that he was too late. His master had given him one day, and he was past that deadline by at least a few minutes. Would his master still honor the spirit of his bargain? Or would he decide to take Loki anyway? Harsh fingers dug into Loki's hips, and Loki could almost feel his master’s indecision. He held his breath, helpless. Whatever his master decided, Loki was already bound and presented for his use, as vulnerable as it was possible to be.

The witchlight faded from Loki’s palm, he was unable to sustain it, afraid and trembling. A hand grabbed his hair and yanked his head up. His master pushed forward the tiniest amount, and Loki whimpered as the pressure on his entrance increased. He did not dare to beg, even to breathe, if he could have stopped his heart from beating, he would have done it. His fate hung in the balance. Despite everything he had done, everything he had become, the violations he had already endured, this last act was one that terrified him more than any other. Once his master had used him that way there would be nothing left. His fall would be complete.

"Do you think you can play games with me, Loki?” his master asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

Loki shook his head, “No master, no, please, I did not, the magic came back to me, I swear, it was not…”

“You are too late! You are too late Loki. I will not be trifled with. Your time is up and you’re going to pay for your insolence.” Loki could feel the heat of his master’s anger blending with the heat of his arousal, indistinguishable from it, both growing from the same core. His master took a deep steadying breath, let go of Loki’s hair and stepped back. He hit Loki, an open-handed slap on his ass, and Loki whimpered, more afraid than hurt, at least not yet. His master hit him again, another blow on his stinging flesh, and then a third time. Loki gasped, the pain building.

“You can choose what happens next,” his master said, his breath short, his hand squeezing Loki’s buttock, twisting his flesh where he had slapped him. “You can ask me to f*ck you, or you can ask me to punish you.”

“Please punish me,” Loki said at once, knowing that he could tolerate such pain far better than he could tolerate the violation of his body. “Please, master,” he said, “Please punish me.”

A fist gripped his bound wrists, fingers digging in, the pressure almost more than a human should be able to exert. “Very well, Loki,” his master said, dark promise in his voice, “Your precious little ass can remain untouched for another day. I’ll punish you instead.”

Loki’s master strode to the other side of the lab, grabbed a device from a cabinet and held it up so that his slave could see it.

It was the electric whip.

Loki’s mind blanked out. He fought the restraints, straining against the straps with his full force, but he was too well secured, the bench and the straps reinforced against his inhuman strength. His master flicked the device on, the strings of it glowing and sparking, and his master laughed at his panic. “What, did you think you could get away with a quick spanking?” he taunted Loki, flipping the whip in his hand, the electrified strings taught like a bow, ready to spring back and strike. He had rearranged his clothes and the only evidence of his arousal now was the high flush on his cheeks and the ugly bulge in his pants.

“Beg,” his master ordered, his voice thick with his excitement, the prospect of beating Loki almost as enticing as the prospect of f*cking him. He would have his pleasure, one way or another.

“Master, please,” Loki stammered through his panic and tears, unsure what he was begging for, knowing that he would get no mercy. His master circled him, the stands of the whip sizzling and hissing, power humming through them.

“More,” he demanded, and Loki sobbed, gulping for air. Whatever he did would not be enough, his master would not be satisfied until he was screaming, but Loki tried to please him anyway.

“Master I beg you,” he said, “I beg you, I beg you, please, please, please!”

The whip landed across his shoulders and Loki screamed. The slash and bite of it was agonizing, each strand a separate burn and sizzle on his skin, the power racing through his nerves like fire.

“Again,” his master ordered, but Loki’s mouth hung open wordlessly, his tongue stilled by the pain of the strike. “Again!” he shouted and Loki it managed this time,

“I beg you,” Loki gasped, “I beg you, I beg you, Master!”

“What for?” his master asked, and laughed when Loki couldn’t answer. Should he ask for mercy or for punishment? Whichever one he picked, he would be wrong.

It mattered not, his master was too far gone on his own lust for violence, and he hit Loki anyway, again and again. He beat his spread thighs, the soft skin between his legs, the backs of his knees, his buttocks, his shoulders, his upper arms, the palms of his hands, anywhere he could reach that the restraints did not cover. The strikes built up, the torture layering and growing, the endless burn of the whip, the shocks burning through Loki’s body. There was no pattern to it, no reason to it, and Loki begged for mercy, sobbed and begged and cried until he had no more words and all that was left were screams.

When he was satisfied that Loki had been punished enough, his master shoved the plug back in his slave's ass. He left Loki there, bent over and bound to the bench, burns and welts covering his body, tears dripping from his face. Loki's arms were numb, twisted up behind his back. He could not even take a full breath, he was forced to take small, gasping gulps of air. If he moved, even twitched, fresh pain skittered over his skin. It was as though Loki could not surface from a nightmare, as though he was trapped underwater, almost drowning in breathless pain, yet not managing to die. He could hear his master moving around in the workshop, working on one of his many projects, Loki utterly ignored. Perhaps he had even been forgotten.

But it was not so. Loki jerked back to alertness when his master stood before him and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling his head up. “You know,” he said, conversationally, “As fun as that was, I think you need a more permanent reminder.” He had something in his other hand, a device that Loki did not recognize. It was as long as Loki’s hand but half as wide, shiny black with silver teeth at one end. He did not wait for Loki to respond. He tightened his grip on Loki’s hair and flipped the device on, a harsh buzz assaulting Loki’s ears. Loki was confused, afraid of this new development but almost too exhausted and in too much pain to comprehend it. It was not until his master put the device against his head and long, black strands began to drift past his face that Loki realized what was happening.

His master was shaving his head.

He cried out and tried to jerk his head away, an involuntary reaction, but of course, he could not escape it. His master calmly grabbed another fistful of his hair and shaved that off too. “I don’t know why I didn’t do this before,” he said, his tone composed and even, the only sign of his enjoyment the two spots of color on his cheeks. “You don’t even take care of your hair,” he remarked, ignoring the fact that he had given Loki no brush or comb, no soap or oil for his hair. How was he supposed to make himself presentable? But of course, that was irrelevant. His master wished to taunt him, and Loki could do nothing but bow his head and accept it. His master took his time, shaving every inch of Loki’s head, running the shaver over it, smoothing it out, running his hand possessively over his shaved scalp. “Much better,” he said, “Don’t you agree?”

Loki sniffed back his miserable tears, “Yes, Master,” he whispered, well aware of what he was expected to say. He had had long hair his whole life, since he was a boy, every warrior of Asgard did. Or they used to. But that was irrelevant; Loki was no longer a warrior of Asgard, and he never had been. His master wanted him shaved and so he was shaved. This was his punishment, not just the whip but this humiliation as well, a reminder that his master’s will was absolute, and Loki could do nothing but obey.

His master released the straps and Loki fell off the bench, landing hard on the floor, his burns and welts agony at the sudden movement. A sickening wave of pain passed over him and through him, his vision fading at the edges.

“Do the rest,” his master ordered, holding out the shaver.

Loki sprawled on the floor, the remnants of his hair sticking to his skin. “The...the rest, master?” he asked, confused and disoriented. He raised one half-numb arm, his questing fingers feeling nothing but smooth stubble on his scalp. His head was evenly shaved all over, just as a slave should be.

“The rest,” his master snapped impatiently, his foot nudging Loki’s crotch, where dark curls grew. Loki stared up at him blankly. Surely he did not want...but he did. Of course, he did. Loki’s humiliation was not yet complete. He knelt on the cold floor, his master standing over him, arms folded, and did as he was told. He took the shaver, bowed his head and shaved off the light covering of hair around his genitals and under his arms. It was his master’s order, and Loki had no choice but to obey.

“Clean up this sh*t,” his master ordered him when he was done, turning his back with a dismissive wave of his hand and walking back to his workstation. Loki knelt frozen on the floor, staring after him. He shuddered, the stray hairs brushing against his welts sent jolts of pain through his body, he was lightheaded, dizzy and missing the habitual brush of hair on his shoulders, his neck cold and exposed. He tried to stand but fell back on his hands and knees, nauseous, the wave of pain too much. But he had been ordered to clean up, and if he did not obey he would be punished further. The implants would discipline him if his master didn’t want to waste his time. Loki crawled over to the cleaning cabinet and took out the broom and pan. Slowly, painstakingly, he swept the floor clear of his hair, until the trash can full of it. It was nothing but garbage now.

When the floor was clean, Loki was dismissed and sent back to his cell. He staggered down the hallway, the plug still stuffed in his ass, pain shooting through his body with every step, his fingers touching his shorn scalp, feeling over and over the evidence of what his master had done to him. He could not focus on any one thing. Pain, humiliation, fear, nausea, shame; it all churned in his belly, overwhelming.

Just remember to breathe.

Stark would be waiting for him in the cell. Loki walked faster, supporting himself on the walls, stumbling now in his haste. Stark would be there, and Loki needed him. Stark was the only person on this world that cared about Loki even the smallest bit. He could barely stand up. The weight of his own humiliation bore down on him. He was a beaten slave, his head shaved, a plug inside him, welts and bruises covering his skin. But Stark didn’t think of him that way. He had spoken to him kindly. He had comforted him, and Loki desperately needed comfort now. He ran down the last corridor and shoved open the door to the cell. Stark was there, still chained to the wall, exactly where Loki had left him.

“Stark,” Loki gasped, “Stark.” Loki fell into the room and collapsed on the floor. He crawled the last few paces until he felt Stark’s gentle hands on him and heard his voice, and then Loki was crying, sobbing, helpless in his arms.

Chapter 34: Change

Chapter Text

Loki was broken. Piece by piece, he had been chipped away. First by his father and Asgard, then by his fall through the void and the fall from honor and grace that had followed. Betrayal upon betrayal, shattering blow upon shattering blow. His brother's death had crushed him, and now Loki was nothing but dust and shards under his master's heel, utterly destroyed. A single breath of wind would be enough to scatter his ashes to the farthest corners of the nine-realms, and the only thing preventing that from happening was the gentle touch and calm voice of Tony Stark. He spoke softly, and Loki didn't understand his words, only his tone. It was a low, rumbling stream of comfort, companionship, and strength.

You are not alone.

Loki emptied out his tears on Stark’s lap, trembling with fever and cold, shame and nausea. His flesh burned with the pain of the whip, his head was horribly weightless and cold, his anus was still spread on the hateful plug, a sickening reminder of his master’s power, of Loki's subservience to his whims.

When his tears were gone, he still could not move. If he stayed still enough, perhaps he could...stop. Just stop. Let his breath slow and cease, let his heartbeat fade away, let his eyes focus far enough into the distance that he could see nothing but the stars.

Loki was afraid. His master had changed since coming back from Stark's world. He had always been brutal, harsh, merciless. But he had also been purposeful, methodical and patient. He had trained Loki before, many times. He had identified his slave's shortcomings and corrected them. He had hurt Loki when it had been necessary; he had used the electric whip, he had given Loki over to his machines to be violated, but nothing that had come before had been like this. His master had always kept control of himself. He had kept control of Loki.

Now, lying in Stark’s arms and in his lap, beaten and shaved and penetrated, Loki had never felt more out of control. It was as though gravity were failing under his feet, as though he would float away helplessly into space, unmoored and unanchored. He had no star to orbit, nothing to keep him in place, no sense of up or down.

His master had beaten him and sent him away; he had not used his slave's newly regained magic, he had not even had him perform his poses before allowing him to rest, something that had never happened before. His master had changed, and Loki's long years of training and discipline had not prepared him for it.

“Stark,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from screaming.

The hand on his head stilled, and Stark said, “I’m here.”

“Stark,” Loki said again. He did not know what he wanted, perhaps merely to say the man’s name. To know that it was him, andnot someone else.

“Yeah, I’m here Loki,” Stark said, patient and low, “I’m here.”

“You can have him if you want.”

They both flinched as the voice floated from the ceiling. Stark’s hand cupped protectively on Loki’s shaved head, that one spot warm compared to the chill of the rest of his scalp. Neither of them said anything, but Loki heard Stark’s teeth grind together, heard the harsh exhale as he didn’t say whatever it was he wanted to say.

Loki's master continued, "I left him plugged up for you. Don’t worry, he’s still as pure as the driven snow. Turn’s out he’d rather take a whipping than take it in the ass. From me, at least. Maybe he’d feel differently if it was you…”

“Shut up,” Stark snapped, “Just stop it! Why are you doing this? What do you want?”

Loki could hear his master’s harsh breath, something else that had never happened before. “You’re not better than me!” he hissed through the speakers, “You think you’re a hero just because you tried.But I won , I saved this planet, I saved half the universe, and what do I get for it? A Jotun chew-toy . You let billions die, and what do you get? You get a perfect life! A wife! A family! You think you’re better than me! You’re not and I’ll prove it. We're the same.”

“No.” Stark rejected him instantly, “We're not the same. We’re different. Nature or nurture, I don’t know, but I can tell you for f*cking sure I’ve never done anything like this .” He pointed at Loki’s body, emaciated and beaten, his choked breath shuddering in his chest.

“Not yet,” Loki’s master said, regaining his composure and the semblance of his patience, “but you will. You’re going to take me to new worlds. And before that, you're going to break Loki in."

“That’s not going to happen,” Stark said. His hand tightened on Loki’s elbow, an uninjured spot that had been protected from the whip by the restraints. He pulled Loki to his chest, his head resting in the crook of Stark’s arm, tucked into his chest. Loki didn’t have the strength to tense up at his master’s words. He was exhausted, feverish and shivering.

“It’s up to you,” his master said with an amused scoff, “But I’m not feeding either one of you again until you do. No medicine either.”

“What?” Stark yelled, horrified. He scrambled to his feet, staring up at the ceiling, the chain around his neck yanking him back as he tried to take more steps than he was allowed. "What? Why? No!"

Loki curled up on the floor at his feet, wrapping his trembling arms around his knees. He already knew that resistance was useless.

His master had given his orders and there was no going back.

Chapter 35: Persuasion

Chapter Text

Stark paced the cell, marking out a frustrated semi-circle at the end of his chain. Loki lay within the arc of his steps, his fingers rhythmically stroking his shaved head, the warmth of his long hair already fading from his memory. He rolled onto his back, the cold metal floor both soothing and agonizing on his welts and bruises. Loki did not present an appealing sight, and Stark’s reluctance to use him was not surprising, but he had to. Loki had to convince him. Waiting would only hurt them both. Already Loki could feel his fever rising even in the chill of the cell.

“Stark,” he rasped, his throat dry and scratchy. Stark stopped his pacing and crouched beside him, one warm hand on Loki’s jaw, his brown eyes soft and kind.

“Don’t worry, Loki,” he said, “I’m not going to do it.”

Loki shook his head, trying to clear his head and focus. “No,” he said, “No, you must. He will not change his course. Believe me, he will not.”

“Loki,” Stark said incredulous, “I’m not going to do it! It’s not an option.”

Loki blinked rapidly, his eyes watering. “Stark,” he said, trying to remain calm, “Please reconsider. He will starve us until you do what he wants. He will not give me medicine, my fever will return…”

Stark’s face softened, understanding Loki’s fear. “I get it,” he said, “I do. But Loki, it’s not possible. Literally.” He gestured to himself, an awkward motion at his own crotch, that Loki understood perfectly.

Loki closed his eyes and nodded. Stark was not aroused by his debasem*nt, as his master was. Loki’s emaciated and abused body was not appealing to him. It was not surprising. Stark had a beautiful wife, Virginia Potts, the mother of his beloved daughter, the opposite of Loki in every way. Even if Stark did lay with others, which for some reason Loki doubted, he certainly had no reason to settle for such an imperfect specimen as Loki.

As though he could read Loki’s thoughts, Stark gave him a rueful smile. “It’s not that,” he said, sitting on the floor next to him, his hand on Loki’s elbow. “I know you don’t want to,” he said, “You made that very clear.”

Loki was afraid, but with Stark the fear sharpened his mind, unlike his fear of his master, which crushed him into soundless and silent terror. “I want it more than I want to die of starvation and fever,” Loki replied, leaning into Stark’s warm touch.

“Yeah, me too actually, but, you know...” Stark made the gesture again, indicating his utter lack of arousal.

“I could…” Loki started, letting one hand drift towards Stark’s inner thigh.

“No!” Stark slapped it away, his fingers catching on the welts left across Loki's palm by the electric whip. Loki gasped and snatched his hand back, holding it to his chest, the bright sting of pain breaking through his self-enforced numbness, squeezing tears out of his eyes and the breath out of his lungs.

"Sorry," Stark said with a guilty look. "I’m sorry Loki, I didn't mean to hurt you."

Loki let it go with a shrug. It was hardly the worst thing that had happened to him that day, and most likely before the day was out worse things would happen again. His master was escalating. He was no longer patient and thoughtful. Once, he would have left his prisoners for days to stew and panic, but now he had hardly waited an hour before issuing his ultimatum. Something had triggered him, something about Stark and his family.

Loki was a mere tool now, a tool to manipulate Stark into giving his master what he wanted. He was not wanted for his own sake anymore. His magic, once prized and valued, now seemed to hold no use.

Loki shivered, cold in the cell, and Stark put his hand on his forehead. “You’re warm,” he said.

They both knew what that meant. Loki had only had one dose of the immune suppressants since his return. Whatever long-acting protection that he had built up before Stark had taken him was gone. Once this dose wore off Loki's fever would spike, and he would burn.

Loki pushed himself to a sitting position, leaning on the wall next to Stark, their shoulders pressed together. He ignored the press of the plug inside him; he would be grateful for it soon enough. Loki let his head rest on Stark’s shoulder. He ignored the pain in his body, something he was well used to by now. The humiliation was harder to disregard, but Loki had endured years of such humiliation to teach him how to bear it.

Loki had to convince Stark to do as his master demanded. If he did not, he would die.

“Stark,” Loki said, thinking of what Stark had said, that he knew Loki did not want it. Loki's wishes were meaningless, of course, but Stark still gave them some consideration. Loki had to convince him otherwise. “You are right. I do not want to lie down for you any more than you want to have me, but neither of us has that choice."

"I'm not like him," Stark insisted, "I'm not going to rape you on his orders."

You're unrapeable, Loki.

The echo of his master's words came back to him and blanked out Loki’s thoughts for an endless moment. Loki rubbed his fingertips in slow circles over the stubble on his head, the bristles soft on the pads of his fingers, an almost soundless whisper in the quiet cell. His master spoke the truth. Loki was a slave, a possession to be used in any way his owner wished, but Loki knew he would not convince Stark with that fact. Stark still treated Loki as a person, not as a slave. Loki had to appeal to him some other way.

"If you do it, it does not prove that he is right," Loki said, cautiously feeling out his words, the truth of them rising up inside him as he spoke. "It does not mean that you are like him. It is not the same. My master has no one giving him orders. No one threatened him with starvation if he did not hurt me, if he did not kill my brother and enslave me, if he did not break my bones and break my will. My master made all his own choices, and this would be his choice too, not ours.”

Jotun chew-toy.

Loki shook his head, trying to chase the words away, but he could not deny the truth of them. He was a plaything whose purpose was to be destroyed. And he was so close to destruction now, so very close. His life was held in the balance between these two men. Loki had to trust Stark. There was nothing else he could do.

“I am Jotun, not Asgardian,” he confessed. “When I depart from this world, there is no place for me in Valhalla or Fólkvangr. Even the wastes of Hel will not accept me. I will fall into Nidhogg’s maw, and the great wyrm’s teeth will grind my bones and rend my flesh, the acid of its belly will dissolve my skin and sinew. That will be my fate until Ragnarok turns the wheel and the realm eternal can be reborn. It is the fate of traitors and cowards, and I know I deserve it, but Stark, I beg you. Do not send me to that doom yet. Please.”

Loki took Stark’s hand in both of his. Stark's fingers were strong and calloused, rough skin that told of his work with his hands. Loki’s own hands were feeble things in comparison, his fingers thin and weak, the palms beaten and scabbed.

“Please,” he whispered. “I know you will be gentle with me, and I have had little enough gentleness for many years. Will you not do this for me?”

Stark let out a long sigh, resting his head on Loki’s and squeezing his hand. “That’s the most you’ve said since I met you,” he said. “I think we have some philosophical differences about the afterlife, but Loki I promise you this; I won’t let you die if it’s in my power to save you.”

He felt Loki’s forehead again, and Loki leaned into the touch, relief washing over him even as his fever rose. That left only one problem: Stark found him utterly undesirable.

“You can close your eyes,” he said, unsure what else to suggest. Stark did not want his touch, and there was nothing Loki could do about his miserable appearance. “Pretend it is not me. Think of your wife.”

Stark drew back, looked at Loki with raised eyebrows, and Loki immediately realized his mistake. He hurriedly backtracked.

“Not that you would do such things with your wife!” he stumbled over his words in haste to get them out, “I did not mean to insult Lady Potts! Or you! Or imply…”

Stark huffed a laugh and waved his hand, “It’s OK,” he said, “It’s fine. I don’t...I mean, it’s usually the other way around.”

It was Loki’s turn to look incredulous, and Stark smirked, nodding to confirm that the scenario Loki’s disbelieving imagination was supplying was actually the case. “But don’t worry,” Stark added, “I can go the other way. I know how everything works.”

Stark interlaced their fingers, Loki’s bloody palm against his own uninjured one, all laughter gone. “Tell me you want me to,” he said, turning to look Loki in the eyes.

Loki swallowed. Unlike his master’s orders to repeat whatever demeaning and humiliating words he wanted to hear from Loki’s lips, Stark actually wanted to know the truth. Loki raised Stark’s hand to his lips and kissed it, a single, pleading, desperate kiss.

“I want you to,” he said.

Chapter 36: It’s not a dream or a nightmare

Chapter Text

Loki was surprised that the speakers had remained silent while he and Stark were talking. His master would be watching them, of course, enjoying their helplessness, the realization of the necessity of bending to his will. He would be watching to ensure Stark took the next step down the road that he was forcing him down. He let Stark understand the trap with Loki’s help, with Loki’s insistence that compliance was the only option.

But now it was decided, he remained silent and neither of them moved.

“Um,” Stark said after a few minutes, turning to face Loki, “Your back is pretty torn up. It might be more comfortable for you to be on your front or maybe kneeling?”

Stark was right of course. The show position would give Stark access to every part of Loki that he needed and allow the least amount of physical contact to Loki’s injuries, but the very idea of it made Loki’s stomach churn. He had bent over often enough for his master, he couldn't tolerate it from Stark as well. No. Loki shook his head.

“I would prefer…” he said, but the word caught in his throat as he said it. It had been so long since his preference had mattered in any way, the word had almost left his vocabulary. “I would prefer to see you,” he said. “If that is acceptable," he added hurriedly, unsure how many choices he had in this situation. Stark was doing this for him, after all. Loki had asked him for it, and despite his reluctance and distaste, Stark was going to oblige him. Loki at least could take whatever position Stark told him to. He had already said that Stark could pretend he was someone else, and now he had refused Stark's request to hide his face. He could not risk appearing ungrateful for this favor; Stark may still yet change his mind.

“Yeah, OK,” Stark began, but Loki shook his head again. Fever washed over him in an almost physical wave, his skin warming, and his thoughts clouding.

“Perhaps...” he said, trying to wrestle his thoughts into order before the fever overtook him, “Perhaps it would be better if you tell me what to do, and I will do it. I apologize. Please, Stark, I will do as you wish. It is easier that way...”

“No, no,” Stark said, cupping his hand around Loki’s jaw, cool and grounding, looking into his bleary eyes. “No, Loki, you call the shots here. We can do this how you want. Why don’t you bring your mat over here? That’d help right?”

Loki crawled over to the sleeping mat. Crawling seemed the better option than trying to stand, and he dragged it back over to Stark the same way. Stark helped him lay it out and guided him down onto his back. The thin padding helped shield his injured back from the hard floor, but only a little. Loki breathed through it and closed his eyes until the initial surge of pain was over.

Stark was careful to only touch him where the whip had missed him, but even his gentle hands sent shudders over Loki’s body. He could not help it, even though he knew Stark had to arouse himself somehow. He had to perform his role in this farce of intimacy that Loki's master demanded, and if Stark wanted to touch Loki to do that, he could hardly complain. The alternative was to burn in the furnace of his own body, after all.

“OK…” Stark knelt between Loki’s legs, the silver collar and chain around his neck a reminder of the impossibility of his position. “So, this is...OK, this is just gonna be all over weird and awkward, so I’m just gonna go with it.” He pressed the palm of his hand to his crotch, over his pants, and started to rub. “I'm going to touch you,” Stark said. He slid two fingers down Loki’s thigh, clearly signaling his intention before they came to rest on the base of the plug that still held Loki’s body open in readiness for this violation. “Just tell me if you want to stop or slow down. Or if you want me to do anything different.”

Loki nodded, already half-floating, the fever and dread almost forcing him out of his body. It was as though his skin was constricting and his soul was escaping through the cracks. “It’s fine,” he croaked, “It's fine, do what you want.”

Stark snorted. “Believe me Loki, if I could do what I wanted I would be ripping this chain off and we’d be making a daring escape right now.” While he spoke, he eased the plug out of Loki’s body, slow and easy, letting it linger at the widest point, a little extra stretch that Loki knew he needed but still hated. “If I could do what I wanted this place would be a pile of rubble and we’d be on our way home.”

Loki gasped as the plug slid out of him. Stark held up the half-used tube of lubricant, his other hand still stroking himself, trying to elicit some reaction, trying to overcome his distaste for Loki and for this situation. “I’m going to use this,” he said and snapped it open, squirting the cold gel on his fingers and sliding them back to Loki’s entrance. The cold gel was heavenly on Loki’s heated flesh and despite himself, a moan escaped his lips. Not from pleasure, but from the bliss of the cool sensation and the relief that the plug was gone from his body. Loki relaxed a fraction. Stark was not going to hurt him on purpose. He was going to do his best to be gentle and kind and he was going to take Loki in the least painful way he could. This was better than anything Loki could have expected. He had known that his use would come to this, to be a vessel for another’s pleasure, for his body to be given over this way, that he would have to spread his legs and surrender. Well now it was time, it was happening and there was no one he would rather do it to him than Stark.

“Yes,” Loki said, the gel and Stark’s cool hands helping him focus, “Stark, I am glad it is you. I want you to do this. I want you to.” He touched Stark’s shoulder, looking into his deep brown eyes. Stark turned and kissed his hand, a wry smile on his face.

Stark looked as though he had something to say, but he seemed to change his mind and instead said, “You know, this is probably the weirdest sex-experience of my life. And there have been some weird times! But yeah, I guess I’m glad I’m here with you too Loki. I'd rather be here than you be here alone.” Stark slid a finger inside Loki’s body, and quickly added another. Loki’s body was already open from the plug, Stark did not need to linger over that first step as he had earlier that day. Loki stared at the ceiling as his body was worked and prepared. He wanted to close his eyes and float away, but that would leave Stark here alone. Stark had agreed to perform this service for him, and clearly, he was having trouble with it. His hand was still firmly rubbing his crotch and trying to arouse himself but having no visible success.

Loki willed his body to relax and open, to make this easy for Stark, to give every appearance of not being afraid, of wanting this to happen. He was in no state for delicacy, however, and in need of distraction he blurted out, “Tell me of your first time, Stark.”

Stark stopped what he was doing and looked up at him, surprised at his question. “First time?” he said, “I’ve had plenty of first times, you can take your pick. First time with a woman, first time with a man, first time…”

Loki interrupted him. “Your favorite first time, then,” he said. He wanted to encourage the man to find a pleasant memory to feast upon, to distract him from Loki’s broken and starved body laid out before him like table scraps.

Stark smiled and added more lube, slowly working Loki open, relaxing him and easing his two fingers apart. “Favorite huh? OK well, that’s got to be Pepper, the first time she...uh...the first time she did this for me.”

Loki looked up, interested despite himself. Stark, a powerful man on his own realm, would willingly confess to such a thing, knowing that his alternate self was listening. Or perhaps that was his purpose, once again to draw a line between them. Loki’s master may be forcing him to take Loki in his manner, but he could not force him to be like him. “Your wife has, uh, had you, Stark?” he asked, his voice hitching mid-sentence as Stark's fingers stretched him.

Stark laughed. “Oh yeah,” he said, the hand stroking himself speeding up, “Oh yeah, many times. But let me tell you the first time.” Stark opened his pants and slid them down over his hips. Loki didn’t look. He didn’t want to know if Stark and master were alike in that regard. Loki had had his master’s replica co*ck down his throat often enough to have a very good idea of the size, and if Stark was the same he would rather not see it for himself. He would feel it soon enough, after all.

“She got me drunk,” Stark said, “Well, tipsy. It was my birthday! Oh my god, I forget that. It was my birthday and she wanted to f*ck me in the ass. She didn't even do it on her birthday.” Stark choked back a laugh at that, and shook his head, “She said What do you get for the man who has everything? And I opened the box and it was a f*cking dild* and this leather harness and I didn’t even know what she meant. I was just confused until she gave me that look.” Stark mimicked the look, his eyebrows arched, eyes dark and intent, lips pursed. Loki felt a slight thrill at it, at being looked at in that manner, as though he was something desirable. Not as he was now used to, being regarded as something despicable beneath his master’s heel. As Stark told his story his cheeks flushed and his lips reddened. His hand on his own co*ck slowed, the strokes more meaningful and his reaction to them more obvious. He did not neglect Loki though, his other hand slick with lube, ensuring Loki was ready for him. “So that was the first time,” Stark finished his tale, “But not the last. I think now I like it more than she does because she has to do all the work.” He smiled down at Loki, “I just get to lie there and let her. And that’s all you have to do now, Loki.”

Stark withdrew his fingers and coated his hard co*ck in a final squeeze of lubricant. “Just relax and I’ll take care of everything,” he said. Despite himself, his fear and the pain of his injuries, Loki let his knees fall open. The warmth of Stark’s pleasurable memory could not be more different than this, but still it was all Loki was going to get. This was his first time, in this prison cell with Stark, his master watching and pulling both of their strings from afar. But then it would be over and done and Loki’s master would not have it to threaten him with any more.

Loki held Stark’s shoulders like an anchor, tipping his hips up to help him. The press of a co*ck at his entrance for the second time that day threatened to crack his calm, but Stark didn’t linger. “Deep breath in,” he said, “Let it out nice and slow.” Loki did as he was told, and as he let his breath out Stark pushed in, talking all the time. “Good, that’s good Loki, another breath, good. Keep going, you’re doing well, so good.”

Loki breathed as he was filled. Stark was slow and gentle, but he was large, larger than the plug by far. Loki’s pulse increased as the stretch overwhelmed him. It was too much and he tightened his grip on Stark’s shoulders, unconsciously pulling his knees up to give Stark room. Loki panted out his breaths and hooked his ankles behind Stark’s back, pulling him in even as he was on the edge of pain, the throb of his injuries against the thin mat and the stretch and burn of the co*ck in his ass. The only thing to offset it was Stark’s voice talking him through it, low and calm, telling him everything he was going to do before he did it. He broke Loki in as gently as it was possible to do, as kind and considerate as anyone could, as anyone would.

Stark pushed up on his elbows and looked down at Loki, his hips pressed against Loki’s ass, buried inside him, Loki thoroughly taken and about to be ravished. Stark cupped Loki's head in his hands, his palms brushing the stubble on his head. “OK?” he asked, and Loki nodded. He was OK. He was. He was. He took a gasping breath, the heat of the fever rising up in him, and he said, “Yes, Stark, yes, don’t stop. Do it.” Stark started to move, withdrawing and sliding back inside. The lubricant made the motion easy even if the stretch still hurt, and Loki looked up at the man above him, suddenly desperate for closeness and connection, not wanting to be alone with this new sensation.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Stark said, looking down at him. He was looking into Loki's eyes from a mere few inches away, closer than anyone before except perhaps Loki's mother. Stark's own eyes were dark now, his hips pumping, his breath short, his arousal overtaking him despite his earlier reservations. He leaned down and kissed Loki's jaw, held his shorn head tenderly in his hands. “They're so green, but not just green. They're like sea-glass reflecting the sunset, like birch-leaves with crimson tips. Loki. Loki. I’m sorry.” Stark buried his face in Loki’s neck as he reached his climax, his hips stuttering and quieting as he spilled.

Loki held him, wrapped him in his arms and his legs and let him rest.

Chapter 37: Medicine

Chapter Text

Stark did not linger. He climbed off Loki’s body and rearranged his clothes, tidying himself and gathering his scattered thoughts. Loki only wished he could do the same. He lay on his back, the bloody welts sticking to the mat. Shivers wracked his body despite the heat that grew inside him. The fever had him in its teeth now, and this time there was no ice bath, no cold drinks, no comfort of any kind for him. Only his master’s mercy, paid for with his own body. The puffy soreness and slow ooze of Stark’s spend inside him was testament to that.

Before his thoughts could spin too far, Stark spoke, looking up at the ceiling. “Loki needs his medicine,” he said, stopping short of making a demand, but only just. His meaning was clear, and Loki cringed at it. His master did not take kindly to being given orders.

There was a long silence while Loki’s panicked thoughts grew and spiraled in his fevered mind. Desperation to hear his master’s voice warred with dread of the same.

“Send him to the lab,” came the eventual order, cold and emotionless. The metallic edge told Loki that the words did not come from his master’s own mouth, but from the vast array of technology that held his greater-self. Loki stirred weakly, the thought of the long walk back to his master’s lab stretching out before him. In his current state, it may as well be a hundred miles.

Stark put his hand on Loki’s forehead and scowled. “He won’t make it,” he argued, “His fever’s spiking, he needs his medicine now.”

“Send him to the lab,” was the only reply, the intonation exactly the same. The message was clear: there would be no negotiation.

“f*ck…” Stark muttered to himself, looking down at Loki as he still struggled to get up on his hands and knees. “OK buddy, cold shower first. That might help.”

Stark dragged Loki into the bathing room and half-shoved, half-dropped him into the shower stall. Loki slumped on the tile floor as Stark turned on the water, both of them quickly soaked in the close quarters of the tiny room. The icy water helped a little, and Loki could feel his thoughts return as the shower rained down on him. It was not as effective as the ice bath that Stark and Rhodes had arranged for him, but it was better than nothing.

Dripping wet and shivering from fever, Loki struggled to his feet. He did not know what scrap of pride prompted him to do it, but he pointed at the soap by the basin. Wordlessly, Stark handed it to him. Loki had been used, he had been broken in, he had been taken, but he still could be clean. When he had washed himself, the cold water had done its work; the fever was slightly lessened and Loki was able to walk unaided.

He held his head up and gripped Stark’s shoulder for balance as he got out of the shower. Loki had no words for Stark, no words to tell him how he felt about what had happened between them. He did not even know it himself. It was better not to talk, not to think, to push away whatever thoughts tried to ambush him and focus instead on what he needed to do next.

His master had promised him food after his breaking-in, and his food was laced with the drugs that suppressed his fever and kept him docile and obedient. He didn't care, at this point, about those other effects. He needed the medicine, and he was summoned to his master’s lab to get it.

Loki staggered down the hallways. He was passed from Stark to his master and back again, sent between the two of them, used by one and then returned to be used by the other. He pressed his hands to his face, his feet finding their own way. He tried not to think about what would happen to him after this, what use his master had for him now. He was not sure that even his master knew. His careful, meticulous plans had been knocked askew by Stark’s arrival, and he had not yet recovered himself. But that was not Loki's concern. He had submitted to his master's wishes and spread his legs for Stark. He had earned his reward and that was all he needed to think about now. One foot in front of the other.

The door to the lab was closed, and Loki waited silently to be admitted. The door swam before his eyes, the chill of the shower already wearing off and the haze of fever taking its place. He waited, waited, the minutes ticking by in his head. The door did not open, and no voice came from the ceiling to tell him what to do. Loki swayed on his feet, his discomfort growing. Something was wrong, and he did not know what it was.

It was not until he staggered and almost fell that he realized his mistake. He was standing. He was standing by the door waiting, as though he was a guest, as though he was a person. Loki's knees collapsed under him and he dropped to the floor, curling up into the down position, his face on the floor where it belonged. He shook with fever, and with shame. How long had he stood like that? Every moment was an insult to his master, and Loki had no way to atone for it except to do as he was doing, to supplicate himself and wait. His head spun, and even flat to the ground the floor tilted under him.

Loki didn’t hear the door open, but he felt a change in the air. It took him a long time to focus on the shape before his face and realize that it was his master’s feet. Loki was sprawled out on the floor now, the burn of the implants barely making themselves felt over the heat of the fever. Loki moaned, pathetic and helpless, and reached for his master’s foot. His fingertips rested on his shoe, a silent, helpless plea for mercy. His master kicked him off.

“Get in here,” he ordered and turned his back, leaving Loki where he lay and heading back into the lab.

His master was staring at his screens. Loki blinked as he recognized his own cell, four cameras staring down from the ceiling, leaving no angle uncovered. Stark was sitting on the floor, his back to the wall, his legs crossed and his hands resting on his knees. Loki recognized the Cheater’s Lotus pose that Stark had taught him back on his own world. Another screen showed charts and readings, but Loki could not make out what they were.

Loki flinched as his master slapped one of the screens, sending it spinning on its axis. “What's this?” His master demanded, turning back to Loki, pointing at the image of Stark in the cell. “Doesn’t he have a conscience? Did that mean nothing to him? He’s just going to sit there like nothing happened?”

Loki did not know how to respond to that, or even if he was supposed to respond. He saw a vial of clear liquid on his master’s worktable, a gleaming metal needle next to it, and all other thoughts flew out of his head. His medicine. His master was going to give it to him.

A pleading whine escaped Loki’s lips and his master followed his gaze to the medicine. He picked up the needle, already filled, but he did not move to give it to his slave. Loki frantically checked his posture, pulling himself up to ready pose, on his knees, hands behind his back, head down. He did not know what else to do.

“Did he like it?” His master asked, and it took Loki a moment to understand the question.

“I...I don’t know master,” he stammered, which was nothing but the truth. Stark had not wanted to have him, but once he started he had seemed to find it pleasurable enough.

Loki’s master snorted and waved the needle in a dismissive gesture. “I want him to like it,” he said, his lip curled, “I want him to want more. He likes you, God knows why. Pity, maybe. But he does, and the more he uses you the more leverage we have. Got it?”

Loki’s desperate eyes followed the needle and he nodded. “Yes master,” he said, his voice hoarse in his dry throat. “But Master, he will not...he only did it because he had to.”

His master stared down at his slave, the needle in his hand, weighing his choices. Loki felt faint. He did not know how much longer he could hold his pose, how much strength he had left to fight this fever that threatened to engulf him. “Well, you’d better make him want it, hadn’t you?”

Loki looked down at himself, bruised, beaten and starved, naked, shaved and humiliated. He was not in the least bit tempting, not for a man like Stark who had a beautiful wife at home. “But…” he said, confused and uncertain.

Stark snarled at him, put one foot on his chest and shoved him back, sending him sprawling to the floor.

“Don’t argue with me!” he snapped, “Just do what I tell you.”

“Please,” Loki said, not knowing what else to say, “Please master. I will do what you want. I will. I beg you.” He reached his hand up towards the needle, the cool medicine that would calm the fever that burned in him, that would save his life, as miserable as it was.

His master shook his head and put the needle down on the worktable. “No,” he said, folding his arms across his chest, "Not until you learn to behave. Go to your basket."

He turned his back and went back to his worktable, staring at the screens showing Stark’s still form, leaving Loki lying on the floor.

Loki stared at the ceiling, disbelieving. “Master,” he whispered, confused and afraid, “Master, you promised.”

There was no reply.

Chapter 38: Black Water

Chapter Text

Loki lay in his basket under the table, wracked with shivers, his joints aching, his skin burning. He faced the wall, his legs curled up, his mind in turmoil. He had submitted as his master had ordered him too, but he had not been given his reward; food and medicine. He could not understand it, and his mind turned over and over, trying to remember his master’s exact words, the commands he had given and what he had promised in return. He had told Stark to break Loki in. Was it possible that they had misinterpreted that command? That his master had required something other than what Stark had done? But try as he might, Loki could not come up with an alternative explanation. They had obeyed, and his master had not given them the promised reward. Either that or he had left enough ambiguity in his words that the promise was not made, only implied.

Loki’s master did not play such games, though. He did not twist his words and play tricks, he had never betrayed Loki’s trust in him before. He laid out his rules and Loki followed them, and if he didn't his master would train him and correct his behavior with implacable patience. That was the foundation that Loki had relied on for years. Without that certainty, Loki did not know what to do. He was adrift, his mind fogged with fever, lying in a basket like a dog, entirely at his owner’s suddenly unpredictable mercy for his survival.

Thirst burned through him, his lips were dry and cracked, his skin tight and stretched over his bones. Without his medicine, he would overheat. Did his master know that? He must. He must . This was training, it had to be deliberate. Loki could think of no other possibility. The idea that his master had forgotten, or had miscalculated the effects of the nanites was inconceivable. Loki wondered over and over what he had done wrong, and how he could atone for it. How he could earn the medicine that his master was withholding, but he came up with nothing. His master was displeased with Stark’s reaction to taking Loki, but Loki could not control that. He could do nothing, he could not even attempt to entice Stark to take him again, trapped as he was in his basket in the laboratory. There was nothing he could do, except burn with fever and fear.

A kick to his shoulder jerked him back to wakefulness, and he scrambled to turn over, his limbs heavy and weak. His master was standing over him, scowling down at him, no sign of the longed-for needle in his hands.

“What are you doing lazing around here?” he snapped with another kick that rocked the basket. Loki stared up at him, dumbstruck. He was where his master had ordered him to be. Loki licked his lips, his mouth parched, no trace of moisture to aid him. He would have cried if he could have, his thoughts fading and vanishing from his mind, his very self fading like a ghost, like a thing already dead.

His master ducked down and dragged him out of the basket, dumping him on the floor. Moving was agony, and stillness was torment. His master was talking but Loki could no longer hear him. His nerves buzzed, as the implants fired. The vibration ground on his bones, shooting up his spine like lightning, but the pain was removed from him as though insulated by a thick blanket. Loki put his cheek to the blessedly cool floor, feeling it rock beneath him. It was a gentle sway like the branch of a tree, like the branch of Yggdrasil itself, welcoming him home.

Chill washed over him, but not the welcome cool of the medicine. This was the deadly cold of nothingness, the ice-stinking breath of Nidhogg itself. Loki cried out in fear and forced his eyes open. He was in his master’s lab.

He was alive. He was alive.

He looked up, hoping that his master had realized his slave's critical state. Loki longed for his mercy, but if anything he only looked angrier than ever. The clear visor over his face was lit with diagrams that formed in repeated patterns, the shapes failed and turned red over and over, failure after failure. Loki could not tear his eyes away, hypnotized by the flow. Another kick landed in his belly, and Loki’s breath stopped, agony his only thought.

Loki could not speak to beg, he could not lift his hand to point to the needle on the worktable so far away across the lab. He could do nothing but lie there and take his master’s rage, his fury, without even understanding what he had done to earn it.

He must have blacked out because he returned to consciousness hearing raised voices, yelling, arguing. One of the voices was his master, and the other was so familiar, so familiar. Loki opened his eyes, yearning for the comfort of that voice. It was Stark, on the screen staring up into the camera, yelling. He was fighting the chain, pulling on it, red marks around his neck, a trickle of blood staining his shirt. Loki tried to focus, to hear what they were fighting about, as though it concerned him at all.

“....going to die you asshole! Give him the medicine, I know you have it. Just give it to him!” Stark was furious, almost as much as Loki’s master had been when he dragged him out of the basket. Loki blinked slowly, staring at the image on the screen.

Loki’s master replied, as though repeating himself, “Give me the formulas and then we’ll talk.”

Stark yelled back, “We did what you said! We did it. Give him the medicine, or I won’t believe a single thing you say!”

“You enjoyed it!” Loki’s master shot back, slapping his hand on the table, “You f*cked him and you liked it!” He had his back to Loki, uncaring that his slave was breathing his last breaths on the floor behind him. “Even I never did that!”

Stark refused to be distracted. “Give him the medicine and let me talk to him. I’m not giving you anything else until...”

Loki closed his eyes again. He couldn’t follow the conversation or understand why it was important who had done what to him. It didn’t matter anymore. His master was going to let him die, though inaction, through negligence. Loki was not even worth the trouble of killing, and that final insult almost choked him. His death would be an afterthought and an accident.

He could tell it was the end. He had suffered so long, so much, that he almost welcomed it. He was burning in his own skin. It was not far away. Nidhogg’s maw opened under his feet, its icy breath brushing his overheated flesh. Loki was clinging to life with his fingernails, and it was hard to remember why. Everything hurt, his bones were broken glass grinding against each other, his tongue was swollen and dry in his mouth, and his every breath was agony in his lungs. Loki's grip loosened, his last thought was of Stark looking into his eyes, his palms cradling his head, calling him beautiful.

Eyes like sea-glass, like birch-leaves.

Cold washed over him, heated and chilled at once, shaking and burning his body, both extremes pulling him apart, and it was too much, too much.

He couldn’t fight anymore.

Loki let go and plunged into black water, bottomless, too cold to freeze, thick like syrup. In the depths the nightmare of Nidhogg lurked, feasting on those who fell.

Eyes like sea-glass reflecting the sunset, like birch-leaves with crimson tips.

As he sank, Loki grasped for that last thought, something tugging him back to the surface.

Eyes like sea-glass reflecting the sunset, like birch-leaves with crimson tips.

Green and red. Green eyes with red depths. Loki saw his brother's face, earnest and intent, telling him how to save himself.

A shape rose from the depths, mouth open, rows of fangs glinting with poison. With a horrified lurch, Loki sobbed and struck for the surface. He wanted to live.

Red eyes snapped open, and the hungry grasp of the dark water cascaded off Loki's back like a breaking wave. He gasped and breathed out, his breath fogging in the air. A hundred thousand gems of ice in his blood cracked and shattered as the nanites were destroyed. The implants froze to his bones, chunks of useless metal in his body.

Loki stood, frost forming under his feet. His body was strange, his crimson eyes saw new wavelengths, heat overlayed on colors he had no names for. But in the center of his view, instantly familiar, was the bright-white heat of the human who called himself Master .

Tony Stark.

Chapter 39: Ice

Chapter Text

Ice hung in the air, exhaled cold and clear from Loki’s lungs, particles of moisture turned to crystal-gems. Time paused, as though the seconds themselves were frozen. Loki was unsteady on his feet. His body was weak despite his unfamiliar new form, but he straightened his back and raised his head. He would fight death with every last scrap of power that he had. Loki's captor would not be his end.

The human shivered, the unnaturally cold air finally reaching him where he stood at his screens, staring at the image of Stark chained in the cell. Terror and joy surged in Loki's breast as the man turned, his rage becoming horror as he saw the horned apparition towering behind him, blue-skinned and red-eyed. Frost crackled on Loki's skin, and a blade of ice formed in his fist.

Despite his shock, the human was fast. His clear visor glowed, targeting, analyzing. Weapons dropped from hidden niches, charged and seeking their kill.

Instinct was Loki’s savior. Driven by a thousand years of training and battle, forgotten by his conscious mind but remembered by his wasted muscles, Loki struck. The ice blade was poorly made, cracked and blunt, but it was heavy and it shattered the bone when Loki drove it into the human's shoulder. He hit again, clumsy, desperate, and off-balance. Both of them fell to the floor, rolling together under the workbench, out of the reach of the automated defenses. Loki landed on top, his skin burning where the hot skin of the human touched him. Under him, the human cried out, his arm useless and crushed, raw patches on his flesh where the ice had scraped and gouged at him.

Loki’s muscles were screaming now. The unaccustomed exertion was unsustainable on top of his exhausted, starved state. His captor was still struggling under him and without thinking Loki hit him again. He wanted only to stop him, to stop this, to find a moment to rest. The blow shattered the ice encasing his fist and snapped the human's head back, unconscious.

Frost hung in the air as Loki’s breath panted out of him, the only sound in the room except for the low hum of the charged weapons. The human was limp, but his weapons, controlled by his greater-self, were still active and targeting the spot where Loki hid. Loki was trapped.

“...answer me!” The distant, frantic voice came from the table above Loki’s head. It was Stark, still on the screen, yelling at Loki's captor, ordering him to feed him, to give him medicine, to save his life.

“Stark!” Loki cried, his voice husky and deep, his teeth sharp and crowded in his mouth, “Stark!"

There was a pause, then, “Loki? Loki is that you? What’s happening? Are you hurt?”

Loki could not look up to see the screen, he was sure that if he let his head show the ceiling canons would take it off his shoulders. He could not form words, trying to explain everything to Stark at once. All that came out was a desperate cry, “Help me!”

“Loki, what do you need? What can I do? What happened?” Stark’s voice was so close, but he was chained in his cell and he had no way to help.

How to explain to Stark that Loki had assumed his Jotun form? That his feet had brushed the teeth of death and he had denied it, that he had been so afraid of being devoured by a monster that he had become one. He could not. Instead, he said, “Stark, he is unconscious. His weapons are on me. I cannot move.”

“sh*t! sh*t. How many weapons are on you?”

“I do not know! Many. Stark, what shall I do?” Loki’s panicked breath hung in the air around him, frost grew on the floor centered on his body, the human’s body under him was pale, his lips blue. It was only a matter of time before he woke up, and Loki did not know what ferocious acts the man would be capable of when that happened.

“OK, stay calm. Can you throw something? See how fast the defenses are, where they are?”

Without thinking, Loki formed a chunk of ice in one hand. It was as natural to him now as the beating of his heart. He tossed the ice out into the room, ducking as it was obliterated by energy bolts from multiple angles.

“Loki!” The fearful cry came from the table above him, but it took a few moments for Loki to get himself under control and answer.

“I am here,” Loki said. “I am here, I threw something. It was hit from at least three angles in less than a second.”

“Well, that's not good,” Stark said, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. "Is he still out?”

“Yes, he is here with me, under the table,” Loki said. After his explosion of activity, he was lost; weak and exhausted in his unfamiliar body. He had expended all his energy in those few moments, and he did not know how much longer he would be able to stay alert.

“What happens if you shove him out?” Stark suggested. “Just push his arm into view, make sure you don’t expose yourself.”

Loki did it, cautiously maneuvering himself off his captor's body and shoving him partway out from under the table. Nothing happened, and Loki understood what Stark was suggesting. He had cover, if he dared to use it.

“Anything?” Stark called from the screen.

Loki shook his head, then remembered Stark couldn’t see him. “No,” he said, “But I can’t do it, Stark. I can’t!”

“You can!” Stark responded at once, “Loki you can, and you have to unless you have any better ideas. I don’t know about him, but my lab has escalating automated defenses that trigger unless I override. You’re going to get short of oxygen if you wait too long, or worse.”

Loki swallowed hard. His habit of obedience was deeply ingrained, and he had no better ideas of his own. He steeled himself, hoping that he had done more than simply delay his death for a few worthless minutes. He did not waste time reasserting his true self, and he did not know how to do it anyway. Odin had put the glamor on him as an infant, and only the power of the Casket of Ancient Winters had breached it before. Loki shoved such thoughts aside. They were irrelevant. He had already shown his Jotun form, and if he did not use it now to escape this servitude he knew what would happen next. Everything that had been done to him in his true form would be done to him again in this form. He glanced at the metal bench in the corner of the lab, the straps hanging loose from it, as though waiting to embrace him. With a shudder, Loki looked away, thinking only of the task at hand.

The human was dead weight as Loki dragged him back under the table, awkward in the small refuge. He squirmed and maneuvered until the man was hoisted onto his back, limp and pliant. Loki’s jotun skin burned wherever he touched the hot skin of his captor, but he ignored it. He had no other choice.

Holding his breath, Loki crawled out from under the table, painfully slow. He paused every pace to ensure he was shielded, that the body of the human covered him. He heard Stark talking from the screens but Loki did not dare turn his head or waste a breath to respond.

He had planned to stand, but once he was out from the under the table he knew he was too weak. So he crawled, inch by inch, his skin on fire, his breath misting the air, frost crunching under his palms. He could not tell if it was fear or if it truly was getting harder to breathe in the lab. Stark’s warning echoed in his mind, urging him forward each time he paused. He was shaking, overheated, panting for gasps of air that tasted hot in his lungs.

It felt like hours before Loki reached the cell, his captor still weighed on his back, pushing him down, crushing him. “Stark,” he called through the door, at the end of his strength.

“Loki!” the voice was faint through the heavy metal. “Open the door, I can’t reach it. You’re so close! You can do it!”

Loki slumped against the door, barely able to reach the locking mechanism and the heavy handle. His rough, frozen fingers scraped the metal, but Loki did not hesitate. He did not think about Stark’s reaction to his form, he was too terrified, too exhausted. All he wanted was to be with Stark again, to let him comfort him and tell him what to do next.

He grasped the handle, and the door swung open.

Chapter 40: Shame

Chapter Text

“Loki!” Stark cried as Loki stumbled into the cell, his unconscious burden falling from his shoulders. Then a moment later, when Stark had got a good look at the creature he was confronted with, he stepped back and said, “Loki? Is that you? What happened?”

“Stark,” Loki replied, dropping to his hands and knees, scrambling across the cell, reaching for Stark before he remembered his monstrous appearance and stopped himself. He was in no state to seek comfort, or to be granted it. Loki huddled on himself, sprawled on the floor, his limbs weak and trembling.

“Don’t touch me!” he gasped, seeing Stark reach for him. A moment later he shuddered at his own insolence, daring to give orders to his betters. “I am sorry,” he said, “I only mean, this body will hurt you if you touch it. Jotun skin is freezing and I cannot control it.”

Stark seemed to understand. “It’s OK, it’s OK Loki. Wow, so this is the Jotun look huh? It’s badass, love the horns, and you did amazing! You did great, you made it back here, I’m so impressed. Can you look at me?”

Loki didn’t want to, he didn’t want Stark to see his red eyes. He didn’t want to see the inevitable look of horror and disgust on his face as he realized what Loki truly was. But Stark wrapped his hand in his shirt and gently tapped Loki on the chin. “Hey,” he said, his voice low, “I know you’re hurt and scared, and you already did so much, but I need you to do a little bit more, OK?”

Loki nodded without looking up. Of course he would do what Stark asked him to. Stark was the only person on this entire world who cared about Loki at all, and he was Loki’s only hope for refuge if they somehow managed to escape this prison. If Loki was helpful and obedient, perhaps Stark would make a place for him.

“First thing, did you get your medicine?” Stark asked.

Loki shook his head, but before Stark could fret, he said, “The implants cannot function in this body. It is too cold, they are inactive, perhaps destroyed.”

“Good,” Stark said, “Great job, Loki.” Loki could not help but react to the praise, it was so rare that he received any at all. He cautiously raised his head, although he kept his eyes down. Stark continued with, “Are you hurt? Are you in pain?”

Sudden tears squeezed from Loki’s eyes, turning to frozen crystals and dropping to the metal floor as ice. His black fingernails scraped the floor as his breath caught in his chest, the extent of his pain too much for him to comprehend. In just this one day he had been starved, beaten, and f*cked. He had been left to burn from fever, he had felt the stinking breath of death, and he had been forced to take the form of a monster.

He looked up, his red eyes and horns reflected in Stark’s golden eyes. “Yes,” he said, his voice a whisper, “Yes, yes, Stark, I’m hurt. Everywhere, everything hurts.”

Stark squeezed his hand through the shirt and then winced as his fingers burned from cold, and was forced to let him go. “OK, yeah, I guess that’s fair. I should have been more specific. Do any injuries need immediate attention?”

Loki shook his head. “No,” he said, “No, but Stark, what are we going to do now?”

“Well first things first,” Stark said, gesturing to the chain that held him to the wall, “Can you do anything about this?”

Loki dashed his tears away and held out one frost-rimed hand. The instinct to create ice was as natural to him as breathing in this form. He pulled moisture from the air and formed crystals in his palm. He sent the crystals into the links of the chain, growing as hard as a diamond, pushing the chain apart. The ice grew and swelled like a green shoot thickening to a tree trunk, effortlessly detaching the links and freeing Stark.

“Nice!” Stark said, and then “Ouch!” as he touched the end of the freezing chain. He dropped it hurriedly and went over to his double, still lying unconscious on the floor. The clear visor was still over his eye, and Stark grabbed it, his face thoughtful. “Alright, we need to contain the threat, and we need to find the ship that brought us here,” he declared, nudging the limp form at his feet to indicate who the threat was.

“Yes,” Loki agreed, his head swimming, “But...the defenses...we are trapped here!”

Stark pulled the visor over his head, the screen lighting up as he did so. “Maybe not,” he said, “His tech is smart, but it’s not AI. It’s him, connected through this, and he probably some implants too. There’s a lot of automation but no independent thought. We can fool it if we play our parts.”

Stark held his chin up, straightened his shoulders, and narrowed his eyes. Just a few simple shifts of pose and position conjured the presence of Loki’s former master. Despite himself, Loki stepped back, his heart pounding. The resemblance was uncanny.

Seeing his unease, Stark took the visor off and reverted back to his own mannerisms. “We’ll try the roof first,” he said. “Maybe we'll get lucky. This asshole is going to have a massive headache when he wakes up, so let's try to be gone by then.”

Loki could only watch, silent and incredulous as Stark swiftly stripped off his own clothes, tossed them to Loki, and redressed himself in his double’s clothes, leaving him in his underwear.

“Get dressed,” Stark said, gesturing to the crumpled shirt and pants that he had been wearing for days. “I know it’s not the freshest…”

“It’s not that,” Lokis said, gesturing at himself, still nude, something he hardly noticed anymore, but blue, horns rising from his head, the deep folds of Jotun heritage lines scarring his body.

“Can you turn back?” Stark said, only caring about practical matters.

“I do not know how…” Loki admitted.

“OK then,” Stark said, pointing again at the clothes.

Loki tried again to explain. Since the day he had been enslaved here, he had worn nothing but his own skin, and the work uniform that his former master had provided. If they were going to fool his former master’s greater self, they should abide by his rules.

Unable to find the right words, Loki instead found the hatch in the wall where his work clothes were stored. He sent ice into the wall, buckling it and forcing the hatch door open, revealing the uniform with “Property of Stark Industries” stamped on it. Loki picked it up, and Stark nodded his understanding. He tore up his old shirt and began to bind the still unconscious man with the strips. Loki was beginning to wonder if he had killed him, except he could see his breath in the chill air. The temperature in the cell was dropping, Loki's Jotun form radiating cold.

The wall behind Loki creaked, the ice still growing within it. Loki stepped away. His own body was cooling it, forming ice by his mere presence, but he did not move away fast enough to avoid what happened next.

Next to the hatch that stored his uniform, another, smaller hatch groaned and popped open. Surprised, Stark looked up, just in time to see the large pink dild* flop out of its niche and bob in the air by his face.

“What the…” he blurted out. Blood rushed from Loki’s head as his shame was revealed, one final secret that he had hoped to keep.

“Stark…” he croaked, swaying on his feet, lightheaded.

“Loki?” Stark asked, too shocked to say anything else. At this point, he was still confused, but soon confusion that would turn to pity, and then disgust. Loki stumbled back against the far wall. Ice formed and cracked on his skin as his body tried to process the emotion he was feeling, tried to stabilize him.

“He made me." Loki weakly offered his excuse, knowing it was not enough. His former master would not have been able to make Stark do it, he was sure of that. He would not have been able to make his brother do it. But Loki was weak, he was pathetic, and he had complied with such humiliation. He had fed from that device eagerly, his mouth had watered at the sight of it. Loki wrung his hands, ice drifting to the floor as it sloughed off his fingers. “He made me do it,” he repeated, sliding down the wall and wrapping his arms around his knees.

Realization dawned in Stark’s eyes. “The feeding device,” he said flatly. Loki had told him, back in the safety of the penthouse bathroom, that his master had created a feeding device for him, and now here it was, the depths of Loki's depravity and degradation revealed. Loki nodded, crystal-tears falling from his eyes, the prospect of a safe haven with Stark fading away. He would not want Loki now. He would not want a debased creature like Loki around his wife and daughter.

“f*ck,” Stark said, and yanked hard on the bonds he was tying around his double’s ankles. He turned his back on the dild*, ignoring it and turning to Loki. "You didn't do anything wrong," he said grimly, "You survived, and that's all you needed to do. We can talk about it later, but now we really have to move. Can you get dressed?"

Out of years of training, Loki obeyed, pulling on the thin pants and shirt, the familiar words branding him once again.

Property of Stark Industries.

Chapter 41: Monster

Chapter Text

Stark pulled the visor back over his eye, taking a moment to acclimatize to the flow of information. “OK, you ready?” he asked, gesturing for Loki to walk through the door ahead of him. Loki hesitated. Stark had bound their captor with the shredded shirt, and he was still unconscious.

“You will leave him here?” he asked, cautiously. Loki did not want to imply that Stark’s plan was unwise, he did not want to question him at all. Loki's mind was impaired, his ability to plan and strategize was nonexistent now, he could hardly see beyond the moment he existed in. Surely Stark had considered this plan and made a wise decision.

Stark looked down, then back up at Loki. “You want to take him with us?” he asked.

An ugly thought surged darkly in Loki’s mind, like a nightmarish ocean creature breaching from hidden depths.

I want him dead.

He bit his lip, tasting sour blood on his alien tongue, his heart pounding. This new body was forcing his thoughts into monstrous forms. He licked the blood away, tried to translate his murderous desire into something acceptable. “He followed us, before,” Loki managed to say, “He came to your world, threatened your wife, your daughter...”

That gave Stark pause. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “He did. sh*t. You’re right. We can’t leave him like this, as soon as he wakes up he’ll get free and come after us. But we can’t take him, we can’t have two of us. He’ll give us away to the tower defenses.”

Loki waited. Surely Stark would come to the same conclusion that he had. They couldn’t leave him, and they couldn’t take him. That left only one option.

Stark scrubbed his hands through his hair, his face twisted, and Loki realized he already knew what had to be done. But of course, Stark was not like him. Stark was a good man, he was kind, he was moral, he was honorable. He would not kill a man he had defeated, he would not kill in cold blood.

Cold blood, Loki thought ruefully to himself, looking at his own hand. He was already damned. His afterlife was one of suffering and annihilation, and he knew he deserved it. The fates had woven the cloth of his life with their darkest threads, and perhaps this was why. A single additional ignoble deed could not possibly condemn him any further. There was no further for him to fall. He could spare Stark this necessity, at least, and he owed him that much.

“I will do it,” Loki said, looking at the metal floor.

“No,” Stark said at once, but he had no other suggestions to offer, no other way to ensure the safety of his wife and daughter. Loki’s former master was dangerous, not just to Loki and Stark, but to any other world he traveled to. He had the technology now to travel between dimensions and it would not take him long to understand it, even without Stark’s enforced help. He would be a scourge on all worlds, not just this one.

“He will find his way back to your world,” Loki said, his voice low. “Or he will find another world where one like you lives, unsuspecting, where your wife and daughter have not been alerted. You know he will. His anger and ambition knows no end. You have seen what he has done.” Loki pointed at the wall without looking, indicating the spot where the feeding device hung obscenely. “He will not treat the inhabitants of those worlds any more kindly than he had treated me.”

Stark leaned back against the wall, sliding down it, resting his hands on his knees. “I know,” he said, “I know. Why did he turn out this way? This is the only world I could find where we won, where Thanos was defeated, and it turns out it only happened because of him. Because he was ruthless, and he didn’t hold back. Is that what it takes to defeat a threat like Thanos? To become like him?”

Loki didn’t have answers to any such questions. All he could do was repeat his offer. “I will do it,” he said again, and then he realized Stark could not say yes. He could not agree that Loki would do such a thing. But it had to be done, so he couldn’t say no either. Loki took a deep breath, looked down at his blue hands. The skin was raised in alien heritage lines, his monstrous lineage already apparent in his thoughts, and soon his deeds as well.

“There must be another way,” Stark said, and an unfamiliar surge of emotion began to pump through Loki’s veins. His heart beat in time to it, and words spilled from his mouth without conscious thought.

“He enslaved me,” Loki said, “He tortured me. He violated my body and my mind. He starved me. He kept me alone in the dark for weeks. He made me beg…” Loki started to shake, his voice climbing in pitch and volume, “...he made me beg for mercy and he denied me over and over. He punished me for every transgression; for passing out, for crying, for sleeping, for anything! Anything and everything he punished until he broke me. But even that wasn’t enough, he broke me again and again, further than I ever thought possible, he made me into a beast! He ground me to dust and then he scattered the dust into the wind and whatever was left after that he made into his slave.” Loki paused, trembling, an outpouring of anger and rage burning through his cold blood, lighting up neurons that he had believed long extinguished. Stark was staring up at him wide-eyed, as though Loki had sprouted wings before his eyes.

Well, I did sprout horns, Loki said to himself, a strange, calm thought in the midst of his maelstrom of emotion. He stood up straight and held his head up, horns and all.

“Now, here I am,” he said, “I am the creature he has made me, and I will have no more. It is time to end it.”

Stark held his hands up, “Loki…” he began, but he was interrupted by a voice from the floor. Their captor was awake.

“Stark,” the double croaked, straining against the bonds, but unable to break them, “Stark, do not leave me with him, he is out of control!”

Stark looked between Loki and his double, lying helpless on the floor. Both sets of eyes were on him, awaiting his decision. He met Loki’s eyes, seeing the harsh resolve there, the depth of pain and determination to burn it away. Stark gave Loki a slow nod.

“I’ll be outside,” he said and turned to go.

“No!” their captor cried, “No! Come back! Don’t leave me here with this monster!”

Loki shut the door behind Stark and turned back to his captor, his torturer, his rapist, his nightmare made flesh.

“I am not the monster,” he said, cold and clear. “You are.”

Chapter 42: Gold

Chapter Text

In the quiet of the cell, Loki could hear his captor’s harsh breathing. He stared at Loki, his eyes wild, looking at the door where Stark had exited, perhaps hoping he would return. "I suppose you want me to beg," he spat, but Loki shook his head.

"Begging never helped me," he said, "It will not help you either."

Another glance at the door, a nervous side-eye that told Loki all he needed to know about his former owner. He had lost control, both of his prisoners and of himself, but he did not yet know it. Perhaps he would not realize it even until the end.

“This will be your tomb,” the human hissed, shoving himself back with his heels, inching away from Loki and his red eyes, his spiraling horns, "You will die here. You will never leave this place."

“Then neither will you,” Loki replied, with a calmness he did not feel. He crossed the room to kneel on the harsh metal floor next to the human.

“I can help you,” the human said, his voice shaking, trying to squirm back away from the creature that towered over him. "Money, transport. You need me, you're not going to kill me."

“No, I don't, and yes, I am,” Loki said in that same even tone, hardly able to recognize his former master in this man, desperation leaking from his every pore. Maybe it was not so hard to break someone as he had supposed.

The slight upward glance of the human’s eyes gave him away, and before he opened his mouth to say, “Activate…” Loki was already moving. One freezing hand clapped over the human’s mouth, cold burning his flesh as much as heat burned Loki’s. His scream was muffled in Loki's hand, and no orders to his greater-self were issued. Loki let ice grow under his palm, freezing the human’s tongue, his teeth, his lips, sealing his mouth shut. His eyes rolled up in his head and he thrashed in the bonds, the reality of his fate finally facing him. Loki looked down dispassionately. He found no satisfaction in it. No matter the ignominious manner of his death, the mortal would live in eternal glory. He had defeated Thanos, he had saved untold billions. His great deeds assured his honorable afterlife, as surely as Loki’s nature ensured his own annihilation. Nothing could offset his mighty victory, no matter how he had mistreated Loki; Loki was only one person, and barely a person at that. Even Thor’s death by the weapon titan-breaker was nothing but a footnote to the human's history.

The futility of it almost crushed Loki, and his hand wavered before he remembered why it was necessary. If he did not do this, Stark would never be safe, his wife, his daughter on every world would be in constant danger. Loki himself would be at risk if they left this man alive behind them when they fled.

Loki shook himself. He would have time to contemplate later. Now, Stark was waiting outside the cell and they had to leave. Loki did not speak. There was nothing more he could say, there were no words that would heal him, that would bring him any peace. Peace was not an option for him. Loki formed a blade of ice on his fist, but not the ugly thing he had made in the lab. This time he thought about it as he did it, and the ice grew clear and razor-sharp, his blue fist visible inside like a flaw inside a diamond. The facets refracted the glare of the ceiling lights, turning the harsh light into soft patterns, scattered jewels that reflected in the golden eyes staring up at him.

Loki raised his fist and all his doubts faded away, his pain, his humiliation, his torment, his fear of the future and of his fate. Only this moment mattered, and it would stay in his mind. Loki did not look away. He did the human that courtesy, at least. He did not let his death go unobserved, unwatched. Emotion fell away, replaced only by grim necessity. The blade slipped between the human’s ribs and entered his heart in one swift motion. Ice grew over the wound, freezing the pulsing muscle; stilling it. It was a gentle end, for someone so cruel, but Loki knew that blood stained the wielder of the weapon as much as it stained the victim. He had killed before, yes, in battle and in silence, in daylight and at night, in the open and in stealth. He had killed those who deserved it, and those who were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had been a warrior, but he had also been a spy, an assassin. He had understood his duties as the second prince, and he had done what had needed to be done. And this needed to be done, but he expected no glory from it. No satisfaction, no reward except an end to the threat.

Loki watched until the golden light was gone from the human's eyes, and then he stood up. He did not look back.

Stark’s eyes widened at the sight of him, but he did not speak. Outside the cell, they were observed by the cameras, and Stark had to play his part just as Loki did. There was no time and nowhere to talk, the ceiling guns were still active and searching for a target. The automated systems were confused but still deadly. Stark shoved Loki’s arm and marched him down the hallway, looking as though he was forcing Loki to walk with him, but in reality, letting him lead the way.

Loki took them to the elevator. Once the gleaming doors opened, he knelt on the floor in the ready position, facing the wall, his head bowed. He was exhausted and trembling, fading light in golden eyes playing over and over in his mind. He held himself together as best he could, but that was the limit of his ability to perform his role. He had to trust Stark to take them the rest of the way. Stark punched the button for the roof and ignored Loki as the elevator rose.

A kick to his side snapped Loki back to reality. It was a gentle kick, but a kick nonetheless. Loki startled and almost fell to the ground. It was Stark, trying to get his attention, trying to get him to move. He had to do it, Loki knew, but it hurt. He was as delicate and fragile as cut crystal, he felt that the slightest shake would break him, and Stark’s toe in his ribs stung. Loki had tried his absolute best, he had given everything he could, and still his reward was a swift kick when he did not obey fast enough.

“Get up,” Stark ordered, his own voice shaking, his face twisted. He was losing the mannerisms of their captor, the arrogance, the raised chin, the narrowed eyes - it was all falling away from him and his tension and panic were bleeding through. “Get up, Loki,” he repeated, almost pleading now, the last hints of control fading. Loki scrambled to his feet. He had to obey, or Stark would give them away. He had to protect them both. They had to protect each other.

“Yes, master,” Loki blurted out and tried to ignore Stark's horrified face. They had no time for that. They were on the roof of the tower, and the cold air of the city helped clear Loki’s head. Stark took a deep breath, turned and led them out of the elevator. They rounded the corner and Loki’s breath rushed out of him when he saw the transport parked on the rooftop right where he had last seen it. It was still there! Finally, their luck had turned. It was all Loki could do to stop himself from running frantically towards the vessel, but Stark’s measured steps kept him in check. They were not free yet. They were still under the human’s guns, and even as his body lay cooling in the cell, his greater self-still followed the rules and actions he had laid down. They were not safe until they had left this world behind them.

Stark muttered under his breath as they walked and Loki heard his relieved exhale as the door to the craft hissed open. Loki didn’t look at the seat at the back, straps and buckles hanging from it, where he had been restrained for almost a full day and night, left alone for much of it, abandoned on the freezing rooftop. If Stark told him to sit there, he would, and he would even allow himself to be strapped down if it was necessary, but he was almost dizzy with relief when Stark silently pointed him to the co-pilot seat.

Loki sat and folded his hands in his lap. He kept his feet tucked in and his head down. He took up the least space he could. He stared down as his hands, the blue skin and pale heritage lines. Stark knew what he had done with these hands. He knew what a creature like Loki was capable of now. Loki shoved his hands out of sight under his thighs. He leaned forward until his head touched the console, falling into himself, crumpling into as small a space as possible. He was harmless. He was obedient. He was useful. He was .... Loki did not know what he was, anymore. He only hoped he was something that Stark had a use for.

Loki closed his eyes, and with a silent, powerful leap, the craft took off.

Chapter 43: Homecoming

Chapter Text

“Call Colonel James Rhodes.”

Loki looked up at Stark’s voice. Their craft was hovering over the city. Wisps of cloud floated around them, and all Loki wanted was to leave this world behind him, to flee to Stark’s world and never think of these years of servitude ever again. But he bit his lip and remained silent. While Stark waited for the call to connect he reviewed the control screens, data flowing between the visor he still wore and the screen on the console, calculating their route home.

“What do you want?” The voice that came over the air was instantly recognizable as the irascible colonel.

“Rhodey!” Stark said, relief in his voice.

“Don’t call me that,” the colonel snapped, “That’s in the past, Mr Stark. ”

Stark recoiled from the venom in his friend's voice, but of course, it wasn’t his friend. He was from this world, and he only knew the Tony Stark who even now lay cooling in the cell. Loki could only hope that Rhodes was not also some dark, twisted version of the man from Stark’s world.

“Rhodey,” Stark repeated, plowing forward regardless, “Man, it’s good to hear your voice. Listen, crazy story to tell you and not much time. I guess you hate me now, which is actually good because the me that you know is totally a dick. But I’m not him. No questions, just listen," Stark talked over Rhodes as he tried to interject, giving him the critical information that he needed. "Tony Stark is dead. The tower’s running on automated defenses so be careful, but you need to get in there. Shut everything down. Find the arc reactor and shut it down first. Then the central memory cores, and the backups. Scan every wall and floor, there’ll be hidden rooms with more backups. Shut them all down. You’re gonna be tempted to keep some of the weapons control systems, the satellites, the surveillance. Don’t . It’s all corrupt, it’s all tainted and you can’t trust it. Understand?”

A long, long pause, and then a small, quiet voice, full of disbelieving hope, said, “Tony?”

Stark’s eyes were shining, spilling over his cheeks. He put a hand out to touch the speaker that Rhodes’ voice came from. “Yeah,” he said, his voice thick, “Yeah, Rhodey, it’s me. I have to leave now, but please, do what I said. You’re the only one I can trust.”

“Tony, wait…” Rhodes started, but Stark cut the connection. He took a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow exhale, then he turned to Loki, still sitting silent in his seat.

“OK,” Stark said, blinking rapidly, “Let’s go home.”

They emerged over the lakehouse; Stark’s home. It was bright daylight, chill in the air and frost on the ground in shaded areas. Stark landed the craft with a thump, his hands shaking on the controls. As soon as they were down he wrenched off his seatbelt and bolted for the door, diving under it as it was still opening.

“Pepper!” he yelled, running for the house, ripping the clear visor off his face, “Pepper! Morgan!”

Loki peeked around the side of the craft as the door of the house slammed open and Stark’s wife emerged. She wore no armor this time, but she carried a dull metal weapon in her arms, pointing it at Stark. Colonel Rhodes stepped out after her, a smaller weapon in his hand, a grim expression on his face.

“Stop right there!” Potts demanded, and Stark skidded to a halt, hands raised.

“Pep, Rhodey, it’s me,” he said, “I’m back, I’m back, it’s me.”

“Prove it,” Rhodes said, shoulder to shoulder with Stark's wife, their weapons unwavering.

“Um,” Stark said, lost for words for a moment. “OK. Pepper, you’re allergic to strawberries. Morgan is named after your crazy uncle. I accidentally taught her to say sh*t . I once bought you a gigantic rabbit plushie that you hated and it got blown into the ocean. Rhodey, you once carried me back to the dorms at MIT after I got wasted on my seventeenth birthday and I puked all down your back. Your nickname was platypus . I should have let you ride in the fun-vee...”

“Wait, you’re the one who taught Morgan to swear?” Pepper interrupted, the barrel of her weapon lowering a fraction.

“It was an accident!” Tony protested, “She snuck downstairs at midnight and overheard me talking to myself. I bribed her with a juice pop to forget the whole thing but I guess little Missy double-crossed me!”

“A midnight juice pop?” Pepper said, one eyebrow raised.

Tony cautiously lowered his hands. “Cherry’s her favorite,” he said, his voice soft, “Grape’s yours. I have to eat all the strawberry ones because no one else will.”

"Tony," Pepper breathed, flipping a catch on her weapon and shoving it in Rhodes' direction, "Tony!" She almost tripped off the porch in her rush to greet her husband, falling into his arms and sending him stumbling back as he lifted her off her feet and buried his face in her shoulder. Rhodes smiled and opened the front door; a small figure flew out followed by a scream of "Daddy!" as Morgan barrelled into them both.

Loki pulled his head back inside the vessel, unwilling to spy on their reunion any longer. It was a private moment and Loki had no business there. A bright crystal shattered on the floor of the craft and Loki wiped his eyes. There would be no such welcome for him, no family to prove himself to, no loving arms to fall into. Loki's fingers touched the horns that spiraled up from his head, almost scraping the ceiling of the craft. He should stay hidden so that Morgan did not see him. She would be afraid, and Loki did not want that.

Loki's plan did not last more than a few minutes until the crash and thunder of the bifrost rocked the little craft, sending Loki into a panic. Thor. Thor. Loki had forgotten about Thor, who had claimed Loki as his brother . He was alive! Loki sprang to his feet but stopped himself from running out of the craft. He looked at his blue hands and shuddered. He was Jotun. He was Jotun and he could not hide it. How could he show himself to Thor in this form?

“Loki!” Thor’s bellow echoed through the air and Loki’s heart beat faster. He was afraid to show himself, but he could not hide. He was summoned and he had to answer. Loki held his breath and stepped out of the craft, the cold grass crunching under his blue-skinned, black-nailed feet.

Thor stood before him, his huge axe in his hand. His wrong hand, Loki noticed, before he saw with a sickening lurch that Thor’s right arm ended at his elbow. “Thor! Your arm is missing!” Loki blurted, forgetting even his own appearance in his shock at his brother’s injury.

Thor turned, his eyes widening as he saw what his brother had become. “Loki,” he said, tossing the axe to the ground and grabbing Loki with his good arm, yanking him close. "Loki, you are Jotun!" Thor pressed Loki’s freezing body against his own heat, the smell of him filling Loki’s nose, heat and summer and oak; the smell of home.

“Let go of me,” Loki managed to sob out, “Or you will lose your other arm!”

Thor let him go, patches of frostbite visible on his skin, already healing. “Loki...you are...you cannot change back?”

Loki shook his head, “I do not know how,” he said, as quickly and simply as he could. He did not want to discuss it, to talk about his true nature and the fate it doomed him to. Instead, he pointed at Thor’s missing arm. “What happened?”

At that moment, Rhodes came over and slung an easy arm over Thor’s shoulder, “Let’s catch up inside,” he said. He looked Loki up and down, holding out a hand to him, “So you’re blue now?”

“Do not touch me!” Loki warned, stepping back and away from Rhodes, inching behind Thor's bulk.

Rhodes held up his hands and backed off, shaking his head, “Alright man, I’m not gonna do anything to you. Take it easy.’

Loki hurried to correct himself. “I did not mean…my skin will burn you, that is all.”

Rhodes headed into the house, and Loki hung his head and wrapped his arms around his middle. The uniform he wore did not cover his arms and his feet were bare. There was too much exposed blue skin, and it was dangerous to the humans. If Loki hurt one of them, his position with Stark would be at risk. If he hurt Morgan , even accidentally, the consequences did not bear thinking about. Even if he was not punished for it, he certainly would not be allowed to stay with Stark any longer. Loki had to find the balance, to warn the humans of the danger but not to give them orders. It was not that he would not allow them to touch him, it was that it was hazardous for them.

Lost in such spiraling thoughts, Loki hardly felt Thor's hot hand on his back as he guided him into the house.

Chapter 44: Circle

Chapter Text

Loki stood by the wall as the others sat in Stark’s living room. The room was cozy, filled with soft fabrics. Warm throws hung on the backs of the chairs, a plush rug covered the floor, and the windows were hung with thick curtains to keep out the chill nights. Comfortable chairs circled a fireplace where a low fire burned. This room was nothing like the cold, clean lines of the tower penthouse, and Loki could only assume that Stark’s wife had influenced him towards comfort in their family home.

Stark sat on the couch, Pepper on one side of him, Rhodes on the other and Morgan on his lap, her arms tight around his neck. Stark was home, and already the tension was falling from his shoulders.

Thor threw himself into a nearby chair, the frame creaking under his weight. His injured arm was wrapped in bandages, and he worked his shoulder awkwardly, as though it pained him. Stark looked up, glancing around as though someone was missing. His eyes fell on Loki, and he beckoned him over to a nearby seat. “Come and sit down, Loki,” Stark said, but Loki knew he should not, no matter how polite the invitation.

“The fire,” he said, by way of an excuse, “This form cannot tolerate the heat. I am perfectly fine here, thank you.”

Stark frowned at him, then extricated himself from his family and dragged a chair out of the circle over to where Loki stood. He set the chair by a window and opened it a few inches, letting the cold air circulate. “There you go,” he said, his tone kind but the order unmistakable. He wanted Loki to sit, and so Loki sat. Rhodes and Pepper moved the couch around to face the chair, and Thor did the same, remaking the circle so that Loki was included in it. The weight of their gazes was too much, and Loki looked down at his hands again, before stuffing them under his thighs. He shuffled his bare feet under the chair, screwing his toes up, trying to hide his black toenails.

Thor coughed, diverting attention from Loki’s discomfort. “It is indeed wonderful to see you both again,” he declared, pulling the sleeve of his shirt down over his truncated elbow. “Tell us what has happened since we parted.”

Tony filled them in with a quick, age-appropriate retelling of events that passed through Morgan’s ears without alarming her. He left out any mention of his and Loki's forced intimacy, although he would certainly tell his wife later, a thought that filled Loki with dread. Stark ended his tale by confirming that ‘the bad man won't be coming back'. The adults in the room nodded grimly, a silence falling over them.

“Thor, what happened to your arm?” Loki dared to ask, and then lowered his gaze again as soon as everyone looked at him. He folded his arms over his chest, trying to hide Property of Stark Industries even though everyone had already seen it.

“Ah,” Thor said, flexing his shortened arm awkwardly, his face a mix of anguish and remembered pain. He glanced over at Morgan, and Loki could see him mentally editing his story to suit her ears. She looked at him without guile, as interested in his answer as Loki himself was. “The...er...the bad man shot me with some tiny devices,” he started, and Loki’s heart stopped in his chest. Nanites, the nanites that had devoured his own Thor before his eyes, that had turned him to blood and dust and ended his life in the blink of an eye. Loki swallowed hard, his stomach churning. The horror must have shown on his face because Thor hurried on, “I used Stormbreaker to get them out, but….” He flexed his shoulder again, and Loki filled in the blanks. He had got the evil machines out, but not fast enough.

Rhodes coughed and added to Stark, “The EMPs from Stormbreaker blacked out pretty much all of Manhattan, by the way. Most of the tower is fried, including your lab. The backups in the faraday cages in the basem*nt survived, but not much else.” Stark let out a low whistle, looking over at Stormbreaker resting innocuously against the wall.

“How much of an EMP can you generate with that thing?” he asked. “Those nanites are silicon-titanium; Titanium barely reacts to magnetic fields, and silicon doesn’t react at all.”

Thor shrugged, “I didn’t measure it,” he said. “Stormbreaker is as strong as she needs to be, and the nanites were trying to dissolve my bones at the time.”

Morgan made a face and Thor shut his mouth on whatever further graphic detail he had been about to give. “But I am fine now,” he added with forced cheer, giving Morgan a thumbs up that she stared blankly at.

Then came the part Loki had dreaded; it was his turn to tell his story. He left out the torture, the beating, the forced shaving. He also did not mention that he had been the one to kill their captor, but he could not avoid mentioning his appearance. Ten eyes stared at him as he braced himself and said, “I am Jotun. That is why I look this way. The Jotun are a race of..." he bit back the word monsters and instead said "...ice giants. I was ill with a fever and I could not sustain my normal appearance. If you touch me, my skin will burn you with cold, so I beg you to be careful.”

Loki could feel all their eyes on him, and he hunched over, trying to hide as much of his exposed skin as he could. He was grateful when Stark clapped his hands and said, “OK, that's enough catching up for now. Loki and I need a shower and something to eat before we do anything else. So if there’s no immediate danger that we need to take care of, I vote we do that.” No one objected, and Rhodes offered to head into town and pick up some food. The colonel was the least recognizable of the group, and he wearily stood up to go as he had probably done many times before.

“Come on Loki,” Stark beckoned him up the wooden staircase. Pepper smiled at Loki as he passed, and Thor already had his head in the kitchen refrigerator, bottles clinking. Loki followed, and Stark showed him into a small, comfortable room. There was soft carpet on the floor, curtains covering the window, and colorful blankets piled up on the bed. The contrast with his previous accommodation could not have been greater, and Loki stood uncomfortably in the center of the room, unsure what to do with himself, unsure what was required of him. Stark flung the windows open and let the chill night air in, then shut a vent on the floor that had been blowing warm air. “OK, the bathroom is through there,” he said, pointing. “I’ll bring you some clean clothes to wear. Rhodey's gonna be at least an hour with dinner, so I'll bring you up a snack as well. Take your time, there's no rush.”

Loki nodded, his head spinning, trying to line up his orders in his memory. He was to clean himself, and Stark would provide clothes for him to wear. Loki had one hour to attend to that, and then he was to serve the food that Rhodes was bringing. Stark was very kind to suggest that Loki could eat beforehand. It had been so long since he had eaten anything; if he allowed himself to think about it the pain in his empty belly would be overwhelming. But he needed to clean himself before he ate. That was always the correct way, he was always required to be clean, especially if he would be serving food. Loki blinked and swayed on his feet, the orders getting muddled in his head despite his efforts. Wash, dress, eat, serve. Surely eat should not come before serve. He was worried that he had misunderstood, that he was going to make a mistake and incur Stark's displeasure.

"You OK?" Stark asked, and Loki nodded his head, trying to clear the mist from his thoughts.

"Yes," he said, "Yes, I am well." Something of his fear and confusion must have shown on his face because Stark crossed the room and faced him, reaching his hands out to touch him but hovering them a few inches away, the intense cold of Loki's flesh preventing the contact that he wanted. Loki hunched down further, but there was nothing he could do to allow Stark to touch him without injury.

“Hey,” Stark said, “Loki, I’m sure you’re freaking out right now, but you’re safe now, OK? We both are. If you don't remember anything else, try to remember that.”

"Yes, of course," Loki said, breathing out, a long exhale that did little to calm him down. He must remember that Stark had just arrived home as well, that he had been kidnapped, held prisoner, forced to perform acts he had no desire to perform. He must be as emotional, as tired and hungry as Loki himself was. Loki should not cause him any additional work or worry. Loki should be quiet and helpful and obedient, and everything he needed to know would be explained to him at the appropriate time.

"Yes," he repeated, "Thank you, I will remember that. Thank you." Some instinct told him that Stark would not like to be called master, and so Loki bit his tongue on the word. He would find a respectful form of address that Stark would accept, but all he needed to do now, was obey. Whatever his role would be here, he would perform it as best he could and he knew, deep in his bones and in his heart, that Stark would treat him kindly.

Wash, dress, eat, serve.

Loki could do that.

Chapter 45: Stay

Chapter Text

The water from the shower turned to ice when it fell on Loki’s body, and frozen crystals piled up around his feet like snow. The sensation of ice freezing and cracking on his skin was something he had no words for, and Loki lost himself in it. He let the water crystalize on his hands, clenching his fist to shatter it like glass, over and over. He did not know how long he spent there, cold water washing over him, his black toenails buried in clean, white drifts.

When he remembered to, he cleaned himself with a handful of the glittering crystals, scrubbing them over his body like a stiff brush, tingling and awaking his nerves. Even the horns that curled up from his brow zinged with bright energy when he scoured them with handfuls of the frozen water.

He was wide awake when he emerged, as clean as fresh snow himself, his Jotun body alive and awakened by his ice-bath. The lights were too bright, so he turned them off and stood by the open window to dry himself off, looking out over the dark lake and the starry sky. His breath didn’t steam in the chill air, instead his lungs welcomed it like a balm after so long buried underground, breathing stale, recycled air. Each breath at the lakehouse was quiet, cold, and healing.

Loki suppressed the urge to run outside. His feet longed to find frost-rimed grass and crunch over it. His fingers longed to dip into the near-frozen lake and bring out a handful of ice in his palm. The moon seemed to call to him, far more than the sun ever had, to come outside, to breath the icy air and feel the chill on his skin. He felt that he could see for miles, that the light of the beautiful moon above was all he needed to hunt by, that even the twitch of a whisker from across the field would be visible to him.

The strange exhilaration possessed his body until the whine of an engine assaulted his ears, and a dazzling bright light blinded him. Loki jerked back into the room and yanked the curtains closed, remembering where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. That must have been Colonel Rhodes returning with food. Loki was not there to greet him, ready to serve the household as he should have been. Instead, he was still naked up in this room, daydreaming out of a window.

Loki hurried to cover his eyes with his hand and flipped the lights on, allowing his eyes to adjust. There was a small pile of clothes at the end of the bed, and on the nightstand was a plate with a stack of crackers, a banana and a bottle of water. Loki's stomach growled but he picked up the clothes first. There was some variety, which he had not been expecting, but it made sense. They were not in the tower, where there were holding cells equipped with standard clothing. Stark would have had to give him whatever he had to hand, his own cast-offs, probably. There were two pairs of pants, both too short, two short-sleeved shirts, and a thicker, shapeless coat-type item with long sleeves and a hood. Loki dressed, quickly pulling on the soft coat and pulling the hood up, trying to make it stay up despite his horns. It was not perfect, but covering himself made him feel instantly better about going downstairs to face the others. The coat must have been too big for Stark, because it fit Loki well, the sleeves coming halfway over his hands. He pulled socks onto his feet and only then glanced over at the plate.

Rhodes had already returned. Loki should not linger here to eat when he had duties to attend to, but he was so hungry he could not resist. He took just one of the crackers and bit into it as he headed for the door. He grimaced at the dry, dusty taste, almost like sand on his tongue, but he knew he had no reason to complain. Whatever Stark saw fit to feed him, Loki would eat.

Thor and Colonel Rhodes were the only ones downstairs when Loki presented himself, and Loki cringed slightly at the thought of serving on his brother. But of course, this Thor wasn’t his brother, was he? He was the king of Asgard, and he deserved Loki’s respect. Loki forced himself to enter the kitchen and gave the two men a respectful bow.

Colonel Rhodes was unpacking two plastic bags full of containers, laying everything out on the counter next to plates and silverware. Loki was too late - he should have been waiting for Rhodes to return to take this duty. Loki bit his lip, his stomach churning with anxiety and hunger. He bowed again, and said, “Please, allow me to do that, Colonel Rhodes.”

“It’s done,” Rhodes said, popping the lid off the last of the containers, fragrant steam filling the room. Loki could not stop the whimper that escaped his lips. Rhodes looked at him strangely, then he gave Thor a meaningful look, took a glass bottle from the selection on the counter and said, “I’ll, er...I’ll just let you guys catch up.” He backed out of the room, drink in hand, as though he could not wait to get away.

Thor was holding a bottle too, this one almost empty, and he drained it before speaking, reaching for another. “Ale?” he offered Loki, and of course Loki shook his head.

“No, thank you,” he said, knowing full well that Stark would not want him drinking his alcohol. Stark had already given Loki his allotted food and drink upstairs, and Loki would not risk angering him by taking more than that.

Thor drank deeply from his bottle, then looked at Loki. “Brother,” he said, his voice a low rumble, and Loki’s eyes watered just to hear that word from his lips. Thor looked away, drank again and took a deep breath. “Brother,” he said again, searching for the words he wanted to say. “When you were taken, I thought I had lost you yet again. It is as though I will never be able to hold on to you. You died on the Bifrost, on Svartalfheim, on the Statesman…” Thor gulped for air and took another long pull on his ale. Loki’s heart hurt at the pain in his voice, but there was nothing he could do. Even now, he was not the true brother Thor took him for, even if he could look past his Jotun appearance. Thor’s real brother had died a hero, while Loki himself had not even managed that. Loki looked down, pulling his hood up, tugging his sleeves down over his hands.

“I am sorry that I cost you your arm,” he said eventually, not knowing what else to say.

Thor grabbed a fistful of his clothes, swaying on his feet, spilling beer on them both, and said, “Nay. Nay brother, do not say that. It was not you, and even so, I would have gladly given my arm to have you back.” Thor must have been drunker than he looked, he must have forgotten about Loki's Jotun skin, because he took Loki in a clumsy embrace. Loki did all he could to keep his exposed skin from touching him.

“You will come to New Asgard with me,” Thor declared when Loki had managed to extricate himself from the hug without injuring him. “We need you there, and you will be most welcome.”

“Thor, I cannot,” Loki said, gesturing at himself. There was no possible way the remnants of the Asgardians would welcome him looking like this, to say nothing of the fact that he could not leave Stark. Stark had saved him, he had taken him from his captivity and he had brought him here. Of course, Loki could not leave.

Just at that moment, the man himself walked in with his daughter on his hip. “Stark!” Thor declared, “Stark, tell my brother he must come back to New Asgard with me!”

Loki held his breath. If Stark told him to go, he would have little choice but to obey. If he was turned out of Stark’s home, who else would take him in? But surely he would not! Loki had not done anything yet to displease Stark, had he? He glanced at the food from the corner of his eye, remembering that he had been late to attend to his duties and Rhodes had done it for him. His knees trembled and it was all he could do to stay on his feet. Stark patted Thor on the shoulder and gave Loki a kind look, saying, “Loki doesn’t have to go with you, man, but he can if he wants to.”

“I want to stay,” Loki blurted out at once, so vehemently that even Morgan raised her head from her father’s shoulder and stared at him.

The girl gave a slow blink, then her eyes widened in recognition. “You helped me,” she said, her little fist gripping Stark’s shirt.

Stark looked at her, curious. “What’s that honey?” he said, gently rocking her in his arms.

“When the bad man came,” the girl said, her voice low. “I hid like Mommy told me but I heard yelling and I was scared. I wanted to find you but he...” she pointed at Loki, “...he said to be quiet like a mouse and so I didn’t come out of my hiding place.”

“He did, huh?” Stark said, looking at Loki anew, his gaze unreadable.

“You were very brave, Miss Potts-Stark,” Loki whispered, a frozen tear falling from his face and shattering on the ground. He remembered the pale, terrified face of the girl hiding in her playhouse. He remembered his helpless prayer for her protection, the offering of his blood given to the norns.

It worked, a small voice in his head whispered. It worked. The girl was saved.

“Well, Stark said, his voice choked, his arm tight around his daughter, his eyes locked on Loki’s face. “Well, Loki, let me tell you, that room is yours and you can stay here forever, OK?”

Loki nodded, more tears falling even as relief washed over him.

He could stay.

Chapter 46: Dinner

Chapter Text

Dinner was a whirl of confusion for Loki. He was determined to perform his duties, but he simply did not understand what they were. There was no decorum, no order to the meal at all. Mrs Potts had arrived downstairs a few moments after Stark had spoken, her face freshly washed, her eyes red-rimmed, and she had declared that everyone should eat. Loki expected the group to go to the dining room, where he could serve the food and fetch drinks and ensure everyone was comfortable, but that did not happen. Everyone stayed in the kitchen. They filled their own plates, they got their own drinks. People wandered around eating while standing up, talking, and leaning on the counters. Stark and Morgan shared a meal, as Stark did not seem inclined to set the girl down. They took turns to hold a plate precariously filled with rice, and noodles, and small, crunchy rolls, and they both ate from it. Stark’s shirt was covered in sauce and noodles, and he didn’t care at all.

Loki did not know what to do with himself. He stood to the side, baffled and anxious until Colonel Rhodes sidled up next to him. “You good, man?” he said, with a glance at Loki’s empty hands.

“Yes, Colonel Rhodes,” Loki replied, and then paused, twisting his fingers together, his thoughts spinning. He needed to know what to do, and perhaps Colonel Rhodes would be able to tell him. Loki would have to ask him outright and admit his ignorance, but it was better to be thought stupid than lazy, after all. “It is only,” he ventured, his voice low, “I am not sure what I should do.” He gestured at the chaotic kitchen, and Rhodes chuckled.

“Yeah, it’s pretty different to Asgard, I guess.”

Loki nodded, but of course, in Asgard he had never served. He had thought himself a prince, and others had served on him. He cringed to think of it now, that everyone had been so fooled, that even he had thought such things were his due and he had accepted them without concern. Now he knew better.

“Your brother seems to have picked it up just fine,” Rhodes noted. Thor was already refilling his plate, balancing it on his injured arm, his beer bottle tucked in his elbow. The sight brought a small smile to Loki’s face, and he was glad to see his brother eating well despite his injury.

Rhodes finished his plate and set it down on the counter next to them. Relieved to have something to do, Loki snatched it up, ready to clean up after Stark’s guest, but once he was holding the plate, he did not know what to do with it. He could not wash dishes in the kitchen while everyone was here; that would be rude. If Stark had another more appropriate place to wash dishes, Loki did not know where it was. So all he could do was stand there, clutching the dirty plate, fear and tension rising in him; the room was too hot, the conversation was too loud, and the smell of the food was making him dizzy and faint.

Rhodes gave him a calm, level look. “Wait right there,” he said and darted to Stark’s side.

Loki pressed himself back against the wall, horrified. Rhodes had gone to fetch Stark, which mean that Stark would be distracted from his family by Loki’s inability to take care of his duties, and he would be angry, and he would…

“Hey, Loki.” Stark was standing in front of him, his daughter still on his hip.

“Mr Stark,” Loki said, trembling, “I apologize for the interruption.”

“Not a problem,” Stark said, “This is a bit much, huh?”

Loki nodded, thankful he did not have to explain his difficulties to Stark. He could tell at once that Loki was overwhelmed, that he was confused, but that he was trying. All Loki needed was some assistance in understanding his duties, and he would be glad to perform them. He would be happy to serve, he wanted to be useful in his new station, even though Stark had told him that he could stay, he still would have to earn his place, of course he would...

“Grab this,” Stark cut into Loki’s thoughts. He took the nearest container of food from the counter and handed it to him. Loki put down Rhodes’ plate and took the box, flooded with relief that he had a task to perform. Stark set Morgan down, crouching beside her to say, “Missy, I’ve got a mission for you. Go put your coat on and find a clean fork. Meet us on the porch in five minutes.” Morgan nodded gravely and dashed off while Stark led Loki out of the busy, warm kitchen out onto the open deck that ran the length of the front of the house. Stark sat down on the top step and gestured for Loki to sit next to him, still holding the container of food in both hands. The air was cold and clear, the moon bright above them, and Loki sat down and breathed out, stress evaporating from him. “Better?” Stark asked, his breath steaming in the cold night air.

“Yes, thank you, Mr Stark,” Loki said. Stark opened his mouth to speak, but Morgan dashed through the door, a fork in her hand and a puffy pink coat draped over her shoulders.

“I did the mission, Daddy,” she said triumphantly, holding the fork aloft. Stark smiled at her and fastened her coat, pulling the fur-lined hood over her head before he sat her on his lap. He nodded at the container. “That’s for you,” he said, handing Loki the clean fork. “It’s only rice, it should be easy on your stomach, but eat it slowly.”

Loki stared at the food in his hand. This was for him? All of it?

“Thank you, Mr Stark,” he said again, struggling to keep the grateful tears out of his voice. He cursed himself for his seemingly unstoppable weeping. He was pathetic; he could not hide or control his emotions. Surely Stark had better things to do than comfort the newest addition to his household, who could not perform the most straightforward task and could not stop crying.

The door behind them opened again, and Mrs Potts emerged. Loki hunched down, bowing his head, pulling the hood of his coat up to cover as much of himself as he could. He did not know if Stark’s wife knew that Stark had been forced to make use of Loki, and he did not dare look her in the eye.

“There you are,” she said to her husband. “It’s freezing out here.”

She was carrying a thick blanket in her arms, and she wrapped it over Stark’s shivering shoulders. That was something else Loki should have done. He should have given Stark the coat he was wearing, which Loki did not need at all, but he had not even noticed the man was cold.

“Loki,” Mrs Potts said. Loki raised his head slowly, uncertain if he was allowed to look at her, but she waited until he did, and Stark did not say anything at all. “Loki,” she said again, when he finally met her eyes. Her voice was soft, her gaze gentle. She looked nothing like the fierce warrior who had faced down Loki’s former master on this very step. She touched the sleeve of Loki’s coat, her fingers light. “Is there anything you need? Are you warm enough out here?”

Loki nodded his head dumbly before he found his voice. “You are very kind, Mrs Potts,” he said, tears swelling in his chest yet again, “Both of you. You are very kind.”

“Call me Pepper,” Mrs Potts said with a quick squeeze of his arm. She held out her hand to Morgan, “Come on, darling,” she said, “Daddy needs to talk to our new friend, and it’s already past your bedtime.”

Morgan’s eyes were drooping, but of course, she did not want to go. “I’m not tired, Mommy,” she complained. Stark promised to come up and read her a story, so she eventually went with her mother, still grumbling.

“It’s better out here, right?” Stark asked, indicating the moonlit lake, and Loki nodded. It was better, but something still was niggling at him. It wasn’t until he turned to look at Stark that he realized what it was. Without thinking about it, Loki moved and sat on the lower step, so that Stark was above him. Stark didn’t say anything about it, so Loki could only assume that it was the correct thing for him to do. He leaned over a little until his arm touched Stark’s leg. The layers of the coat, the blanket, and Stark’s pants insulated the cold of Loki’s arm, but even through the layers Stark’s touch was grounding, absorbing some of the indescribable emotions that seemed trapped under Loki’s skin.

“You should eat,” Stark reminded, his voice low. “Take it slow, though.”

“Yes, Mr Stark,” Loki said, lifting the fork and tasting the first bite of the rice, the spice heavenly on his tongue.

“Tony,” Stark said with a soft smile, squeezing Loki’s shoulder with a blanketed hand. “Call me Tony.”

Chapter 47: A New World

Chapter Text

Loki could eat less than half of the food before his stomach gave an unpleasant growl, and Stark nodded that he could stop eating for now. Loki carefully closed up the container and set it on the step by his feet. He had a feeling that he would be allowed to keep the box to eat from it later if he wanted to. After years of choking down desperate, humiliating meals - three minutes in the morning, five minutes at night - having his own food that he could eat as he chose was an unimaginable luxury. He remembered the food Stark had left for him upstairs as well, the crackers, the banana, the water. It almost made him dizzy to think about.

The full moon hung in the sky, glimmering silently on the lake and the tips of the surrounding trees. This was a peaceful place, and exhaustion washed over Loki like a physical wave, leaving his eyes half-closed and his body drooping. Stark was little better off, he yawned and stretched before he spoke.

“OK, clearly we both need to sleep pretty soon, but before we do that, is there anything you need? Anything you want to say, or want to ask me? I know this is all very different for you, compared to...before. But you’re safe here, that’s the important thing, OK?”

“Yes, Mr Stark,” Loki replied, feeling Stark's gaze and automatically tucking his hands into the sleeves of his soft coat, hiding his black nails.

“Tony,” Stark corrected with a gentle smile.

“Yes...” Loki tried, the man’s first name sticking on his tongue, feeling disrespectful in his mouth. But that is what Stark wanted to be called, and it would be even more disrespectful to not follow his order, would it not? Loki frowned on the problem for a moment but he was too tired to think, and so he simply obeyed. “Yes, Tony.”

Stark’s smile made it worthwhile, and Loki glowed at his approval.

“Is there anything you want to say? Any questions?” Stark asked again, prompting Loki to speak.

“No thank you, Tony,” Loki said, shaking his head, but Stark did not let him decline so easily.

“It’s going to be a tough change for you,” he said, “After what you’ve been through. This is a new world, and I don’t know what to expect, how best to help you adjust. I think we need a professional, someone who knows how to deal with...what happened to you. What do you think about that?”

"As you wish, Tony,” Loki whispered, but he could not help the shiver of fear that ran over him. Stark wanted to find someone to teach him how to behave in this new universe, to train him. Of course, that was his right; Loki had a lot to learn and Stark was an important man. He had his own family to attend to, and he could not spend much of his time on Loki.

Stark looked at him for a long moment, his brow furrowed, and then said, “OK, we can talk more about it later. The best thing we can both do right now is to get some rest. Do you have everything you need? I’ll get you some better fitting clothes tomorrow, but for now, let me know if you need anything.”

Loki nodded, aware that he was being dismissed. Already he was nervous about what he needed to do before he went to his room. He wished someone would instruct him in his duties, but no doubt they assumed he already knew. He must make himself useful; the kitchen would need to be cleaned, the food put away, all the plates and silverware washed, the floor almost certainly needed to be swept and mopped. If Stark’s family and guests were still in the kitchen, Loki would have to wait for them to leave before he could start cleaning. And that was only one room! Loki did not know if any of the other rooms also needed attention, and they probably did. He did not even know where the cleaning supplies were kept, and he was tired, exhausted down to his very bones, but that was immaterial. He had worked in far worse states, and his hand ached in remembered agony. The wooden boards rocked under his feet as Loki scrambled to his feet, anxious to be about his work. Stark stood up too and held the door for Loki to enter.

“Goodnight you two,” Mrs Potts said, pointing meaningfully up the stairs as soon as they entered. Behind her, Loki saw Colonel Rhodes and Thor, of all people, stacking plates in some kind of machine and loading the food containers into the cooler. Loki almost fell over his own feet at the sight, and Thor glanced up and saw him, throwing him a bright smile. He ambled over, a damp dishtowel thrown over one shoulder, and wrapped Loki in a slightly stumbling embrace, warm and smelling of ale and spicy food.

“I will be here tomorrow, brother,” he confirmed, “My room is opposite yours, in case of….anything.”

“But…” Loki said, trying to move towards the kitchen and finding himself gently, but firmly, steered up the stairs by Thor, Mrs Potts and Stark. “...I can assist…”

“Sleep,” Mrs Potts ordered, her voice stern but her face kind. “Sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

“Stop arguing and get to bed, Loki!” That was Colonel Rhodes’ voice from the kitchen, and Loki gave up. In a dreamlike state, he followed Stark up the stairs to the room he had been allocated. Stark again opened the door for him and waved him through, but he did not come in this time.

“This room is yours,” he said, “Everything in it is for you to use, the bathroom too. Nothing’s off-limits.” Obviously, Stark remembered Loki’s confusion over the items in the holding cell, and his panic when he had touched the soft blanket in there. He would not want a repeat of that scene.

“Thank you,” Loki said, “I understand.”

Stark nodded at him, said a final goodnight, and closed the door behind him.

Loki was alone.

He stood in the center of the room, letting his mind settle. He did not understand what had happened downstairs, why he had been sent to his room without working. A new, small, tentative part of him recognized that his confusion was a product of the change in his environment, not his own failing.

This is a new world, he thought, echoing Stark's words, and then he tried out , I am safe here.

He repeated those two thoughts and even said them out loud under his breath. He reassured himself that the entire household had told him to sleep, and there was no possible way he could have misinterpreted it. He flipped the lights off and allowed his eyes to adjust, the moonlight streaming in from the open window.

There was a chair in the corner where he carefully folded his clothes, but when it came to removing his underwear he hesitated. His training was very clear on this point. He should be naked when he was not working. This is a new world , that small part of his mind whispered, but still he hesitated. Stark had said nothing at all about what he should wear in this room, only that the room and everything in it was for him.

A glint by the door caught his eye and he moved closer, curious and glad to be distracted. The moonlight hit the door handle with a silver gleam, and under it was a lock with the key in it. Loki blinked. The key was on his side. Loki held his breath and let his fingers brush it, leaving a white tracing of frost. The door locked from his side .

Before he could even think, he twisted the key and heard the click as the door locked. Loki froze to the spot, his breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding. He had locked the door. Had anyone heard it? The click had been deafening in the quiet house. He waited, hardly daring to breathe, until the tension bled out of him minutes later when nothing happened. Loki looked down at his own fingers, as though he could not believe what they had done.

This is a new world, he reminded himself once more. There was a lot he did not understand, but he would understand it soon. He would work hard, and he would learn. He would cooperate with this trainer Stark would procure for him. He would be an eager and obedient student, and he would make Stark proud of him. Mrs Potts too, he thought, her kindness still warming him. She would be proud as well. Loki would be a worthy addition to their household, and they would not regret keeping him.

Loki took the too-warm blankets and pillows off the bed and carefully folded them on the chair. He was allowed to use the bed. He remembered that from the holding cell, and Stark’s reminder. It was for him to use. He wiped his face, a surge of emotion tightening his chest. The moonlight washed him in silver light as he laid on the bed, in his underwear, behind a door he had locked himself.

He closed his eyes and exhaled. This was a new world, and it was his world now.

Chapter 48: Snow

Chapter Text

Loki opened his eyes in broad daylight with cold, clean, fresh air filling his lungs. He was lying on a soft surface, and dreamlike flurries of snow danced across his vision. He did not move, hardly even dared to breathe, just gazed at the swirling snowflakes through the open window. It was a pleasant fantasy, and Loki let himself float there, on the cusp of waking, not pondering it or ignoring it. He did not even move his eyes in case he woke up, and harsh reality returned.

He heard a soft wooden tap and frowned as the edges of his mind started to grow more alert. The sound came again, and Loki realized it was a knock. Someone was knocking on his door! He sat up, staring at the unfamiliar surroundings, sleep still heavy on his thoughts. He was in a bedroom, he was on a bed, and someone was outside the door. He had no time to comprehend it, as he heard a voice from the other side of the door.

“Loki,” the voice was quiet and soft, and there was another flurry of gentle knocks, “Looooki, are you awake? Are you awake? Are you awake?”

Loki blinked, his brow furrowed. “Miss Potts Stark?” he said, the lingering sticky threads of confusion beginning to dissolve at the sound of her small voice.

“Lokiiii?” The voice came from low down, as though Morgan was lying on the floor, speaking directly into the crack under the door.

Loki tried to think of a suitable response, but a moment later he heard a louder, adult voice say, “Morgan! Get away from there this instant, Loki’s sleeping!”

“But Daddy...”

“No buts Missy! He’s sick, and he needs to rest.”

“But I want…”

“I said no!”

There was a scuffling noise and then the sound of scampering feet fading into the distance. Loki stared at the door, unsure what would happen next. A shadow blocked the light coming under the door, and Loki’s heart stopped as he finally realized what was happening. His master was outside.

Loki tumbled off the bed and onto the floor, the down position coming to him as naturally as breathing. Knees, toes, hands, elbows, forehead. He bit back his gasp as he saw his own hands before his face, dark blue, deeply scored lines, claw-like nails.

“Loki?” Stark said through the door, his voice low.

“Yes, Master,” Loki replied instantly, daring to turn his head a little to see the bottom of the door and the shadow that loomed there.

There was a long silence. Loki was dizzy from holding his breath, his pulse was like thunder in his ears, he had bitten his lip so hard that blood filled his mouth, sharp and cold on his tongue.

“Tony,” Stark said, his voice even lower, a soft thump as though he had rested his head against the door. “It’s Tony, remember?”

The memories crashed back. Loki was with Stark. He was in the lake house. He had been given clothes and food and a bed to sleep in, and he was wanted here. Loki finally took a breath. He stumbled to his feet and ran to the door, pressing both hands to the wood, frost forming around his fingers. “Tony,” he said, desperately, horrified that he had forgotten, ashamed that his memory was so bad, “Tony, I remember, I apologize for forgetting.”

“Sorry about Morgan,” Stark said, brushing over Loki’s mistake without further comment. “I’ve been chasing her away from here all morning, she really wants to see you.”

“She...she does?” Loki said, watching the swirling pattern of frost grow around his Jotun hands. Why would the girl want to see him?

Stark chuckled, “Yeah, she figured out that you have ice-powers, and she wants you to make a snowman with her. It’s snowing in case you didn’t notice. I don’t suppose you’ve seen the movie Frozen? No, of course, you haven’t. We can watch it later, I’m sure Morgan will make us. But hey, sorry again for waking you. You can go back to sleep if you want, or come down whenever you’re ready, it’s about lunchtime. Or I can bring you up something to eat...”

“No, thank you,” Loki interrupted, the very idea of Stark bringing food up to his room for the second day in a row too much to bear. It was exactly the reverse of what should happen and Loki had no idea why Stark would suggest it. “I will come down. May I bathe and dress first?”

“Yeah, of course,” Stark said, “Take your time, no rush at all. Come down when you’re ready.”

“Yes, Tony,” Loki whispered under his breath, but the shadow under the door was already gone.

Loki bathed in ice, the open window and blowing snow adding to his pleasure in it. His Jotun skin came alive as he scrubbed himself clean with handfuls of the crystals that heaped up in the shower. He wondered if that was how Jotun bathed on Jotunheim. He had never considered such a thing before, assuming, like all Asgardians, that the Jotun were little better than beasts, and probably never bathed at all. But a little thought wormed into his brain; all the Jotun he had ever seen had been clean. They wore bright white furs and leather armor, carried weapons of crystal clear ice, razor-sharp. Loki traced the heritage lines on his skin, thoughtful for a moment before he shook himself. He had no time to waste; his master was waiting.

On silent feet, Loki ghosted down the stairs. Voices drifted from the kitchen, which seemed to be the place where everyone gravitated to in this house. The kitchen was open to the stairs, the living room with the fireplace was on the other side. There were no servants’ stairs that Loki could find, and he tried to be as quiet and respectful as possible, to fade into the background. Perhaps Stark had some servants’ quarters that Loki could move to when he was better trained and did not need such close supervision.

“Loki!” Thor appeared at the base of the stairs, his hair and beard tousled as though he had rolled out of bed that very moment. He had a bowl in his crooked arm, eating from it with his good hand. It looked to be little rings floating in milk.

“Good morning, Thor,” Loki said. Giving up stealth, he hurried down the last few stairs so he would not be higher than the other, more important, members of the household.

“Brother,” Thor rumbled, seeming pleased to say the word, “Brother, you look well.”

Loki stared at him, confused. He knew full well how he looked, and even if one disregarded his Jotun skin, he was thin and weak, a shadow of his former self.

“You have slept well? How do you feel?” Thor asked, taking another spoonful of the strange, crunchy things he was eating.

“Yes, Thor, I slept well,” Loki replied, which was nothing but the truth; he had slept like the dead, deep and dreamless and utterly exhausted. As to how he felt, he did not yet know how to answer that. It was the most he could do to put one foot in front of another.

Thor nodded at him, “I would like to show you something later,” he said, “It is out in the woods, about half an hour away if you would walk with me?”

“Hey Loki, is that you?” Mrs Potts called from the kitchen, and Loki turned to her at once, leaving his brother’s cryptic question unanswered. Loki straightened his shoulders and entered the kitchen, presenting himself to the mistress of the house, Thor ambling in behind him.

“Good morning, Pepper,” he said, with only a slight hesitation over her informal name. She had told him to address her in that manner, and so he did it. They exchanged pleasantries, and Loki was about to ask what he should do first when she picked up a flat screen and flicked it to life, turning it so that he could see. It was a page of text, it looked to be from a medical journal, and Mrs Potts began to move through the pages, talking as she went. “OK, so I couldn’t get into too much detail with Bruce seeing as we’re not telling people you’re here, but he sent me these links. This is about starvation and malnutrition in humans but I think we can take the general principles and create a diet plan that works for you. Basically we need to introduce foods slowly, and ensure we don’t give your body any big shocks. We’ll start simple - bananas, rice, applesauce, and toast.”

“Ahh the BRAT diet,” Stark moaned, entering the kitchen from the backdoor and draping himself around his wife from behind, kissing her cheek and throwing Loki a wink. “I’ve been there myself, and it sucks, but if you negotiate hard, Pep might let you have jello and juice-pops as well.”

Loki stared at them both, utterly bemused. Of course, he would eat whatever he was given to eat, and he would be grateful for it. How could they consider that he would do anything else?

“Sugar-free jello,” Mrs Potts allowed, and Tony smiled as though he had won a great victory.

“Lokiii!” Morgan dashed through the back door, a burst of fresh, cold, air coming with her. Her cheeks were flushed with cold despite her puffy pink coat, and her eyes were bright. “Loki! Do you want to play with me? We can make a snowman! Daddy said you’re still sick, but you don’t look sick. You are blue, though. Are you an alien? You can use my shovel if you want.” She held up the shovel in question, but Stark and Mrs Potts both stepped in before Loki had to answer, peeling the child out of her oversized coat and sending her to wash her hands for lunch.

For some reason, Morgan had decided that she liked Loki, and her guileless enthusiasm reminded him of Asgard. In winter, he had always enjoyed sitting by the fire in the library halls and telling stories. The children of nobles, guests, and servants alike would come and sit with him, sitting in rapt attention as he wove magic in their minds with just his words.

“I would be glad to play with you after lunch, Miss Potts-Stark,” Loki said impulsively when Morgan returned. The girl squealed with delight, once again offering him the use of her shovel to aid their snowman-making endeavors.

Stark rolled his eyes, “Oh you’ve done it now,” he said. “I hope you like building an army of snowmen for a four-year-old slave-driver.” The room fell silent, and everyone looked at Stark, and for some reason, he looked embarrassed at his choice of words. “Um,” he said, “Sorry. I didn’t think…”

Loki shook his head. “It is fine,” he said, looking away. Of course, it was fine to use that word. Stark did not want to be addressed as master, and he allowed Loki to dress, and sleep in a bed, and eat the same food that his family ate, but it did not change the truth.

Loki knew what he was, and everyone else did too.

Chapter 49: Ash

Chapter Text

Mrs Potts showed Loki how to use the toaster and the microwave oven, and she showed him where to find the food he was allowed. Loki thanked her and repeated the instructions to himself under his breath, ashamed of his unreliable memory. BRAT he thought to himself, grateful for the acronym that Stark had provided. Bananas, rice, applesauce, toast. He should be able to remember that.

He was worried because the food he was allowed to have was mixed in with other food that was not for him. Mrs Potts and Stark were not testing him, Loki was almost sure of that, but still, he did not want to make any mistakes. The bananas were in a bowl alongside other fruits, and the applesauce was in little pots on a low shelf, next to other pots containing cinnamon-apple, mixed berry, even strawberry-banana which was even more confusing as Loki was not allowed strawberry but he was allowed banana. He longed for a pen to write down his instructions, but he was not offered one and so he assumed he was expected to remember.

To be absolutely certain he did not make any mistakes, for lunch he decided to just eat toast. He made a single slice for himself, took his plate and stood by the wall, in the same spot he had stood the night before. Thor appeared at his shoulder, still holding the bowl of milk and crunchy circles.

“When your stomach is stronger, brother,” he said, leaning next to Loki, “You should try cheerios. They are like nothing on Asgard, but very delicious!”

“I will, Thor,” Loki replied politely, nibbling on his toast. Then, he remembered what Thor had asked him earlier. “What did you want to show me in the woods?”

Thor grinned widely. “It’s a surprise,” he said, “But I think you will like it. It should be an easy walk, even for...even in this snow. Will you join me?”

“Of course,” Loki said, not only because he was obligated to but because he felt a stirring of curiosity. What could Thor, king of New Asgard, possibly have found in the woods that would be of interest? That he would want to share with Loki? Thor’s usual interest in nature was what he could hunt and what he could eat, and Loki doubted it was either of those things.

“I did promise Miss Potts-Stark that I would play with her,” Loki warned. He was unsure if Thor outranked his master’s daughter or if it was the other way around. The toast turned to a lump of ash in his mouth as he realized that he should not have agreed to either of these activities without Stark’s permission. Stark may have work for Loki to do, perhaps he wanted him to start with his training that day, perhaps…

“You two go for your walk,” Stark said from across the room, as though he had read Loki’s mind. “It starts to get dark around five so you have plenty of time. You can make a snowman when you get back, if you have the energy for it!”

“I want to walk too!” Morgan interjected, and to Loki’s surprise, Thor agreed with great enthusiasm. Then, everyone was talking at once and Loki lost track of what was decided. After lunch, when he went to put on a pair of borrowed boots, he found Stark, Mrs Potts, Morgan and Thor all getting ready as well. Colonel Rhodes was the only absent member of the group because he had left earlier that morning. He’s got a day job, Stark said, by way of explanation.

“This way, my friends,” Thor said, pointing them into the woods behind Stark’s house, and they all set off. Morgan ran ahead, her boots leaving a clear trail in the snow for them to follow. Stark and Mrs Potts followed her, arm in arm, and Thor and Loki brought up the rear. Occasionally, Thor shouted out directions, more often Morgan would zoom back to him to report a fork in the path and receive instructions on which way to go. As Thor had said, it was an easy walk, the paths in the woods were narrow but the snow was not deep, and the occasional inclines were shallow. Thor slowed his steps, perhaps sensing the Loki was weaker than he should be. But when Stark and Mrs Potts turned a corner and were out of sight, Thor stopped and grabbed Loki’s arm.

“Loki,” he said, his eyes intent, his grip tight on Loki's elbow. “My brother, listen to me. I know you do not wish to come to New Asgard with me, and I understand why. I will not argue with you if you wish to stay here when I must leave. Stark is a good man. A very good man, and I trust him with my life, but if you ever need me Loki, I will come.” Thor slipped a flat golden disk into Loki’s hand, the size of a coin, stiff, but as thin as paper. Loki knew at once what it was, and he instinctively closed his fist over it.

“Did you make this yourself?” he asked, looking down at the disk, already rimed with frost from his chill hand. It was a sima, a very simple, one-way communication device. The maker gave it a simple enchantment that would tug on their awareness if the holder wanted them. Loki had made dozens of them when they were younger, but he had never known Thor to make even a single one.

Thor grinned at him, his round cheeks red in the cold air. “I have learned many things these past years,” he said, waving his hand in what he may have thought was a mystic gesture. The smile fell away, and he gripped Loki’s neck with his gloved hand. “I will not lose you again,” he said. Loki could do nothing but nod, his chest brimming with emotion that he could not express. After a moment, Thor nodded as well, then wrapped a brotherly arm around Loki’s shoulder, and they headed down the path after their companions.

Loki shoved the sima into his pocket. It glowed there with a comforting spark, not with heat but with the glimmer of the enchantment itself, the little sliver of magic that Thor had imbued in it. Loki would have to tell Stark that he had it. He had no right to keep such a secret, and of course anything that he owned, his master owned. But for the length of this outing, Loki could keep it in his pocket and pretend that it was his.

“Thank you, Thor,” he said, wiping his face with a sniff.

Thor was saved from replying by Morgan dashing towards them, trailing a sturdy stick that she had picked up on the way.

“We’re at a clearing!” she reported, breathless, and Thor cheered.

“Nearly there!” he said, and they hurried to catch up.

At the clearing, Thor took them off the path and into the woods, telling them that it was only a few more minutes walk. Morgan was loving this adventure. She darted between the trees, poked her stick into snow-drifts, pointing out everything she saw and asking Thor if that was the surprise. Thor was enjoying himself just as much. He gave the girl hints and clues, he made mysterious faces, he even pretended he had forgotten what they were looking for, until Morgan dissolved into giggles and the game began again.

“Up there,” Thor said after a few minutes, pointing up a low slope. He picked Morgan up so her little feet wouldn’t slide on the icy ground. Stark and Mrs Potts had no trouble, but Loki’s thighs were aching by the time they made it to the top of the hill.

Loki saw at once what Thor had wanted to show him.

There was a clearing below them, and in the center of the clearing was an ancient ash tree. Loki could feel the centuries on it, and it towered over the surrounding trees, taller by at least three dozen feet. The branches were bare, almost black against the surrounding snow, and bundles of green mistletoe decorated the lower reaches.

“It’s a tree,” Stark said, his brow furrowed.

“It is ash!” Loki said, his eyes wide at the beauty of it, the broad spreading branches, the strength of the trunk, the slow, slow pulse of its ancient heart. “It is...” but he could not find the words. The sight of the great tree filled some aching gap in him that he had not even known was there. He had seen only the inside of his master’s prison for so long, and to be confronted now by such beauty... His words fled from him.

Thor saved him from having to explain, “All ash is sacred,” he told the others, “And these time-honored ones even more so. The world tree Yggdrasil itself is said to be ash.” He turned to Loki, “Go pay your respects, brother.”

At Stark's confused nod Loki turned and ran, pulled by some nameless need, all tiredness forgotten. He flew down the hill and into the clearing, the branches of the mighty ash spreading over him, the roots weaving through the earth under him, and he took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of snow, of wood and sap, of life, curled up in the heart of the wood, waiting for the touch of the sun to be reborn.

Loki had no offering for the tree, nothing in his pockets save the sima that his brother had gifted him, but he still could pay his respects. He would give what he could.

Loki went to one knee and put both his hands on the ground. A spiraling pattern of frost radiated out from his fingers and grew across the grass. He concentrated, picturing the frost to circling the tree, a pattern of fronds and feathers on the grass at the base of the trunk. Loki closed his eyes, his offering clear in his mind. His hands called out to the cold and ice flowed from his fingers as easily as water from a cup. Under the branches of the magnificent tree, a beautiful, delicate carpet of frost spread, a web woven of ice that glittered in the cold sunlight. A worthy offering for the ancient tree.

Morgan’s disbelieving shriek of delight pierced his ears even from that distance, and Loki looked up at his companions on the hill.

I’m going to have to make so many snowmen, Loki thought, his energy fading away, draining from him like a tide. He staggered, his knees like water. Stark started to run down the hill, Thor following a moment later, but they were too far away to catch him when his knees buckled and he fell, darkness swallowing him.

Chapter 50: Revelation

Chapter Text

Loki groaned and opened his eyes, his head pounding. It was dark, and he was laying on a hard surface, maybe a bench. The smell of smoke wafted over him, and burning wood crackled nearby.

“Hey, Loki,” Stark’s calm voice floated over the chill air to where he lay, “It’s Tony. Everything’s fine, you’re fine. There’s no need to worry about anything.”

Loki blinked and tried to focus on his surroundings. Stark’s words reassured him that he was not in any immediate trouble, but at the same time, he was sure that he was not supposed to be sleeping in his master's presence.

“You fainted,” Stark added helpfully, “Back at the ash tree. I guess you overdid it with the magical Elsa-powers. Thor carried you back, and you’ve been asleep since. When you’re ready you can sit up, but take it nice and slow.”

Loki did so, pushing himself up to a sitting position. He and Stark were outside, the comforting bulk of the lake house behind them. Stark was in a wooden chair, bundled up in layers of coats and hats and scarves, a steaming drink in his gloved hand. Loki was laying on a wooden lounger, wearing the same light jacket he had set out for their walk. A small fire burned in a circle of stones, casting orange light on Stark’s face, but most of the heat did not reach Loki where he lay.

“Thor thought the cold might be better for you,” Stark said, taking a sip of his drink, his breath forming clouds in the cold night air. “And you certainly could use the rest, so here we are. How do you feel?”

“Head hurts,” Loki mumbled, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. Even that slight movement sent a wave of pulsing discomfort through him.

“Hmm,” Stark said, “Well, we should probably start with something to eat and drink. Here.” He got up and handed Loki a bottle of water and a banana from the voluminous pockets of his coat. “Try that and see how it settles. You only had one piece of toast today and then we went for a walk which was kinda dumb of me now that I think about it. You need to take it easy, not be tramping around the woods in the snow.”

Loki thought back to the magnificent ash tree, the feeling of being under its branches, of being above its roots, the faint pulse of sap in its heartwood. “It was worth it,” he said with a rebellious glance and Stark laughed.

“Well check you out, having opinions,” he said warmly as he settled back in his chair. He looked thoughtful and sipped his hot drink as Loki sipped his cold one. “You know, all the drugs he was feeding you are probably out of your system now. You might find yourself feeling more like yourself, you know?”

Loki considered it. He had not known his former master was drugging him until Stark told him, but it did make sense. He shrugged. “I do not know what myself is, anymore,” he said with frank honesty.

Tony looked up at the stars; the night was clear and the heavens spread above them in all their beauty. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, I get it. It’s like starting over, recreating yourself as something new. You can’t go back to how things were, to how you were. You have to move forward, but what does forward look like? Only you can answer that, Loki.”

Loki let the words sink in as he ate the fruit and drank the water, the throbbing in his head receding a little as the cold water soothed him.

“Where are the others?” he asked, looking back at the house, half expecting Morgan to come running out, shovel in hand.

“It’s late,” Tony said, “Morgan’s in bed, Pepper’s with her. Thor…” he gave Loki a rueful smile. “Thor needed a few bracing drinks after the shock you gave him, and then he had a few more, and a few more after that. He’s sleeping it off on the couch inside.”

“My brother drinks too much,” Loki noted, without judgment. Thor had always enjoyed his ale, but the last few years had not been kind to him. He had lost his home, his people had been decimated, and he had fought Thanos and lost. The perpetual redness of his cheeks, the forced cheer, and the heaviness of his body spoke to his troubled mind.

Tony sipped from his steaming cup, “Yeah, he probably does,” he agreed with a sigh. “And I have nightmares and PTSD is a bitch, and Rhodey won’t ever be able to walk without his exo-suit, and even Pepper...she checks on Morgan a dozen times a night. She’s terrified of losing her the way so many people lost the ones they love. We all have our damage, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do,” Loki agreed, the soft crackle of the fire and the glow of the stars above giving strange license to this intimate conversation.

Feeling that he would not get a better moment, Loki reached into his pocket and pulled out the sima that Thor had given him. He put it in Tony’s gloved hand, and Tony looked at it curiously. Loki explained what it was, and Tony held it up to the firelight, squinting at it as though he could see the enchantment if he looked hard enough. Loki watched the sima glint in his master’s hand, waiting for it to vanish into his pocket. He was sad to lose it. The small glow of his brother’s magic in his pocket had been more comforting than he had expected, but he knew that handing it over was the right thing to do. If Tony discovered it himself, he would know that Loki had tried to conceal it from him, and he would be... Now that he thought about it, Loki did not think Tony would be angry, but he certainly would be disappointed. Loki did not want that. He wanted Tony’s approval. He wanted and needed Tony to find him pleasing and to be glad to have him in his home and in his life.

It was utterly unexpected when Tony leaned over and gave the sima back to Loki. “Very cool,” he said, settling back into his chair. Loki stared at him.

“You will not take it?” He asked, confused, the sima laying on his open palm.

Tony looked back at him, equally confused. “Why would I?” he asked, “Thor made it for you, not for me.”

Feeling as though he were missing something very important, Loki sat forward. “It is your right,” he said, unsure of the words even as he said them. “It is your right to take it. Tony, it belongs to you, just as I do.”

Tony froze in his seat, his cup halfway to his lips. Even the steam of his breath vanished. The only movement between them was the dancing flames of the fire.

“Tony?” Loki asked nervously, his mouth dry. He had said something wrong and he did not know what it was. He had been trying so hard to do the right thing, to surrender the sima to Tony as soon as he could, to let Tony know that Loki was obedient and respectful, to prove that he understood his role and even embraced it. But still, he had misstepped somehow.

“Um…” Tony said, his cup falling forgotten to the ground, the drink spilling out into the snow without care. “Wow. Loki, I am so sorry, so, so sorry, I didn’t even think…” He rubbed his eyes, grinding the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, growling at himself, muttering under his breath. He took a deep breath and looked up at Loki. “You’re not a slave,” he said firmly. “You don’t belong to me. I don’t own you. I don’t have any authority over you at all. If you want to leave, you can. You can do whatever you want.”

“You would free me?” Loki asked, his breath twisting in his chest, panic growing in his gut.

“You freed yourself!” Stark said, “You freed yourself from that man and you freed me too! Loki, I am very happy for you to be here, for you to stay here and be safe and heal and figure out your next steps, but this isn't any kind of … similar situation to your last one. You’re not my slave.”

Loki could do nothing but stare as his entire world shifted, as the very ground he stood on trembled and crumbled under him. “You said you would keep me,” he said, his voice small, almost lost under the vastness of the stars.

“I said you could stay,” Tony corrected him, his voice gentle, “and you can stay. I want you to stay, but that’s your choice, not mine.”

Loki hugged his knees to his chest, tucked his elbows into his body. “I see,” he said, his voice somehow calm even as tears prickled his eyes. “I understand. I apologize for misunderstanding your intentions.” Loki was unmoored, the certainty of his role, of his position in the household, was gone. If he did not belong here, he did not belong anywhere. “I would not mind,” he whispered, the clear crystals of his tears falling onto the snowy ground. “I do not have anywhere else to go. I would be glad to earn my place with you.”

“Oh Loki,” Tony said, his own eyes shining in the firelight, “Loki, you already earned it. You’ll always have a place here. Always. You can stay forever if you want to. You protected Morgan from him ." Tony slipped off his chair and knelt on the frozen ground by Loki's side. He wiped Loki’s frozen tears with gloved hands, gently turning his head to face him.

"Loki, I owe you everything. You don't belong to me but you do belong with me, for as long as you want. Do you understand?”

Loki looked at him, at the good, kind man he had thought was his master. “I don’t know,” he said desperately, gulping for air as his helpless sobs overtook him, “I don’t know, Tony.”

“OK,” Tony said, sitting on the lounger next to Loki, wrapping him in his arms and letting him rest his horned head on his shoulder and spill his icy tears. “It’s OK Loki, we’ll figure it out together.”

Chapter 51: Breakfast

Chapter Text

In the days since Loki’s star-lit conversation with Tony, his nerves began to unwind a little. The tension in his jaw eased, the anxious twitch in his muscles lessened. He was not himself, whatever that meant now, but he was not the broken and terrified slave he had been just a few weeks before. He and Thor walked to the ash tree every day, and Loki slept a lot, mostly out on the porch where he could open his eyes and see at once where he was. Even if Loki was not yet on the pathway to recovery, at least he could see the pathway from where he stood.

A week later, Loki decided that he would cook.

He realized very quickly that Tony and his family were incapable of it. If Colonel Rhodes was at the lake-house, he would go into town for food, but otherwise, they ate leftovers or sandwiches. If Tony or Mrs Potts were ambitious, they may set up a board of bread, cheese, olives, fruit, and slices of salami and eat standing up in the kitchen. Sometimes, they would forgo even plates, and nibble from the board as they pleased, Morgan stuffing her mouth with grapes until her cheeks bulged out like a hamster. Loki was getting used to the informality, but still, he yearned to contribute, and this was clearly an area where he could help. He mentioned it to Thor, but he was no help. Thor was content to eat cereal and drink endless bottles of ale, and so Loki made the decision by himself. He would cook.

Breakfast seemed the right place to start, and the next day, breathless with nerves, Loki rose early, his carefully researched recipes running through his head. He had studied the boxes in the pantry, he had watch television with Morgan, he had read magazines and books. He was going to make pancakes with bacon. The house was silent, and he suppressed the urge to scurry back to the safety of his room. The nagging voice in his head told him that he did not have permission for this, that he was not allowed downstairs unsupervised, that he would be found out, and he would be punished. He had to work hard to ignore that voice, and a sheen of sweat covered his forehead as he cooked a batch of bacon with shaking hands. He was mixing the pancake batter when Tony appeared, yawning and heading for the coffee machine, eyes almost closed.

“Your coffee is ready, Tony.” Loki kept his voice low, but still Tony jumped almost out of his skin.

“Loki!” he gasped, clutching his chest theatrically, “Wow, you scared me. You’re up early, what’s going on….oh is that bacon?” He made grabby hands for it, and Loki passed him the plate, along with a cup of black coffee.

“So, this is a treat,” Tony said as he settled on a stool at the kitchen counter “What’s the occasion?”

“The occasion is breakfast,” Loki said, concentrating as he poured batter into the hot pan to make his very first pancake, ever.

“Well color me spoiled,” Tony said happily, “This is awesome. And fresh coffee as well, just the way I like it.”

They both watched as Loki carefully flipped the pancake with the spatula, Tony giving him a grin when he managed it without incident. A moment later, however, his face took on a more serious cast, and he said, “Hey, while it’s just the two of us. You remember when we first got back I said it might be a good idea to get a therapist? Well, I found someone. Her name’s Beverley Chance, she’s retired, but she’ll come for you, she was a friend of my aunt. She’s trustworthy, and she’s good. She’s worked with people who have been though...bad situations. Do you think you might want to talk to her?”

Loki stared into the pan. He lifted one side of the pancake with his spatula to see if it was ‘golden brown’, but it wasn’t. It needed more time.

“Very well,” he said finally, “I will meet her.” He supposed this ‘therapist’ was not what he had first supposed; a trainer who would mold him as his master desired, but he did not fully understand what she might be instead. He trusted Tony, though, and if Tony thought it was a good thing, the least Loki could do was to talk to her.

‘OK cool,” Tony said, “She can come up tomorrow.”

Loki looked up at that, startled. Tomorrow! That was sooner than he expected. “Does she know…” he said and gestured at himself, the dull blue skin, the twisting horns, the scars of his heritage lines.

“Yep,” Tony said, popping the ‘p’ sound in his mouth, “I told her you were an amazing blue alien with magical ice-powers. She said that she’s met the Hulk, so you’ll have to do a lot to impress her.”

“I agree,” Loki said, moths fluttering in his belly, “The Hulk is far more impressive than I.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tony said, swigging from his coffee cup, “The view’s pretty impr….” Tony cut himself off and took another swig from his cup, his cheeks heating. Loki looked at him quizzically, but the man was concentrating hard on his coffee cup. Loki shrugged and tipped the finished pancake onto a plate and pushed it over to Tony.

“My first one,” he said, unsure if he should be proud or not. Cooking was not a high-status skill on Asgard, but those who performed it were still considered respectable. Loki did not know how it was regarded on Midgard, and the fact that Stark and his wife between them did not cook at all, made Loki feel it was not considered a high-status skill here either. But Loki did not desire status anymore. All he wanted was to contribute and to belong.

Tony pulled the plate toward him with his fork, but before he took a bite, he said, “You know you don’t have to cook, right?”

Loki looked down at his hot pan and carefully poured more batter. He focussed on that as he replied, watching the little bubbles rise up and burst on the surface of the pancake as it cooked. “I know,” he said, “But I want to be useful.” Tony opened his mouth to reply but Loki held up his spatula. He was not finished. “Everyone in the household has tasks to perform, yes?”

Tony nodded, pouring a generous serving of syrup onto his pancake. Loki continued, his heart beginning to pound at his boldness, bordering on insolence. “Am I a member of the household?”

“Uh-huh,” Tony said easily, “You are.”

“Then I should contribute,” Loki said, a weight lifting at Tony’s nonchalant confirmation. Even Morgan had tasks to do, although Loki admitted to himself that she rarely succeeded in putting her toys, coat, or shoes in their designated places. It was only right that Loki should contribute too, and cooking was a task that he had given himself, not one that he had been ordered to perform.

“OK,” Tony said, his mouth full of pancake, “I just wanted to make sure. You’re still recovering, mentally, and physically. Don’t take on more than you can handle.”

Loki’s self-control, already stretched thin, evaporated at Tony’s seemingly limitless kindness. His eyes filled with sudden tears, and he blurted out, “He did not make me cook for him.”

Tony wordlessly handed him a paper towel to wipe his face, his expression a mix of anger and compassion. Loki turned around while he got control of himself, taking deep breaths and forcing back yet another humiliating reminder of his past. No matter how clean he was, inside and out, he had been treated as little better than a beast. His former master would never have eaten food that Loki had touched.

When he turned back, Tony’s plate was empty, and he was licking his fingers. “Is that one for me, too?” he asked, pointing at the pan.

“Of course, Tony,” Loki said, and flipped the pancake over. This is a new world, he reminded himself. His former master was dead now, and Loki was free. If he wanted to cook, he would.

Chapter 52: Walk

Chapter Text

“What was he like?” Loki asked Thor, as they walked along the trail to the ash tree that afternoon.

“Who?” Thor said, surprised at Loki’s question. They walked together every day, but they usually enjoyed the calm and quiet of nature and did not talk much.

"Your brother,” Loki said, “Your real brother, from this universe.”

“You are my real brother,” Thor insisted, “Loki, do not doubt that.”

“I know,” Loki said, the warmth of the sima glowing in his pocket, “Yes, I know Thor, and you are my brother also, but each of us had another, did we not? I try to remember what I was like, before…” he waved his hands, “...before all this, and I cannot remember myself. Perhaps, if you tell me of him, my other self, it will remind me.”

“Ah,” Thor said, his hands twisting anxiously, “Ah, but Loki. He and I, we were often at odds.”

They walked for a way further, the snow crunching under their boots, until Loki said, “We were at odds in my world too, very often. But I never doubted your love for me, or my love for you.”

Thor wrapped an arm around Loki’s shoulders and pulled him close, walking together for a while. “Loki died facing Thanos,” he said, forcing the words out of his throat. “He died with a blade in his hand.” He coughed out a single, choking sob, “He could have lived,” he said, “He could have saved himself but he didn’t, the fool. Of all the times I have seen you die, that one was the worst. I saw you fall from the Bifrost, I saw you die on the Kursed blade, and I saw you slain by Thanos." Thor wiped his face with a wet squelching sound, "I see all your deaths in my dreams, only there, it's different. I catch you, or I parry the blade, or I scream at you to hide, and you live. But it was only a dream, until now.”

“I did,” Loki said, quietly. “You are talking about the Statesmen, yes? I did not die there. I held a blade in my hand and I wished for the courage to use it, even though such a thing was doomed. I was a coward and I did not die with our people. I hid and I lived and my punishment for that was to watch you die on Midgard, and then to fall to…" Loki searched for the right word, but could not find it and settled on, "... captivity.”

They walked further, entering the clearing before the final hill. “You did the right thing,” Thor said, “You lived to fight him again, and defeat him. It was not cowardice, it was good sense. Many times after your death I longed for your counsel. You knew Thanos, and we had so little information, so little time to plan. I went to Nidavallir to forge Stormbreaker, but even that weapon was not enough to defeat him.”

They walked up the hill. Even in one week, Loki had regained some strength. His thighs still burned at the climb but his breath was steady and strong, and his heart did not throb in his chest at the effort.

“We went to Midgard, not Nidavallir,” Loki said as they stood atop the small hill, the beautiful ash tree below them. “The mind stone and the time stone were on Midgard, Thanos was bound to go there and I thought we could make a stand. You said you had allies there who would stand with us. And it worked, I suppose. The Avengers stood with us, and Thanos was defeated. But Tony Stark betrayed us; his weapon killed you as well as Thanos. He took the credit for the kill, and he took me too, as his prize. I tried to fight him.” Loki swayed where he stood, and Thor urged him to walk down the hill to the protection of the great tree. “I tried to resist, but I could not. Without you, there were no others in the universe who cared for my fate. It would have been better for me to die.”

The brothers stood under the ash tree, both of them full of remembered sorrows, the broad branches above them swaying gently in the breeze.

“Loki fell to Thanos, and you did not,” Thor said, his thoughts taking time to come to him. “Because you lived, we went to Midgard and made a stand there, defeating Thanos and saving untold billions of lives. There is no unpicking each thread, brother. We cannot take each choice alone, and assign the worthiness of each action. I have learned that, if I have learned nothing else. I fought, but I lost at the last, my blow struck the wrong target and billions died. In this universe, there is a Loki feasting in Valhalla, but you will join him there, brother.”

Loki shook his head. Even the ash, the sacred cathedral of its roots and branches could not shield him from the truth. “Nay,” he said, the chill, stinking breath of Nidhogg slinking up his spine, “Nay, that is not for me.”

Thor grabbed his shoulders, “Yes,” he insisted, “Yes, it is for you. I do not claim great wisdom, Loki, but I know you will not be cast to the wastes of Hel in the afterlife.”

Loki’s heart broke at Thor’s earnest expression, the pain in his eyes as he remembered his brother’s many deaths. Loki could not bear add to his troubles. “Maybe not,” he said, and it was not even a lie. Loki knew, after all, that Hel would not take him.

They walked circles under the tree, and then they both left an offering before they started back. Loki left a handful of grain that he spread along the low branches for the tiny birds with their fluffed out feathers. Thor rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a small bottle of golden spirits, which he sipped and then tipped onto the roots.

Loki took note of his brother’s offering, but he did not say anything. It was not his place to question the way Thor chose to cope with his sorrows. Instead, when they were almost back to the house, he gave voice to the bubbling apprehension in his belly and said, “Tony has arranged a therapist to speak to me.” He carefully did not phrase it as a question, or as anything positive or negative. It merely was a thing that was, and Loki waited for his brother’s reaction.

“Hmm yes,” Thor said, "He offered to do the same for me, some time ago.”

“You did not agree?” Loki said, his anxiety already spiking that his brother knew what a therapist was, that he disdained it or that he thought it harmful.

Thor shrugged, looking away. "I had my people to lead, a new home to find, a great, unfathomable loss for everyone to recover from. I had no time for it.”

“You have time now,” Loki dared to suggest, but before he could continue Thor interrupted him, his laid-back manner vanished in the blink of an eye.

“I do not!” he snapped, stopped dead in the path and gripping Loki’s shoulder with his full strength. “I do not have time, nor do I wish to find time to rake over the coals of my failures! Do not…” he stopped himself from yelling, taking a deep breath and lowering his voice. “Do not speak of it to me.”

Loki shut his mouth so fast that he bit his tongue. Do not speak of it to me. Thor ordered Loki's silence and he got it, seemingly unaware of the effect of his words as they walked the final turns of the path, Loki falling back to walk behind his brother, his head down. When they arrived at the lake house Loki fled to his room, shut and locked the door and squeezed himself into the far corner between the wall and the bed, his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped over his head, his breath harsh and his heart pounding.

Do not speak of it to me.

He had not. He had not disobeyed, as soon as he had known Thor’s wish he had not spoken any further, he had been obedient and he had not known! He had not known that Thor did not wish to speak of such matters and if he had known he would never have mentioned it. His skin itched and the twenty-four points on his body where the implants were buried ached. Loki flinched, again and again, expecting the lightning to strike him, to discipline him even as he assured himself that the implants were destroyed, that the nanites were no more than dust now. Eventually, when he could not quiet the compulsion any other way, he slid wretchedly to the down position, put his face on the floor and let his miserable tears fall on the plush carpet.

Chapter 53: Smores

Chapter Text

It was twilight when Loki heard a soft tap on his door, rousing him from his hazy stupor. He stared at the carpet between his hands, unsure where he was and how he had come to be there. The tap came again, and then a quiet voice. “Loki? Are you awake?” It was Tony.

“Yes, Tony,” Loki said, doing his best to sound normal. He struggled up from the floor, his knees and back aching from his long stillness. His memory returned; his walk with Thor, Thor's reaction to the suggestion of therapy, and then Loki's shameful overreaction to his brother's harsh tone.

‘Um...are you OK?” Tony asked through the door, “Thor is working his way through my liquor cabinet and I haven’t seen you in a while. Did something happen?”

“I am well,” Loki said automatically. “Well enough,” he corrected, the urge to be honest still present. He took a deep breath and unlocked the door. He knew by now that Tony was aware that he locked it, but they had never spoken of it and Loki was no longer afraid to let him hear the sound of the click. Tony never tried the door handle anyway. He knocked and waited, every time.

Tony was waiting outside with tense posture and a furrowed brow. “Did you guys have a fight?” he asked, his golden-brown eyes fixed on Loki, “Do you want me to kick him out? I’ll do it!”

Loki rubbed his eyes and smiled despite the tight ball of upset in his belly. Tony was always a welcome presence, lightening his heart without seeming to try. Loki wondered if Tony really would remove Thor from his home if he asked, and found himself surprised that the answer was probably yes. “There is no need for that, Tony,” he said, shaking his head, ashamed now of his irrational response to Thor’s thoughtless words. The last thing he wanted was for Tony to worry, to cause any conflict in his home. “We did not have a fight, merely a misunderstanding.”

Tony shuffled his feet. “OK, well, I was gonna light a fire outside, you want to come and sit with us? Morgan wants smores.”

Loki had no idea what a smore was, but he was eager to be with Tony and his family, and to be outside under the stars. He nodded and said he would join them in a moment. When Tony had disappeared Loki closed the door again and leaned against it, eyes closed. The last few hours were blank. He remembered his panic at Thor's unmeant command, a reaction of his body rather than his mind, and then Tony had knocked on his door. That was unacceptable; he could not be hiding in his room like a child scared of a shadow.

His fingers slid up his arm, finding the spot where he knew the implant was. A hard pinch with his black fingernails and the ball of tension in his belly loosened a little. He did it again on the opposite side and then found the implants higher up, in the soft flesh of his underarm that would be hidden by his clothes. Two more hard pinches and he let out a long breath. He had been trained to fear harsh words, and he could train himself not to. He knew how such training was accomplished.

He would not cause trouble in Tony's house.

As he headed downstairs he passed the living room where Thor was slumped on the couch, a bottle in his hand. “Loki,” he said, looking up at Loki’s footsteps. He was drunk, his face red, his movements unsteady.

“Thor,” Loki said, standing on the stairs, unsure what to say or how to explain himself.

Thor’s face sagged, “I am sorry, brother. I should not have snapped at you. I am glad you will try to face your demons. I could not.”

Loki nodded, the idea of facing his demons an uncomfortable one. He set it aside for later and held out his hand, “We are going to light a fire, will you join us?”

Thor shook his head, staring at his bottle. “I think perhaps it will be well for me to return to New Asgard for a time.”

Loki’s stomach dropped and he gripped the handrail of the staircase, the new bruises on his arms throbbing. “You are leaving?” he said.

Thor nodded, “Aye,” he said, “I do not want to make things harder for you here. But I will return, often if that pleases you. Perhaps, in a week?”

“Yes,” Loki said at once, relieved. “Yes, please do that. I will miss you greatly! And please, come and join us outside. Tony said there will be smores, whatever they may be.”

Thor looked up at him from his sprawl on the couch, a sappy smile on his face. “Loki,” he breathed, “Loki, already I barely recognize you. Not because of this,” he waved his hand over Loki’s physical appearance, his blue skin, his horns, the patch of frost on the handrail where he held it, “But look at you. You hold your head up after such things as would have broken many others. You are so strong, Loki. So strong. And all I can do is drink and let my sorrows live in my belly.” He slapped his stomach, which was indeed larger than it had been, and stood up, stumbling but enunciating carefully. “I thank you for the invitation, brother, but I will spare you all my company today. I will leave tomorrow, but if you were planning to cook pancakes again tomorrow, I would thank you to make some extra for me.” Thor enveloped Loki in a heady embrace, the smell of alcohol almost making Loki dizzy himself.

“Goodnight then, Thor,” Loki said, feeling a fraud in accepting his brother’s admiration, as though he had not been crumpled sobbing on the floor of his bedroom that very afternoon.

He saw Thor up the stairs and headed out into the cold night, where a fire was burning.

“Lokiii!” Morgan’s cry greeted him from the fire pit. She was holding a sticky half-burned mess of some kind of food in her equally sticky hands. “I made this for you!” She held out the thing, and Loki had no choice but to take it. The smell of burned sugar assaulted his nose, but he smiled at the girl as she bounced on her toes, waiting for him to take a bite.

“Thank you, Miss Potts-Stark,” he said, buying time by sitting on the chair that had been left for him. Tony and Mrs Potts were sitting together on the lounger opposite, both wrapped up in coats and scarves. At Morgan's insistent urging, Loki took a bite of what he assumed was a smore. The combination of sweet cracker, chalky, half-melted chocolate, and a white, sugary, gluey substance was literally indescribable. Morgan watched him eagerly, her eyes intent on his face, judging his reaction.

He swallowed the noxious mouthful. “This is, without question, the most delicious smore I have ever eaten,” he declared, no word of a lie. Morgan giggled with delight and held out a long fork for her mother to attach another white pillowy thing to, which Loki assumed was the un-burned version of whatever he was eating.

Tony winked at him from across the fire, and Mrs Potts’ eyes were sparkling as she caught his eye and graciously saved him. “Perhaps you shouldn’t eat the whole thing, Loki,” she said, “Your stomach is still delicate.”

Loki made an appropriately sad face and agreed. “I will save it for later,” he said, and Mrs Potts handed him a paper towel to wrap the horrible thing. He put it in his pocket, hardly able to believe that he now had so much food that he could decide not to eat something, that he was free to eat or not eat as he wished.

He sat back in the chair, the firelight dancing on the faces of his companions. His setback that afternoon was falling away. He had dealt with it, and he would not allow such things to spoil moments like this. The bright stars and the full moon shone above them. It was the last moon of the year; it was sometimes called the mourning moon, the long night moon, or the cold moon. But Loki was anything but cold; the winter night was mild to him, and the warmth of Tony and his family surrounded him. Loki was wrapped in it like the softest of blankets.

Chapter 54: Dr Chance

Chapter Text

Loki sat on the porch hugging his knees, his feet tap-tap-tapping on the step, waiting for Beverley Chance to arrive. His stomach churned with anticipation and nerves; he had not been able to eat the pancakes he had made that morning before his brother had left. Loki picked at his fingernails and looked up at the sun, which had not moved since he last checked. Without conscious thought, his hands slid up his sleeves, reaching for the tender bruises on his forearms where the implants were buried. He should not be reacting with such anxiety to a simple meeting, and it was one more thing he could train himself out of.

Before he could do anything, the door creaked and Morgan crept out, one arm in her puffy pink coat, the other sleeve inside-out and resisting her efforts to right it. “Loki,” she whispered, giving up on the coat and letting it drape over her back like a cape, the hood on her small head, “Loki, who are we waiting for?” She sat on the step next to him and looked down the driveway, just as he was doing.

Loki considered helping her with her sleeve, but the risk of touching her delicate skin was too great. He would have to watch her carefully and send her back inside if she began to shiver. “I am waiting for a lady,” he said, unsure how to describe a therapist to Morgan.

Morgan nodded seriously, craning her neck to look further down the driveway. “Is she your girlfriend?” she asked, and the question was so unexpected that Loki laughed out loud. He pulled his hands out of his sleeves and tugged Morgan’s coat over her shoulder a little more securely.

“No,” he said when he had recovered from his amusem*nt. “No, my dear, she is not my girlfriend. She is a kind of healer, I think.”

“Are you still sick?” Morgan asked, her face creasing up with concern, looking Loki up and down as though checking for evidence of sickness. “Daddy said you were sick and needed to rest. He said you got hurt and we should all be extra nice to you.”

Loki looked down at his hands, emotion welling up in his chest. He swallowed it down. “You have indeed been extra nice to me, Miss Potts-Stark,” he said, trying not to show how her words had affected him. He seemed to cry at the slightest thing, and Tony’s thoughtfulness and kindness to someone like Loki never failed to bring tears to his eyes.

“Hey, little missy,” Tony poked his head out of the door and gave Morgan a stern look. She bit her lip and looked guilty. “Shouldn’t you be putting your shoes away?” He pointed to the two mismatched shoes that she had dropped outside the door.

“Loki was by himself!” she protested, “I’m helping him wait for a lady.”

Tony sighed and stepped out with the two of them. He righted Morgan’s sleeve and zipped up her coat, sitting on the step with the girl on his lap. “OK,” he said, “We’ll help Loki wait, and then you can put your shoes away. Deal?”

“Deal!” she said eagerly and wriggled to get comfortable in her cozy spot on her father’s lap.

It was not much longer before a car pulled up the driveway and parked a short distance away. The winter sun reflected on the glass, blocking their view of the occupant. Loki held his breath, unsure what this therapist would look like, what equipment she might bring with her, what expectations she might have, what expectations Tony had for this session, and how long it might last. If it did not go well, would he be allowed to decline further sessions, after he had agreed to this one, and the woman had come all this way to meet him? He did not know, and the uncertainty made the bruises on his arms throb.

His spiraling thoughts were cut off when the car door opened, and a woman stepped out. She was tall and lean, her years clearly visible in the lines of her face and the grey of her hair, but she stood upright and her hand did not shake or tremble when she strode over and held it out to Loki, saying, “You must be Loki. I’m Dr Beverley Chance, very glad to meet you.”

“Greetings,” Loki said with a short bow, hiding his blue hands behind his back, “I am Loki. I apologize, ma’am, but my skin will burn you if I touch you.”

“Ahh, yes of course,” The woman said, not perturbed at all. She lowered her hand. “Please call me Beverley, or Doctor Chance, whichever you prefer. Seeing as we’re away from my office, I thought we might walk around the lake together while we talk.” Dr Chance was already dressed for walking, in stout boots and heavy pants, a warm coat and a knitted scarf and hat, all in shades of grey. She even had a walking stick in her hand, although she did not seem to need it.

Loki looked over at Stark, who gave him an encouraging nod and called Morgan to come inside. The door shut behind them and Loki was alone with this therapist.

“Loki,” Dr Chance said as she walked, matching her pace to Loki’s, “I am sure Tony has told you very little about me.” She turned to him with a smile, and Loki found himself smiling back. This confident, blustery woman was so unlike anything he had expected; he seemed to have no choice but to follow in her wake. She continued, “For our first session, we should get to know each other a bit. I’d like to talk about your goals for therapy, and you can ask me any questions you have. OK?”

“Yes, Dr Chance,” Loki said, a little overwhelmed. Dr Chance reminded him of his mother, in her no-nonsense manner and her direct, unflustered tone.

The woman looked at him. “I’ll go first,” she said. “Let me give you the short version about me: I’ve been a therapist for nearly fifty years, before it was even called therapy. I’ve helped a lot of people in my time, Loki, people who have been through situations like yours. You may find it hard to believe, but you would not be my most unusual case. I’ve helped mutants, aliens, clones, interdimensional werewolves, even the occasional human!” She smiled again, and Loki smiled back, interested despite himself, although he was still unsure what kind of ‘help’ she was talking about. “No two patients are ever the same,” she continued, “But believe me Loki, if you’re willing and ready to work with me, I’ll do my best to help you."

“Yes, Dr Chance,” Loki said again, and the woman gave him a shrewd look, meeting his red eyes without flinching.

“Now,” she said, “Tony told me you’re from another universe, and from another planet in that universe, so I’m not going to assume you know anything about therapy. Let me tell you a little about what you can expect. I am a trauma specialist, which means that I primarily help people who have been through traumatic events, as you have. If you decide to work with me, we’ll spend some time identifying thoughts and behaviors that have been impacted by trauma, thinking about the ways those thoughts and behaviors - that may have helped you survive in the past - are now affecting your life in a negative way. And then we can come up with strategies to lessen those thoughts and behaviors, either through avoiding triggers, through exposure therapy or through cognitive restructuring, which is a way to make sense of traumatic memories, to detach them from the associated emotions and put them in their proper place, as it were.”

Loki tried to follow the words, but the concepts Dr Chance spoke of were unfamiliar, and it was hard for him to take it in. As though she could sense it, Dr Chance stopped on the pathway and put her gloved hand on Loki’s sleeve, fixing him with her pale grey eyes.

“Loki,” she said, “If you decide to continue, please know that we will go at your pace, at your level of comfort, and we can stop or take a break at any time. The most important thing for someone who has been through what you have been through - imprisonment, enslavement, torture - is that you control your healing journey. Not me, not Tony Stark, not anyone else. You.”

Loki frowned at her, trying to read her thoughts. What was she implying? That Tony had forced him to become her patient? Tony certainly had not done any such thing, he had offered, that was all, and Loki had agreed. You didn’t know what you were agreeing to, Loki’s treacherous thoughts whispered, and you still don’t know.

“And if I do not want to become your patient?” he asked, looking down at her booted feet, avoiding meeting those sharp eyes.

She pointed with her walking stick down the path, back the way they had come. “You can head back whenever you want,” she said, “Now, or at any time in the future.” She paused, and for a moment the wind was the only sound as it rustled the branches of the bare trees and lapped the water of the lake against the shore. “Or,” she said, watching Loki’s face carefully, “We can walk around the lake and talk about the weather if you would rather Tony didn’t know your decision.”

“Tony is not forcing me to submit to your therapy !” Loki snapped, still unclear of her implication, but not liking it at all.

Dr Chance nodded and let that pass without comment. Still standing on the pathway in the woods, the trees on one side, and the open lake on the other, she tipped her head to one side and said, “Now, it’s your turn. What can you tell me about your goals for therapy?”

They walked on, more slowly now, and Loki wracked his brain for an answer he could give that would not make him sound foolish. Eventually, he settled on, “Tony thought it would be good for me.”

“Tony Stark is a very clever man,” Dr Chance said, “And I am glad he called me, but even he can’t tell you your therapy goals. Only you can do that. It’s OK if you don’t know yet, lots of people don’t. We can work on it together.”

“Yes, Dr Chance,” Loki said, glad to have an automatic reply at hand. He was off-balance, unsure of the correct responses, and ashamed that his once-eloquent tongue seemed to have deserted him. He had never been so lost for words as he had been since Tony had taken him in.

The lakehouse was coming into view again, their walk almost at an end. “There is something else you need to know, Loki,” Dr Chance said, pausing and pulling Loki back around a bend so that the house was hidden again. “Tony Stark is paying for my services, but you are my patient. I won’t reveal anything that we discuss to him, or to anyone else, outside of two specific situations: One, if there is an immediate risk of you seriously harming yourself, or two, if there’s an immediate risk of you harming someone else. And even then, I will only give enough information to prevent that harm from occurring.”

Loki filed that information away but he did not respond to it. Dr Chance was Tony’s old friend, and more than that, Tony was paying for Loki’s therapy. Loki was no fool, and he knew what that meant. He could trust Dr Chance only as much as he could trust Tony Stark. Luckily, he trusted Tony with his life. If he wanted to know what happened in Loki's therapy sessions, Loki would tell him.

They turned the bend again and headed for the house. Tony was sitting on the front step, a steaming cup in his hand. Perhaps he was merely enjoying the winter sun, or perhaps, Loki allowed himself to hope, Tony was waiting for him to return.

“Before I go,” Dr Chance said, “I’ve got something for you.” She led Loki to her car and pulled out a bag. Curious, Loki looked inside. There were two books - the first a thick book with Dr Chance’s photograph on the back, titled Trauma and PTSD: Therapeutic Studies and Best Practices , the second a blank notebook. Dr Chance pointed at the textbook and said, “Not to blow my own horn, but I did write the book on trauma recovery. If you want to know more about me and my methods, it’s all in there. It can be a little dry for the layman, but there’s a lot of case studies that you might be interested in.”

Loki nodded, flicking through the thick book, warmed that Dr Chance took him seriously enough to think he was capable of reading and understanding such a text. He did not know himself if it was true, but still it was a pleasant feeling that she thought him enough of a scholar to attempt it. She pointed at the blank notebook. “This is something I ask all my patients to do,” she said, “Start keeping a journal. It doesn’t have to be a lot, but every day try to write something. It can be anything; something that happened that day, something that you remember from the past, something you hope for the future. Anything at all. But try to make it a habit. Do you think you can do that?”

Loki nodded, “Yes, Dr Chance,” he said, putting the books back in their bag and holding the bag close to his chest.

“Good,” she said, “Then our time is up, Loki. I’ve enjoyed our chat, and I will see you in three days.”

Loki stood back as Dr Chance got into her vehicle and drove away. Tony appeared at his side, sipping from his cup, drinking bitter coffee as he did throughout the day. “All good?” he asked, and Loki nodded.

“Yes, Tony,” he said, “Yes, I think I like her.”

Tony grinned and tucked his gloved hand into Loki’s elbow, steering him back towards the house. “I thought you might,” he said, “And now if you don’t have any other plans, there’s a little girl inside who is desperate to watch Frozen with you.”

Loki let himself be walked into the living room where the rest of the family was waiting. Loki’s seat was ready by an open window, a glass of ice-water on the table nearby. He sat in his prepared spot as Tony started the movie, and relaxed as the opening music washed over him.

Chapter 55: Journal

Chapter Text

Loki stared at the blank page of the journal on his lap. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, the windows flung wide, the moon bright above. The pen was poised above the page, but he could not think what to write. In his past life, he had filled dozens of journals - notes on magic, herbs, potions, artifacts, drawing of maps and places he had visited, even the occasional sketch of people that he had met. Words had flowed from his pen like a flood, but now the flood had ended, and the river was dammed and blocked.

Loki wrote the date, which at least broke up the gleaming white of the page. Then, he wrote the location, the phase of the moon, and the weather of the day.

The 19th day of December
The Lakehouse, Midgard
The moon is waning gibbous
The day was cold, clear and bright

After that, he was stumped. He did not know what Dr Chance wanted him to write. What would she be pleased to see when she returned in three days time? What would Tony be pleased to see, if he should review the book? Dr Chance had asked him to write every day, and Loki was determined to follow her instructions. Both she and Tony had seemed to think that he needed help, and even if he did not completely understand what they meant, Loki was willing to try. He absently rubbed his forearms, pressing on the bruises that lurked there, hardly visible under his blue skin.

He needed to write something.

He pressed on the bruises again, and before he could shy away from it he pinched hard, held for a slow count of three, and then let go. He smoothed his hands over the bruises, watching them darken under his eyes. His mind clarified, he picked up the pen and wrote:

He held the pen for a long time, staring at what he had written, but nothing further came. He had satisfied Dr Chance’s requirement, and so he put the pen and journal on his nightstand next to the textbook, and changed for bed.

Sleep did not come to him easily, the movie he had watched that night floated through his mind. It was an entertainment for children, he knew that much, but still, the music and the visuals haunted him, especially the woman Elsa, cursed by ice magic that had destroyed her family and almost killed her beloved sister. Loki held up his hands before his eyes, turned them back and forth. He had not sought his arcane power since he had taken on his form, only the ice power of the Jotun. That was what he was, after all, that ice power was his birthright and his curse, just as it had been Elsa’s. He had no right to the power of Yggdrasil, no right to the golden magic of Asgard.

Restless, he went to the window and looked out. The sun had been bright that day, but snow still lingered under the shade of the trees. The snow crystals almost glowed to Loki’s sensitive eyes, bright in the moonlight that washed the lake in silver. At his thought, the tiny crystals stirred, and Loki amused himself for a while making them dance and stick together, forming larger crystals and tessellated patterns, before sending them tumbling back into a messy heap. He stopped, guilty for enjoying such base powers. He had once wielded the arcane power of Asgard, trained by the queen herself. If anything, he should be trying to regain his Asgardian form and reconnecting to Yggdrasil, not toying with the elemental magic of the Jotun. At least if he did that, he might have some use, some purpose on his world. He might be able to be with humans without worrying that he would hurt them, perhaps be able to touch someone or even just be in the same room with them without overheating.

He stared at his hands again; dark blue with black nails. He tried to imagine his hands as they had been, pale and elegant, clever fingers that could create delicate sigils, mix complex potions, write with a precise hand. He frowned, something nagging at his awareness. He picked up the notebook again and turned to the first page where he had written his single thought. He stared at it. It was his handwriting. The same handwriting that he had seen on all the other pages of his journals for hundreds of years. He grabbed the notebook and pen, no longer worried about what he wrote. He just wanted to see his unfamiliar hand writing words in such familiar handwriting.

The pen crunched in Loki’s hand and ink smeared on the page; the pen had frozen in his hand, the ink sluggish and half-crystallized. The pressure of his fingers had shattered it, and he didn’t have another. Even that pen had not belonged to him, he had borrowed it from Tony, and then he had destroyed it with his Jotun hand.

Loki threw the shattered remains of the pen across the room with a helpless sob, leaving a blue smear on the wall opposite. The notebook followed, slamming into the wall, and Loki grabbed his forearms, pinching hard the two bruised spots, then moving up to the soft flesh under his arms, and when that didn’t quiet the frantic pounding of his heart, he pinched the delicate skin of his throat, the inside of his thighs and behind his knees.

Footsteps sounded out in the hallway, and Loki froze, hoping it was merely someone passing by to go to bed, but of course it was not. There was a tap on his door and Tony said, “Hey Loki, everything OK? I heard a crash.”

Loki gave himself a final calming pinch, rearranged his clothes and unlocked the door. He would not ignore Tony’s summons. He could not. Tony sheltered and protected him, and he deserved Loki’s respect. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

“I apologize for disturbing you,” he said at once, ashamed of his loss of control. “I dropped my notebook.”

Tony glanced over at the broken pen, the smear of ink on the wall, the notebook in a crumpled heap on the floor. “Hmm,” he said, letting the excuse pass without comment. He looked at Loki, taking in his flushed face, his trembling lip, his wide eyes. “Well," he said, "I’m not going to bed anytime soon, and I’ve got an idea, want to help me test it?”

“Of course,” Loki said, shoving away his emotions, relieved that Tony would not scold him for ruining his pen, and possibly his wall as well. “I would be glad to assist you.”

“Great, come on then.” Tony headed back downstairs, but instead of going to his workroom as Loki had expected, he went to the large closet by the door where the family kept their outdoor clothes. He disappeared inside, and while Loki waited he absently picked up Morgan’s shoes and coat from the floor and put them in their proper places. Tony emerged a few moments later holding an armful of puffy clothing in lurid colors.

“Snowsuit,” he said, an explanation that did not help at all. Nevertheless, Loki waited patiently while Tony donned the padded pants, jacket, and gloves which covered him completely, hiding his lean shape under the puffed out layers. “OK, so I’ve been thinking,” he said, beckoning Loki to follow him out onto the porch. “Elsa wears gloves, right? So she doesn’t freeze things, but you get too hot, so what about if the rest of us wear the gloves? Or not just gloves.” Stark held out his arms, but Loki still did not understand what he was talking about, and he said as much, as politely as he could manage.

“For hugging!” Stark said, as though it was obvious, but when Loki still did not respond he lowered his arms, his smile fading. “If you want to!” he said hurriedly, “You don’t have to, for sure. I just remember, that when we were in that place we hugged a few times and, maybe, it helped a bit?”

Loki swallowed, his chest heavy with those remembered emotions. It was true. In that terrible cell he had turned to Tony for comfort, they had held hands, Loki had cried on his lap, he had lain beneath him, and even then his touch had been a solace, not a torment. As though a dam had broken, there was suddenly nothing Loki wanted more than that comforting touch. He gulped and held out his arms, stumbling over his feet in his haste to reach Tony.

Tony caught him, held him safe in his strong arms, and Loki shuddered. He was too weak to even stand as the sobs came, and he fell heavily to his knees, his face buried in the soft fluff covering Tony’s belly, his arms tight around his waist. Tony held him, his gloved hands cradling his head, reaching down to rub his back, letting him cry, letting him sob out his un-namable distress into the soft, warm jacket.

Loki did not know how long he stayed clinging to Tony, but when he raised his head there was no trace of impatience on Tony’s face; only kindness and compassion showed in his golden brown eyes. “Bit better?” he asked, and Loki nodded, staggering back to his feet in the moonlight.

“Yes,” he said wiping his face, looking up at the moon and stars above them, not able to look at the face of the man who had given him so much. “Yes, thank you, Tony. Thank you for everything. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Loki,” Tony said, but then he frowned and stepped forward, looking at Loki’s neck where he had raised his head. “What’s this?” he asked, his gloved hand gently brushing the spot where Loki knew a bruise would have formed, the spot where the implant lay at the base of his throat. Instinctively, Loki covered the bruise with his hand, although he knew there was no point. Tony had already seen it, and there was no hiding what Loki had done.

Chapter 56: Mirror mirror on the wall

Chapter Text

Loki stared at the page, holding the pleasingly round shape of his pen in his hand. It was a new pen, Tony had given it to him without judgment the day before. He had called it a space pen and claimed it could work in temperatures well below zero. Loki had been skeptical, but apparently Tony was right, the pen was smooth and comfortable in Loki’s hand, and it had neither frozen nor shattered.

Loki was distracting himself from the sentence he had written, and he knew it, but at the same time, that sentence was so loaded, so weighty, that Loki could not quite make eye-contact with it. It had taken a lot of effort to write down, maybe even more than the effort it had taken to walk around the lake in the snow with Dr Chance, and tell her, as Tony had asked him to, that he had been hurting himself.

He broke the sentence down into its components, slow and careful, using his new pen to make a neatly ordered list. Then, underneath the list, he drew a line and wrote his first therapy goal.

Loki sat with that for a while, cross-legged on his bed next to the open window. It felt odd and uncomfortable to decide something like that for himself. He had decided to cook for the family, and he had done it, but this was on a different level. This was a decision about his future, about the direction of his life. Tony and Dr Chance both encouraged him to make that decision, but neither of them had forced him. Tony had asked him to tell Dr Chance what he was doing to himself, but he had not ordered him to. He had not given any hint that if Loki did not tell, Tony would reveal the matter himself. He had just looked sad, and small, and helpless, and asked him to please talk to his therapist.

With a guilty sigh, Loki set his notebook and pen aside and lay back on his bed. There was something else on his mind, but it was not something that he felt ready to write down - Tony had hugged him, two nights ago. Not spontaneously either, he had planned it, he had thought of the obstacles to doing so and had overcome them, just so that he could hug Loki.

Loki wrapped his arms around himself, simulating the hug. He squeezed himself, but of course, it was not the same. There was no warmth, physical or emotional, no comfort, no sense of safety, of belonging. Loki wanted those things, he wanted them so desperately that it was a physical ache in his chest. But he could not expect Tony to dress in his bulky snowsuit upon request, merely to give Loki a hug when he desired one. This was not Tony's problem to overcome, although he had been very kind to do so once. No, Loki’s body was the problem, and it was time for Loki to fix it.

He went to the bathing room and looked in the mirror, a hard, searching gaze that he did not allow himself to flinch away from. He looked Jotun - deep blue skin and eyes red like rubies - but that was only the surface. Underneath, he was not Jotun; he had no idea of Jotun customs, history, society or culture. Loki looked at himself again. He was no longer Asgardian either, even on the inside. Asgard was gone, and his place there had been a lie from the very first day. He was something else, some mix of the two worlds, a product of both, but belonging to neither.

Odin had forced Loki into Asgardian form when he was a helpless infant, and he had hidden Loki’s true nature. Loki tried to picture himself as he had been, as a prince; haughty and regal, proud, dark-haired and green-eyed, pale-skinned and pink-lipped. Loki shuddered. That was not him. It had not been him for a long time. Before he had become the creature in the mirror, he had been emaciated, bruised, and whipped. His head had been shaved and he had been recently violated. Loki closed his eyes, his fingers resting on the bruises on his forearms.

My goal is to avoid self-harm.

He breathed, and then opened his eyes. He was not that creature either. That beaten down wretch had been a creation of his former master as surely as his princely appearance had been the creation of Odin.

So, with nowhere else to go, his appearance remained as it was. A Jotun face and body, as alien to Loki as it was to everyone else.

Loki breathed on the mirror, ice crystals forming there, blurring and softening his image. He picked up a washcloth, and with the tip of it, he traced the outline of his face, adding his eyes, his nose, his mouth, and the thick horns rising up from his head. He breathed again, blurring it once more, and then began to change it. He made the horns shorter, twisting them into points over his temples. He traced the heritage lines over his cheeks but ignored the lines on his chin and forehead. His hand trembled as he added his hair, shorter than it had been before it had been taken from him, but still swept back from his brow as he liked to wear it. He stood for a long time, gazing at the image he had created even as the ice began to melt in the warm room. The mirror-Loki dripped and ran, and eventually vanished.

With the washcloth, Loki slowly wiped the mirror clean, and then with a dry towel he polished it to a high shine, but he did not forget the face he had seen there.

It was not his face, not yet. But perhaps one day it could be.

Chapter 57: Natasha Romanov

Chapter Text

Natasha Romanov came to the house the next afternoon. Tony had warned Loki she was coming, and reassured him that it was only a social call. He even said that if Loki wanted to stay in his room and avoid her, he could. But Loki didn’t want to do that; a tiny spark of defiance, of possessiveness, glowed in his belly. This was his home. Tony had told him so, he belonged here and was wanted here. He would not be chased out by Natasha Romanov.

“It’s not what you think,” Tony said. “She’s changed, we all have. She and Pepper are friends.”

Loki had nodded at that and went for his usual walk to the ash tree.

When he returned, a red car was pulling up the driveway, a fresh-cut pine tree tied to the roof. Loki took a deep breath and watched as Romanov emerged. He was surprised at how different she looked than he remembered. Her sharp red hair was now dull blond, and her angular face had softened. She looked as though she had more to concern herself with now than her appearance, which Loki supposed was true for many people after the devastation left by Thanos in this universe.

“Loki,” she said, facing him, her short stature and slender frame doing nothing to lessen her presence.

“Lady Romanov,” Loki replied with a carefully calculated dip of his horned head.

They stared at each other, like two cats pretending disinterest but ready to react instantly to any threat.

“Nat!” Pepper opened the door and Loki was fascinated by the transformation that came over Romanov. It was as though she melted. She was shelled like an egg, and her smile shone from her naked face.

“Pep,” she breathed, Loki already forgotten as she turned to the new arrival, her arms rising into her eager embrace.

Oh. Loki thought as they kissed their greetings, understanding breaking over him like a wave. Oh .

Tony and Morgan came out of the house and the moment broke, everyone greeting each other with pleased excitement. Romanov swung Morgan up high in her arms, the girl squealing with delight when she saw the tree.

“It was an impulse buy on the way up,” Romanov explained. “I knew you guys wouldn’t have one yet.”

“There’s plenty of time,” Tony protested, but he smiled at their guest and they hugged, an entirely different flavor of hug than the one Romanov had given Pepper. Loki swallowed and shuffled his feet, unsure what he had witnessed, doubt crawling in his belly. Surely, he had misunderstood. But there was no time to talk, between them they wrestled the tree off the roof of the vehicle and into the house. Morgan was vibrating with excitement and buzzing around their feet like a bee, talking about decorations and Santa and the upcoming holiday.

Pepper made hot drinks and Tony asked Loki to help him bring the tree decorations from the garage. As he handed down some battered cardboard boxes Tony said, “I told you she’d changed.” Loki nodded, unsure how to respond, but Tony, of course, had plenty to say. “She’ll only stay one night, and probably leave early. She’s pretty married to her job, or whatever’s left of it now. Pep tries to her get her up here more often but she’s a tough nut to crack.”

“She and Pepper, they are...close?” Loki asked, still feeling out the situation.

Tony laughed, “Oh yeah, totally,” he said with a wink, which only confused Loki more.

They decorated the tree with an eclectic mixture of ornaments. Half were expensive-looking crystal, and the other half were hand-made, smeared with glitter and childish thumbprints.

“Do you have Christmas in space?” Morgan asked as Loki carefully handed her items from the box to place on the bottom branches of the tree that she could reach.

“Space?” Loki asked, confused by her question, looking around for help. Pepper and Romanov were decorating the upper section of the tree, Tony was sitting nearby with a cup of coffee.

Morgan took the next ornament and hung it on a branch, all her ornaments crammed into a single small area on the tree. “Space, where you’re from,” she added, her face open and inquiring.

Tony chuckled from his comfortable seat where he watched them. “Loki’s not from space, missy,” he said, “He from another world.”

“Oh,” the girl said, her brow furrowed in a way that reminded Loki of her father, “I thought aliens came from space.”

“I am from a world called Asgard,” Loki explained. Then, thinking of the blended image he had drawn on the mirror the day before, he added, “But I was born on a different world called Jotunheim.”

Morgan absorbed that without comment. Of course, she had no idea what Jotunheim was, or she would have reacted the way any Asgardian child would have - with disgust and fear. “Do you have Christmas on Asgard or Yo-tu-hime?” she asked, carefully sounding the unfamiliar words.

“Jotunheim.” Loki said with a smile, “No we don’t, we have a mid-winter festival on Asgard called Yule. On Jotunheim is it always winter, so they... we... have lunar festivals. When the two moons Hjúki and Bil both are full in the sky, there is a great celebration.”

“What’s it like?” Morgan asked, and even the adults in the room paused to listen. Loki sat back on his heels, the sensory memory of telling stories around a fireside hitting him forcefully, sending him back in time. He shook himself.

“I have never seen it myself,” he said, “I grew up on Asgard from when I was a baby, but I have read about it. When both moons are full, it is called the Kalkis festival, and it's opposite when both moons are new, is called the Venkis festival. The Kalkis festival is a celebration of life and birth and light. The Jotun catch the light of the moons in smooth, clear towers of ice, made especially for the festival.” He paused, picturing the Kalkis festival, not as it was described in Asgard's books - a primitive, uncivilized ritual - but as it must truly have been; a celebration of the unique powers and the environment of Jotunheim. “It must have been very beautiful,” he said.

He searched his memory for other books he had read about Jotunheim and tried to strip them of Asgardian judgment. He had seen a Jotun ice fortress with his own eyes, and although it has been almost a ruin by then, the walls and pillars had not been crude or rough or ill-made , as they were described in Asgardian books. They had been well proportioned and strong, and the open spaces inside had been spacious and symmetrical. Loki swallowed back the flood of memories. The group was watching him, and he wanted to share more with them, to capture the magic he had never glimpsed himself but he knew was his birthright.

“The Jotun would sing their ancestral songs,” he said, his eyes distant. He had never heard those songs, and now he never would. He had only read of them, and now even the books he had read had been destroyed. They only lived in his memory. “Every generation adds to the song of their line. Some houses can trace their lineage back to Ymir himself. Heritage and ancestry is important to the Jotun, and they celebrate it at the Kalkis festival. Some of the songs take all night to sing, for those lines with many great deeds. I wish I had seen it, even once.”

“Sounds amazing,” Pepper murmured, sensing Loki’s melancholy mood. She reached out, pulling her sleeve down over her hand to squeeze his shoulder without hurting herself.

“I am sure it was,” Loki said, looking into Morgan’s wide eyes, glad he had at least passed on the memory of the Kalkis festival to a few other people. It would not be forgotten yet.

They finished the tree and Morgan was proudly tasked with turning on the lights. In the dark room, it was as though the starry sky had been brought indoors, the tiny twinkling lights shining and dancing in Loki’s eyes. The scent of the pine tree infused the air, fresh and clean, and from his spot by the open window, Loki drank it in. Even Romanov's presence here, arm in arm with Pepper, did not spoil his enjoyment. Morgan sat under the tree, looking up at it with wide eyes, poking at the hanging decorations to make them sway and cast their shimmering light all around the room. Tony sat in his chair, watching them all with a smile on his face, and happiness in his eyes.

Morgan soon tired and curled up on the couch with a well-worn book, her finger following the words as she read to herself.

Pepper smiled at Tony and then turned to Romanov. “I’ll help you unpack,” she said, and kissed Morgan goodnight. The two women headed upstairs, Romanov carrying her small overnight bag easily in one hand, the other holding Pepper's hand.

“Goodnight ladies,” Tony said, waving as they passed. Loki waited for them to leave before he looked at Tony, unsure what was happening. Or rather, he was sure what was happening but unsure why it was happening.

Tony glanced at Morgan, half-asleep with her book, and gestured Loki outside. They sat on the porch under the stars and moon, as they had done many times before.

“You have questions,” Tony said.

“I..it is not my concern, I am sure,” Loki said, trying very hard not to look scandalized.

Tony snorted. “Yeah well, you live here,” he said, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at the sky. “So go ahead and ask.”

Loki hesitated, easing into the question he wanted to ask, unable to come out and say it. He danced around it instead. “Romanov and Pepper, they are...?"

"They're close ," Tony said, emphasizing the word even as he glanced over his shoulder to check that Morgan was not listening.

"You do not mind?”

A genuine soft smile crossed Tony's face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Nat adores Pepper." he said, "Who wouldn’t? Pepper’s amazing. But no, I don’t mind. I mean, it's not that I just don’t mind, it's the opposite; I want it for her, I want her to have that in her life, to be adored and cherished and...yeah...there’s a physical side to it too."

Loki tried to understand Tony’s somewhat rambling explanation. “But you are married,” he said, still not clear exactly what was going on between the three of them. He, of course, knew that marriage was no barrier to infidelity, but that was not what was happening here. It was something else.

The moon shone down, and Tony was quiet for a few minutes, thinking. He waved his hand at the heavens above them. “Look at that,” he said, his gesture encompassing the bright sky, the stars and moon, the dark arm of the galaxy arcing over them. “Look how beautiful the moon is tonight. It’s no less beautiful to me because you’re looking at it too. I don’t get any less light, if the light also shines on you. You know what I mean?”

Loki nodded slowly, starting to understand. He let the idea sink in; love as undimmable light, undiminished as it was shared. A tiny seed cracked open in his heart, a part of him that had been deprived of nourishment for a long, long time.

“What of you?” he asked quietly, drinking in the sight of his companion, this kind man who had given him so much, who had given him safety, and a home.

Tony looked over at him, their eyes meeting with a strange intensity. “I’m already the luckiest man alive,” he said, looking down, his face unreadable. “I wouldn’t ask for any more than that.”

Loki held his breath, a whole new world opening up at his feet. “What if someone asked you for more?” he said, his voice almost a whisper. Where he got the courage from he did not know, but his body ached at the memory of Tony’s arms around him, and a surge of longing washed over him.

“Well,” Tony said slowly, his full attention on Loki, his gaze heavy like honey. “I would be very careful and patient with that person. I would make sure they knew that they did not owe me anything, and I’d suggest that they talk to their therapist. Most of all, Loki, I would tell that person that it’s OK to take things very, very slowly.”

Loki’s eyes filled. Tony was so kind, so good and kind and Loki had no idea what he had done to deserve it. “Yes, of course,” he said, emotion heavy in his voice, his chest tight. “Of course, Tony.”

Tony pulled his coat sleeve down over his hand, just as Pepper had done, and reached over to squeeze Loki’s hand.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he said, “And you’re still getting used to life here. We have all the time in the world, OK? I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter 58: Guilt

Chapter Text

As Tony had predicted, Romanov was ready to leave the next morning. Loki was up early, making breakfast as it was his self-assigned task to do. He was making french toast; thick slices of bread carefully dipped in a beaten egg mixture and fried. Powdered sugar, syrup, fresh-cut fruit and bacon were ready on the counter for people to help themselves.

“Loki,” Romanov said as she entered the kitchen, dropping her overnight bag by the door with a thud that seemed loud in the quiet house.

“Lady Romanov,” Loki said, hoping she had not noticed him startle at her arrival. He had a better understanding now of why she was here, of her role with this family, of the affection she held for those that Loki also cared for. He resolved to make an effort. “Would you like some breakfast?” he asked, indicating his preparations.

“Sure,” Romanov said, pulling a stool up to the counter and sitting down, spearing a piece of fruit with a fork. She chewed on it while Loki began, hoping his hand did not shake under her piercing gaze. “So,” she said after a minute of silence, “You’re from the universe where we won.”

Loki swallowed, using his spatula to check underneath the toast as it cooked. “I suppose I am,” he replied, although that victory had come at a high cost for him and his brother. Romanov had survived though, or at least she had survived the battle. Loki did not know what had become of her after that in his universe.

Romanov watched, impassive, her face a mask. “The stones are destroyed here,” she said, her voice even, “We tried to get them back and reverse it, but we failed. Everything went to sh*t and now we’re all just getting through it as best we can.” She ate another piece of fruit, and Loki turned her toast over in the pan.

“I am sorry,” Loki said, “For what happened to your world.”

She carried on, stabbing fruit with her fork and speaking in a bored, dull tone. “Tony went to your universe to figure out how things turned out different, to try and get help,” she said. Loki’s heart began to beat faster as she pointed her fork at him, “But he got you, instead.”

Loki stared down at the pan. The toast was golden brown, and sizzling in the melted butter. Loki bit his lip, the smell of the food suddenly nauseating. “I am sorry,” he said again, his voice a whisper. It would have been better if Tony had not seen him on that first day. He could have struck a bargain with Loki's master, and perhaps he would have been able to bring back what this world had lost, to reverse the murder of billions. Instead, as Romanov had said, Tony had got Loki. No doubt Romanov considered that a poor bargain.

It was not my fault, Loki tried to convince himself. He had been unseen when Tony had arrived, curled up in his basket under the worktable, silent and obedient. He would have stayed that way if his master had not summoned him to the penthouse. It had not been his decision at all. He had not tried to be noticed, he had not wanted to be rescued. He had not even considered the possibility.

Did you not? Loki’s treacherous thoughts prompted, and he rummaged through his memories of that meeting. Had he tempted Tony to help him? Had he looked at him pleadingly, somehow appealed to his conscience, his kindness? Had he manipulated Tony to abandon his plan to save billions, and enticed him to save Loki instead?

Romanov was staring at him, her expression severe. The padded gloves that Loki wore while cooking crackled and froze as he lost control of his body, his instincts warning him of a threat. Smoke rose from the pan where Romanov’s breakfast burned, but Loki’s hands were fists of ice and he could not salvage it.

Now you are wasting food. Not only had Loki ruined Tony’s plan to help his world, but now he was here he could not complete the simplest task. His knees ached and his head spun. Why was he still standing? He had spoiled the food and he was not on his knees on the floor, groveling for mercy, for punishment, for discipline. Tears formed in his eyes and fell to the ground as crystals, shattering like diamonds, broken shards skittering across the wood. Through it all, Romanov’s clear, cold eyes bored into him, turning him inside out, finding his weakness and the evidence of his guilt.

“Hey!” Tony appeared with a shout, stepping in front of Loki, grabbing the smoking pan and turning off the burner. “What’s going on here?”

Loki began to stammer out an apology, some explanation for his behavior, but Tony patted his shoulder and stood between him and Romanov, and Loki realized that Tony was glaring at her, not at him.

Romanov shrugged, “We’re just talking,” she said.

Tony pointed at Loki where he cowered against the cabinets, his heart pounding, his knees weak, his hands curled fists of ice.

“That’s not just talking!” Tony hissed at her. “I told you to leave him alone. He’s mine. If you have a problem with him you can discuss it with me, understand?”

Romanov held up her hands. “There’s no problem,” she said, and as though she was waking from a dream, her cold mask cracked and her softer expression returned. She looked at Loki and made a decision. “I think it's time for me to head out,” she said, already turning for the door. She paused, uncertainty crossing her face for the first time. “Am I still invited for Christmas?” she asked, and Tony sighed.

“Yes, of course,” he said, “Just be nice, OK? He's been through a lot.”

Romanov nodded, and then she was gone. Her car started up outside, and the sound of the engine faded into the distance before Tony turned to Loki. “You OK?” he asked.

Despite the evidence to the contrary, Loki said, “Yes Tony.” The ice covering his hands cracked and started to break away as his breathing returned to normal.

“What was that about?” Tony asked, guiding Loki to sit on his usual chair by the window, “What did she say to you?”

Loki took a deep breath of the cool outside air. Romanov had hardly said anything to him, not really. She had made a factual observation and Loki’s mind had filled in the rest. Loki shook his head. “It was nothing,” he said. Certainly, it was nothing that should have resulted in Pepper’s paramour being removed from the house. Loki bent forward and wrapped his arms around his head, hiding his face, hoping to hide his shame as well. “It was nothing,” he repeated, “It was my fault. Romanov did not say anything. She did not do anything.”

“Uh huh,” Tony said, but before he could push for more, Pepper came down the stairs in a cloud of fresh, damp air, her hair wet from the shower.

“Nat’s gone?” She asked, confused, glancing out of the window at the spot where the red car had been.

“Yeah,” Tony said, “She got Loki alone. I guess she can’t help herself sometimes, she reverts back to Agent Romanov. ”

“It was not her,” Loki protested, but Pepper took one look at his distraught, tearful face and crouched down by his side with a sigh.

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” she said, pulling a scarf from a nearby hook, wrapping it around her hand and rubbing Loki’s back. “Nat doesn’t know the effect she has sometimes.”

Together, Tony and Pepper sat with Loki and helped him calm himself. His breathing returned to normal, and his unreasonable panic faded until all that remained was a growing sense of embarrassment and shame. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to hide his face until this incident had been forgotten.

“I am sorry for the disturbance," Loki said with a sniff. “And for ruining breakfast. May I please be excused?”

“You don’t have to ask,” Tony reminded him, stepping back to give him space. “You can do whatever you want.”

Loki suppressed the urge to bow as he stood to leave, but he could not bring himself to turn his back on them. They were his superiors and it was ill-mannered to turn his back. Loki knew that was true, but where did he know it from? Had Odin taught him, or had it been Thanos, or even his former master? Loki didn’t know anymore. He had been shaped and trained almost since his birth, and the lessons all ran together.

He stumbled backwards up the stairs and shut the door to his room, locking it with shaking fingers, ice crystals flaring on the metal key.

My goal is to avoid self-harm.

Even as he muttered to himself, his fingers found the tender spots on his forearms, on his underarms, his chest, his belly. He dug his fingernails into his flesh, each burst of pain easing his shame and confusion. Physical pain was easier. It was quick and clean and Loki knew when it would end.

My goal is to avoid self-harm.

Loki paused, his fingers hovering over his skin, bruises already blooming in a half-dozen locations on his body. That was enough. That was enough. He did not need any more than that.

He took a deep breath and slid down the door to rest on the floor.

"My goal is to avoid self-harm," he said under his breath, and then added with a sigh, "Tomorrow. I will avoid it tomorrow."

Chapter 59: Comfort

Chapter Text

Loki did not wait to be fetched this time. Tony had too often knocked on his door and coaxed him out of hiding, and Loki did not want him to have to do it again. He quickly washed his face, tidied up his clothes, and made sure his face was calm and serene before he went back downstairs. He would not be chased away from his home, from the people he cared about, by a few careless words from Natasha Romanov.

He entered the kitchen to find Tony, Pepper and Morgan gathered around the counter eating the fruit and bacon he had prepared earlier that morning. The french toast ingredients were ignored.

He smiled fondly at them; his ridiculous, helpless, humans. “Can none of you cook at all?” he asked, heading for his spot behind the counter.

Tony smiled to see him, but he played along, holding up his hand. “I made an omelet once,” he claimed, and Pepper choked on the piece of melon she was eating.

“It took you three hours,” she sputtered, “and you included the one ingredient I’m allergic to.”

“I still made it,” Tony said proudly, and Loki rolled his eyes and smiled at them. He was happy to ignore that morning’s mishap if they all would too. He had dealt with it, and the aching bruises on his body reminded him to breathe, to focus and to stay calm.

“I will make you all a proper breakfast,” he declared, reaching for the bread.

Morgan grinned at him, "Me firwst, Woki" she said, her cheeks stuffed with grapes.

Loki flipped the spatula in his hand, "Of course, my dear," he said and began to cook.

When they had all eaten and the kitchen was clean again, Loki set out for his daily walk to the ash tree. He was stronger now, and in the last few days he had started to explore the woods. He had hiked off the trail and found the secrets of Tony’s land, the dells and valleys, the icy streams, the fallen trees with colonies of tiny creatures sheltered beneath crumbling wood. This time, however, he was only a few minutes down the trail when he heard footsteps behind him. It was Tony, jogging down the rough trail, his cheeks already rough and red from the cold.

“Hey,” he said, his breath short, “Can I join you?”

“Of course, Tony,” Loki said, his heart jumping a little at Tony’s request. Tony had not accompanied him before, and this would be the first time they had been alone together since Loki's realization of the night before. Exactly what that realization was, Loki was not yet sure. Even in his journal, he had scratched out the confused thoughts he had tried to capture, and instead penned a bland comment about exchanging gifts at Christmas. Loki had no money for gifts, and no way to get money, but that was a minor worry. He would cook for the household on Christmas day, and that would be his gift. He put those irrelevant thoughts out of his head and gave Tony his attention. Loki was glad to spend time with him, no matter what the reason for the walk.

Loki found he had to shorten his stride for Tony to keep pace with him, and he did not wander off the path. They walked together in companionable silence until they reached the hill overlooking the ash tree. As they headed down to the tree itself, Tony touched Loki’s arm.

“I'm sorry about this morning," he said, "I’ll tell Romanov she can’t come for Christmas if you don’t want her here. Pepper said it’s OK. I'm sorry I let that happen. I warned her off you, and I thought she could behave. I guess I was wrong about that.”

Loki shook his head, recalling the conversation with Romanov. It was not what she had said that had caused him to react so intensely. It had been Loki’s own guilt and shame, waiting to flood out at the slightest provocation. Loki tried to explain, “It was not her doing," he said, "It was me, I overreacted. She did not say anything false or untrue."

"What did she say?" Tony asked, "If you don't mind telling me."

Loki didn't mind, he had no reason to hide anything from Tony. "She said that you came to my universe for help, and instead of help you returned with me.”

“Wow,” Tony said, his eyebrows raised, “Well, she’s definitely uninvited. She really said that to you? Not cool, Romanov!”

“It is true, though,” Loki said his voice low in the stillness of the ash grove. He plucked some mistletoe leaves from a passing branch and twisted the stems between his fingers, looking at the glossy green leaves instead of the man beside him.

“No, it's not true, it's bullsh*t!" Tony sputtered, outrage clear on his face. "Do you think I was ever going to get any help from that psycho? All he was going to give me was a bullet to the head if I was lucky. I didn't pass up on his help to help you - if it wasn’t for you he probably would have killed me and taken my place. If it wasn't for you, he’d be here right now getting his claws into this world. If it wasn't for you, he'd be in my house, he'd be with Pepper, with Morgan...” blood drained from Tony’s face and he staggered, catching Loki’s shoulder to steady himself, his eyes wild.

“He’s dead,” Loki said hurriedly, trying to hold Tony up without freezing his skin. He cursed himself for not wearing gloves. He pulled his sleeves down over his hands and wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist. “He’s dead, Tony. Your family is safe.”

Tony’s breath was coming too fast, and he was shaking like a rabbit in Loki’s arms, barely able to stand up. Loki lowered him to the ground under the ash tree, his back to the thick trunk. Tony grabbed him before he could move away, “You’re sure?” Tony said, his voice rasping in his throat, every muscle tense, his eyes darting in every direction. “Loki, are you sure he’s dead?"

Loki knelt by his side, gripped the lapels of Tony’s jacket and wrapped Tony in it, compressing his body under the padded cloth. It was not quite a hug but it was the closest Loki could manage without injuring him. “He’s dead,” Loki said, holding Tony’s frantic gaze with his own, willing him to believe it. “I killed him. I froze his heart and I watched him die. He’s dead.”

“What if he comes back?” Tony gasped, his golden-brown eyes clouded with irrational fear. Loki understood; terror did strange things to one's thoughts. Tony's fear was that he could be replaced and his family infiltrated by a demon wearing his own face. How could he defend against that? How could he protect his family against that threat?

“Mortals cannot return from the afterlife,” Loki assured him, trying to keep his voice calm and level to counteract Tony’s panic. “It is not possible, Tony.”

“For him?” Tony grabbed Loki’s hands and burned himself, the pain adding to his confusion and fear, his breath coming fast and uncontrolled, his face deathly pale. “He had backups, fail safes. Half his mind was in the tower. What if he can do it? What if he comes back and...and...no one knows it's him?” Tony could barely even voice his nightmare, and Loki gave up on rationality. Calm reassurance was not what Tony needed, it was not something he could even understand in the grip of his panic.

“I would know,” Loki promised instead, his hands still tight on Tony's jacket, holding him firmly. “I would know it wasn’t you and I would kill him again. I would kill him a hundred times before I let him get near Pepper or Morgan. I swear it to you, Tony. I will never let them come to harm.”

Strangely, that murderous promise seemed to work where logical argument had not. Tony’s head fell back against the tree trunk with a thud, and Loki sat with him as he got his breathing under control, his face returned to a more natural color, and he was able to speak again.

“sh*t,” he said, rummaging in his pockets and coming up with a package of mint candy, which he offered to Loki before taking one for himself. “sh*t. I’m OK. Just a minor freak out. Are you OK?”

Loki put his back to the tree trunk next to Tony, shoulder to shoulder under the protection of the spreading branches. He ate the mint candy, which was surprisingly good for the amount of lint attached to the package. “Yes, Tony, I am fine,” he said.

“Wow, that asshole really messed me up,” Tony said, trying to laugh. “I guess I could be a scary guy if I decided to turn to the dark side.”

“You are right to fear him,” Loki said, “He was without mercy, without restraint. He murdered my brother, and you know what he did to me. But, I assure you, he is very dead. And remember, you told your Colonel Rhodes to disarm the tower. Rhodes is capable of performing that task, is he not?”

“Yeah, he is,” Tony let out a long breath and leaned his head on Loki’s shoulder. They sat like that for a long while, and the birds and other creatures of the ash grove began to move again, bringing the clearing back to life. The peace soaked into their bones, and Loki half-suspected Tony had fallen asleep when the man finally stirred and raised his head.

He gently turned Loki to face him, his fingers protected by the sleeve of his jacket. “Thank you,” he said, holding Loki's gaze, his golden-brown eyes luminous in the cold, clear light.

They were so close, they must have been breathing the same air. Tony's covered fingertips on Loki's jaw were the only point of contact between them, but Loki's skin was alive with it, a spiral of sensation focussed on that point. Loki ached for more; for comfort, for affection, but he knew Tony could not give it to him. Not as he was. He swallowed his need down, and instead said, "You are very welcome, Tony."

Chapter 60: Kiss

Chapter Text

“I want Romanov to come,” Loki blurted out the next day as he, Tony and Pepper were working in the kitchen. Well, Loki was working, at least. Pepper was helping him by organizing his meal preparation to-do list for their feast tomorrow. Tony...well, Tony was keeping them company, the counter in front of him littered with pistachio shells.

“You’re sure?” Pepper asked, one eyebrow arched as she looked at him over her notepad. “I understand why you may not want Nat around. I love her, but she can be a bitch.”

Tony snorted and then choked on the pistachio that he inhaled. While Pepper was thumping him on the back, Loki set a glass of water in front of him.

“I am sure,” he said when Tony had recovered. “I do not feel that she meant any harm.”

“She doesn’t have to mean harm to do harm,” Tony said with a frown, and Pepper gave a nod of agreement.

“This is your home, Loki,” she added, “You should feel safe here."

“I do,” Loki said, blinking rapidly. He swallowed back his emotions and concentrated on peeling and cutting potatoes. Tony and Pepper did not need him weeping into the food. He had cried enough, these past few years.

Pepper nodded and sent a flurry of messages on her phone. She rapidly became distracted by the incoming replies, which, from Loki’s quick glance, seemed to include rather a lot of images.

“She’ll behave,” Pepper said after a few minutes. She peeked over her shoulder at Morgan, who had set up a blanket fort between the decorated tree and the fireplace. The girl was playing with her army of stuffed animals, not paying the slightest attention to the adults in the room. Pepper looked at her phone as it buzzed again, and climbed off her stool with an overly theatrical yawn-and-stretch, hiding the screen against her chest. “I’m going to lie down and rest for a bit,” she said, her cheeks heated.

Tony gave her a wicked grin, his eyes sparkling. Loki looked between them before he worked it out and hurriedly looked back down at his potatoes. “Have a good rest , darling,” Tony called as Pepper hurried up the stairs, her phone clutched in her hand.

Loki put the cut potatoes in cold water, ready for the next day’s feast. It was already dark, the quarter-moon shining outside the kitchen window. He thought back to Tony’s words the night before last; that the light of the moon was undiminished by being shared. It was a concept that had thought about a lot in the past day. If Pepper was the moon, beautiful, elegant and wise, then Tony of course was the Earth, full of life and energy, the moon’s unquestioned partner. Loki did not claim to compare himself to the moon; he was not so important. If anything, he was an asteroid in a far orbit, barely held by the distant grip of gravity, vulnerable to be lost to the depths of space by the slightest mishap. But even a distant asteroid occasionally came close to the one it circled, close enough to burn in the atmosphere, close enough to create light and beauty of its own. Loki desperately hoped that that could be true for him as well.

“You look thoughtful,” Tony said, crunching another pistachio in his teeth, the question clear in his voice.

Loki shook himself, blushing. He could not share his romantic fantasies with the one who was the subject of them. He had made his tentative overture to Tony and he had no right to push. He was sure Tony had understood his meaning, and Loki would do nothing now but wait patiently for Tony’s decision.

“I don’t have any gifts for you,” he said, the first thing that came into his head.

“ You’re my gift,” Tony replied, quick as flash, and Loki could not help the blush that warmed his cheeks.

“You are too kind Tony,” he murmured and started to clean up the kitchen counter. He could feel Tony’s eyes following him around the room as he worked, warm and soft.

He finished cleaning up, and was about to head into the living room when Tony said, “Don’t move, stay right there.”

Loki froze, his mind immediately churning on what he had done wrong. Perhaps the cleaning was not up to standard, and he would be asked to redo it. Which he would, of course! He would! He would do it right now if he had not been ordered to stay where he was, but he would be obedient and wait. He would let Tony tell him what he had done wrong and what he must do to correct it, only he was getting dizzy from holding his breath, and his heart was pounding…

“Hey, it’s OK,” Tony voice sounded far away, “sh*t. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s OK Loki, you didn’t do anything wrong. Hey, can you look at me?”

Loki opened his eyes, not realizing that he had closed them. Tony was standing right in front of him, his hands hovering over Loki’s chest, almost close enough to touch, but not safe to do so through the thin shirt that Loki wore. “I’m sorry,” Tony said again. He leaned to the side and grabbed the padded gloves that were used to handle hot pans. He pulled them on and then finally he let his hands rest on Loki’s shoulders, rubbing gently. “Wow I am really bad at this,” he said. The weight of his hands helped Loki calm down, and Tony waited patiently while Loki's breathing returned to normal. It was as though he really was an asteroid hurtling through space, and Tony’s touch was the distant pull of gravity keeping him in his orbit. Without it, he would be lost.

After a few minutes, he let his breath out and said “I am well, Tony. You do not need to apologize, I overreacted.” He could see that Tony was about to argue with him, but Loki would rather not. He knew he was over-sensitive and he needed to get over it. He could not have Tony thinking he needed to watch his every word around him, even in his own home. To head him off, Loki added, “Why did you want me to stop here?”

Tony gave him a shy smile, “Look up,” he said.

Loki looked and saw a small sprig of glossy green leaves hanging from the archway above them. “Mistletoe,” he said, surprised and glad to be distracted. He was not familiar with Midgard’s Christmas traditions, but on Asgard Mistletoe was a symbol of peace and friendship. During the Yuletide festival, people would weave it into crowns and give them as gifts. Frigga had made mistletoe crowns for her sons and her husband every year, and as soon as he was able to, Loki had made one for her too.

He blinked. Lost in the sudden memory, he had not heard Tony’s explanation, and when he snapped back to the lakehouse, all he heard was “...kiss.”

“What?” he said, utterly confused.

‘It’s tradition!” Tony proclaimed, and he planted his ridiculous padded gloves on either side of Loki’s face. “I mean, if you want a kiss, that is. It’s optional.”

“Tony, you cannot,” Loki protested, a part of him hoping against hope that Tony had somehow found a way to change Loki's body, to allow him to be touched even though he knew such an idea was absurd.

“I know,” Tony said with a sigh, “That’s why we have to compromise.” He let go of Loki and pulled off the gloves. From behind a convenient potted plant he produced a small, silver-wrapped object, and handed it to Loki. “It’s a kiss,” he said, that shy smile finding its way onto his face again.

Loki looked at the object, the sweet smell of chocolate making his mouth water. Sure enough, a small white label on the silver wrapping said ‘kisses’. Loki smiled, his eyes watering for the second time that evening. “You are a foolish man,” he said, a warm glow settling into his belly. Tony clearly had planned this, hiding the candy behind the plant by the mistletoe to wait for his chance. Loki's chest was tight at the idea, that Tony had thought of him and created this moment for him.

“I am what I am,” Tony said. They stood there, golden-brown eyes meeting ruby red, until a crash from Morgan's tent drew Tony's attention.

"OK," he said, “I’m gonna go put Missy to bed, or Santa won’t come tonight.”

Morgan's despairing wail at the thought of Santa, the giver of gifts, not arriving was loud enough to be heard clear across the lake. It was late and the girl was tired and excited, stuffed with cookies, candy, and chocolate milk.

“Goodnight, my dear,” Loki said as she was carried up the stairs in her rocket pajamas. Morgan was too weary to respond, but Tony looked over his shoulder and said, “Goodnight, Loki.”

Loki stood alone in the kitchen for a while before he opened his hand and looked at the little token Tony had given him. His kiss. Surely even Loki could not misinterpret that gesture. The chill of his hand make silver paper crackle, and tiny ice-crystals formed on the surface, but Loki did not mind. The sparkling crystals made the silver shine even more brightly.

With a soft smile, Loki folded the candy back into his hand, turned off the lights and went up to his room. He had some thinking to do.

Chapter 61: Surge

Chapter Text

Loki set Tony’s kiss carefully on the nightstand by his bed. He could feel it there as he undressed for bed, as though it was giving off heat, warming him like a tiny furnace. When he was in his underwear Loki turned off the lights and lay on the bed. The window was flung wide and the cold night air was soothing on his bare skin, but Loki was not sleepy.

The kiss glowed in the moonlight and Loki could not look away from it.

Loki tried to imagine what it would have been like if Tony had been able to truly kiss him under the mistletoe. What would his kiss taste like? Would he be slow and gentle, a drawn-out, tender moment, or would he give Loki a tiny taste of his lips at first, land a tentative butterfly kiss and then withdraw? Loki let his fingers brush his lips, trying to let his imagination escape with him.

As though he had tripped and stumbled on a broad, easy path, Loki realized that he did not have to imagine. Tony had kissed him in their prison cell, when he had... Loki gasped, the memory rushing back to him, like falling into a dark, sucking, pit. Tony had kissed him, when he had...Loki froze on the word, his heart pounding. Tony had taken him, and Loki had not wanted it. He knew that there was a word for that, but he could not bear to use it. A whimper escaped Loki’s lips. That word was too much, but Loki could not push it away once it had invaded his mind.

Loki turned away from the silver-wrapped gift, his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped tight around himself. The word was both true, and it was not true. Loki had not been willing, even though he had said he was, but Tony had not been willing either. Tony had been the puppet of Loki’s master, forced to perform his evil deeds. Loki did not know what to call it. How to describe what had been done to him without making Tony into a villain? Tony was no villain, he was a hero. He had done what he had done to save Loki’s life when he could have let him die of his blazing fever in that miserable cell. Loki's master would have carved his corpse up like so much worthless meat, and Loki’s undying spirit would even now be in the pitch-black belly of the great wyrm Nidhogg, endlessly devoured.

Loki scrambled up from the bed, ran to the bathroom and threw up everything he had eaten that evening.

After, he lay panting on the cool tile of the bathroom and tried to force those thoughts out of his head. It was over, it was over and done and he did not need to think about it. He had laid down for Tony because he had to, he had been forced to and Tony had been forced to use him. It was not like that now. Tony was not going to come into his room and make demands of him.

You would not fight him, if he did, poisonous words bubbled up from Loki’s mind, and he knew they spoke the truth. Loki was weak now, he was already broken. If Tony had any desire for his Jotun body Loki would not deny him. He would submit without question, and he would tell himself he was glad to be of use.

Tony would not, he tried to convince himself, but of course Tony already had . And now he gave Loki his kiss. What did that mean? Was that a signal of his intentions? That he had enjoyed Loki once and he intended to enjoy him again?

No , Loki thought desperately, crystal tears shattering on the hard tile floor, no, he would not . Tony had been so kind to him, so generous, surely he was not just biding his time, waiting for Loki to revert to his Aesir form so that he could claim his due? Loki could not believe it. He refused to believe it, and he needed to chase those poisonous thoughts out of his head.

Loki dug his fingernails into his flesh, pinching the points that had almost healed. Forearms, underarms, ribs, the insides of his thighs, the backs of his knees. He pinched and twisted his flesh over and over until it was not enough and he searched the room for something sharp, tossing the contents of the bathroom cabinets onto the floor, frantic energy surging under his skin with nowhere to go, his mind a swirling whirlpool that threatened to drag him down, to drown him if he did not get himself under control. He grabbed a small pair of scissors and snapped them in half with ice, leaving a tiny blade with a looped handle in his blue hand. He set the blade against the skin of his thigh and made three small cuts, one after the other. The release of tension made him dizzy, and his head swam for a moment as the trapped energy found its outlet. His hand steady now, he made three cuts on the opposite thigh, the last of his panic draining out of him as he did it. The third and final cut was nothing more than a formality, for symmetry, for control and for the power of making his own choice. He did not need to do it, to draw that final bloody line on his skin, but he did it anyway, because he chose to.

Exhausted, he fell back on the tile, surrounded by the contents of the bathroom cabinets, blood drying on his thighs, and breathed. Everything was clear and calm, and the noise was gone from his mind. It was as though he had been surrounded by a crowd of terrifying strangers, all of them yelling at him at once, and he had chased them away with his tiny blade, leaving only peace behind. Loki let the blade of the scissors fall from his numb fingers and tinkle on the floor.

Tony would not do anything to him. Loki trusted him.

Chapter 62: Dawn

Chapter Text

Dawn found Loki under the ash tree, where he had been all night. He had slept a little, curled up among the spreading roots, but most of the time he had been awake, his back to the thick trunk, looking up at the stars and moon through the comforting umbrella of the great tree’s branches. Something was bubbling up inside him. A need that grew in his heart like a tiny seed, small but determined. It would not be ignored.

The sun rose, and Loki looked at his hands as they changed from indistinct grey to dark blue in the light. This body was his shield, he realized, but it was also his prison. While he was in this form he would never know the truth of Tony’s intentions towards him, and he would never be able to experience the affection that he craved. He was safe in this Jotun skin, and he was trapped. It was time to free himself.

When he had needed to, Loki had shed his Asgardian glamor as easily as a snake shedding its skin, but it was not so easy to bring it back. He was not even sure he wanted to bring it back; he was not that person anymore. He was not what Odin had made him; the second prince, his brother’s shadow, the dark sorcerer, the trickster. He was not that, but what was he? He looked again at his hands; dark blue skin, black nails, the lines and whorls of heritage lines in patterns he did not understand. This was not him either, if only because this skin kept him apart from those he cared about.

Loki bit his lip. He wanted to be touched. He wanted to be touched by Tony , to feel his hands on his skin, perhaps just a light stroke of his fingers, or the friendly hugs he gave Colonel Rhodes, or even the handshake he gave Dr Chance when he saw her. Loki’s skin hungered for it, and he watched as Tony hugged his daughter and kissed his wife, and what burned in his belly was not jealousy, or fear, but longing .

He wanted it, and there was only one way he was going to get it. Loki had to find his power, and change his form. The light grew, and he saw the bundles of mistletoe growing in the branches above him. Smiling at the memory, and glad to have something to do with his hands, he pulled down a long strand and began to wind it into a crown. He twisted the strands together to create an overlapping pattern of green leaves and white berries, just as he had done for many years on Asgard. As he wove, he allowed his mind to drift up through the branches of the ash tree and out into the world, brushing gently against the spirits around him. The ash tree was a solid, earthy presence, and the lives that dwelled in its branches were bright, hot sparks. Farther out, the wind and the sunlight provided their own energy, and Loki wove it into the mistletoe crown, all the comfort and strength that surrounded him. The power of Tony’s home, the lakehouse, the protective glow that surrounded it, the bright energy of the lake, the familiar tread of the path that he walked with Dr Chance. All of it Loki took and wove into his wreath. He used every scrap of support that he could find, even the moon, half gone in the daylight, still sent a sliver of light for him to weave with, and he gratefully took that too. Everything good, and solid, and peaceful, and safe, he wove into the mistletoe crown.

When it was done, the sun was above the horizon, and Loki knew he had little time. Morgan had expressed her intention of waking up with the sun to see what gifts she had received, so Loki did not have much time to linger. He held the crown up in his hands, and whispered to the Norns, not a prayer, but an entreaty that they would not deny him this. He was about to put the crown on his head when a shout rang out from the hill above the tree.

“Loki!”

Loki nearly dropped the wreath when Tony appeared at the top of the hill and started to jog down it, his face furrowed with concern. “Loki, are you OK?”

Loki recovered himself, shaking off his meditative state and facing Tony as he approached. “Yes, Tony,” he replied, “I am well. I am sorry if my absence alarmed you.”

“No, it’s OK,” Tony said, and then corrected himself, “Well, yeah, actually, I was kinda alarmed when you were gone so early. I mean, you can do what you want, obviously, but maybe leave a note next time? Please?”

They stood facing each other, and Loki recalled his panic of the previous night as though it had happened to someone else. It was like a bad dream that had faded with the dawn. The six cuts on his thighs burned a little, but they would soon be gone. Faced with Tony now, in the flesh, not a creature of terror and memory, Loki knew he had nothing to fear from him. Nothing at all.

“I apologize, Tony,” Loki said, without the slightest concern that Tony was going to punish him, discipline him, or submit him to training. It was so simple. Loki had not been a considerate member of the household, so he apologized for the lapse and that was that. "Next time I will leave a note."

“No worries,” Tony said with a wave of his hand, clearly already forgetting the matter, “I just wanted to make sure you’re OK. What are you doing out here? Do you want to come back for breakfast? Morgan woke up at some ungodly hour but she got into bed with Pep and went back to sleep, thank god for that.”

“I am going to try and find the power of Yggdrasil,” Loki said, and Tony’s eyes widened. “I lost it when I came to this world before, but I know it is here. Yggdrasil is the source, the world tree that is watered by the well of fate. Yggdrasil still stands. It is the source of the Odinforce of Asgard, and the source of Ymir's blessing, the power of Jotunheim. It is my birthright twice over." Loki held up the mistletoe crown in his hands, “You reminded me last night that I used to make these at Yuletide. Will you help me?”

“Of course,” Tony said at once, “What do you want me to do?”

Loki handed him the crown. This was no ritual he knew or had ever seen performed, but he knew in his heart that it was right. Loki had tried to snatch the threads of power from this world before, but at that time he had not known what this world even was.

But now he knew.

This world was the ash tree. It was the light of the moon glimmering on the water, and the warmth and safety of the lakehouse. It was Pepper, standing in the door of her home, armed and armored like a valkyrie. It was Morgan, giggling as she tried to stuff just one more grape into her mouth. It was Thor, and the way he spoke Loki’s name like a blessing. More than anything else, it was Tony. Tony who had saved Loki's life, Tony who had given him his kindness and his protection, Tony who had sat with him on his freezing porch, looking up at the moon and talking about love. Tony who stood before him now, the mistletoe crown in his hands.

Loki went to one knee beneath the ash tree, and Tony knew what to do. He held out the woven wreath and slowly, gently, lowered it onto Loki’s head. It fit perfectly, horns and all, just as Loki had known it would.

Loki looked up and smiled. The power of the world tree flowed through him. Not feeble, breakable threads, but dancing and strong and alive in everything that surrounded him. Loki held out his hands, blue skin and black nails, and Tony took them without hesitation, drawing him back to his feet. As he rose, Loki's color changed, midnight-blue mixing with milk-white. The color did not wash away, though; it blended and changed. Cerulean blue became light azure, ruby red eyes turned to emerald green. The horns on Loki's head did not vanish, but they changed too, becoming short, pointed twists that grew from his brow. Long, dark hair fell over his neck, just as it should. Just as if it had always been there.

The breeze stilled in the branches, and the creatures of the woods settled into silence as Loki let the power of Yggdrasil transform him. He did not revert back to his Aesir glamor, the form that was forced on him in secret and shame, and he did not stay in his Jotun form either, as that body kept him apart from those he cared about. He became something else. Something new.

Tony stared at him, golden-brown eyes reflecting the dawn light, “Well, Merry Christmas,” he said, his voice caught in his throat, their hands still clasped under the boughs of the ash tree.

Loki was dizzy from his transformation, from the sense of rightness that spread through him, and from the firm, cool grip of Tony’s hands, touching his skin without damage or danger.

“If it's alright with you," Loki whispered, an irrepressible smile breaking on his face, "I’ll have that kiss now.”

Beautiful art by apyewackety - show them some love!

Chapter 63: Oberon and Titania

Chapter Text

Tony raised Loki’s hands to his lips and kissed them, his golden-brown eyes never leaving Loki’s face as he attended to each of his knuckles. Time slowed, birds coasted in lazy circles above them, and the branches of the ash tree rocked in the gentle breeze. They had all the time in the world.

“OK?” Tony asked when each of Loki’s hands had been thoroughly appreciated. Loki nodded, unable to speak past the rising emotion in his chest. He felt as though he would shake apart, and only Tony’s touch held him together. Tony stepped closer, into Loki’s space, inside the curve of his arms. He slid his cool hands over Loki’s jaw, his fingers cradling his face. He tipped Loki’s head down a little, and raised himself on his toes until they were eye to eye, his movements slow, but assured. Tony knew what he was doing, and Loki was only too glad to give him control. Loki had asked for a kiss, and he knew Tony would give him one, but the human was in no rush. Tony let his cheek brush against Loki’s, feeling the smoothness of Loki's new skin against his own rough stubble. Loki did not mind at all; the sensation was a step away from tickling, and his lip curled in a smile as Tony turned his head and kissed his cheek.

“OK?” Tony asked again, and Loki nodded. Every place on his body where Tony touched was alive in a way he could not describe. Like a dry, thirsty desert that finally felt the rain, as though hidden seeds germinated and invisible flowers bloomed where he touched. It was overwhelming, dizzying, and at the same time, Loki wanted more.

Tony tipped Loki’s head to the other side and kissed that cheek too, his lips as soft and gentle as Loki could wish for. Tony treated him as though he had never been kissed before, and Loki had certainly never before been kissed like this, as the focus of someone’s complete and total attention, as though there was nothing more important than this, than getting this kiss exactly right.

Tony leaned into him, rested his forehead against Loki’s. “OK?” He asked for the final time, and this time Loki spoke his wish out loud, letting Tony know that he had no doubts, he had no fears, he had no desire other than this.

“Kiss me,” Loki said, and Tony closed the gap between them, his kiss alighting on Loki’s lips, soft and warm and tender. Loki could not help the moan that caught in his throat. His arms came up and wrapped around Tony’s waist, pulling him closer until they were pressed together, and Loki moaned again, his head spinning at the sensation, the closeness, the tenderness he could feel radiating from the man before him.

When the kiss ended, Loki staggered, off-balance, the edges of his vision sparkling. Tony didn’t let go of him, his hands holding Loki’s face, keeping him on his feet, keeping him close. His smile was as warm as the sun, as bright as the moon, as filled with magic as this clearing was, under the ash tree. “That good, huh?” Tony said, his golden eyes alight with happiness. He squeezed his arms around Loki, rocking him in time to the movement of the branches.

“Mmph,” Loki said, burying his head in Tony’s neck, breathing in the scent of him; coconut and coffee - his morning smell.

“Well you may be lost for words but I’m certainly not,” Tony said, resting his head on Loki’s shoulder, in no hurry to break their hug. “That was awesome and totally worth the wait, not that I was impatiently waiting or anything. People are surprised but sometimes I can be patient, especially when it comes to people I care about, you know? And also, I am loving his new look, it’s just...mmm...not that you weren’t gorgeous before, because you were, both times actually, but this is a sweet-spot for you, right in the middle. You look like a beautiful woodland creature, like a water-nymph or something. The crown really works for you, too. Oh! You’re Oberon the king of the fairies! Yeah, I know Shakespeare - shocking! I guess that makes me Titania, but I can live with that…”

“Tony,” Loki interrupted, holding the babbling man firmly by the shoulders, amused and delighted by his reaction, “Tony, are you going to keep talking until I kiss you again?”

Tony swallowed. “Probably,” he admitted, bouncing on his toes despite Loki’s efforts to hold him still. “I guess this is my reaction to spectacular kisses with beautiful fairy-kings in woodland grottoes, you know? Just ...wooosh...adrenaline rush and all my thoughts are getting expressed at once. It’s probably magic. Did you put a spell on me, Oberon? Shall we try to break it with another kiss? We might have to try a few times...”

His heart as light as the birds that wheeled around them, their song floating in the air, Loki put one finger under Tony’s chin and lifted his face just enough to lean down and kiss him again.

Sure enough, Tony stopped talking.

At least, for a while.

Chapter 64: Celebration

Chapter Text

Loki and Tony ran back to the lakehouse, hand in hand like children, laughing and breathless in their excitement. Pepper and Morgan met them on the stairs, and then all of them surrounded Loki, admiring his new appearance.

“Loki,” Pepper said, her smile brighter than the moon, “I’m so happy for you!” She kissed him too, on the cheek, far less intently that Tony had done, but Loki treasured it all the same, just as he treasured Morgan’s little arms tight around his neck and her piercing squeal of excitement directly into his ear. Pepper noted Tony's hand clasped in his and she smiled even wider, pulling Tony in for a kiss as well, and then they were all hugging, a triple hug with Loki at the center. He could not remember the last time his heart had been as light as this. He thought his feet would leave the ground, that light must be glowing through his skin from his happiness.

The Christmas celebration started in earnest once Morgan noticed the stack of gifts piled up under the tree. Loki set his mistletoe crown above the fireplace and made cranberry ricotta pancakes for breakfast. They ate in the living room as Morgan buried herself under a cascade of wrapping paper, gift after gift being revealed. Art supplies, building blocks, dolls, light-up shoes, shoes with wheels on them, shoes with wheels on them for her new doll - Morgan was thoroughly spoiled and beside herself as she tried to decide if she should open more gifts or play with the ones she already had. Tony smiled as she opened a child-size toolkit. "Never too young to start tinkering," he said fondly.

Romanov arrived in the midst of it with another armful of gifts for Morgan, and to Loki’s surprise, she held a box out to him as well.

“Happy Christmas, Loki,” she said, the flat box covered in emerald green paper, tied with a gold ribbon. Loki took it from her hand and gave her a short bow.

“Thank you, Lady Romanov,” he said uncertainly.

“Natasha,” she replied with a small smile, and Loki took that to be the peace offering it was. He supposed Pepper had thoroughly scolded her lover after what she had said to Loki, and she was now on her best behavior. Loki held the box in his lap, half-afraid to open it. He had already agreed with Tony and Pepper that they would not give him gifts, as he had no way to return them and they had already given him so much. Their presence in his life, their affection, and his place in their home was more of a gift than he had ever thought possible.

“Open it,” Romanov said, and even Morgan paused in her frenzied unwrapping to watch. Loki unraveled the ribbon and let it uncoil like a spring in his hand, then he peeled off the paper and saw what Romanov had given him. It was a sleek, black phone, just like those Tony and Pepper had. Loki touched the screen and it sprang to life, showing an image of a grinning Romanov wearing a fuzzy red hat with white trim. Tony looked at the screen and laughed.

“I'll show you how the change the picture,” he offered, and Romanov wrinkled her nose at him.

“Spoilsport,” she said. “It took Steve weeks to figure it out, he had to keep looking at me with an Uncle Sam hat on. No one would help him, it was hilarious.” She looked over at Loki, pointing at the phone, “It has my number,” she said, and Loki swallowed and smiled.

“Thank you, Natasha,” he said and slipped the phone into his pocket. As he did so, his fingers brushed the warm, welcoming shape of the sima Thor had given him. Loki always carried it in his pocket; the feel of the magic was comforting to him, as well as the knowledge that his brother was on the other end of it. On impulse, he pulled it out and let it rest in his palm.

“Do we have room for one more?” he asked to the room, not so much asking permission as giving everyone a chance to object. No one did.

“Rhodey's coming up later, too," Tony said, "Let's make it a party.”

“I think there's an extra turkey in the freezer…” Pepper murmured, with a smile on her face. Romanov and Tony sat on either side of her, leaning into her, both of them enjoying her presence. Loki felt the warmth of their affection from where he sat, and he closed his fist around the sima.

Thor, he thought, I miss you.

A moment later the bifrost crashed outside and Loki ran out, the others on his heels. Thor was there, Stormbreaker in his hand, wearing the same fuzzy red hat that Natasha had worn in her picture. “Brother!” he called, dropping his axe and holding his arm out to Loki, then “Brother!” as he took in Loki’s changed appearance. Loki flew into his arms, sending him staggering back.

“Thor,” he said, “Merry Christmas.” Thor held him at arm’s length and looked him up and down, his pale blue skin, his short, pointed horns, his long black hair. He swallowed hard, his eyes brimming, and when he pulled Loki close again, Loki was surprised to only smell chocolate and cinnamon, no lingering scent of alcohol on his skin. It seemed Loki was not the only one who had made a change since they had last met.

“You look well, Loki,” Thor said, “Very well.” He turned to Tony, Pepper, and Morgan lined up on the porch. “Merry Christmas, my friends!” he called, his one arm still around Loki’s shoulders. “I have celebrated all day in New Asgard, and now I will celebrate with you as well!”

The day was bright and clear, and Thor and Loki built a fire in the firepit while Natasha and Tony pulled up the chairs and loungers. Colonel Rhodes arrived as they were lighting the fire, hugging Tony and Pepper, giving Morgan another bag of gifts to open. He clapped Loki on the back and said, “Looking good, man.”

Pepper and Morgan dragged out blankets and coats for those who wanted them and Thor offered to make them all kuladi, which was the hot chocolate and cinnamon drink he had arrived smelling of. Morgan showed him how much better it would be if he added marshmallows and whipped cream, and Thor agreed it was much improved. They sat together, the fire dancing between them, Loki between Thor and Tony.

Loki looked around the circle, sipping on his kuladi and listening to the chatter and laughter all around him. He could feel the web of Ygdrasil's energy wrapped around them, surrounding the house and the grounds with protection and love. The spiraling threads of energy were centered on the crown Loki had made, the spell woven together with his hands. He had never crafted a spell like it before. It was not something that came from within him, as his previous castings had done, this was something he had made using what was already there. It was the difference between summoning a new silk shirt from the ether, and weaving one by hand using fine thread. The end result may look the same, but the process was quite different. Loki did not say anything, but he smiled into his cup. The crown and its spell would be his gift to Tony and his family. The spell of protection was woven from every good thing Tony had given him, after all. It was Tony's care and kindness returned back to him tenfold. It was fitting that Loki's first spell since his escape was such a gift to his rescuer.

Loki glanced over at Tony, laughing with his friends and family, a dab of whipped cream on his nose and an easy smile on his face. Moments like this were fleeting, for a man like Tony. He had many cares, and his mission in life still remained; to undo the devastation that the Mad Titan had wrought on his world. Loki was not as strong as Thor, or as fierce as Pepper, or as clever as Tony, but still, he was determined that he would help in that mission. He may be damaged now, weak and anxious and fearful, but that would not stop him. Even if he were the least useful member of the team, he would at least be on the team. Tony deserved no less from him than that. Tony deserved everything he had and more; his wife and daughter, his home, his friends, and Loki too, if he wanted him.

The fire warmed him, and Loki basked in it, along with the warmth of his companions. My goal, he thought to himself, is to be worthy of the love and trust that these people have given me.

Chapter 65: Gravity

Chapter Text

Despite losing his Jotun tolerance for cold, Loki still slept with the windows flung wide open, although now he used the blankets Tony had given him. He did not like enclosed spaces. He had been kept in a windowless cell underground for years, and only allowed to leave it to work in his master’s workshop. He never saw the sky, never breathed fresh air, never saw the green of a blade of grass. Now, he showered with the bathroom door open, he drank his morning tea out on the porch, he walked to the ash tree every day, and around the lake with Dr Chance every other day. He played outside with Morgan as much as the girl wanted. As much as he loved the lake house, on evenings when Pepper and Tony lit the indoor fire, pulled the curtains and cuddled on the couch with a movie, Loki could not stay with them. Once they realized why, they offered to leave the curtains open so he did feel so closed in, but he declined. He did not want to ruin their cozy nights together, and on such nights he was happy enough to go to his room and read by the window, or write in his journal, or just lay on the bed and look up at the stars.

He started to help Tony in his work in his garage. The garage had a large folding door across one wall that Tony left open whenever Loki was with him. They worked on Pepper’s armor, the half-finished blue suit that she had confronted Tony's alternate-universe self in. Loki knew he was not much help at first, all he did was pass Tony tools that he asked for and keep him company. But if that was all Loki could do, he was happy to do it.

Tony talked as he worked, telling Loki how the suit operated, the power sources and materials that he used, what design mistakes he had made and how he had overcome them. It was not long before he was asking Loki to do some of the basic testing, and from there it was a small step to having him assemble completed components. Loki enjoyed the work. It was intricate and precise and took a lot of concentration, and when Loki had successfully completed a task Tony would reward him with a kiss, which was worth any number of hours of work as far as Loki was concerned. True to his word, Tony was content to take things very slowly with Loki, and kissing was as far as they had gone.

It was a few weeks after Christmas, and Loki and Tony were in the garage late in the evening. It was raining outside and the sliding door was open, letting the cool, damp air circulate. Loki was assembling Pepper’s gauntlet, a task he had been attempting all day. It was difficult, there were many small pieces that had to be put together in the correct order. Loki was determined to complete it perfectly. Pepper was a warrior and a mother; she needed her armor and weapons in perfect working order, and Loki would not let her down.

It was full night before he slid the last piece into place with a satisfying click. He started the automated diagnostic tests that would confirm if he had done a good job.

“You know,” Tony said, “At the tower, I have equipment that does all this for me. If I give her the blueprints, Friday can fabricate a suit and test it in about thirty hours, but I started to miss building them myself. If you put it together with your own hands you really get a feel for it. You can think as you go, improve the design in your head even as you’re building it.” They both watched the diagnostic tests tick through, green results filling the screen. “Looks like you did a good job on that one, Loki.” Tony put his hand on Loki’s shoulder, a brief squeeze that Loki felt all the way through his body.

Loki turned to him, leaning on the counter. “Those tests will take another hour, Tony,” he said, daring to reach over and let his fingers stroke the back of Tony’s hand.

Tony smiled, the glow of the screen reflecting in his golden eyes. “Uh-huh,” he said, leaning a little closer, “You got any ideas how you want to fill the time?”

Loki bit his lip. He enjoyed kissing, he did not deny it. Tony always gave him his full attention, every kiss slow and intent, Tony’s hands cupping his neck, stroking behind his ears, his thumbs drawing slow circles on his skin. But these kisses now had awakened something in Loki, something that he had not felt for many years. It had been so long since he felt desire, that at first, he did not recognize it. The first time it happened, Loki had left the garage and gone straight to the kitchen, eating fruit and slices of cheese from the refrigerator, wondering why this strange feeling of hunger would not go away.

“Kiss me,” Loki said, boldly hooking a finger in Tony’s collar and pulling him close. Tony went willingly, a smile on his face.

“You’re getting demanding,” he said, "I like it." He jumped up and sat on the table, letting Loki settle between his knees, facing the open door. Loki leaned forward, his hands on the table, keeping a careful distance between their bodies that Tony always respected. Tony slid his fingers through Loki’s hair, stroking it back from his face, letting his fingertips rub circles on his scalp, his thumbs stroking the length of Loki's horns. Loki could not get enough of the wonderful shivery sensation when he did that, like little zaps of electricity down his spine that made his toes curl.

“Mmm” he moaned, melting into Tony’s arms.

Tony kissed his forehead, stroking his horns again, coaxing more of those moans from Loki’s mouth. The sensation was divine, and Loki stepped a little closer, letting one of his hands rest on Tony’s thigh. Tony paused for a moment, but when Loki did not react he carried on kissing his cheeks, light butterfly kisses that trailed to the corners of his mouth, and then his lips.

“Good?” he asked, pulling back a little to look Loki in the eye.

Loki nodded. “Yes Tony,” he replied, a little breathless. His cheeks were heated, he could feel the hard muscle of Tony’s thigh under his hand. He took a deep breath, unsure if he was trying to calm down or trying to work up the courage to ask for more. He had filled pages of his journal trying to understand his attraction to Tony from every angle, but it all flew out of his head when they were together. Tony knew the very worst about him, that was the root of it. He knew the worst and still he was there. He knew what Loki’s former master had done to him, he knew what Loki had been forced to do to survive, but he did not pity him. He was kind to him, patient and tender and gentle, and Loki needed that. He needed that gentle touch, he needed his whispered check-ins as they kissed, he needed to know that his body could feel good, that his limits would be respected, that his no was all it took to stop. All of it was proof to him that things had changed, that his situation had changed and that he had changed as well. He had stopped trying to understand it, and now he just accepted it; he desired Tony.

Tony desired him as well, that much was obvious, but he made no move to push Loki for anything more, waiting for Loki to make the next move.

Well, tonight, he was going to.

“Touch me,” he said, his voice a low rasp, his blood thumping in his veins.

“I am touching you,” Tony replied, running both thumbs up Loki’s horns. Loki squirmed where he stood, his breath a harsh pant as another surge of desire swept through him. He took one of Tony’s hands, kissed the palm and pressed it to his chest, sure that the thumping of his heart could be felt through Tony’s palm.

“Here,” he said, his other arm wrapping around Tony’s waist, holding the man tight against him, “Touch me here.”

Tony smiled into Loki's neck, his teeth running up the tender skin to his ear, and he whispered, “I’ll touch you anywhere you want, Loki. You’re the boss.” He stroked Loki’s chest with his fingers, kissing him again and again as he found the hard nub of his nipple through his shirt and brushed over it with the pad of his thumb. “Like this?” he asked, and Loki hoped his moan was enough answer, because Tony’s small movements were driving him wild, the hand in his hair, one thumb stroking his horn, the other stroking his nipple, and Tony’s lips on his, kissing and sucking, his teeth nibbling along Loki’s jaw. He was dizzy, the beating of the rain on the roof echoing the beating of his heart.

“I want…” he said, breathless and flushed, his desire a pool of heat in his belly, spreading throughout his body, his bones melting into it, his every nerve on fire with it. It had been so long. So, so long since he had felt this way. He wanted to cry from the intensity of it, but if he cried Tony would stop, and he desperately did not want to stop, so he swallowed back his tears and let go of Tony’s wrist, sliding his own hand down to touch himself, feeling the eager length under his palm. “I want this,” he said, stroking himself in time with Tony’s kisses, in time with the strokes of his thumb on his twisting horn, in time with the circles over his nipple.

“Take it then,” Tony said, his own arousal evident in his voice, but he did not stop what he was doing, and he did not touch anywhere uninvited. He quickened his rhythm once he realized that Loki was keeping time with him, his kisses hungry, his hands quick and eager on Loki's body. Loki pressed his palm against his co*ck through his pants, his hips jerking helplessly as his desire peaked, Tony’s hoarse whisper stopping him from flying apart completely at the sensation, There it is, that’s good Loki, so beautiful, that’s what you wanted isn’t it, murmured in his ear as his vision blurred and stars spun around his head.

Loki rested his head on Tony’s shoulder as he caught his breath, shudders and aftershocks running through his body. The tears came then, squeezing out from his tightly closed eyes, dampening Tony’s shirt. He could not explain why, the sensation overwhelmed him, not just the physical sensation but the emotional one too, the sense of wholeness, of belonging, of safety and peace. “Tony,” he said, his fists tight in Tony’s shirts, trembling against him, “Tony.”

“OK, OK, you’re OK,” Tony said, “Why don’t we sit down while these tests finish, hmm?” Loki nodded and Tony steered him over to the old couch he kept in the garage, near the door. It was soft and comfortable, but stained and the cover torn. Tony sat down and gently tugged Loki down next to him, encouraging him to lay with his head in Tony’s lap. Tony pulled a blanket down from the chairback to cover Loki with, and they sat together listening to the rain, Tony's fingers running through Loki's hair. The raindrops shone and sparkled as they fell, catching the light spilling from the garage. The drumming on the roof eased off to a gentle patter, soothing and calm. Loki felt his eyes drift closed, and his breathing fell into a steady rhythm as the rush of endorphins faded away, leaving him sleepy and tired.

“You can take a nap,” Tony suggested, “I know how it is, Pepper gets mad at me but I can’t keep my eyes open after sex either; it’s physically impossible. You look like you’re about to pass out. Go ahead and sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Loki smiled at Tony’s words. He did not care at all that Tony mentioned Pepper. He was not jealous, actually he was glad to hear her name. She was someone else who cared for Tony, who was there for him, who supported him. Tony deserved that. He deserved to be loved and cherished, and Pepper had been doing it for years. Loki stood by her side as much as he stood by Tony. Pepper and Tony could not be separated, just as the moon as the earth could not be separated. Loki was caught in their gravity, glowing in their atmosphere like a comet. Other planets and stars looped around and among them too; Morgan, Romanov, Rhodes, Thor, all of them pulling on each other, adjusting around each other, moving through space and time in one glorious, synchronized dance. They were all joined, all connected, their light and gravity shared and multiplied in different ways, but never diminished.

Loki looked up at the moon through the rain, and smiled. He was home.