Disclaimer: I own neither Marvel's The Avengers nor any of its respective characters. This was written for fun and to improve my own writing skills.

Character(s): Loki, the Avengers (yes…all of them…well, except Thor)

Rating: T

Prompt: None

Word Count: 3,159

Setting: A random field and Stark Tower

Suggested Song: Unbroken – Black Veil Brides

Info/Notes: As I stated in the notes of "Redemption," this is supposed to be a multi-part story. It wasn't intended to be that way, but my boyfriend begged me to continue it and so I am. No, I will not write in slash. It should remain T-rated throughout, though I'm not certain what the characters will do as of yet. However, I am willingly taking prompts and ideas. Tell me what you want to see and if I can fit it into the rough plotline I have in my head, I will. Basically, ask and you may receive! xD Also, thank you so much for the feedback on "Redemption!" I woke up to more emails than ever about it and I am so grateful!


The moon was full, riding storm clouds that flashed with lightning now and again, and a mercurial light shone down over the abandoned field. Corn stalks nearly ten feet high stood in lengthy rows, though they were brown and rotting slowly; the field had been left to its own devices for some time now. A massive oak tree, its boughs stretching out across the heavens, sat in almost the exact middle of the field, a silent vigilant that kept the area protected. Its branches were bare and dry, hinting at the lack of rain the area had been experiencing for some time now. The little patches of grass between the corn stalks were brown, the earth was cracking in places, gaping abyss opening up in the soil. There was a stream nearby that ran through part of the field, but it, too, was barren of any water; there was not even a tiny bit of mud within it. Heat had parched the landscape of its moisture, and the few animals that frisked here and there struggled to draw breath through nostrils cracked and in pain. No dogs ran about, no cats slunk to and fro looking for field mice – all of them hid themselves away in the recesses of barns and buildings, trying to keep cool even in the blistering summer months, where the temperature played havoc with the earth.

Moving steadily toward the oak tree were several figures. The one in the front was clad completely in iron of brilliant carmine and lustrous gold; light gleamed from its chest in the form of a triangle and at its hands were repulsors ready to take on whatever enemy they were facing. This was Tony Stark, otherwise known as Iron Man. Behind him, another male – this one attired in a suit of spangled hues much like that of the flag of America, and carrying a shield of equally bright tints – moved cautiously forward; Captain America, Steve Rogers. Following next was a woman with bright crimson hair, carrying a pair of Beretta M9A1s in her hands, her expression wary. Beside her, a man carrying a strung bow with a nocked arrow crept along, his posture ready to fire at any moment. They were Natasha Romanoff – or Black Widow – and Clint Barton – Hawkeye. At the back of their group was a man who looked startlingly out of place, carrying neither weapon nor dressed in any sort of suit, unless one counted his plain, light green Oxford and a pair of nondescript black slacks. This was Dr. Bruce Banner and while he'd deny it, he was likely the most dangerous of their entire group.

Stark flipped the visor of his suit up sluggishly, examining what lied on the ground just a few feet from the sprawling roots of the oak tree. Whatever it was had its back to them, lying as though it had been thrown down careless by some giant hand – a notion they all knew was not entirely out of this world. Stark could tell it was a human – or rather, something vaguely human in shape, but beyond that, there were few details that could be seen from his distance. Motioning for the others to remain back, he moved closer, armored suit clinking and clanging with each measured, cautious stride. The light from his repulsors acted as a beacon and he trained them on the downed object with all the caution of someone facing down a rabid and wild bear. They all knew how dangerous their line of work was, and thus, wariness was something that was ingrained in all of them, even if it was only used now and again. The person – for he could see now that he was closer that yes, it was a person, and even appeared to be a male – was almost facedown, lying on one of his arms, with long, dark hair that was entangled and in bad need of a wash veiling his features.

"What is it, Stark?" Black Widow's voice broke the silence softly as the others shifted a bit closer, despite Iron Man holding his hand up yet again.

Tony knelt slowly, every muscle beneath the iron taut and stretched as thin as a rubber band, potential energy flooding through his system. He extended one hand very slowly and lifted away the ebony tresses – and as he did so, felt his heart stutter in his chest. He knew that face, gaunt and disfigured as it was. He knew that armor, despite that it was torn and shredded and the vast majority of it was missing. He knew exactly who this was, lying unconscious in a random field not twenty miles from New York City. And he knew the panic that would shoot through the others as soon as he uttered the name of the person. This had been over for two years; Manhattan was almost rebuilt, the damage almost finished and hidden away. The news reporters didn't speak of it anymore, the government had quietly hushed everything up so that life could attempt to go back to normal. Only the Avengers remembered now the horror that had come to earth two years ago, and now that seemed to be back. Stark swallowed thickly before he looked up at his comrades and spoke a single name. "Loki."

He had been right, of course. The change was instantaneous and would have been amusing had the circumstances been much different. Barton aimed his notched arrow directly at the back of that head, ready to put an arrow directly through the male's eye socket, as he had promised to do long ago. Natasha cocked her guns, while Rogers moved closer, shield at the ready to either defend or attack. Only Dr. Banner stayed back. Stark placed a hand on Loki's chest and pushed until he was lying prone on his spine, still unconscious. It was then that they saw the horror that had become his mouth. Thick, black string ran crisscrossing over his lips, effectively sealing his mouth shut. But that was hardly the worst of the disfiguring scars on his countenance; what looked like blisters or acidic burns ran along his lips as well, extending from one jawbone to the other and running down his throat underneath his dark hair. Tony could feel, through his armor and the thin tunic that the fallen god wore, that Loki was pathetically thin and they could hear his breath wheezing slightly in his throat.

"Holy shit." Natasha whispered, staring down at their damaged enemy's ruined mouth. She wasn't the only one who swore an explicative. Both Barton and Rogers cursed as well, and as Banner slowly moved forward, they saw his lips move in a silent swear as well. This was no muzzle, meant to keep his silvertongue from lying and wooing until he was off of Earth; this was a thing terrible and unchangeable – the wrath of the gods who punished without mercy. It was the Widow who lowered her weapons and moved forward to help Tony, her fingers brushing over the god's chiseled but entirely too thin countenance; Loki uttered a moan that made them all jump but he did not appear to be coming around. Her bright green gaze met with Stark's wary browns and immediately, the two knew. "We have to help him." Natasha said it flatly, simply, without fanfare. And as she had expected, she was met with resistance.

"Natasha, this is Loki!" Barton's voice was sharp. "Have you forgotten what he did to us?" What he did to me? Clint didn't state it directly, but she saw it in his gaze, haunted and wary. He still had nightmares of what had happened. "We should kill him or leave him here; he's probably close to death anyway."

"Tasha, he might be right." Rogers said quietly, looking down with pity at the God of Mischief. "We all know how dangerous he is and we have no idea if he has any of his powers or anything."

Natasha turned his gaze to Dr. Banner, her expression pleading. He ran a hand through his hair, shifting his weight even as he came forward. Kneeling, he placed two fingers at the pulse point on the god's throat, listening and noting the beating beneath the flesh. Bruce's lips twisted as he drew his hand back. "His pulse is steady but not very strong." A careful eye was run down the god's body, noting the thinness of his form. "I just wonder how long it's been since he has eaten. He's very, very thin. Basically emaciated, from what I can tell." The doctor stood slowly, still staring down at the fallen god. He heaved a tired sigh and rubbed at his eyes. "But I agree, we should help him. We may not all like him but we owe Thor, if nothing else."

It was with clear annoyance that Clint, Rogers, and Stark gathered the limp form of the God of Lies up together and carried him toward the van that Barton, Natasha, Rogers, and Banner had rode in. Natasha swiftly bound his wrists with a length of chain, though it was obvious the god was not going to rouse himself anytime soon. With that, they left the field that SHIELD had told them to check out and headed back toward Manhattan, back to Stark Tower. Stark would, of course, beat them back, flying rather than driving and it was he who alighted down on his landing pad and walked inside as his equipment removed his suit. To his sincere relief, Pepper was out of town due to a meeting and wouldn't be back for a week. He wouldn't have to worry about her, at least. "Jarvis, prepare a spare room. Extra security on it." Tony ordered the AI as he walked over to the bar and poured himself a heady measure of whiskey.

"Yes, sir."

A good thirty minutes passed before the rest of the Avengers – sans Thor, who they assumed was currently still on Asgard – arrived, with Clint and Steve supporting the still unconscious Loki between them. Stark motioned toward the couch and it was there that they put him, stretched out on the too short sofa. Bruce rubbed his eyes again, Natasha sighed quietly, and the other two men glanced toward Tony, wondering what the plan was now. Stark placed his glass down and walked toward them, gritting his teeth slightly. "We need to get those stitches out. The sooner, the better. Then one of us needs to tell SHIELD and Fury what the fuck's going on. They'll be wanting a report soon enough and I'd rather not have agents running up and down my building in a frenzy." Annoyance bled into the syllables as he spoke, but his grouchiness came only from sympathy as well as from sleep-deprivation. They had all been running on little sleep, as just a few days before they had assisted the New York City police department in a massive drug raid. When Tony turned toward the sofa again, he froze – staring up at him in a mixture of undisguised fear and malice was a pair of wicked pale eyes, narrowed to mere slits.

The reaction from the others was expected as well, each turning toward him with weapons drawn. Only Bruce watched without any sign of irritation as Loki slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, his eyes still narrowed in wariness. That pale gaze flicked from one to the other slowly, and the two assassins – trained to pick up on the slightest nuances of body language – noted that he was tensing in preparation to be attacked, not to attack. Of course, he isn't stupid. Natasha thought, slowly holstering her weapons. His intelligence is right there with Stark's and Bruce's, it's just in different areas. He isn't foolish enough to attack when he's as outnumbered as this; not to mention he's very weak. She could see that as well, the way he held himself hunched as though attempting to hide just how pathetically thin he was from them. She had a feeling he'd be baring his teeth like a cornered animal, but for the stitches holding his maw together. Her eyes, having met his now, didn't flicker away even as she heard her comrades putting their own weapons away.

"Let's make a deal, okay, Rock of Ages?" Tony spoke relatively quietly compared to his normal tone. "You make no fast moves, we'll make none?"

Loki's eyes shifted from Black Widow to Iron Man, annoyance glittering in the murderous spheres at the use of the old nickname. For the longest moment, he sat, leaning forward slightly with his manacled arms braced against his thighs, his entire body taut with anticipation for an attack. So long was the silence that the Avengers slowly began to draw their weapons again before finally the God of Mischief gave a single nod. A visible ripple of tension ran through them all at this and each one breathed a sigh of relief that it appeared as though he would cooperate. Tony nodded at Natasha and so she moved forward and removed the chains from the god's wrist. Loki watched her with all the trust of a beaten dog, visibly taut, head ducked and tilted to the side, eyes a slit as the chains dropped to the floor. She backed away as he massaged his wrists, his lips twisting faintly even though he obviously cringed in pain from it. The expression read as clearly as though he'd said it: I am not thanking you for unchaining me, puny mortal.

Tony rolled his dark eyes and approached the god with firm strides, pulling a small pocket knife from his pocket and clicking it open. The change was instantaneous. Pale green eyes widened in fear as the god shifted away as fast as his too thin body could allow him to, nostrils flaring in distress. His hand came up, fingers spread, palm toward Tony, as though preparing to blast the billionaire through his window again. A noise like a mixture of a moan of pain and a guttural snarl rumbled from deep within the emaciated chest of Loki, his skull-like visage lowered so that the long tendrils of his hair partially hid it. He was prepared to bolt, whatever the consequences, and it was only when Tony lifted his hands in a nonthreatening manner and backed away that the wounded and clearly pissed off god relaxed again.

"Moron." Natasha muttered quietly, rolling her deep green eyes.

"Yeah, no shit, Stark, what part of "no fast moves" was that supposed to be?" Clint asked, leaning against the bar and watching with a smirk.

Banner approached Loki slowly, keeping his gesticulations and walk nonthreatening and nonchalant. He spoke in a calming voice one might use on an enraged animal or a fussy child, keeping his tone light. "We need to get those stitches out. You know that, Loki. If we were going to hurt you, do you really think we'd have brought you here and unchained you?" Bruce tilted his head curiously, keeping his dark gaze on Loki's pale eyes until the god finally nodded. "Good. Now, be still or I'll have Cap over here hold you down." The threat was lighthearted but still a threat as he pulled out a small pair of extremely sharp scissors. Loki tensed immediately, his nostrils flaring again as he exhaled deeply. He braced his hands on either side of the couch and pressed down, physically holding himself still as Banner moved closer to kneel in front of him. At the first clip of the scissors, Loki jerked back with a snarl that was audible even through his forcibly closed mouth and Bruce sighed. He knew it hurt, because he could see that the skin around the stitches had grown up around them and thus it tugged on the flesh every time but they had to get them out. In that, there was no choice and since he doubted anesthetic would work on a god, this was the only option.

"Steve, come hold his head." Loki's pale eyes blazed with an infernal light as Bruce spoke, the doctor's voice measured and calm as the Captain walked over.

Steve took the god's chin in one hand and the back of his skull in the other, bracing himself and effectively trapping the ages old creature. He could feel Loki shivering faintly under his grasp, with his forearms leaning against the god's shoulders. But he was uncertain as to what emotion was causing the tremors. Loki flinched each time the scissors snapped through a strand of the stitches, shuddered from head to toe every time that Bruce gently pulled one out. His mouth was bleeding by the third snip, giving some aid to the process insofar as that it didn't hurt to pull them out as badly, but it was clear to all of them watching that the God of Mischief was in severe pain. Tony cringed, looking away as memories of his own torture rose in his head and he swiftly poured himself another shot of whiskey, swallowing it down in one immediate gulp. Even Natasha and Clint looked uncomfortable watching, Clint in particular because he still – in the tiniest corner of his mind that he'd admit to no one because no one needed to know that – admired the god, in only his strength and will. As the last stitch was pulled away, both Steve and Dr. Banner moved away, allowing Loki the chance to do what he needed to in the freedom of his lips.

The audible grinding of teeth was heard clearly as Loki tested his jaws, tied together for so long that he seemed to be questioning if they would even open. Hesitantly, his tongue darted out to touch his throbbing lips, his hand rising a moment afterward to slowly wipe away the blood. The damage done was revealed in full as the blood was rid of, holes that would take weeks to heal, scars left where the flesh had grown around the string. Slowly, Loki parted his jaws and flexed them, cringing in pain and firmly ignoring the group of people around him. He couldn't remember now, how long it had been since the needle had sundered his lips and sewn them shut; long enough that hunger was a memory, a vague twinge in his stomach; thirst was a thought, his tongue parched and dry. He swallowed, blood flowing down his throat to settle in his stomach, though it did help to soothe his aching tongue. He glanced up at them again, rigid and taut and ready at any moment to lunge into action even if secretly he doubted he'd even be able to take three steps. Finally, his gaze turned to rest firmly on Tony Stark and after a moment of silence, he spoke, in a voice that cracked dry and rusty, lacking his sleek accent of old.

"You owe me a drink."