"I TRUSTED YOU!" he cries, black tendrils of hair framing his head. The scrapes on his knees from the scuffle hurt and he all but glares into clear, blue eyes before repeating, "I trusted you…"

Amidst the thundering of boots on marble floors, fingers twitch. The first indication that he has awoken again. His first perception is a relieved sigh. The steps stop and with them, the jarring feeling. A voice, usually loud and deep, whispers softly, "Brother, please forgive me…" The blackness returns before he can deliver an answer.

Thor marches into the Bifrost, ignoring Heimdall's weird gaze as he unceremoniously props Loki up against a corner of the room. His head lolls to the side and there's blood dripping from the corner of his mouth to the pale marble floor, a harsh reminder of Thor's betrayal. As he approaches the Gatekeeper, Thor's confidence returns. "Tony Stark," he says, his voice steady and booming, "I wish to speak with him." Heimdall spares another look at the broken body in the corner before nodding and opening the channel with Midgard.

Tony is not exactly having a field day. He's flying home, exhausted since he spent all morning trying to avoid another Gulmira incident. Subtly breaking and entering, however, is not his thing so he was very quickly approached by security. He gives a shudder, one hand going up to cradle his bruised shoulder, even if right now he's fully armored. Absently, he tells Jarvis to make a note to repair the missile launcher and, very reluctantly, tells him to remind him to speak to Natasha. Today's failure is more than enough proof of the fact that he has to learn ninja skills.

"Of course, sir," Jarvis replies smoothly, and then adds, "There's a call from Asgard, would you like me to connect Mr. Odinson?"

Tony nods, groaning. It's not what he had in mind for the day. Nothing seems to have gone according to his plans to get piss-drunk on whiskey and go crash a party. He's distracted from his thoughts when a tiny image of Thor appears in his visor. His face looks grainy and Tony starts to calculate how much he should increase the frequency of the device they are using to communicate in order to achieve maximum image quality. He's almost not paying attention to Thor until he booms, "STARK!" Now that Tony can see him, he looks twitchy. Uh-oh… What now? "I need to ask a favor of you, friend."

"No offense Thor, but the last time you asked me a favor it was because you broke your cell phone while doing the dirty with Jane and I did NOT want to know how that happened. Please keep it PG-13 this time."

"It was Thor's day, Tony, where else would I have put the phone?" Thor replies impatiently, looking at the corner behind him anxiously. Tony can't make out what he looks at.

"I did not want to have that mental image, thank you," he groans again. This time, however, there's no one to reply to him as Thor has darted off towards the corner. Tony can hear murmurs and shuffles. Thor returns, his eyes somehow more desperate and his hands stained bright red. "I don't have the time for this," he half whispers and then addresses Tony again. "Loki has made a mistake. He's been injured and needs to go to Midgard to hide."

"Slow down, Goldilocks, what'd he do now? Bet the Earth and lose?"

"His head, Tony, he bargained his head and lost," Thor's eyes wander to the corner of the room once more, and Tony gulps. Is the thing in the corner Loki's beheaded body? "I have to go back go help the Allfather. Will you help? Banner is at the tower, yes?"

Tony nods and lands on the roof of said tower, allowing Jarvis to disassemble his suit and walking into the living room. "But if it's decapitation you're talking about, not even Doc will be able to help. And don't expect sympathy from Clintasha, either." That's what they call the pair behind their backs, even though the unresolved sexual tension is still suffocating. "Seriously, though, can't you leave him with Jane? Come with him yourself?" He rubs at his eyes.

Thor shakes his head. "I'm afraid he has caused a quarrel with the Dwarves and I must help resolve it. Jane is not home, she's visiting some sort of underground tube where they throw atoms about." His look is puzzled and it's clear he doesn't understand what he's talking about but then he pleads again, "Will you help him?"

Tony sighs. "Fine, though I'd rather visit the Hadron collider instead of babysitting deities."

"Thank you." Thor looks relieved, "The Hawk and the Widow will be gone for the next two weeks, yes?" Tony nods and Thor continues, "Good. Loki will arrive shortly. Thank you, Tony."

"Take care, big guy, and hurry back." Thor nods solemnly and his image disappears. Tony removes his hands-free device and says, "Jarvis, locate the nearest medical kit and call Bruce."

"The nearest medical kit is in your room, sir, though it's nearly depleted. I would suggest the kitchen, on top of the fridge."

Bruce arrives just as he's sitting down in the living room again, medical kit on the glass table next to his propped feet. "You hurt?" is the first thing he asks, scanning Tony for injuries quickly. Tony shakes his head, "Bruised shoulder, I'll be fine with ibuprofen, though. Thor called. We have an incoming battered norse god."

"Do you know any details? Is he okay? Did he talk to Jane?"

"Thor's fine," Tony interrupts, "It's Loki, he's in deep shit in Asgard and got hurt. I don't know the details but he should be here any minute. There's blood involved."

Bruce nods and pulls out sterile gloves. The last time any of them saw Loki, he was being carried to Asgard in Thor's arms. Through the last year, ever since he fulfilled his punishment for the Chitauri incident, he's been popping up in Midgard to aid them in battle. The first time he helped, it was to save Thor from being skewered by a Doombot. Three weeks ago, Loki had been injured by Magneto, who had rendered Thor practically useless since Mjölnir was, basically, pure metal. A blow to the head from the hammer was something only a god could survive and somehow, though the start of their acquaintance was antagonistic at best, Tony's glad Loki is on their side. This is, also, the reason Thor's nervousness worries him.

"Sir?" Jarvis interjected, bringing Tony back to Earth, "an Einstein-Rosen Bridge is forming in front of the TV set."

"I see it Jarv, you know the drill. Initiate stabilizing code and start recording. Categorize the energy in wavelength charts and remind Pepper to change the carpet."

There's a soft beep that apparently counts as assent, and Bruce interjects, "But the carpet's fine-" before it catches on fire before his eyes. Jarvis, now on fire-control duty since Dummy was deemed incapable of it, quickly activates the fire extinguisher, covering the carpet and the norse god that materialized there in white, fluffy foam that evaporates quickly. When Loki not only doesn't turn around but falls to his knees, Tony rises from the couch and reaches concernedly for him, while Bruce busies himself with the kit. When he glances back at Tony, he sees a mix of anger and concern in his features. One of his hands is holding Loki's shoulder as he says, "Jarvis, scans please." He struggles to keep his voice even and reaches for the tablet on the living room table so he can show Bruce. In the meantime, Bruce has walked around Loki and come face to face with the damage.

There's blood indeed, most of it slowly trickling down the god's mouth, where thread weaves in an out of his lips, crisscrossing them shut. If the uneven breathing is any indication, there's also bruising to the chest and ribs, if not a fracture. The way he holds his hands against his body makes Bruce think something's wrong with them, as well. Loki opens his eyes then, and in them Bruce sees so much despair and pain he stops for a minute.

"Do you want me to include old injuries in the scan, sir?" Jarvis asks and Tony, ever busy, replies scathingly, "What do you think? Of course not! What for?"

Jarvis stays silent and Tony sucks in a breath, glancing at Loki as he compares the result of the scans. He turns the tablet towards Bruce, who is taking out a disinfectant wipe. Bruce nods and reaches for Loki's face, but the god shrinks back, grimacing and tearing a stitch in his lips.

"Loki?" Tony asks, his hand going back to Loki's shoulder. "Loki that's just Bruce, he's harmless."

It's not after he says it that he remembers a Loki-shaped imprint that was left on his penthouse floor a year ago. Even with his magic, it took Loki a good half hour to heal from the pummeling. Loki remembers as well, it seems, and he manages to glare at Tony as if berating him for the idea, even if he shrinks back from Bruce in the process. His chest is heaving in ragged, painful-sounding breaths. The glare turns into a pleading gaze.

Tony locks eyes with Bruce, who shrugs indifferently and hands him a new pair of gloves, reaching for the tablet. "Fine," Tony sighs, "Not a word to Barton, though. Or Steve."

He puts on the gloves and reaches for the wipe. Loki looks more relaxed, and nods when Tony asks for permission to clean the puncture wounds. He hisses out a breath through his nose at the sting, but nonetheless makes an effort to remain still while Tony, with Bruce's instruction, reaches out to cut through the thread. The process is long and tiring, and Loki grunts every time a cut thread is pulled loose, but after a while, there's a last "snip" and a sting and he can open his mouth again. The first thing he does is pull in a big breath of air, even if the movement makes his ribs flash pain for a second, but after that he hangs down his had and starts muttering, "Stupid, bloody idiot, can't believe I trusted him…"

Absently, he clumsily grabs the wipe Tony offers and presses it to the tiny wounds in his mouth, taking a deep breath through his nose. When he tosses the now red wipe, he seems calmer. "Sorry, Banner," he says, "I meant no disrespect."

"Don't worry," Bruce replies, his eyes drifting back to the tablet as he asks, "Do you know what a broken rib feels like?"

Loki nods. "Bruising only," he explains, the movement of his lips making tiny drops of blood gather on the puncture wounds.

"Caused by?" Bruce prods as Tony hands Loki another wipe, going to look at the tablet along with Bruce. Loki stiffens, refusing to meet either pair of curious eyes as he says, in a whisper, "Mjölnir." He sighs, refusing to look at the two astonished faces before him. He knows what that means, he knows what they'll see, and he prepares for a jokingly uttered 'What did you do this time, Reindeer Games?' from Tony, or Bruce's stern, disbelieving stare.

"Thor?!" Tony questions, sounding surprised, and as Loki finally looks up, he sees one pair of eyes like saucers, trained on him. It's a small relief to know that, at least, Tony apparently believes him. Bruce is staring at him with a quizzical expression, his lack of larger reaction a caution trained from years of realizing that sometimes, things are not as they seem.

"Yes," he replies simply, not wanting to go into detail and relive the experience. He closes his eyes and reaches deep inside, consciousness curling around his newly recovered magic, fashioning a suitable healing spell, and takes a deep breath as preparation to casting it. The twinge of pain from his side is a brief distraction, and he thinks it's a little more complicated to access his magic than usual, but then again he's suffered major injuries and remembers exhausting his magic while healing his hands right after Thor dumped him back in his cell, lips sewn shut, so the fact comes as no surprise. Yet. It's only when the wisps of green flames curling around his gloved fingers dissipate that he realizes he's in deep trouble. He clenches his eyes shut, breathes, and tries again with the same results.

Unable to fight off a shiver, he opens his eyes and scrambles to remove the gloves, eventually reaching to pull them off with his teeth.

"Loki?" Stark asks, and it's clear he is worried for the sorcerer, who moves shakily with suddenly wild eyes and then stills, shoulders slumped, with a soft whisper of "No…"

Loki has his hands in front of him, and in the bright overhead lights Tony and Bruce can see deep red lines crisscrossing his palms, curling around his wrists and disappearing beneath the sleeves of the dark grey robe. More wounds? They share a concerned glance.

The robe falls to the ground, the dark fabric pooling on white marble, and Loki holds up his arms, examining the cuts as if it's the first time he sees them. "No… No… No, no nonono!" Loki's cries, gaining desperation by the second, and Tony can't help but cringe when he turns again. The square-looking bruises on his ribs stand out against pale skin, his chest heaving with each breath. Definitely Thor's hammer, constricting Loki's ribs, and the god trying to squirm away. The lines stop at the crook of Loki's elbow, and now Tony can see they compose of tiny symbols.

"What do they mean?" he asks, carefully placing a hand on Loki's shoulder and reaching for one of his arms, disinfectant wipes coming away with a reverse imprint of the norse symbols engraved in Loki's skin. Loki groans and takes the wipe from Tony, rubbing it up and down his arm as if he believes it will remove the words. Unsuccessful, he takes to pulling his hair.

"That wasn't Mjölnir," Bruce comments quietly to Loki's slumped back. Loki shakes his head and heaves a shuddering sigh, pulling the robe back over his head. "Gugnir," he mumbles defeatedly, holding one forearm with his other hand and watching as a few cuts pull open and start to bleed. He gives a shaky, panicked laugh that speaks more of fearful disbelief than amusement.

"I can't even revert to my Jötunn form," he whispers, still staring blankly at his arms. He stops Tony when he tries to bind the wounds, gulps, and traces one of the lines with his finger. Somehow, seeing Stark and Banner believe him makes it important that they know the full extent of his situation. "It's a binding spell," he says while pointing to the line that wraps around his wrist, tracing it until it ends at his pinky finger, "along with its protection clauses." Of course. Odin wouldn't leave his precious stolen relic from Jötunheimr to be killed on Midgard.

"So your magic's bust, then?" Tony asks in his disinhibited fashion.

"For all intents and purposes, yes. I can only defend myself, and even then the spell I perform comes at a cost. Harm will still be done to me, only mitigated by the protection Odin so thoughtfully carved into my skin." The last part is mostly an enraged mutter and he takes a deep breath before pointing to another line.

"This is a healing spell, and… oh, that's rich. Concealment spell. I can't show my true nature. I have virtually no magic and no chance at all to change into a Frost Giant. Thank you very much, Allfather."

He slumps further and finally lets Tony bandage him. When he's done Loki stands and says, "I'm going to my room."

Tony and Bruce nod, waving him off as he takes the lift. There's a routine feeling to the ease with which Loki moves about the tower; he knows his way around from his increasingly frequent visits, but it's hard to imagine him being alone right now. Tony remembers what coming home from Afghanistan felt like, the subconscious feeling of alertness that will never go away, the fear of more torture. However much Loki would like to downplay it, what was done to him is torture and he'll probably have PTSD sometime. Tony can tell from the way he left the living room, shoulders slouched protectively, eyes too attentive.

With a sigh, Tony stops considering Loki and turns to Bruce, who's rearranging the medical kit. "Thor did that?" he asks, not knowing how he'll ever see the norse god to the eye again.

Bruce shrugs, "I'm not going to say Loki had it coming, but I don't doubt Thor would turn on him. It's a different culture. Honor matters more to them, cowardice merits punishment. Besides, you know Thor can't refuse to anything Odin asks. You'll have to ask Thor, though."

"That's one conversation I'm not looking forward to," he replies before reaching to roll up the charred remains of the carpet.

Loki slams the door to his room shut. While he's been spending more time there, the Tower still feels strange, foreign. His room is too bare, too impersonal. Not like home. Then again, his quarters in Asgard don't feel all that homey either. There is, in fact, only one place he feels like he truly belongs, and it's the one place in all of Asgard that he's strictly forbidden from visiting. It's not as if that fact stopped him, really, from going into the stables and sitting down next to Sleipnir, but it's still a sign of how ruthless Odin is towards his adopted son. Right now, Loki wishes he could curl up against the horse's flank, calmed by its deep breaths. He scoffs. He wouldn't get past the guards without his magic, and then again who does he have to thank for that? Dearest Allfather.

In a fit of rage, he reaches for his magic again. He can feel it, curling and twisting inside him, straining to obey his wishes, but as it gets to his wrist, flowing though his veins, the line of symbols around it constricts, burning deeper, and the flow of magic stops. His hands feel numb. He hates the feeling, turns his hate towards the cruelty of the fact. Without his magic, he feels like an empty shell, and to tempt him with the knowledge that the power is there, within reach, but he can't harness it, is meaner than just taking his might away. He keeps trying anyway, his arms growing leaden after a while, his skin tingling with the feeling of pins and needles, his hands numb. There's a dull ache at his wrists which, he discovers when he looks, is caused by the cuts he just deepened. There's red seeping through the bandages. He's fairly certain the line on his pinky means he can perform a simple healing spell, but he'd rather leave the wounds as they are than tempt himself with what pitiful amount of power he has. Besides, he finds the pain to be a suitable form of self-punishment, as well as distracting him from his thoughts.

He sighs, laying down on the bed, thinking of Sleipnir, his Sleipnir, and of what he'll do to get back to him. He didn't have a chance to say goodbye, and he can't ask Thor to relay the message, because he would ask this of Thor, he would forgive him his betrayal if he would only… But it would be futile, Thor may be an oaf but he's not stupid; he would suspect something because, in the end, why would Loki want to speak to Odin's horse so badly? Thor would never understand. And, if by chance, Odin found out, Sleipnir would be cast out. Loki remembers the exact words Odin said as he allowed for the tiny foal Loki carried to stay in Asgard. "I will accept him as an offering of peace, Loki, and allow him in the city, as long as no one ever discovers your travesty."

A tear escapes Loki's eye at the memory, followed by many more shed for his current predicament. He doesn't sleep. It's hours later when he finally grows tired of tossing and turning on the bed, and decides to go to the living room again.

He finds Tony there, slumped on the couch and illuminated only by the light of the screen and his arc reactor. Loki stands in the entrance of the room, Tony's back to him.

"Stop sulking in the shadows, Reindeer Games," Tony says and pats the space on the couch next to him. Loki rolls his eyes at the nickname, but obeys just the same.

"Can't sleep?"

Loki looks at Tony pointedly, the answer is an obvious no.

"Nightmares?" Tony prods, going into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

"I call it reality, Stark." Loki sighs.

"Right." He points his cup of coffee at Loki. "Want one? If you're not going to sleep anyway you might as well feel less miserable about it."

"Less miserable how?" Loki asks, but nods all the same. Tony flashes him a grin and shows him a flask he produced from next to the coffee machine. He pours liquor into both cups and walks back to the couch to hand Loki his drink. As Loki grabs the mug, however, Tony's eyes narrow. "Jarvis, lights," he commands, setting down both mugs on the coffee table.

"Let me see," he demands, reaching for a bandaged arm and glaring at Loki when he sees the soaked-through gauze. "What did you do?" he asks, unwrapping bloody fabric.

"I was angry," is all Loki can provide as an explanation, though he winces along with Tony when he sees how much deeper the cuts are.

"These will need stitches," Tony says, standing up again to get the first aid kit.

"No." Loki's back stiffens at the prospect of a needle, and he sits ramrod straight, cradling his hands against his chest. In his mind, he replays the memory of having his lips sewn shut, eliciting a shudder. "I can heal them," he blurts out when he sees Tony about to reply.

Tony glares. "Then why haven't you done so by now? Damn, Loki who the fuck knows what goes on in your crazy head."

Loki ignores the comment, closes his eyes and casts a spell, minding his magic carefully, feeding a tiny bit of healing energy towards his hands. His eyebrows raise in surprise as he feels sparks dancing on his hands. With tiny nudges from his fingers, he directs the magic towards the deepest cuts. It's a long process, but in minutes he feels the skin coming back together. He lets out a sigh when the flow of magic is blocked again. It feels like losing one of his senses.

Tony nods when he examines his hands again. The cuts are less deep, but still there. "I thought you didn't have magic," he comments as he starts rewrapping Loki's arms.

"This isn't magic," Loki replies with a harsh edge to his voice, "this is a parlor trick in comparison. The feeling is fucking ridiculous." They slip into silence, only broken by a quiet "Thanks" from Loki as Tony finishes with the gauze. Both of them turn their attention towards the TV set, sipping quietly on cold coffee, relishing in the odd calm that has settled over them.