Pairings: Tony/Bruce, Tony/Loki, and eventually Bruce/Tony/Loki (it's complicated~ c:); Steve/Thor, eventual Steve/Rhodey/Thor; Pepper/Natasha, Clint/Coulson, Nick Fury/Heimdall, Maria Hill/Sif, Darcy/Jane, and plenty more. But these are the main ones. Enjoy!

He is walked in wearing chains, surrounded on all sides by SHIELD agents, but it's really just for show. How often, and how easily, Loki has escaped confines much more guarded than this has been seen throughout the last few weeks. This is nothing to him. The only surety that SHIELD has that Loki will go along with them, quickly and quietly, is his own desire to leave their hands, and be with his brother.

Not that it is a pleasant reunion, at all.

All seven Avengers, and Phil Coulson, are waiting for him in the lobby. Thor stands in front, with the Captain just to his right. The rest of the team is spread throughout the room, centered upon Thor, all eyes on the captive in their midst.

There is such hatred in their eyes, such anger. Loki meets each gaze evenly, and tries not to smile. Oh, what fun this will be.

They march him to his brother, where he falls in line, standing at attention. He gestures to his bound hands. "I would greet thee more suitably," He starts, "But as you can see –" Shrugging, he glances at the Captain. The blond is scowling at him quite heavily, distrust in full effect. But there is confusion also, and that – that he can use. How unwise, to reveal such uncertainty before him.

He looks over them all, the firm eyes, stiff shoulders. Until, at last, he sees his brother. Thor's eyes hold no anger, only pain… pain and pity. Loki feels a fire flare inside him at that.

"He's all yours," Nick Fury says behind them, tossing the key to his chains to Natasha Romanov. "Have fun."

"Oh, It'll be a blast." Clint chimes in sharply, voice hollow and rough-edged. The SHIELD agents are already gone by the time he continues. "Can I shoot him?"

"I thought you had already done so?" Loki retorts, and the archer flinches. Wonderful. Guilt. What a pleasant weakness to exploit.

"Enough, brother." Thor sighs, gesturing to Natasha. She walks up and begins working at Loki's cuffs. "It is late, and we are all of us very tired. I shall escort you to your chambers and we shall talk in the morning."

"Shall we?" A thin frown makes its way to his face for a moment. The chains come off; Loki lifts his arms, rubbing at his wrists. "Have I no say in that?"

"You'll find you have no say in a lot of things around here." Natasha retorts evenly, taking the chains.

"We're giving you some leeway," The Captain steps forward, hands on his hips. He has all the self-righteous pride of the position he holds. It irks Loki, burns at his skin, to be spoken to in such a way, by one so small, so insignificant. "You did us a big favor a few months ago. But that doesn't mean we trust you."

"Good." Loki says evenly. "Else you'd be as foolish as I thought you were." The Captain frowns furiously, and after sharing a quick glance with his brother, turns and walks away. The others file out, one by one, until only he and Thor remain.

"Well, Thor?" He says the name with fondness and spite. They are brothers, in bloodshed as much as in bond; and as much as he may desire to, he cannot help but love Thor more than he hates him. And he will never forgive him for that. He will do all he can to cause the man the same pain that burns in his breast, to inflict upon him the aches and agonies that torment Loki every day.

Thor just barely flinches at the name. Perhaps it burns to hear his name said with such disdain. Or, perhaps it hurts more to be denied the affection of "brother". Either way it hurts, and that gives Loki a somber satisfaction. Misery loves company.

When Thor says nothing, he smirks and continues with a gesture towards the hall. "Show me to my… how do the mortals say it? 'Home sweet home'?" Thor frowns more deeply, and Loki finally releases the sharp laugh that's been building in his throat.

THE TALES OF THE HEROES OF MIDGARD

Book I: Prelude to Mischief

The morning is still young when Frigga, Queen of Asgard, approaches Heimdall at his station near the gates of the realm. Her entry into the dome brings a smile to the guardian's face.

"Greetings, your highness."

"Greetings." She smiles in turn as he faces her and steps down from raised platform. "And how do you fare this fine morning?"

"I am well." His grin broadens. "Yet I doubt that it is my health you are here to inquire after."

"Never doubt that I care for your safety, gatekeeper," Frigga says in kind, yet her smile becomes something of a smirk. "But you are not wrong. Two weeks to the day I stood here with you and spoke of my sons."

Heimdall nods. "I did."

"Then, you told me we would speak again on the second Saturday. And is today not that day?"

"It is, my lady." Stepping closer, Heimdall inclines his head. The gesture is almost conspiratory. Granted, they are doing nothing wrong, yet something does feel… wicked in doing it. The Allfather had proclaimed that no Asgardian would be permitted to seek out Thor and Loki. Yet, he did not forswear watching over them.

The slight edge in her voice softens now, as Frigga moves towards Heimdall. "How are they? Are they well? What of Loki?"

"They are… progressing," Heimdall hedges his voice, trying to be as diplomatic as he can. But there is a reason he is a gatekeeper and not a politician. "Loki has not done much to befriend the people of Midgard."

Sighing, Frigga nods. "Yes, I imagine not." For a brief moment she seems so very disheartened, disillusioned with all the realms. "Last we left, the Avengers themselves were not so stable themselves. Loki has undoubtedly used that to his own gain."

"Gain? No," Heimdall frowns thoughtfully. "Pleasure? Most assuredly. He revels in turning them upon one another with foolish pranks. Yet, it is strange to see him so… passive. What he does is harmless, and it must be said, the wounds the Avengers have inflicted upon each other have come from themselves."

"Loki stokes fires which were already burning, then."

The gatekeeper nods. "Yes, that is so. Asgardian, or mortal, it holds true that those we love, are best able to harm us most deeply. In the five weeks which have passed since they reunited, many such a blow has fallen upon one teammate, from another."

Frigga, eyes misty and half-shut, turns to her guard. "They still struggle, then?"

"Indeed. But have heart, my lady." He smiles, an attempt to lift her heart, for he knows already the end of this tale, and it is a hopeful one. "I do not believe the Avengers shall so easily be broken, after all they have survived." She nods, smiling somewhat, and it pleases him to see her so. "Besides, I have good news!"

His queen looks to him, and when he speaks, she brightens considerably.

"Your youngest son has made a friend."

…

It is all too easy to simply believe what we see. It takes no effort on our part, and spares us the trouble of attempting to dig deeper. This is how a liar spins his tales – by presenting a superficial image that others take at face value, for how many will take the time to delve into its depths?

There is a house on Midgard, dilapidated, and ruined by time. It sits upon a stretch of "country road", amid the wilds of swampland and long plains the mid-western area of the state of North Carolina consists of. The closest towns are small, hardly large enough to mark upon a map. Most drive past this house, ignoring it completely, and taking for granted that it seems abandoned.

Yet, like all of us, there is more to this place that what it appears to be.

…

The Last Week of October

Near to 3 in the afternoon, Tony hears the echo of steady footsteps coming down to his garage. He smiles; no, more accurately, he glows. Lit up by an inner gleam he would be much too self-conscious to name, but might easily be called love.

"I'm not getting any younger, you know." Bruce Banner remarks to Tony's back. Grinning, Tony spins round in his chair and lifts the goggles off his eyes.

"Neither am I, and I'm older than you, so what's that say for me?" He chuckles at the irked look on his beloved's face. Any other would be trembling by then… but few others had Bruce and his alter-ego so utterly charmed.

"It says," Bruce starts, cocking an eyebrow. He's got his arms crossed, stepping towards Tony with restrained irritation that comes across as mostly playful. "That you should come eat lunch before we're both middle aged."

Wincing, Tony thinks of the greys in his hair, the aches in his joints. "Hate to break it to you, babe – hey!" In his hesitation, Tony gave Bruce the opening he needed, and Bruce took it: grabbing hold of the man's chair, he forcibly rolls it towards the hallway that leads to the elevator.

"We all agreed," Bruce continues as they near the hallway to the elevator.

"People make mistakes!" is Tony's quick retort. He's doing his best to waylay his partner, grabbing at the walls, dragging his legs, tripping Bruce when he can. It's not working so well, partially because they are both busy laughing.

"We agreed," The doctor goes on as if Tony never spoke, "That as part of learning how to be a better team, we would have set meal times and we'd all eat together!"

"Lies! Blasphemy! I never signed anything!" The elevator doors open, and in a last bid for freedom, Tony leaps out of his chair – only to be grabbed and pulled back in by the collar. He spins round mid pull, ready to rant and rave some more, only to be silenced by a kiss.

The chime of the elevator doors closing brings both of them out of their reverie. Tony leans away first, in something of a daze, blinking slowly.

"Well," He starts, licking his lips. "Why didn't you start with that argument in the first place?"

Bruce beams.

The elevator chimes again when they reach the main floor, the doors sliding open to reveal quite the scene. It's a familiar one, after the last few months, but there's still something about it that warms Bruce's heart every time. This is his family, his home, he thinks, and feels such a swell of joy, followed by a tide of rumbling, a fervent need to protect this place and these people he cherishes.

"Hey, you okay buddy?" tony enters his line of sight, waving his hand in front of Bruce's eyes. "You've gone a little green there."

"I'm fine." He smiles, and it's true. He really is fine, they both are. "Hulk says hello."

"Hello, Hulk." And Tony swoops in, planting a soft kiss on Bruce's cheek, a sign of affection for and recognition of Hulk and his place in their relationship. For the thousandth time Bruce feels lost for words, undone by the devotion and love this man holds for both of them.

The main floor is a long rectangular space, with a kitchen on one end, a living room on the other, and a makeshift dining room in-between. There are no walls but for the four surrounding them, and no windows at all. It's an open, modern space, and it is very, very loud.

"HOW DARE YOU!" Comes from one side of the room suddenly, a bellowing outcry of betrayal and anguish, followed by a sharp laugh. Bruce glances across the room; Rhodey and Clint are both glued to the TV, Wii motes in hand.

"Yes!" The airman leaps to his feet and punches the air. "That's what you get!"

"YOU BLUE SHELLED ME!" Clint, now on his feet as well, drops the Wii mote to the couch in his outrage. "I was this close to winning damn it!"

"What?" Rhodey, feigning a confused look, leans towards Clint with a hand on his ear. "Sorry, can't hear you way up here in second place."

"Come on, guys." Both of them are interrupted by a familiar commanding tone. Steve is standing behind the stove in the kitchen, gesturing at them with a spatula. "Lunch is getting cold, hurry up."

As they move towards the kitchen, Tony winks in Bruce's direction, then nods towards Steve. He doesn't have to look to know what Tony's getting at, and Bruce hides a smile. Their captain is currently dressed in a red, white, and blue 4th of July apron he'd first worn on a dare, and had since taken to wearing whenever he cooked. It was strangely fitting, and yet also undoubtedly hilarious.

"Mhm, smells great Steve." Bruce begins. "Can I help?"

Steve shakes his head. "We've got it. And don't thank me, I wasn't in charge today." He smiles and nods behind him.

Thor is at the sink, working away at cleaning dishes, his hair pulled back into a ponytail. As he moves towards the table, Bruce calls out to him. "Thanks, Thor, it smells great."

The Thunderer turns, beaming. "Thank you! I hope it pleases you." So does Bruce, because he's not sure how many more times he can fake enjoyment of strange Asgardian feasts.

"Please, please, please, be meat from something Earth-ly," Tony leans over and whispers into his ear, almost reading his mind. When he leans away, Bruce hits him with a somewhat stern look, though he does understand. It's wonderful that Thor's taking to cooking for them, but there's only so many times one can eat Strange Alien Meat and not cringe.

Rhodey and Clint are still bickering as they take their places at the table; Natasha is already sitting cross-legged at one end of the table, reading a book entitled "The Cutting Season" by someone named Attica Locke.

"Where's Phil?" Bruce asks as he takes a seat.

"Prof. Xavier's." Clint answers him. Ah. Bruce had heard he'd been trying to work with the Professor on understanding his new Asgardian nature, and that it… hadn't been going so well. He frowns, concerned, but has no chance to ask more before lunch is served.

A plate is placed in front of every Avenger by a very enthusiastic Asgardian, who is grinning ear to ear in his "kiss the cook" apron. (Tony has to be behind that, somehow.) Only once everyone has a dish does Thor take a seat at the table opposite Natasha, who has set down her book in order to inspect the meal.

Bruce decides to follow suit, glancing down to examine the rather… large… grilled sandwich on his plate. "It… smells delicious?" He sounds questioning not because it isn't true – it smells wonderful – but because there is certainly something odd about this.

"Uh, no offence meant, Thor, but," Tony asks what's on all their minds. "What is it?"

"A grilled cheese!" He states cheerfully. "Steve taught me to make these. There are more in the kitchen, allow me to fetch them." Then, he stands and heads towards the counter.

"Oh, thank god." Clint mutters, head dropping towards the table. "Something normal for once." He pointedly ignores Steve's elbow hitting his ribs.

"They're… thick." Natasha, the first to pick up her sandwich, is watching as it steadily droops back down to the plate, a slouching mess of bread and cheese.

"Thor is, uh, generous, when it comes to food." Steve smiles weakly, then picks up the sandwich and takes a huge bite. And that is the Avenger's cue to follow suit. Soon, everyone has their mouths full.

"Wow," Between bites, Tony cringes a little, speaking in a quiet tone. "Who wants some bread with their cheese?" He's silenced by a kick under the table, undoubtedly from the Captain.

"Quiet, now." He says sternly, though he looks to be thinking something along those lines.

"I can do quiet." Rhodey replies after swallowing. "The cheese has practically melted my mouth shut, anyway." Muffled laughter is cut off quick once Thor returns to the table, two more platters of his sandwiches in tow. And when he asks whether anyone would like more, every person at the table requests seconds; and somehow, his bright smile grows brighter.

They eat, they chat, and share a few laughs. The heroes of Midgard at midday, a relaxed time when, luckily enough, the world seems well. For the moment.

"What's on the agenda today?"

Bruce replies to Cap's question first. "I was thinking of heading into town. I'm running close to empty on some medications and emergency supplies, so I figured it would be good to hit the pharmacy."

At that, the archer at the table looks up, lifting his hand. He doesn't talk – his mouth is full – but after a moment, he chimes in. "Mind picking up a prescription for me?"

To this, Bruce blinks, somewhat taken aback. "Sure." Clint grins and sets his napkin on the table, standing to leave the room – then, suddenly, he's being asked the same question twice over. "Okay, how about anyone who needs a refill, just bring me the prescription?" Natasha, Steve, Clint, and Rhodey all vacate the room in a flash.

It occurs to Bruce then, that he knows very little about the actual medical histories of his team mates. Most days, he acts as team "doctor", standing in for a professional in the field and at home, treating mild wounds and keeping an eye on the team's baseline health. But he doesn't actually know the conditions and treatments his friends are undergoing, the medications they take, or what they've been diagnosed with – things the actual team doctor really should know.

By the time people begin piling into the room again, lunch has been cleaned up, and Tony's in the kitchen working on the dishes.

"Here you go," Clint tosses him a medicine bottle, which Bruce catches mid-air. He flips it around to read the front, taking in the information while nodding to himself. He's about to tuck it away when a hand snatches it from above.

"Methlyphenidate – that's generic Ritalin." Tony, holding the bottle, cocks an eyebrow at Clint. "ADD?"

Clint doesn't seem to care about sharing the information, so Bruce gives a sigh and lets it slide. Ever the comedian, the archer puffs up his chest, shining a hand on his shoulder. "ADHD-1, if you must know." Tony's quiet for a moment, before he breaks into a grin, and holds up two fingers. Clint's eyebrows rise. "Really? Actually, wait – I'm not surprised. That is not surprising at all."

Still grinning, Tony drops the bottle on the table and dashes into the kitchen. Opening the cabinet, he pulls out a tray of medicine bottles, and tosses one at Clint.

"Here you go, Ritalin SR at 10mgs." Tony says – only to be cut off by Bruce breaking into an outburst of sputtering.

"Tony!" Standing, the doctor crosses the room to Clint, snatching the bottle. "You do not share medication!" He gestures at his boyfriend with a stern frown, and immediately the man holds up his hands in surrender.

"Of course not, I would never what in the world would make you think that?" Bruce can hear Clint chuckling behind his shoulder.

At that point, Steve enters the room, and makes a bee line for Bruce. "Thanks for doing this," He starts, holding out the bottle, but it doesn't even make it to Bruce's hands before Tony's got it.

"Tony!"

"Let's see, fluoxetine? That's Prozac." And with a spin, Tony approaches his little table, grabs a bottle, and tosses it at Steve. "There you go, 20 mgs of Prozac – though undoubtedly you need a larger dose, big guy."

"Tony Stark!"

"Whaaatttt I am just being helpful!" He knows damn well he's not, and Bruce can tell by the amused glow in his eyes. He's laughing even as Bruce takes the bottle back from a baffled Steve and shoves it into Tony's hand.

"No. sharing."

"Sir, yes, sir."

Natasha, who had quietly entered the room earlier and is now smirking at the scene, approaches last. "Thanks, doc," She says with a small smile, handing him a bottle. He takes it from her, looking down at the bottle, and –

"Wait… Klonopin? That's –"

"Clonazepam!" Tony chirps brightly, picking up a bottle from his tray, tossing it in the air towards Natasha – but this time, Bruce catches it mid-throw and tosses it right back, enjoying the dismayed squawk he hears from the kitchen.

He's not really thinking about Tony right now, though. "This stuff is for anxiety, mostly, and – and seizures. You…?" This is, well, perhaps not surprising. They've all faced terrible things. And yet, of all of them, Bruce would not have pegged Natasha as having some form of anxiety.

She must realize what he's thinking, because she nods. "I have panic attacks. Certain things trigger them, these help me calm down, and get to sleep at night." Then she shrugs, like it's nothing at all.

"You have panic attacks?" Steve, also clearly concerned, steps towards her. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Oh, was that -?" Tony, still standing by the counter with his arms crossed, frowns slightly. "Was that a thing we were supposed to be sharing?"

It occurs to Bruce that Tony also has a prescription for Clonazepam (as well as all those other things and are all of those legal?). He turns on the man, eyebrow cocked. "You have panic attacks?"

"Maybe, sort've, kind of?" The man squirms, clearly uncomfortable. "But the real point here is, Natasha has panic attacks?"

"The point is, we are a team, and our problems affect everyone." Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Not that I'm not guilty of the same. I guess I – health stuff didn't occur to me."

"It should've occurred to me!" Frowning, Bruce looks to the bottles he's now gathered, his own ire at himself growing. "I'm the doctor; I should have started keeping records on all of us weeks ago, instead of relying on SHIELD to do it."

"You're guilty, he's guilty, we're all guilty." Natasha snorts. "Enough of the blame game. We made a mistake, we'll fix it. That's that."

And that was, in fact, that.

…

"Ah. I think perhaps I see some of what you alluded to before."

They see what they want to see. As do we all. But it is only in delving beneath the surface that we truly learn anything of one another. Such a thing is not easily done.

"I imagine it shall not be easy for them."

No, indeed. And for some, it is much harder than for others…

…

The First Friday in November

"When were you diagnosed?"

"SHIELD. No shit." Clint laughs at the look on Tony's face. "Had no clue before I signed on. What a way to find out, too. 'Hey, guess what? You aren't stupid and lazy after all!'"

"How old were you?" Tony asks the question with surprisingly sobriety, eyes half closed, a beer lifted towards his face.

"Late twenties I guess. You?"

Before he answers, he takes a long swig. "I was probably sixteen, seventeen? I think." He lifts the bottle again, hesitates, then shrugs and takes a swig. "Dear old daddy medicated the fuck out of me for years just to keep me "suitable" for the public eye."

Wincing, Clint takes a swig of his own drink. "Goddamn. That's harsh."

"You gotta understand, this was back when ADHD was just entering public knowledge, and before that, kids like us were considered "minimally brain damaged" and shit like that. So having the only son of the Stark family considered 'brain damaged'? Fuck, no." Tony laughs, but it's not the joyous laugh Clint's come to know so well. It's hollow, a pained and empty echo. "What a fun time of my life."

They both fall quiet for a moment, each perhaps remembering some darker time, or struggling for a way to divert the conversation away from such thoughts. Clint tries to think of some diversion, but he's gripping his beer bottle tight and thinking of his own childhood, his own "dear old daddy". He imagines Stark had it better, but not by much.

Whatever might have been spoken then, they'll never know, for Thor chooses that moment to walk in and interrupt.

"Forgive me, friends," He begins rather nervously, which is very strange for him. Both Clint and Tony turn to look behind the couch to their friend. Thor's standing with a tray full of food, obviously leftovers from what he'd made for breakfast that same morning. "I would not interrupt, but I must ask a favor of one of you."

"No big deal Thor." Tony waves him off. "Shoot."

"My…" He glances at Clint, caution in his eyes, and the archer suddenly understands. A chill shimmies up his spine. "brother, never came down for a meal this morning. He seems to be avoiding me, else I would take this to him. Would one of you…?"

Frozen, Clint lowers his eyes, gripping the back of the couch tight. He hears Tony move beside him.

"Sure thing." He replies, taking the tray from Thor. He spares a concerned glance Clint's way, but the archer doesn't meet his eyes, won't even look up until both of them are gone.

Tony takes the elevator to the third floor, a space consisting of one hallway, lined with bedrooms. Mostly, it's empty; Thor has one room at the far end, and at the exact opposite end, is Loki's quarters.

Loki rarely leaves that space. In fact, Tony's not sure he's ever seen him outside those rooms, save perhaps a few meals shared with Thor. Those have become rarer as the days have passed. Time and again, it seems every conversation between the brothers ends in shouting and fist fights. It… hasn't been pretty.

Not that Tony's own family situation was ever pretty. He winces as the elevator doors slide open.

The hall is empty, as he had imagined it would be, but somehow the appearance is ominous. "It's quiet," He finds himself saying as he steps out. "Too quiet." But no one is there to laugh at his joke, and suddenly, Tony doesn't feel like laughing. Something is… off.

He frowns at his own superstitious behavior. Asgardian or not, Loki is just another asshole taking out his problems on everyone else. There's nothing to be afraid of here. He's got six people ready to be at his back in an instant, and JARVIS is certainly watching his every move. He's fine.

So, taking in another deep breath, Tony saunters down the hall, and comes to stand outside Loki's room. He knocks twice, then waits. Nothing. Knocks again. "Special delivery!" He hadn't really expected Loki to open the door, but an acknowledgement would at least be nice. "Knock knock, anyone home?"

Completely quiet.

That seems… unlike him. For all that Loki loves to pretend the mortal members of the Avengers don't exist, he still takes every chance he can to poke fun at them. It's hard to believe Loki wouldn't pop up to trade a few insults, at least. Frowning, Tony looks over the door for a moment.

"JARVIS, what's he doing in there?"

"I'm… not certain, sir. I cannot see him in the main living quarters, and the camera to his room has been cut off."

"Cut off?" Now, he really feels agitated. Loki had agreed to a few rules when he moved in – and yeah, Tony hardly expected he'd obey them at all, but still, come on. It's hardly been two weeks and he's already pulling shady stuff? "Okay, wise guy, what are you up to?" He adjusts the tray in his hand and touches the door, almost surprised to find nothing barring his entry. It's not even locked. Loki probably never imagined any of the Avengers would bother to seek him out.

Frowning, Tony takes a deep breath, suppresses all the little voices in his head telling him what a stupid idea this is, and steps into the room.

It's a basic set up. A large living space, a small kitchenette with a coffee pot, a TV in one corner. Clint had advocated leaving Loki in an empty cell, but Tony figures a Loki with things to do, is a Loki less likely to start entertaining himself by pulling shitty pranks. Steve and the others had agreed, so, TV. But from the looks of it, Loki's been more interested in the written word than the boob tube. Bookshelves that Tony doesn't remember adding to the room line every wall, filled from top to bottom by texts, scrolls, charts, anthologies, works in every language from practically every age. It's a goddamn treasure trove.

"Holy shit," Tony absentmindedly sets the tray on the counter nearby, stumbling towards a bookshelf. "How did these get here JARVIS?"

"I'm afraid I cannot see what you see, sir."

"Magic again." And magic that JARVIS has no ability to spot. Tony's really got to get working on recognizing Loki's spells, and soon. "It's just bookshelves, don't worry about it." Then, he suddenly realizes that perhaps these books aren't exactly harmless. Magic books? Spells of doom? He picks one up – it's Thomas Mann's "Death in Venice". Okay, maybe he's worrying a little too much.

Suddenly, he hears a noise from the other room, a thump, like something falling. It very quickly occurs to him that he's snooping in Loki's room and this is a Very Bad Idea, and maybe he should get going. Only, he hears another noise. Like – grunting? Oh shit, is Loki getting down with somebody? Tony half grins at the idea but the grin dies on his face at the next sound.

It's a scream.

Pain is a distinct force. Tony knows enough of it by now to understand its nuances. Pain has multitudes, it has variations. The pain of a betrayal is different than the pain of anguish. Tony knows what loss sounds like, he knows what being stabbed by a jagged piece of metal through the ribs feels like, what the air being forcibly expelled from your lungs feels and sounds like. He can taste torture on his tongue, and feel it shaking in his bones.

Tony hears that scream, and he knows. He knows that pain by its sound.

In an instant he has no thoughts in his mind, no considerations, but to give peace to that sound. He barrels across the room to the bedroom, throwing the door open and facing no resistance. He barely sees a thing once he enters, he only has eyes for the twisted form on the bed, the contorted visage, the fingers half clenched and legs shaking from exertion. The body, remembering, the mind, suffering, the heart, aching.

In his dreams, in his memories, Loki is being tortured.

"Loki!" Tony's at his side in a second, grabbing at him. But he's flailing, half uncovered, and his naked upper half is littered with scars and markings. It's – it's grotesque. Obscene. Eyes wide, Tony half sits on the bed, grabbing at Loki's arms but his strength is overwhelming. A hand flung out in self-defense catches his cheek and the blow sends stars through his vision. That's going to ache for a week.

"Loki! It's a dream, wake up! Loki!"

He's not sure when, or how, it happens, but it does – Loki wakes up. Stunned eyes, bright red and vividly, nakedly feeling, meet Tony's. It's beyond the definition of uncomfortable. Suddenly they are each seeing one another, and Tony knows – he knows goddamn it – that there is no partiality, no objectivity on his face, just agony of his own, and he's meeting Loki's gaze and damn it there are tears in the man's eyes –

An unseen force flings him away suddenly, and he flies out the bedroom door, hits a bookshelf against the far wall with a heavy thud, head reeling. More screaming hits his ears then, but it's vicious and enraged this time, full of angry promises and curses. Tony doesn't stay to hear it all, he stumbles to his feet, runs out the door, and doesn't stop until he's in the elevator. He can still hear Loki screaming then.

Slowly, painfully, Tony slides to the floor, out of breath and covered in sweat. "JARVIS, that – did that just happen?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it did, sir."

"That's what I thought." He whispers fitfully, still wide eyed. Absentmindedly, he wipes a tear of his own off his face. "That's what I thought."

…

"…"

I am sorry, my Queen. … would you like to adjourn for the time being?

"No, please – continue. I – I must know how he fares."

Very well.

…

November 3

The hour is late, and the Avengers are gathered in their dining hall, sharing a meal together. Not one of them recognizes the added number in their midst. The mortals have no capacity for magic, and Thor, for all his might, may as well be as them. Loki's skill in the magical crafts has always far surpassed his brother's.

He watches them; circles the table, quiet, invisible, listening to their inane chatter. Thor is telling a story of some sort, obviously a great war tale of his. The mortals are eating it up. It sickens him, to see this. To see his brother making merry with these – these infants as if they were equal. As if they meant anything at all.

"On this day, the fight came to Jotunheim." Thor continues the story. Now that he is paying attention, Loki believes he remembers it; it is one Thor loves to tell.

"Okay, which place is that again?" The Captain interrupts. He looks fascinated, engaged. Loki sneers upon his naïve visage. To think this man captivates his brother so. He cannot understand it. Mortals are weak, foolish. They are nothing.

"The home of the Jotuns, the Frost Giants, great monsters and enemies of my people."

Loki hears the words, hears them, recognizes them as truth; and he feels cold, chilled to the bone and full of hate. It is a cacophonous feeling, lacking direction, and spewing in all directions at once: hatred of himself, of Thor, of Asgard, of the Jotuns, of… everything.

"Loki's a Jotun, isn't he?"

His head snaps up. Wide eyed, Loki turns his gaze upon the speaker, much as everyone else at the table has.

"Come again?" The human pilot Rhodes asks, fork half lifted to his face.

"Loki." The speaker is the Iron Man, Tony Stark. He seems… hesitant, yet defiant. "That's what Asgard told SHIELD anyway. 'The stolen son of a conquered people', or something, isn't that how the myth goes? I don't know, I'm behind on my Norse."

That is not, in fact, "how the myth goes". Loki knows the myths are greatly distorted, and with narrowed eyes, he wonders how this mortal man could know so much of the truth. How much had SHIELD been told by Odin? All, it seems. His father appears to no longer hold any loyalty to him, not even to keeping his darker secrets.

"… yes, Loki… he was born a Jotun." Thor answers. His head is lowered, frame tense. Loki smiles. Good. Let him squirm.

"… 'born', and, what?" Tony shrugs, eyebrows high. "Did Odin magic him into an Asgardian or something?"

Frowning, Thor turns his head. "I – I don't know. Loki has always appeared as one of us. He – he is Asgardian."

"But he's not." This is Bruce, the Hulk, speaking. Brow furrowed, confusion writ upon his face. "He's one of your sworn enemies? I don't understand."

"Yeah, me neither." Tony grumbles. He takes a moment to take a bite of dinner, then continues. "You guys never really told us what went down in Arizona, you know. And I'd love to know how a crown prince of Asgard started running with the Chitauri. Somehow I don't think "fell in with the wrong crowd" quite covers it."

"Who the fuck cares?!" Clint Barton expels suddenly, throwing his arm out with such force he knocks over the glass in front of him. The motion and its consequences shocks the table into silence. "… S – sorry. I'm – shit." Clint stands, grabbing for a napkin, but he is impeded by Rhodes, who stands as well.

"Don't worry, I've got it." The man tells him, but Clint merely nods his head forcefully, before turning and storming from the room. The Black Widow is quick to stand and run after him.

The Captain sighs. "Why do you always have to push?"

"Sorry." Tony replies quietly. "But they are legitimate questions. This guy is – was – fuck I don't know… Loki was our enemy. He helped us. Now he's living here. We should probably know more about all… this."

"Be careful how you think of him." Thor replies after a time. "He did not help us. Loki helps himself – and in saving Earth, he helped me. But he cares not for mortals."

"So, he broke the rules and saved our planet for the guy who calls his people monsters?" Tony mutters.

Thor lifts his gaze. Without a word, he stands, and leaves the room. Loki watches him go in stunned silence, undone by the scene. Feeling, thinking nothing. Just – stunned.

…

The Next Day

Rhodey touches down on earth, and releases his grip on Natasha only once he's sure both her feet are on the ground. "Doing okay?"

Once the face plate lifts, he can clearly see her smile. "Fine, Lt. Col. It was a smooth ride. Smoother than flying with Tony, at least."

He lets out a barking laugh at that. "Yeah, you can tell only one of us has a piloting license. I've tried talking him into taking lessons but no can do." Tony's a stubborn one, if he's nothing else, and he hates having to listen to other people.

They start out of the woods together, heading towards the country road ahead, and the house across from it. They don't talk much; Cap always insists that the journey from the landing points to the house should be as quick and quiet as possible. Only once they enter the seemingly abandoned home, open the door to the "bathroom", and ride the elevator down to the Avengers Base, do Natasha and Rhodey really start chatting.

"So, how did you like your first mission as an Avenger?" Natasha turns to Rhodey, smirking slightly. The words make the man's heart race just a little and he can't help but smile.

"It was… kinda dull, I'll be honest." Then, he laughs. "Is SHIELD going easy on me?"

"Going easy on all of us, more like." She replies. "Granted, it seems like the world has quieted down since we showed up on the scene."

That was true, too. Very few people wanted to tangle with the Avengers, especially now that they had proved their might twice over. "Well, I'm not going to ask for anything harder, because knowing my luck, I'd get it." He's sure that life will get harder all too soon, as life tends to do. For now, he'll enjoy the peace.

Natasha nods in understanding as the elevator doors open on the main floor. They both step out, one after the other. "Hey, JARVIS?" Rhodey starts as he begins removing the suit. There's an alcove nearby that acts as a handy storage place. "Where are the guys?"

"In gymnasium level 2, sir."

"Training without us." Natasha tsks, crossing her arms. "Shall we join them?"

Rhodey grins. "Let's. The mission today wasn't that much of a work out, anyway." And so they both hop back in the elevator. The gym is right beneath the main floor, so it doesn't take long to get there. The door chimes, slides open, and reveals a wide open court space, which is currently echoing with a great deal of noise.

BANG, ROAR, BANG. Thor flies past both of them as they step onto the floor, slamming into the far wall. He doesn't stay down for long, of course. With a grin, he leaps to his feet, charging at his opponent. Hulk roars and charges just the same, and the two meet in the middle with a thunderous boom that shakes the whole place.

Rhodey whistles. "Damn. Hope Tony reinforced this place enough." He shakes his head in disbelief, glancing at Natasha out of the corner of his eye. Then, seeing the stiffness in her posture, he turns to her. "Natasha?"

She's frozen. Head to toe, stiff as a board, a look of distant apathy on her face, but it belies a darker mood. There's too much tension in her for anything else. She looks as if she's ready to bolt, or preparing for an attack, but there's nothing going on. "Natasha?" He reaches out to touch her, but hesitates, unsure if it would be welcomed. "You okay?"

There's a pause between his words and her response, a delay. Then, she… twitches. Her mouth lifts in a weak facsimile of a smile. "I'm fine."

Hulk roars; and Natasha jumps. Rhodey turns to face her, concerned beyond belief, hands lifted towards her. "Is there anything I can do? Do you want to leave?"

Again, she hesitates. Then, a trembling, "Yes." They both turn and start for the elevator, Rhodey placing a hand gently upon her back.

"LOOK OUT!"

Distracted by his teammate, Rhodey almost doesn't notice the hammer flying through the air towards them. Just in time, he sees it, and reacts, throwing himself over Natasha and pulling them to the ground. It flies overhead, hitting the wall with a resounding thud, undoubtedly leaving a large dent. Rhodey's hit with the image of the kind of dent that weapon might've left in him or Natasha suddenly and rage floods him.

He leaps to his feet, fuming, and stalks over to the hammer. Picks it up – damn, what a doozy! – and turns to Thor with a deep frown. "Watch where the hell you aim this thing!" He declares, before lifting it up and tossing it towards the man. Thor doesn't catch it, he's too busy gaping to even look at it. The hammer flies past him, and hits another wall.

Why's he staring? Still angry, Rhodey decides to ignore it, returning to Natasha and helping her stand. She's still visibly shaken, and keeps glancing at Hulk out of the corner of her eye. He's got to get her out of here. He stands with her, and doesn't notice how every single other person in the room is staring at him with dull shock. They both enter the elevator, leaving the room behind, but not just before he can hear Tony shout, "Oh for fuck's sake!"

…

"Another mortal who can wield Mjolnir? How interesting."

Your son thinks so as well. But that is a tale for next time, perhaps. Allow me to first finish explaining this story of Loki, and the one called Tony Stark…

…

November 5

"Footage retrieved, sir."

Tony nods, turning to the computer. "Pull 'er up, JARVIS." He's in the garage again, as he has been almost non-stop for the past few days. The others may or may not be under the assumption that he's working on a new project. In a way, they're right.

On the screen, security footage from a SHIELD base pops up. It's the right date and time, he's checked. And there – right on schedule. Loki.

"Hot damn," he whispers, leaning closer to the computer. Wow, he is good. Hacking SHIELD is always fun, but this time, he wasn't sure he'd get what he wanted. This footage was beyond top shelf security, and SHIELD is waaay over the top on protection to boot.

But, here it is. The footage of the night Loki came through the Tesseract portal, and launched havoc.

"If I may ask, what are you looking for sir?"

For a moment, Tony ignores JARVIS, and keeps watching the footage. Keeping a keen eye on his target, watching his every move. The longer he watches, the more his eyes darken, and his face falls. There it is, all right there in front of him.

In these images, Loki looks… deranged. On the edge. He's limping in most of the footage, and appears to not have slept for a week. Tony watches him move through the base with winces and sighs, tense muscles and pain written clearly upon his face. The man is not okay. Yet, hours later, they would meet in Germany, and Tony would see only a smarmy asshole in a shiny hat. How could he not have seen through that? How did he not know?

"Sir?"

He hits pause on the screen, runs his hands over his face, lets a sigh escape him. He'd known what he would see, but somehow seeing it still feels horrible. Perhaps it always will with these things.

"Should I call someone sir?"

"I'm fine, JARVIS." He replies, dropping his arms. "Hide this on my private server. I'm done for now."

He heads into the elevator and takes it to the main floor. It's practically dinner time anyway, he figures; might as well. Not that he feels much like eating. His chest is on fire, like his stomach's throwing a coup, and it's hardly pleasant. Food might just make him throw up right about now.

"Hey, look who's alive!" Clint's in front of the couch, Natasha slumped against him and sleeping on his arm. "Want to join us? We've got Papa John's and we're about to start a movie."

"Thanks, but I think I'm going to head to bed." He waves and turns down the hall, sighing as he does. The others call out their own farewells, but he doesn't really hear them. He stumbles down the hallway towards his bedroom, feeling half asleep already.

Opens the door to his room and yawns, stretching. The door closes, and the room stays dark. Tony blinks. "Hey, JARVIS, what happened to -?"

BAM.

A hand wraps around his throat and lifts, and is followed by vicious brute force that slams him into the nearest wall. Tony's ears ring with the blow, and he cringes in agony.

"JARV -!" Another hand covers his mouth. He grabs it tight, struggling to pry it free, to no avail. Two bright, sneering green eyes meet his in the dark.

"Sir? Sir!"

"Why?" His voice rips through the air like a blade, just as piercing. "What do you gain from this? Does it give you joy to mock my misery?" Loki grimaces, then tosses Tony to the side. He hits the floor and reels, unsure which way is up or down.

"Sir, hold on! I've called for assistance!"

"Don't bother," Loki sneers at the ceiling. "You're voice goes unheeded so long as I desire." Then, he waves his hand through the air, and JARVIS quite literally goes silent. Terror seeps into Tony then, as he struggles to sit up. Loki sets his eyes back on him, and his heart skips.

"You," The man is bearing down on him in a second, and Tony can't back away fast enough. Once again a hand is around his throat, lifting him, and oh God, he can't breathe, he can't breathe – "Mortals, always butting in where they aren't wanted. Do you pity me, is that it? Am I your pet project, as the archer says? Shall you reform me, cure me of my pain, as a balm to your own damned soul?" He lets out a sharp laugh, nails biting into Tony's flesh. "Tell me, human, which is it? Tell me why! Why!"

He can't speak, oh god, he can't breathe he's going to die he's going to –

SKRHCK. The TV cuts on. Loki's head snaps to the side, eyes wide and furious. Tony can't turn, can barely see, but he can still hear the voice. Oh, god, he recognizes it. It's the news broadcast from his return… from Afghanistan.

"… after three months in captivity, weapons developer Tony Stark has been found in the deserts outside…" Fading in and out, Tony closes his eyes. He doesn't have to hear it, he knows it so well. "… badly injured and malnourished, undoubtedly the victim of harsh treatment… possibly torture…"

The word rings in his ears, oh how it rings. Or maybe that's just his ears, ringing. He's in a lot of pain.

Suddenly, his feet are on the ground, and he can breathe again, though the hacking and coughing isn't exactly pleasant. Tony falls to his knees, grabbing at his chest, water stinging his eyes.

"So." Loki's boots are just in front of him. He hasn't moved. "It was pity."

When he's got his voice back, Tony looks up through cloudy eyes at the man. "Not pity." He insists. "Empathy." Another cough bursts from him then. "If you even know what that means."

Loki huffs at the word. "Ah, empathy." Then, his look hardens. "As if you could understand me."

"I understand what it's like to be at someone else's mercy." Struggling to his feet, Tony forces breath in and out of his lungs, trying to keep himself calm, to keep moving. He's not sure what he's doing here, but hell, when is he ever sure of anything? "I know what it is to be pushed and pushed until you are broken and bleeding under someone else's thumb." Now standing, he meets Loki's distant, cold gaze with his own hard glare. "I don't care who or what you are, 'mortal', Asgardian, Jotun – whatever. No one deserves that. No one."

Loki meets his gaze evenly, still and utterly calm, for once. Then, in a flash, he's gone.

Queen Frigga is smiling, but the smile is tense, and lined with pain.

"Forgive me, your majesty." Heimdall starts softly. "I realize it is a hard tale I tell." He watches her wipe at her eyes, mourning for the boy who has become such a tormented man.

"It is fine, Gatekeeper." She tells him. "But perhaps you are right – let us adjourn for the time being. I am… not sure I can listen to much more right now."

Heimdall, nodding, steps away from his post, and extends his arm to her. She gives a quiet, watery laugh.

"What is this?"

"I would escort you, if you desire it. To think what the kingdom would believe, to see their Queen leave my station in tears!" That makes her laugh, and take his arm, and perhaps her spirits are brightened.

They walk for a moment in quiet. "They become close, don't they?" The Queen lifts her head. "Loki and this… Tony Stark. Tell me, is this man a friend to my son?"

Heimdall, his gold eyes bright, looks out upon the Earth on the 23 of November, and he smiles. "Oh yes, my queen." He says. "He is, at that."