A/N: I actually started writing this story before my Snape/OC story Still Waters, but I felt this one wasn't quite ready to be published just yet. However at this point I've written quite a few chapters and I've decided to give it a go, see if anybody out there likes this stuff. Here goes:

The pleasure was short lived.

He was back on that throne for less than a day, and in retrospect Loki could see where he'd gone wrong. He had been too soft. Given into a moment's weakness, indulged childhood memories and hopes long lost.

In short, he'd let the Allfather live. And as mistakes went, it was a big one.

Odin had been trapped in Loki's elaborate illusion for little over 22 hours before he saw through it and roared his way out like only the king of Asgard could. Had Frigga been alive he would have been out of it in less than an hour. As it was, it did still take Odin some time to spot his son's tricks.

But he did eventually. The second it happened Loki felt it. And cursed that soft spot hidden away in his heart that somehow still occasionally felt something for his adoptive family. The soft spot that had made him wrap Odin up in an exhausting (to Loki) illusion in his chambers as opposed to just killing him.

What followed next, Loki grimly acknowledged was his own doing. He knew he'd had it coming, yet its outcome tore away at him. It had been mildly humiliating, yes, to be thrown from the throne and onto the marble floors by – well, basically an army of Einherjar who'd all but laid siege to the hall, and it was certainly a slightly terrifying experience to, yet again, come face to face with his father's rage in all its godly glory. Had he not been respecting his dead Queen's wishes Odin would've killed his son on the spot, Loki was sure of it. Instead Odin merely made sure the mistake he'd made all those years ago took the beating of a lifetime before once again casting him into the dungeons to rot.

Once there, Loki had to concede to the fact that he had himself to blame. He had accepted this possibility, decided it was worth the risk even – to go back and steal the throne of Asgard instead of fleeing to freedom from Svartalfheim – and yet a deep, unsettling feeling came over him as he once again took in the surroundings of his old cell.

The first few days he couldn't figure out what it was. Not disappointment, certainly not surprise … but something else.

It wasn't until the eleventh day he knew. Something was missing. He realized the discomfort he felt in his cell had nothing to do with the cell itself – he'd been there before, after all – no, the problem was that this time it was different. Frigga was dead. She would never visit him again, never brighten his day with her banter and her motherly affection, which he secretly craved but never truly gave into. Odin would determinedly forget his existence, and Thor … Thor was not even in Asgard anymore. Loki had seen to that himself. And though his brother was the last person he wanted to reunite with, Loki knew he still was his best hope of ever leaving this cell again.

Loki realized his feeling was one of abandonment. Of something very definitive, something final. For the first time in his life he acknowledged the possibility of never again being free. That this was, in fact, it.

He was wrong. He just didn't know it yet.

Worlds away, in the realm of Midgard – or Earth, as Nick Fury called it – a curious assembly of people were gathered on the outskirts of what looked undoubtedly like a crime scene.

Fury's gaze surveyed the individuals surrounding him, hoping against hope that somehow they would cooperate peacefully this time (even though they never did) and ideally get to the bottom of this before another intergalactic war broke lose again. Fury rubbed his temples. Headache coming his way. If he didn't get it from whatever next battle he would have to sort out, these people were sure to cause it anyway: Steve Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, who looked about ready to pounce Tony Stark, and to the left of aforementioned billionaire playboy, Russian superspy Natasha Romanoff. Who'd love to pounce both of them, and Fury, by the look of it. Being dragged from undercover work by S.H.I.E.L.D. always put her in a murderous mood, and Stark was not helping matters.

"Why are we here?" he asked, sunglasses elegantly perched on his nose as he gazed towards the scorching desert sun. "Something tells me we're waiting for the rest of our entourage, but since we," he gestured at the three of them, "made it to class on time, maybe teacher can give us a quick briefing?"

He was correct, of course – Fury was waiting for the rest of the Avengers. He hated calling them in, because they were a real pain in the butt, but circumstances demanded their attention. He didn't know much yet, but this had an interstellar stink all over it. And whenever other parts of the universe was involved, Fury had learned the hard way that he might as well call in the troops sooner rather than later.

"Alright, you see what's going on over there?" said Fury, pointing towards the crime scene. White tents concealed whatever there was of any interest, but the hustle and bustle of dozens of men and women in S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms clearly revealed that whatever it was, it was important.

"CSI?" suggested Stark. Romanoff gave a small, impatient smile. Captain Rogers remained oblivious to the joke.

"Last night some drunk locals were stumbling through the desert and walked straight into this mess," said Fury. "Now we don't know what's happened, but we do know the result: We have seven casualties in those tents, all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Or agents in training," he added.

This got Romanoff's attention. "Someone's taking out S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"Trying to," nodded Fury. "But these guys were all top secret, they barely existed in the real world. It's a mystery how anybody could even know they were S.H.I.E.L.D."

"What can we do?" asked Rogers.

"We need to find whoever's behind this, obviously," said Fury. "But let's just say that might require a unique approach."

"Us, you mean," said Stark. He was chewing gum. "Why?"

Fury snorted and paused for effect. "Because these guys weren't just gunned down. This sucker – whoever he, or it, is – means business."

He contemplated preparing them for what they soon would see, but was stopped short by a large van coming in from the highway and pulling up next to them. Agent Barton climbed down from the driver's seat and Dr Bruce Banner exited the passenger seat, squinting up at the sun as he straightened his scruffy shirt. The sight of Dr Banner – who always unnerved Fury for obvious reasons – was however nothing compared to the curious sight of the Norse god climbing out from the back seat, clad in armour, enormous hammer in hand. Following close behind him came the astrophysicist Jane Foster. She could be useful, Fury remembered she'd been involved in the hell that broke lose in London just a few months ago.

"Look who we picked up on the way over here," said Banner lightly, gesturing towards Thor and Foster.

"Now you have us all here, you've got our attention – for the most part," said Stark to Fury. "How about you show us what's up?"

Fury nodded and led the way. They approached the white tents, passing the various ones rigged for the forensics team and reached the largest tent in the middle. Fury paused and glanced back at his strange group of super agents. He shook his head and wished, not for the first time in the last year, that he'd chosen a different line of profession.

Then he drew a deep breath and led the way into the tent. The group followed suit.

The seven dead S.H.I.E.L.D. agents lay as they had been found, forming a star with their bodies, heads gathered at the centre. Fury waved away the forensic examiners and allowed his posse of intergalactic soldiers a closer look. They all stepped forwards to take in the scene, and Fury took a moment to examine it again himself.

His gaze first fell on the two female agents, whose skin colour was so pale it was almost blue. Yes, bodies turned cold when life left them, but not this cold. Frost smoke still surrounded their bodies, and the ground on which they lay was frozen. Even if they'd been kept frozen after their deaths before being brought here, hours spent in the scorching New Mexico desert should have thawed them. But no, they were still as cold as icicles.

The next two agents, male, looked even worse. Their uniforms had suggested they were S.H.I.E.L.D., and a DNA sample had confirmed it, but otherwise Fury wouldn't have believed it. They looked ancient. Like they were both well over a hundred. It was too early for a coroner's report, but Fury would bet his eye patch that they had died from old age. Despite the fact that both these agents, according to their IDs, were in their early 40s.

The last three agents didn't look as bad as the first. They were pale and bloated, but at first glance it didn't seem as though anything too inhuman had befallen them, unlike the first four. That was, until Fury had been told they all had lungs filled with water. Salt water. They'd drowned. Hundreds of miles from the sea, they had somehow drowned in salt water.

"Well, this is one sick son of a bitch." Tony Stark was the first to comment.

"It's a message," said Romanoff. "A warning to S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Undoubtedly," said Fury, "but who's the sender?"

"Anyone we know?" asked agent Barton, glancing at Thor. He shook his head.

"Not this time," he said. "Loki is back in my father's dungeons, I know this for a fact. And this," he gestured towards the bodies, "is not in the style of my brother's talents."

"If that's what you want to call it," said Banner.

"So we're obviously dealing with a very twisted mind," said Captain Rogers, turning to Fury. "Someone who's got it in for S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm guessing you probably have lots of enemies … any ideas?"

Fury shook his head. "But I've long suspected we've only seen the beginning of our troubles with other worlds. Who knows where this bastard's coming from, but somehow I doubt he's from Earth."

"Well," said Stark, tipping his head from side to side, "it could technically be done by a human. I mean, I could do this. Given time and, you know, bothering to."

"So we're looking for the evil version of Tony Stark," said Banner. "Hope he likes to show off as much as you do."

"Can't imagine."

"No," said Thor. Something in his voice stopped the banter completely, and everyone's heads turned towards him. He had stepped into the centre of the human star and was now gazing at something on the ground that Jane Foster had pointed out to him.

"This is not a human's doing," said Thor, crouching between the two frozen agents and letting his hand hover above something on the ground. They all took a step closer. Fury walked up between the frozen women and bent down at Thor's side. Only now did he spot the drawing that had been etched into the ground – sand had blown across it, covering it, but Thor had brushed the sand away to reveal a small symbol that all the heads of the victims pointed towards.

It was simple: Two parallel lines, the right one slightly shorter than the left one, jointed at the top by a third line, making it look kind of like a child's drawing of a house with a crooked roof.

"Thor," said Fury. "You know what this is?"

"Futhark," said Thor. Then, noting Fury's confused look, he added, "Runes."

"That's a letter?" said Romanoff, stepping closer. "What letter?"

"It is Ur," said Thor, standing back up. "Used similarly to your modern letters U, Y, O and V. These runes are ancient. To my knowledge, no one on Midgard use them anymore."

"But Asgardians do?" said Fury.

Thor nodded. "Of course. It is our alphabet."

"I think someone wants to talk to you, big guy," said Stark, clapping Thor on the shoulder. "So yeah, I'm in." He turned to the group. "And I don't know about you, but whatever Conan here says, I'm putting my money on our old friend with the king complex."

"Agreed," said Barton.

"No," said Thor firmly. "This is not Loki. If we assume the rune stands for a name, there are not many suspects to choose from in Asgard. But …" He hesitated, and Foster grabbed him by the arm.

"What is it?" she said.

"Útgarða-Loki," he said.

"English?" said Banner.

"Loki of the Outyards," said Thor. "An old frost giant king in Jotunheim. But he has not been heard from for centuries. He is believed to be dead."

"And this is his calling card?" asked Fury, pointing at the rune on the ground.

"I do not know," said Thor. "But he is a frost giant." At those words, he gestured at the two frozen women in the circle, and Fury got the point.

"What would he want with S.H.I.E.L.D.?" asked Romanoff. "And why now?"

"I don't know," said Thor. "Utgard-Loki was at peace with Asgard for centuries, and he took no part in the conflict between my father and Laufey. Like I said, I do not even know if he is still alive. However, if it is him … " He hesitated. "Frost giants are not to be underestimated."

"You don't say," said Fury with a raised eyebrow. "I can only imagine what sort of hell's gonna break lose if we don't stop this. Whatever message he's sending, it's only the beginning, and this Utgard-Loki character is definitely the first one I want crossed off my list. Whatever he wants – if he's behind all this – I wanna know right away. How can we find him?"

Thor sighed and took a step back from the corpses. He looked around at his team members and seemed hesitant to speak, though Fury could tell he obviously had something in mind.

"Well?" said Captain Rogers.

"I met Utgard-Loki but once," said Thor. "I do not know him well. After our recent troubles with Jotunheim my father would never seek to make contact with him. I would not know where to start."

Fury suspected he knew where this was headed. "But you know someone who do?"

Thor nodded. "There was someone who spent many a day with Utgard-Loki back when we were at peace with Jotunheim," he said. "They were never friends, but … Yes, they knew each other well. He knew Utgard-Loki better than anyone in Asgard."

"Let me guess," sighed Captain Rogers.

Thor nodded. "Utgard-Loki's namesake. My brother."

"Former wannabe-ruler of Earth," said Stark, eyebrow cocked. "Awesome."

A mile or so from the crime scene, by the nearest highway, stood a parked truck. In the front seat sat a woman with binoculars, her gaze fixated on the large white tent in the middle of the desert. With a smile on her face she picked up her mobile phone.

"Well," she said, "we got their attention."

Hope poked its deceitful, disillusioned head out of hiding a few weeks after his imprisonment began. From where he was, Loki had a hard time keeping up with the going ons in Asgard. None of the guards would ever even acknowledge him, let alone bring him news. He was, for the most part, kept in the dark. Imprisoned not only by magic walls, but by solitude. A solitude that kept eating away at him, slowly gnawing its way to irreparable damage.

Still, when Thor came back, everybody knew. Even Loki.

Whispers – no, loud, excited cheers – of his return made it all the way to the dungeons, and Loki prowled the length of his cell trying to pick up any details from passing gossiping guards. They chatted away about their favourite prince and seemed to have momentarily forgotten Loki's presence. He eagerly listened in on every conversation; still the purpose of Thor's return eluded him. There was no talk of war, no grand enemy that needed to be defeated, all that Loki heard was their incessant praise. After a whole day of pointless eavesdropping he slumped into a chair and accepted that this particular bit of uplifting Asgard news held nothing of importance to him.

Or so he believed, until Thor came to see him.

He was surprised, he even admitted it to himself. After the stunt he'd pulled after Svartalfheim he would have expected that Thor wanted to keep as big a distance from him as Odin did, if not bigger. He couldn't imagine what Thor could possibly have to say to him. And it intrigued him to no end.

So when his adoptive brother entered the dungeons he forwent the plan of presenting him with an illusion, instead giving Thor the peace offering of Loki in the flesh. Wearing his traditional black-green-gold leather armour, Loki slowly approached the edge of his cage, his glittering icy eyes catching Thor's apprehensive blue ones.

"Brother, dear," said Loki, throwing his arms out in mock greeting. He gave Thor a wide grin. "It's been too long."

Thor stepped closer – their faces inches apart on separate sides of the magical barrier – and set his face in a hard scowl. For a moment none of them spoke, and Loki searched his brother's face for answers. For a purpose. For, perhaps, the chance of maybe leaving this cell again.

"I truly believed you tried to redeem yourself." It was Thor who finally spoke first, voice laden with disappointment.

Loki took a step back, feigned hurt in his eyes. "I did," he said, silently wondering if it might even be true, "and I kept my end of our agreement, as I recall."

Thor snorted derisively.

"I even saved your Jane," added Loki.

"And what of what you did to father?" said Thor. "Capturing him in an illusion, stealing the throne … Letting me think you died that day," he added.

Loki merely shrugged. It had seemed a good plan at the time.

"This is why," said Thor, almost more to himself it seemed, "I got father's blessing when I chose not to take the throne that day. When I chose Jane, and the realms, over rule. It was you."

Loki smiled apologetically. "You must admit it would have been easier for me to rule Asgard disguised as father if you were not here."

Thor grunted. "I am surprised you didn't attempt to kill him. You have sunk so low it would not have shocked me."

"Yes, that is my biggest regret," said Loki, revelling in his brother's ever escalating righteous anger.

"You disgrace your family," said Thor. "You disgrace mother."

"And yet you come here," snapped Loki, his anger flaring at the mention of their dead mother, "yet you come to me." His face was as close to the barrier as he could get without touching; this time around his cell now gave him a rap on the wrist in the form of an electric shock whenever he made contact. An extra safety precaution, no doubt, and the potential harm it would cause Loki was just the icing on the cake for Odin.

Thor stepped back. He nodded, but he didn't speak. Loki's anger was replaced with curiosity; the nod meant "yes" – yes, Thor had come for a reason, but somehow couldn't bring himself to say what it was. Which suggested to Loki that he needed something. Something which – fingers crossed – would allow Loki to momentarily leave the cell again. And then, hopefully, never return. He'd learnt his lesson now; if he got out of there he would never go back to Asgard again. Screw the throne, all he wanted was freedom.

For now, at least.

"Please, whenever you're ready," said Loki, stepping back from the barrier. "As you are no doubt aware, I have all the time in the world."

Thor shot him an angry glare.

"You know I would not come to you if I had any other choice."

"I know," confirmed Loki eagerly.

Thor hesitated a final moment more before he stepped closer again, conspiratorially. "There has been an attack on our human allies. S.H.I.E.L.D. Something … not of their world."

"But of ours, no doubt," mused Loki. "Tell me, who was the first to suggest it must be my doing? I can imagine the one with the bow and arrow must have been pretty eager to place blame."

"I assured them it could not have been you," said Thor, gesturing to the cell. Loki snorted. Thor continued, "But it points to us. Or rather, to our enemies."

Intrigued, Loki flashed his white teeth and said softly, "I wonder what our dear Allfather thinks of that."

Thor stared at the floor.

"Oh, you haven't told him," beamed Loki. "Very interesting. Does he even know you are down here now, talking to me?"

"Yes," said Thor quickly. "I have no secrets from him."

"Give it time," said Loki, remembering the way Thor had basically committed treason to get them to Svartalfheim. Thor seemed to remember it as well, and for a moment the ghost of a smile was at his lips as he too, undoubtedly reminiscing the countless times they'd been mischievous together in their youth. Then it vanished and his angry, apprehensive scowl returned.

"Seven S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were murdered," said Thor, returning to the matter at hand. From a satchel on his shoulder he pulled out several pieces of paper, holding them up for Loki to inspect.

"Oh, you brought pictures," he smirked. "How quaint."

He studied the dead mortals, gaze flickering from one corpse to the next. No, this work was most decidedly not human. It wasn't a particularly pleasant sight, though the dead S.H.I.E.L.D. agents did bring a nostalgic smile to his face. Just as he spotted the symbol in the middle, Thor spoke.

"The rune Ur was written on the ground within the circle of bodies."

Loki frowned. "Útgarða-Loki," he simply said.

"So he uses this rune, then?" said Thor, gesturing to the photograph.

Loki inclined his head. "He used to. He is dead now, is he not?"

"You know better than I," said Thor, resentment evident in his voice. Loki knew his brother had never tolerated the years he spent visiting Jotunheim during their truce, but the truth was the frost giants did know how to throw a good party. And Utgard-Loki had been civil enough to tolerate on more occasions than Loki dared count. Yes, they'd definitely had their fair share of adventures together, back in the day. Back before Loki had ever known he was one of them. Fate had a sense of irony.

"It's been quite a while," said Loki, "and honestly, nowadays everybody knows more than I do, given my current situation."

"But you know where he made his home," said Thor. "Where he would be likely to be today, if he were still alive. You would recognize it if these murders were his doing."

Loki shrugged. "Possibly."

"Well?" Thor looked impatiently at him.

"Would you like me to draw you a map?" scowled Loki and started prowling his cell again. "I do not owe you any favours, brother. The last one I agreed to nearly cost me my life."

"In exchange for redemption," said Thor, "or so I believed."

"How little you know me after all," snarled Loki.

"I cannot spring you from this cell, you know this," said Thor, obviously finally understanding what the hostility was really all about.

"Then we are done here," said Loki.

Thor hesitated for a moment, then nodded resolutely and left the dungeons. Loki's gaze lingered in his direction long after he'd gone, their conversation making the wheels in his head turn. He had definitely believed Utgard-Loki was dead. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had heard from – or of – him, and Loki himself hadn't seen him for at least a hundred years. It was a puzzle, then, that he should suddenly decide to still be alive and go on a killing spree on Midgard. Utgard-Loki wasn't Laufey, he didn't care about victory or honour, he just wanted to drink and have fun. And to own land, of course, and to be rich. But he didn't, to the best of Loki's knowledge, lust for power. So why would he attack S.H.I.E.L.D.? How could he even know what S.H.I.E.L.D. was?

Still, he had used the rune, it had been his signature. Writing it on the ground in the middle of the dead agents would have been as close to leaving a calling card as Utgard-Loki could have come, and yet … Loki frowned, thinking that there was something about the whole picture that didn't quite add up. Something he couldn't put his finger on.

But as he gazed towards the doors Thor had exited not long ago, he knew he needn't worry. Because his brother was just as baffled as he was, and knowing Thor, his quest for the truth – and justice – would find a way to free Loki from this cell yet.

Alright, so: I do love angst-Loki. I've read lots of great angst stories and I'm always on the lookout for those – and back in my days of writing Harry Potter SS/HG fanfiction (on Ashwinder) I even wrote angst myself. But the thing is I love the opportunistic, sarcastic and seemingly almost unbreakable Loki from the movies. Madness and desperation just below the surface, yes, but so far he's remained intact. I've tried to write a story about that Loki, not the defeated one I so often read about (and love!) in other stories. Hopefully I do him justice.

About Loki constantly referring to Thor as "brother": He does this in the movies. Even in The Dark World, despite everything. So I've decided to let him stick to that habit. Imagine him saying it dripping with scorn and resentment.

And finally, about Utgard-Loki and the frost giants: I've taken some liberties here. In the movies (and probably in the comics) Jotunheim seems incredibly barren and hostile, but the fact is in the old Norse stories the gods frequently ventured there, and even socialized with the giants – despite also hating them and fighting them. So I've based some of my story on that Jotunheim, and on the idea that long before the war with Laufey the Asgardians and Jotunheim had a truce, and during that truce the gods would sometimes go to Jotunheim as they would to Vanaheim or Alfheim. Additionally I've ignored the fact that the frost giants immediately cause harm to Asgardians if they touch them – this simply doesn't fit with the original mythology, and it kind of messes with the plot of my story. So, just so you know: In this story, the frost giants can choose whether or not they cause harm (or in Loki's case, reveal the truth) by touching the Asgardians. Makes sense? Sure, why not.

Well. Long author's note. Will try to make those shorter from now on. Especially if you review. I'll be good if you'll be good.