A/N As with the original, this is going to lead up to Loki/Bruce. Unlike the original, this is not the first draft.

This is going to be canon compliant up to Iron Man 3, AU for Thor 2, pretty much canon for TWS, but completely and blissfully ignores Age of Ultron onwards (because even James Spader can't make me watch that film again, and from me that's saying a lot).

Due to the fact this was all originally written in the gap between Avengers Assemble and Age of Ultron (specifically just after IM3), it goes off some of the fanon from that time: the Avengers Tower thing, and Thor staying on Earth instead of going back to Asgard immediately after Avengers Assemble is over.

Warnings for blood, past torture, language etc

(PS If you do want a copy of the original, hit me up on here with a PM or a review, or on twitter ( PseudoVulture) or Tumblr (url: that-was-fucking-spectacular) and I can send you the PDF or something ^^)


He was on Midgard again. That much was clear from style of the buildings towering around him and the few stars he could make out through the mixture of light pollution and his own badly blurred vision.

Loki forced himself to take a couple of shallow breaths through his nose, winded by the drop to the cold, unyielding ground. He could feel blood trickling down his throat, thick and metallic as it slid down his larynx. If he tried to breathe any deeper, he'd start to choke on it, he knew, but it wasn't like he could spit it out.

They had laughed at him, chained down there. They had jeered at him slowly dying of starvation after over a year's imprisonment. The Aesir, even the ones he'd once thought to be on his side, had watched as he was dragged in shackles from his 'trial' to the dungeons. The Other had been right, he'd never experienced that kind of pain, and half of it was the sight of some of those he'd once considered family looking on impassively as he screamed. After that, the pain of being thrown from the Bifrost and discarded on a Midgardian sidewalk was almost a relief.

He was almost glad Thor hadn't been there. His brother was a reckless fool, but he never would have stood by and watched Loki being tortured, no matter what the punishment, and then they may both have been in this mess.

Then his jailers had left him here of all places, where his descent into madness had sent him twice before, and at great cost to the mortals who lived here, this time a quiet street corner instead of a military base. Now his vision was clearing, he started to realise something. The building he'd dismissed as merely 'Midgardian architecture' was familiar. It was that gods-forsaken tower of Stark's that loomed above him.

They'd delivered him directly into the hands of his enemies. How… convenient.

Loki rolled onto his back in an attempt to sit up and groaned through the stitches in his lips, more blood oozing from the wounds into his throat as his mouth tried to open against the thick wires through his lips. He knew, vaguely, that the Midgardian legends had written of this, but this was no lost wager, this was torture plain and simple. Odin had commanded it to "stop his lies"; to cease his protests for his life.

He wanted to go home. He didn't know where home even was anymore, but he knew he needed to be there. He was an outcast everywhere he'd ever known. He'd been tortured on Asgard, become nothing better than a murderer on Midgard, and he dreaded to even think of what would happen if he ever tried to return to Jotünnheim. He had nowhere left to go. He was completely alone and about to die on a planet where no-one would mourn him for the second time in as many short, painful years. At least this time he was truly alone; he had no allies, but there was no Thanos in his mind either, controlling his thoughts.

Loki suddenly became aware of footsteps, and a long shadow from the street lamps starting to pass over him. He'd been so wrapped in his thoughts he hadn't noticed before. A figure was approaching him, speaking into one of those devices the Midgardians seemed so fond of, and wearing sunglasses despite the darkness around them.

It was Stark.

Loki cowered, but the Man of Iron didn't seem to notice him.

"…All I'm saying is, maybe if he stopped acting like a pirate, I'd stop comparing him to one… Well, you know Fury… Yeah… I still say get him the hat and the rum… No, you were right, the cutlass is a bad idea, I don't have a death wish… Too late, I already bought them," he grinned, reaching into his pocket and taking out a key fob.

Loki tried to shuffle further back into the shadows, but let out an involuntary whimper as something dug into his injured back.

Stark span round, immediately laying eyes on him. "What the… Bruce, I'm gonna need you get your ass down here."

He took a cautious step towards Loki, keeping eye contact over his sunglasses. When Loki didn't try to move again, Stark crouched down next to him.

"What…" he repeated softly. "That you, Reindeer Games?"

Loki couldn't do anything but look up at him, like an animal caught in headlights.

"What the hell happened…?" Stark reached out slowly to touch one of the wounds on his face and flinched away, cursing and staring at a hand burnt by cold, then cradling it to his chest desperately.

Loki closed his eyes tightly. That reaction could only mean one thing; somehow, for some reason, he was in his Jotünn form. If he hadn't been as good as dead before, he was now that the Man of Iron knew he was a monster. Exhaustion and pain finally overcame him, and he let the darkness take him again, not willing to fight any longer just to be mentally present for his own end.