Author's Note: Hey, hey! =) Thanks for giving this story a look!
Apparently I am on a parent-Fury roll at the moment. XD (Still one of my favorite things, okay?)
Rated for: Minor gore, implied/referenced emotional child abuse, implied/referenced torture, implied/referenced physiological torture, some violence. No slash, no smut, no incest, no non-con. Language is all K.
Thank you Tamuril2 for the idea! =) Hopefully this fulfills your requests! =D
MINOR spoilers for Captain Marvel! =)
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Summary: How Fury accidentally, unintentionally, adopted Loki as the semi-son he didn't want. (One-Shot) (No slash, no smut)
For your information, this story is cross-posted on under the pen name of "GalaxyThreads" on Archive of Our Own.
Just a personal note, if you could refrain from using cussing/strong language if you comment (no offense to how you speak! Promise! =) It just makes me uncomfortable) I would greatly appreciate that. ;)
The Blood Of My Enemy Stains My Hands Now
What do most people do when they find a known villain in the middle of the street with a gaping wound in their chest and struggling to breathe properly? Call the cops. Then, if there's time (which there always appears to be), frantically scream before running around and yelling because it somehow solves everything. Fury has read more than enough written reports about it. He's seen it firsthand.
It's stupid, and something that he's come to accept as one of those "well, that won't be me in the future".
But he never expected to find a villain in the middle of the street in Manhattan.
Let alone the gaping wound and plenty of blood.
And beyond that, never him.
Not here.
Not ever.
So yeah. Most people call the cops. Fury rolls his eyes up to the sky in irritation and concludes that it must be Tuesday. When do the worst things happen? Tuesdays. It's expected that Monday will be terrible as the weekend comes to a close, but Tuesdays? No, they're sneaky nerks. Peggy learns that she has Alzheimers? Tuesday. Tony kidnapped by the Ten Rings? Tuesday. Thor banished to Earth? Tuesday.
Tuesday's are his least favorite day of the week, and one he's come to be wary about. Given previous evidence, he'd say he has a justifiable cause.
But—the villain, with the gaping hole in their chest and bleeding out on the streets. Right. Fury shuffles through the crowd with some yelling and pushes through the frantically screaming people and those on their phones to see what idiot they need to drag to the Helicarrier this week.
Fury swears, if it's Doom again…
He comes to a rigid halt so swiftly that he can feel his spine snapping. It's unpleasant at its best, but he hardly notices it. He's a little more focused on the villain. He was given the tip by the FBI, who were unsure how to proceed and now he understands why.
That was under five minutes ago and he'd been in the area and decided to take the call. He's not above the legwork he knows most his higher ups are, and he's admittedly glad that he took it. Thor said—
There is no way that—
But no amount of blinking or waving his fists in anger is going to change the facts. The cold facts.
That is Loki on his hands and knees, one hand pressed against the wound in his chest as he gasps raggedly for breath that isn't coming quickly or effectively. Ratty black hair is a mess across his shoulders and the clothing, the same stupid leathers he invaded in, is probably beyond repair now. From both the bloodstains and the hazardous cuts.
And, well, he'd be a liar (and he is) to admit that the first word that didn't come to his mind was a rather aggressive swear. He doesn't say it, keeping reign on his tongue, but he definitely thinks it.
Loki.
Here.
Now.
Bleeding.
And, yeah, that last one's probably more concerning than anything else, because that is a lot of blood and from what he understands Loki appeared here fifteen minutes ago, which means that he hasn't stopped bleeding since then, but he has moved. That much is evident from the blood trail behind him.
They need to detain him, patch him, and then determine what the heck he's doing here as opposed to Asgard's prison where he's supposed to be.
Fury hesitates for only a second longer before his S.H.I.E.L.D. training kicks in and he moves forward with purpose, flashing his ID at anyone who tries to stop him, and comes to a halt next to the Asgardian. Loki flinches away from him a little, another one of those ragged gasps that sound like strangled screams escaping him.
Fury leans down next to him, keeping a firm hand near his gun should the need arise, and grasps the Asgardian's shoulder. Loki's head tilts towards him, hazy green eyes unfocused and, well, if Fury didn't know better (didn't dare think that this is anything but an act), he'd say frightened.
"Loki." Fury says, his voice even.
Loki stares at him.
The people are still yelling and, by all that is good in this world, it is one of the most distracting things to date.
"Loki." Fury says a little harder; Loki licks his split lip, and then looks like he's gnawing on his gums. "Cut the act. You and I have a preassigned date with a cell block."
Is it just him, or did Loki's eyes widen a little?
Loki clutches at his chest again, and his lips form a bitter smile, "Not...not acting." His voice is hoarse and quiet, and he inhales only to cough several times, hacking up a concerning amount of blood. "Leave me here to die, Director."
He nearly rolls his eyes. Well, one would-be-conqueror has certainly dialed up his drama. And the Attack on New York wasn't without a show of it. "Sure." Fury agrees. "Want me to write down your last words for you?"
Loki grins with that same bitter edge, "I...am an idiot. Tell…Thor...I..."
"I ain't telling your brother anything," Fury says firmly, interrupting the faint voice, "you're a jerk and I won't let you get the last word in. I've heard your heart crushing speeches."
Loki hacks again in response, heaving, and his shoulders shake with a gasped, wet sob of pain.
He's...crying.
Loki is crying.
Fury stares at him. He is well aware how to fake blood from a gaping wound, but getting something like that from the inside is harder. Gasping sobs that are wet with something Fury's pretty sure isn't tears aren't easy. Loki's ears and eyes are leaking it, too, now that Fury's focusing and that's really what convinces him rather than any of the words...or the tears.
Ear blood.
That's what gets him.
Manipulation at its finest, and it's ear blood that gets him.
He's going to get them all killed.
(The anxiety twisting in his stomach is making it hard to breathe, but he can't well dissolve into a panic attack at the fact that Loki is right there in front of hundreds of people. He's not going to join the screaming mob).
Fury sighs under his breath, curses Odin for the umpteenth time for raising such a snooty brat, and then grabs Loki's arm, swinging it around his shoulder. He doesn't bother to ease pain, or stop blood flow, and he clearly succeeds in that area when Loki cries out loudly and slumps.
A quick glance towards his tight face assures Fury that he's not unconscious. Which is a pity, because he'd be easier to manage that way.
He drags Loki towards the S.H.I.E.L.D. issued SUV he was using, despite the public's gawking mouths, waving his ID when necessary. He manages to escape into the less condensed area and dumps Loki in the passenger seat before he opens the back doors where the medical supplies are kept among other things. After some debate on what to use, he gathers the chosen supplies, texts Hill for backup, and moves to the front of the car again.
Loki hasn't moved.
Still slumped, still weightless, still haggard.
It's a...little bit surprising, if Fury's going to be honest. He didn't really expect the Asgardian to run, but for him to have not moved at all is weird. Even the best actors can only strain their bodies so much and Fury didn't exactly leave Loki in a comfortable position.
That stupid ear blood.
Fury sighs under his breath and carefully jabs at Loki with the end of his handgun. He's not about to poke him with a bare hand, and he doesn't exactly have a pen or pencil on hand. Besides, if Loki takes this moment to leap out and stab him, at least he'll be able to fire a bullet through his brains first.
Asgardians are less resistant to bullets up close. They've learned that the hard way over the last year with Thor.
Loki jerks a little, and his green eyes open hazily as a low cough rattles through his throat. His hands are still pressed against the wound that Fury's finding less and less pretend every minute. "I'm going to wrap and clean that." Fury warns, "And you're not going to turn me to ash or anything, right?"
Loki blinks at him as if he didn't understand.
Fury takes that as a good enough indication.
He leans forward in the car and wishes for more lighting (curse stupid sundown and the S.H.I.E.L.D. not putting in enough light sources in the daft car) as he sighs with irritation. He pulls the villain's vest away from his chest and attempts to tug the layers of ripped clothing to the side, then realizes it's pretty hopeless and his timetable is limited, so he slips the knife from his boot and begins to hack at the fabric instead.
Loki flinches as the blade is brought into view, and his chest seizes as Fury cuts at the fabric. He doesn't actively try to cut any skin, but he probably nicked the Asgardian a few more times than helpful. Not that it matters, he's not trying to be gentle.
But Loki has already lost more blood than is already healthy. He's white as a sheet and his ratty hair is matted with sweat. Blood loss, Fury recognizes the signs from previous agents well enough. He was trained in medical during rigorous active duty which has come in handy more than once.
He manages to get the clothing away from the wound and his eye widens in surprise as the injury is revealed to him. Flesh around a long, ragged gorge (a stab, not clean) is blackened and the veins around it are turning a purplish-blue. Fury can see evidence of previous scars there, white and not as faint as he's expecting for someone over a millennia old. There's little puncture marks too, near the chest, and they look like snake bites.
Poison?
Fury has no remedies for Asgardian snakes.
Loki heaves again and Fury realizes that he can count ribs beneath the blood.
His jaw tightens.
Not good.
Fury grabs one of the many rags in the handful of supplies and shoves it against Loki's chest, electing a jolt and a hiss from the Asgardian. Loki's hand comes to wrap around his wrist, and the grip is tight enough that Fury is suddenly aware that, should he chose, Loki can break the bone with ease. His stomach twists uncomfortably, but he lifts his gaze to Loki's, staring him down.
Loki breaks his wrist and Fury will have no problems letting him bleed out here.
The only reason he isn't is more of an obligation to the stupid, thin, peace treaty they have with Asgard that was conditional upon Loki's return. If Loki dies here, who knows what the heck with happen to that. Carol said that he could only ping her for real emergencies. Would Odin taking up the mantle of an army and slaughtering them count under that? (She's one woman, she cant stop an entire army. Especially not Asgard's army).
But still.
He shouldn't have let go of his gun.
Loki's green eyes narrow, and he's still gasping thin breaths. "I...need...stop." He pants.
Fury stares at him, "I can't exactly let you bleed out."
Loki's lips spread into a thin smile, "How...quaint...nice...didn't expect you to care for me so."
"I don't," Fury assures, and Loki's grip loosens a little, likely from exhaustion and adrenaline that he can't keep running on with all the pints of blood he's lost. Fury considers rubbing the facts of the treaty in his hollow face, but he's not nasty in that way. Not on purpose.
Fury presses harder against the wound and Loki's grip slips a little before tightening and Fury grabs his wrist with his other hand, "You keep touching me and I'll handcuff you to the dashboard." Fury promises, his voice holds the truth in his words.
Loki slowly releases his arm.
Fury nods with satisfaction and begins to work on the injury. The wound is leaking a puss and Fury drains and cleans what he can, face set with a grim determination and a hollow realization that Loki probably wouldn't have made it more than ten minutes if he hadn't arrived when he did.
The puncture marks do turn out to be snake bites from what Fury can make out. There's some on Loki's hands, too, and Fury cleans what he can and bandages what he can't. Leaving it open to infection won't solve anything, and didn't just spend the last seven minutes wrapping the murder-happy Asgardian up so he could die from later sickness.
Loki slips into a catatonic state and doesn't rise from it until Fury snaps his fingers in front of the Asgardian's face. He jolts a little and his face twitches with something that looks close to a grimace. Fury leans against the side of the car a little, and stares at him.
He has seen far too much of the Asgardian's blood for comfort today—and he should get a team to clean up the mess that Loki made in that street. Great. Alright. He'll get to that in a moment—and he's a little concerned where all the wounds came from.
He wets his lips and folds his arms across his chest, shifting his weight. Loki stares at him lifelessly. "Something after you?" Fury questions, "Should we expect it to pop up in Downtown sometime soon?"
Loki's lips curve into a mirthless smile, and he laughs, rubbing at the stab wound. "Believe me, Director, the things that are after me would horrify you."
Fury blinks. "That is not reassuring."
"It wasn't meant to be."
Of course not. Brat.
"I'd figured that part out," Fury assures and narrows his eye a little, flicking his gaze across Loki's injuries again. "What did that to you in the first place?"
Loki sighs and tilts his head back, but looks too exhausted to be awake, let alone sitting and holding a conversation. He's quiet for a long few seconds, his fingers flexing in and out. "If I tell you, then you'll no longer have a reason to keep me alive." Loki points out.
"Mostly." Fury agrees, Loki's head tilts towards him, curious. "It may have slipped your attention that we can't kill you if we want to keep the peace treaty alive with Asgard."
Loki's shoulders slump a little and he sighs, "Of course." Something uncomfortable churns in his stomach at the implications of that statement.
Fury shifts a little, "Nonetheless. Explain."
Loki's lips purse, and a faint smile spreads on his lips. With how dead his eyes look, it doesn't match his face very well. "I was sentenced to spend the rest of my existence in prison, as I'm sure you're aware. How much do you know about the mental effects of solitary confinement?"
The knot grows tighter in his stomach.
He bites at his lower lip for a second, "Enough."
"Mmm. Thor came to visit me," Loki rubs at one of the snake bites, his expression slipping into a grimace. "And, well, he attempted to smuggle me out the next day. We didn't make it far. Odin commissioned Thor banned from Asgard for the next two years and I to the snake pits beneath the palace. The venom isn't deadly, it wasn't meant to be a death sentence. I would have preferred that. My mother slipped me out, but the worst damage had already been done. She couldn't help me."
Fury stares at him.
Odin...Loki's father put him in solitary confinement, and then when Thor tried to assist, left him in a snake pit? What the flipping—!?
"There. Thirst for knowledge satisfied? You can sentence me to execution now. Send me back if it's your greatest desire." Loki says and twists the edge of his vest.
Fury stares at him for a long second, and then his jaw slowly clicks. This is wrong. Loki shouldn't be this submissive to his death. He almost seems like he's...but the thought is stupid, so Fury isn't going to give it light. Fury can't believe that Odin would—
There is no way that Fury is sending him back. None on this planet, none on any other. If capital punishment must be met, it should be clean. Fury has never been big on torture as recompense for a crime.
Loki shifts uncomfortably.
Fury shakes his head slowly, "No. You're not going back to Asgard," he decides firmly, "you're stuck with us now." Loki's lip curls a little and he opens his mouth to say something else, but Fury slams a hand over his mouth. "Shut up. If you say one more word in the next minute, I will shoot you. Stop scowling, S.H.I.E.L.D. can always use the assets. You work for us and we'll give you a roof over your head and keep you from Asgard, and whatever else it is that's hunting you."
Loki looks doubtful.
Fury snorts, "You honestly think that I'm going to send you back to Asgard? You had over twenty snakebites, and, that's excluding the stab wound. I'm not merciless, you idiot. Think. This is your ultimatum."
Loki is quiet, and his fingers clench in and out several times before he sighs. "Fine."
Hill arrives two minutes later with a handful of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and takes his decision better than he would have thought. Fury is more grateful that he cares to admit that she trusts him enough for this.
000o000
He doesn't regret his decision. Not really. Loki is thrown into medical and draining the poison takes more than a few days, but he doesn't kill anyone, so Fury considers it a plus. Hill gives him strange looks twice, but beyond that she doesn't question his decision when he puts her on guard duty. Loki doesn't talk much to anyone, and Fury's alright with that.
He's seen his silvertongue before, and has no desire to see it rear its ugly head again.
Loki gets released from medical and Fury is given the assessment.
He learns about all the scars across his upper back and torso.
"Likely victim of recent torture before arrival here" the medic had written in what Fury can tell was as slow cursive. Torture. Torture? What the heck? Where would he...they'd marked this as before the Attack of New York and the only way that that...no.
Fury taps into Loki's current S.H.I.E.L.D. file and stares at the general assessment. Hair: Black, height: 6"2, race: Asgardian, eyes: blue.
Loki's eyes are green.
Well wonderful.
000o000
He doesn't breathe a word of his knowledge to the Asgardian, not yet, and calls him into his office. Loki looks a little less dead than he did when Fury saw him last and his hair has been cut and combed. It dissembles his face. Fury firmly lays down a few rules (no killing, no magic unless necessary, report back nightly) and hands him his first assignment.
Between yet another villain attack and Tony breaking into S.H.I.E.L.D. again, Fury nearly forgets all about it. It wasn't anything hard, just gaining information on a HYDRA base in Moscow, but when Loki drops nearly a pound of paper on his desk, Fury can suddenly recall all the details.
He looks up, "What the heck is this?" He demands.
Loki stares at him evenly. Despite the fact that his leathers were destroyed and Fury banned him from using magic save truly dire circumstances, he still manages to seem well dressed. Fury's not even certain where the long suit coat came from. He doesn't wear ties from what Fury's seen unless the circumstance permits it.
But the paper. He wanted a rough location of where the base was, and unless Loki has created a large map, Fury doesn't see the point to this. "Loki." Fury says pointedly.
Loki gestures towards it, "It is the purpose of the base you requested."
"Purpose?"
"Weapons dealings, experiments, who is listed there, what they plan to do in the future and so forth." Loki's tone gives of the aura of bored, but Fury can see the tight lines in his shoulders. He's nervous. Like Fury will tell him to start over, or yell at him.
Fury flips through the first pages. It's almost painfully detailed. "Yes." Fury agrees, "Well then, good work. I'll call you for your next assignment." He says.
If Fury hadn't been looking for it he would have missed the slight widening of Loki's eyes and the relief slip into his stance.
Good grief, Fury has no plans to kick him to the curb anytime soon.
Peace treaty, remember?
Loki exits the office wordlessly. Fury realizes that he probably should have told Loki to eat something, too. Brat could stand to gain a pound or twenty.
000o000
"So, you're keeping him?" Coulson questions and Fury nearly jumps in surprise at the voice, turning to look back at the agent currently seated in a chair in his office, the folder that he's compiled on Loki in hand.
Fury gains what composure he can and stares at him, "Where did you get that?"
Coulson stares at him, brow raised, "Hill. She gave it to me this morning."
Curses.
"Why?"
Coulson shakes his head a little, "I think she was hoping I'd knock some sense into you, Sir."
Fury stares at him evenly, "And do you think that I'm wrong?"
Coulson flips through a few more pages and then gives a slow shake of his head. "Sir, I think that your stretching it a bit, but I'll take your judgement on it."
"Good." Fury says and takes the folder from Coulson's hands, closing it. "He's not going back to Asgard."
"Never said he should, Sir." Coulson reassures. He gives a tight smile. "He's our's now, poor soul."
Poor soul indeed.
000o000
The next ten missions that Fury sends Loki out on are all wild successes. They've all been solo, and Fury's not certain when he'll be ready to try and get Loki to work with someone else. It's been a little over four months since he found Loki, but he hasn't really relaxed much.
And, to be frank, Fury isn't sure he can blame him. Not really.
Every time he submits his report, it still with that tenseness like Fury's going to tear his head off for how he did his work. He's not. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that Helicarrier haven't breathed a word of Loki's existence to the public or outside the base and Fury's relieved. He hasn't mentioned it to his higher-ups and plans to keep it that way.
The more they can make it seem like Loki vanished off the face of the Earth the better.
Less things to shove off his tail.
"You know that I'm not going to yell at you unless you don't fill out the paperwork, right?" Fury questions as he steps into the office. Loki's spine goes rigid and he looks back at him with some surprise written on his forehead.
"I…" Loki trails for a second and the pen he was frantically scribbling out with stills.
Fury takes a sip of the coffee, "You broke into my office."
Loki's fists clench and his face stretches with panic, "Yes, I planned to just drop this by, and—"
Fury waves a hand, "Widow and Hawkeye are frequent with it. Don't sweat. Still. You do good work. Your paperwork is better than Coulson's."
Loki's eyebrows meet with confusion. "I...do good work?" He repeats, his voice quiet. He sounds as if the phrase is once he's heard very rarely.
Fury stares at him. "Yeah." He says firmly.
Loki goes silent, as if processing that.
Fury's rousing desire to punch Odin and any other Asgardian (save Thor) in the face kicks up a notch.
000o000
He's not sure how Loki learned where his apartment is, given that it's not on the S.H.I.E.L.D. database, but when he opens the door on his two day leave to Loki standing there in the rain and looking like he's close to throwing up, he only sighs a little. He scoots to the side, inviting him in, and Loki slips in wordlessly.
"What are you doing here?" Fury demands as Loki wrings water out of his hair.
Loki looks back at him, "Idle time. Idle mind. Kills." Loki taps his head and gives a smile that could be confused when someone trying to strangle him.
Fury lifts an eyebrow a little, frustration building in his fists.
"Quiet." Loki finally submits. "I can't...think...when it's quiet."
How much do you know about the mental effects of solitary confinement?
Oh.
Fury directs him towards the couch. "I'm not much of a party animal." He warns. Loki shrugs and moves to the indicated area. Fury sighs and rubs his forehead, wondering, not for the first time since this whole mess began, what the heck he's gotten himself into. "Food?" Fury questions.
Loki looks back at him, "If it wouldn't be a bother."
"You need to be on a feeding tube," Fury says thinly, "it's not a problem."
Unlike other food in the cafeteria that Fury has seen Loki dig through, likely looking for poison or lactose (an allergy that he'd admitted through gritted teeth), Loki simply digs into whatever food that Fury puts in front of him.
It both strings and numbs him to realize that Loki trusts him enough not to sneak something into the food. Loki stays the rest of the night on the couch, his face twitching with discomfort, but the trust that he presents Fury with is humbling.
And Loki is still raggedly thin.
Fury promptly starts dumping food onto Loki whenever he can afterwards. Granola bars, bags of nuts, dried fruit, raisins, Tony's bags of blueberries—it doesn't matter. Loki looks irritated beyond belief, but accepts the food without too many complaints.
Hill catches onto what he's doing, and keeps a supply of food on her person at all times too.
Loki has at least seven times a normal human's metabolism, maybe more with his sorcery, and Fury refuses to see him wither away because of it.
Besides, Loki trusts him enough not to kill that, and Fury's going to utilize that.
For the peace treaty.
000o000
Not every mission is bound to be a success and Loki nearly comes home in a body bag a month later. It was the third team mission since Loki got here, and Fury corners the team assigned to him and demands to know what the heck happened.
Through stuttering and explanations that don't make much sense, Fury manages to piece together that, as new replacements to the Helicarrier that Fury wasn't completely aware of (Coulson is usually in charge of the transfers, and he was in Alaska dealing with a polar bear crisis), they'd point blank lied to Loki about the goals of their mission out of distrust.
HYDRA took full advantage of that.
Fury discharges them immediately, and tries to rationalize why he did it beyond a sudden possessive urge to protect Loki.
Loki isn't family, or his friend.
He's his agent.
That's it.
Nothing more.
Nothing else.
Fury really wishes he could repeat that lie enough that he'd believe it.
000o000
Fury's really not sure how it happened. He knows that he was driving to meet Coulson up for a pickup after his plane crashed, but he never made it there. There's the distant sound of an explosion and then nothing.
The first thing that he really realizes is that it smells disturbingly of antiseptic and his hands are bound behind his back with two pairs of handcuffs. They likely know who he is, then, and this wasn't accidental or a coincidence. He's almost flattered at the precautions that they took, but he's more annoyed than anything else.
He sits up a little, and tries to open his eyes, and then realizes that he's blindfolded.
Curses.
He sighs under his breath and flexes his hands, debating whether or not to call out. The sooner they can get this over with the better, he hates dealing with interrogations. They make a mess.
"Ah! Nicholas!" Strucker. That's Strucker.
Great.
He loves spending time with HYDRA.
"It's so good to see you again," Strucker croons, "S.H.I.E.L.D. must be frantic."
"What do you want?" Fury barks. He's not going to play his game and trade witty banter back and forth with him. Loki would, and a majority of the other Avengers, but Fury believes in getting to the point.
He can't see it, but he can imagine Strucker's smile, "You were in my way."
"Isn't S.H.I.E.L.D. usually?"
"...Well, yes, but I decided to remove the equation as I accomplish my task, not before or after."
"Congratulations. You used the gray matter in your head." The backhand isn't unexpected, but it still stings.
"Shut up." Strucker commands harshly. "When we're through, we might let you go. If you prove to be to much of an inconvenience...well, you know how trigger happy we are."
The cool barrel of a gun rests against the back of his head and Fury freezes the lock-picking he was doing with the handcuffs, acutely aware that one wrong move will leave his head splattered across the floor. And he'd rather avoid that, thanks.
Fury waits in the silence hearing muffled German conversations every now and then, but the main base of operations he doesn't appear to be located in. He is aware that a gun is trained on him at all times, and is even more careful to keep his slow picking quiet and out of sight. The blindfold makes it a little harder to accomplish the latter, but he manages.
Not his first rodeo.
He's at the beginning of hour four when he hears the sound of someone crying out and several guns fire. He flinches, attempting to duck where he can, but there's a pinging sound before several more of the men yell and a few stray hefty German curses are thrown in the attacker's direction. Perhaps his rescue?
He knows that Tony is picky and paranoid about some things (most things) and keeps tabs on him with Jarvis, so it's not unlikely that the Avengers were alerted to his disappearance. But none of them are very good at keeping quiet when they attack, or they would have spoken to him before now.
Someone else, then.
The bullets stop and the last body thumps. Fury has a second to finally remove the second pair of handcuffs before the blindfold is tugged off his head. His vision is blurry and painful at the sudden light, and he lifts his now free hand to shade his eye.
As his vision clears, he manages to figure out who's standing in front of him. The word falls out more in recognition and surprise than a real question: "Loki?"
The Asgardian stares at him searchingly, as if looking for injuries, "Yes. Are you well?"
Fury stares at him, "How did you get in here?"
"I walked."
"No. You were in Idaho, where did you learn—?"
"Thor isn't very good at keeping his mouth shut."
The Avengers are here, then, if Thor and Loki spoke, which means that Fury hasn't been paranoid and Jarvis really is stalking him. Fury's lips part a little with the realization and he stares at Loki for a long second. "You're talking to him again?"
Loki's eyes roll up to the ceiling in irritation and he grabs Fury's wrist pulling him back towards the door, "Yes. I've already received the downpour from the Avengers, I don't need it from you, too."
The Avengers know now?
That's going to be paperwork.
"You talked to them?" Fury can't keep the disbelief out of his voice. "Where are they?"
"Outside." Loki answers thinly, still pulling him forward. "The head scientist here had some sort of dampener, none of them could get in, so Thor called me."
"He has your number." Fury avers, struggling to wrap his head around this. Last he heard from Loki, Thor and him didn't even know they were on the same planet, let alone talking.
"Oh, for the love of the Norns," Loki mutters under his breath. The halls are mostly empty, and Fury can see battle being engaged in on the outside of the building. Fury doesn't prod him further and they're nearly to the exit when it happens.
A sharp pain spreads through his upper back and he cries out as the distant sound of gunshots ring through his ears. His back is warm with blood. Shot. He was shot.
"Fury!" Loki's voice is panicked, but distant, and he hears the distinct flurry of his sorcery rippling through the air. Everything else becomes a haze of distant voices after that. The Avengers, Loki's, paramedics, he assumes, other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and the distinct yell from Loki of: "Let me come with him—he's my father!" before he slips away.
000o000
He comes to with an aching back, a sore throat unequal to any other, and the sound of quiet voices talking around him. His mind refuses to really process any of the words their speaking beyond frazzled bits of mumbles, but he recognizes the voices enough that he doesn't panic.
He knows them.
Safe space.
His mind slips back under.
000o000
The next time is much clearer and there's considerably less pain involved. He blinks open his eye, groans under his breath, and curses the stupid Flurken (Goose is still somewhere in his apartment and he hopes that someone bothered to feed the cursed thing) for the umpteenth time. The light hurts, but it's not staggering.
"Fury." Natasha's voice is calm, but it's laced with relief. He flicks his blurry vision around the room and realizes that it's stuffed with people. The Avengers are in various areas, in chairs or on the ground (save Bruce who is passed out on one of the chairs and slumped against Clint), Coulson is standing to the side with a grim expression, and Loki is sitting next to Thor.
His gaze lingers on the two siblings (no murder attempts, no one trying to bite of the head of the other, all their doing is sitting next to each other—and goodness gracious Maria was probably took him seriously when he told her to get Loki a therapist—so closely that their feet are touching at the edges).
Fury flicks his gaze towards Natasha, beside his hospital bed. She gives him a tight smile, "You've been out a while, Nick."
Fury sighs and lifts up an exhausted hand to rub at his face as the remaining Avengers shift. "Tell me you haven't been here the whole time."
"Not the whole time," Tony assures, "but most of it."
"You watched me well I was sleeping?"
"Unconscious." Coulson corrects.
Fury sighs. "Get a hobby."
Clint huffs, "No thanks. Unlike you, in my spare time, I don't collect super villains."
Fury stills a little, and blinks his eye open again, changing a quick glance towards Loki. The dark-haired Asgardian's eyes have slipped to the floor and he's hunched in on himself slightly. Admittedly, Fury's just grateful he's not handcuffed to anything or in prison. It would take away the last eight months of trust they've built and Fury might have to suspend which ever Avenger suggested it.
Loki's not a villain.
He's...Fury's not quite sure. He's not a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, not Asgardian, not evil, he just...is.
Fury's come to accept that.
And, judging by faint memories in the back of his head, Loki has come to accept that, too.
"Alright, shows over. I'm not dead. Leave me in peace, I'm not staying here any longer." Fury says and shoos them off. The Avengers hesitate.
"Sir, are you really sure—?"
"Coulson, take your team and get out of here." Fury says firmly before the man can finish. Coulson lingers for a moment longer before sighing and waving the group towards the door. As Loki rises to leave, Fury lifts a tired hand towards him. "You. Stay here. We need to talk."
Loki's face loses some color and Thor gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before the Avengers exit the room, grumbling under their breath about "stubborn, one-eyed pirates". When the door is closed, Loki shifts forward a little.
"What have I done wrong?"
"Nothing," Fury assures, and waves him forward a little further as he shoves himself into a proper sitting position, the wounds in his back are painful, but it's not extreme. "I know that you used your mumbo-jumbo on my back."
Loki flinches a little. As he speaks, his voice picks up speed as if he's trying to get the whole explanation out as fast as possible: "Yes. I'm sorry. I—I know that it's not proper protocol and I broke your rule, but I thought that it warranted it; there were four bullet holes and the doctors didn't think you were to make it through the night, so I thought that if I—"
"Thank you." Fury interrupts.
Loki's jaw hangs a little and he stares at him, "What?"
"Thank you." Fury repeats.
Loki's eyebrows look in danger of disappearing into his hairline. "I…?"
Curse you, Odin, and all you other Asgardian idiots.
"You saved my life. We're even now, I think." Fury says and Loki's eyes are still staring at him as if he's some sort of complicated puzzle. Fury sighs and grits his jaw a little, "I heard what you said at the base to the paramedics."
A little color rises in Loki's face and his fists clench. Embarrassment. "It was out of line. I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing," Fury commands, "you didn't do anything wrong."
"I thought that I—"
"Listen, I know from previous conversations with your brother that your parents are crap. Your mother sounds as if she tried, and I can respect that, but I don't give a flipping pig's foot about your dad. He's a megalomaniacal egoistic."
Loki's jaw freely falls.
"I also know that you're what? Nineteen, twenty? Thor's twenty-three, and I know there's a gap between you two." Fury explains further.
Loki's fingernails are drawing blood from how hard he's pushing. "Do you have a point?" He asks, sounding suddenly desperate.
Fury leans forward a little and grips Loki's shoulder, and waits until Loki meets his eyes before he says: "I would be more than happy to fill the role of a father-figure for you, alright? I'll set you straight, get your head knocked back together before you go and conquer Idaho, because we both know it's a conspiracy theory."
Loki laughs freely, and the sound makes Fury smirk a little.
"Yes. I think I'd like that." Loki admits quietly. He meets Fury's gaze again, chewing on his lower lip. "I should tell you that Thor invited me to return to Asgard with him. After my escape, the All-Father lifted his ban and our mother wants to see us."
Fury's stomach coils a little. "Are you sure you'll return?"
Loki waves a hand, "I have half of Asgard's court under my thumb. If Odin tries anything, I know what strings to pull."
"Didn't help you much last time," Fury points out.
Loki shrugs, "I didn't have a trial, and I was gagged until my sentencing was finished."
...What?
Fury stares at him for a long second. "How mad would you be if I went after your home planet with a chainsaw?"
Loki only laughs.
000o000
Fury bullies his way out of medical in the next few hours, returns to his office to feed stupid Goose, picks up the cup of coffee left for him by Natasha and gets back to work. Sure, he was shot, but it isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to him before.
He's a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. S.H.I.E.L.D. director.
He has other things to do.
Loki pops in and out the next few years, dropping by for several days at a time and explaining in rapid tones about how he and Odin are on a semi-good status now and he wasn't immediately killed when he stepped foot in the castle.
Fury's there for when Thor drags Loki to Muspelheim and the hours he spends sick afterwards.
He's there when the Chitauri attack Asgard and Odin driving them to the edge of the Universe again.
He's there for when Loki arrives in tears with the news of his mother's death by the hands of a Dark Elf.
He's there for when Loki drags his older brother into his apartment bleeding from multiple wounds that "the idiot thought were necessary to wander around with for hours".
There for Loki's success and his failures.
And, when news of Hela's escape from Helheim arises, Fury is the first beyond the royal family to know as Loki and Thor arrive on his doorstep some five years from when Fury found Loki on the streets.
"She's dangerous and our father says she's to bring Ragnarok: the end of everything." Thor explains quickly.
"We're telling you incase it…" Loki trails and clears his throat a little, "we do not make it."
Fury stares them both down, eye hard, "You show up here again or so help me I will drag you both back from Valhalla and strap you down to listen to Steve talk about patriotism. Or Coulson talk about Steve."
Thor grimaces.
Fury softens his expression a little, "Don't do anything stupid, and don't get yourselves killed."
000o000
Hela is killed, Mjolnir destroyed, but Asgard remains standing.
Thanos arrives a few days later, and, after the Soul Stone debacle, Fury storms up to where the Avengers are slumped in the Quinjet, his fists clenched tightly by his sides. He can make out Loki's dark head of hair beside Thor, the two of them looking like they got hit by meteors at least thrice. Unlike the other Avengers inside the plane, the two of them are slumped outside of it.
They aren't talking, but their shoulders are touching and they have a glazed look to their faces.
But his stupid kids are alive and Fury is more than happy with that.
"What the heck were you thinking!?" Fury yells and storms up to them both. The siblings jump into attention, Loki's body bracing for a run, but stopping as Thor's hand wraps around his forearm. A quell of guilt settles in his stomach, but he does his best to push it to the side.
Fury rests his hands on his waist. "I told you not to do anything stupid, and you offer yourselves up to spare Asgard. That's what I meant when I said not to do that."
"What else did you want us to do?" Thor questions, looking frazzled and frustrated.
Fury shakes his head, "I don't know—not that. You almost died."
"I did die," Loki reminds thinly. Something like a physical punch to the gut twists in his abdomen at the reminder.
Fury waves his shaking hand, "Exactly my point! You're both far too important to—"
A distinct smell of burning metal and hair whiffs through the air and Fury cuts himself off as he turns. He catches the last lights of the Bifrost before it pulls away and an aged, armored man stands in its place. Fury would peg him to be in his late sixties at his best.
He's also missing an eye and moving towards them with at a pace that indicates a man on a mission.
Loki and Thor snap to attention behind him, scrambling to their feet, their hands slapping against their chests and bowing their heads in respect. This must be Asgard's king, then, which also means that it's Thor and Loki's father.
Odin.
Fury's lips curl with distaste.
"My king," Loki fumbles out.
"Father," Thor says quietly.
Odin appears to ignore his second eldest and gabs a finger out towards Loki. "How dare you drag my son off to a suicide mission!"
Loki looks up at him with to-wide eyes. He doesn't look so much as accepting of the blame. It infuriates him. "I—"
"You could have gotten him killed and you've already gotten my wife and daughter murdered! Is it your ambition to see my family torn apart!?" Odin demands sharply, coming to a halt about a foot from Loki. Odin is several inches shorter than Loki, but Fury's kid seems to shrink in towards himself.
"You are a disgrace to all of Asgard! You are a coward for running off from your sentence, and I can no longer remain ignorant of it. You will return to Asgard with me at once to finish serving your time or—"
"Father, I doubt that's necessary—" Thor starts, but Odin growls him to silence.
Loki's shoulders slump. "If that is what you deem best, my king."
Fury has to catch his jaw before it freely drops.
"Ha! I had hardly anticipated that I would have to raise a coward for a child! Laufey was completely right to leave you there to die, you failure!" Loki rears back like he's been struck, and Fury has a moment to see the grim satisfaction slide across the old coot's face before Fury's fist is slamming into his face.
Both Loki and Thor jerk back from him, eyes dawned on his back with horror, but Fury doesn't care. Consequences be what they are. He doesn't care. "Enough." Fury says lowly, "Shut up."
Odin rubs at his jaw and his eye narrows his eye, turning his piercing stare towards him. It's a stare that Fury has no doubt would make lesser men tremble, but Fury has stared death in the face more than once and isn't afraid of an old man parading to be important.
No, he's staring down the face of a sadist.
Both Thor and Loki make it seem like this is a common occurrence.
And Fury is done with this crap.
"How dare you—!" Odin starts, wiping blood from his nose.
"Trust me, it was the least I could do," Fury says lowly, "now get off. Loki's staying here."
"Loki belongs to Asgard—!"
"And I've elected to ignore that. Loki belongs here with us, and you'll have me to face off before he goes back. Now, with all to respect, see yourself out of here. And if I see you near my son, I'll stick your lights out with the bones of your left foot and wring you up with your small intestine."
Odin stares him down.
Fury refuses to relent.
The old king slowly backs up a step, and Fury feels a vindictive pleasure in his stomach grow. The anger is still there, and Fury keeps a firm stance in front of Loki and Thor because of it. Odin submits and calls for the gatekeeper, vanishing in the Bifrost light.
Fury stands still for a second, and then turns a little as he hears clapping. Tony's eyebrows are raised with respect. "You punched him?"
"I would have done worse," Fury says and fingers his gun.
"No, that's fine," Tony assures, smirking a little and glances towards the rest of his team, "I'm pretty sure that we would have helped you dig out his intestine, so no worries." Tony smiles wildly and Fury shakes his head a little.
Thor shifts to talk with the others and Loki moves next to him, "Thank you," he says quietly.
Fury nods, "Tell me if he bothers you again. I wasn't kidding."
Loki looks a little sick, but nods, "Alright. Thank you," he hesitates before adding: "Father."
Fury grabs him around the shoulders and his stomach warms with something close to pride. His family is a mess, including one ex-super villain, but it's his and he'll protect it until his last breath. He's never been more glad that he didn't call the cops that fateful Tuesday.