A/N: Well, I decided the prologue wasn't enough to get the story going, so I'm posting chapter one as well. Sorry in advance for any OOC-ness in this story, I'm kind of new to writing fan fiction (who am I kidding, I'm brand new to it).

Anyway, have fun! Or...not. Either way, it's up to you.

Chapter One

Loki remembered seeing one Anthony Stark standing before him, face a mixture of fear, confusion and anger before a sudden pain and darkness enveloped him as he crashed to the floor. He wasn't certain how he had gotten here, and even more worrying, he wasn't even certain where here was. If Tony Stark was here, then he was most likely on Midgard- the architecture certainly suggested that -but there was no way to confirm that, seeing as how he had just passed out in front of the mortal.

Now there was something shaking him- no, somebody shaking him. He heard a noise, a voice nearby.

Loki wrenched his eyes open, determined to make the shaking stop. The sound of a man's voice ringing in his ears, yelling, so it seemed. Yelling his name?

Oh, wonderful. So it was Tony Stark. Still here...not a dream.

"Hey! Reindeer games! Wake up! Loki!" came the grating sound of Stark's voice.

"...so loud!" he heard his own voice, as though only half a sentence had been forced out.

A confused face was near, and what was that? Concern? Or fear? Stark's tell-tale goatee was moving around above him, saying something that was muffled.

Loki shook his head. He suddenly felt as though he were underwater, his vision blurry and Stark's words barely getting through. He stared at the mortal, whose mouth continued moving. And what's this expression now? Annoyance, Loki mused.

"Can. you. hear. me?" Tony's voice crashed in suddenly, and Loki flinched away from the noise.

"Stark," Loki began.

"What?" came Tony's too loud voice.

"Stop...talking..." Loki suddenly realized he was still on the floor, on his back, his head throbbing and his eyes severely unable to focus. To his surprise, Stark actually did stop talking, and somehow it unnerved him. Since when did the great Tony Stark listen to me? Or to anyone for that matter?

Tony was now leaning back, crouched on the floor leaning on one knee but was still staring at the god. Loki reached up a hand to rub his aching temples, but realized, with great annoyance, that he was still shackled. But of course...

They were the same shackles he had been wearing since he had been brought back to Asgard after his, unfortunately, failed attempt at taking over Midgard. His former people had deemed the mortals' chains too weak, and had immediately replaced them with a more hardy pair, which successfully, and to Loki's unending chagrin, blocked his magic.

He stared at the cuff around his right wrist, noting the runes etched there, the bone-deep hum still present and grating on his raw nerves. Still the same. But how had he gotten here?

Stark was talking again.

"Hey, anybody home? Mr. Mischief? No sleepy sleepy time, can you hear me now?" The irritating mortal seemed to hide a smile, as though something funny had suddenly occurred to him, but he kept it in check, still staring at the god.

"Yes...Stark. No need to shout." Loki attempted to sit up on one elbow, but found the world swimming, although the heaviness he had been experiencing was slowly drifting away.

"I wasn't shouting," the mortal pouted.

"I believe you were."

"No I wasn't." Stark was still staring at him. Why does he continue to do that? Am I so interesting? Even so, it was obvious that Stark was being serious, which was an accomplishment and...somewhat of a worry. Loki could see fear behind those brown eyes, however well-hidden. "You okay?" was the mortal's next strange question.

"What do you care?"

"Oh, I dunno, " began Stark. "Maybe because you just crash landed on my floor, in my tower, on my planet. And what the hell was that!" He was definitely shouting now, Loki winced and sat up.

He really didn't care about anything Stark had to say, but answered anyway, "What the hell was what?"

"What? What?!" Stop yelling, Stark, Loki cringed, but the mortal was already speaking again. "One second I'm getting the shit scared out of me by some...by some flying darkness that just, supposedly, walked through that door," he pointed at the entrance to the room, "but instead I find a certain super-villain Norse god of mischief smashing his head into my floor."

Loki winced at every shouted word, not even caring about what the mortal would think.

"And where the hell is everybody?!" the mortal finished.

"What?" Loki looked at him questioningly.

"'What'- stop asking me what! I don't know what!" he was yelling again, Loki wanted to clamp his hand over the mortal's mouth- or go back to sleep. "I wake up, and there's nobody here. There's nobody there- outside, or anywhere! And how the hell did you get here?" The last sentence was surprisingly calmer than the rest of his tirade.

"I...I don't know..." Loki was trying to stand now, but the floor was tilting, or was it his head?

"Woah, woah, no head-smashing again, Mr. Grumpy. I want some answers." Tony was suddenly by Loki's side before the god had a chance to crash back onto the floor. The inventor hesitated for a moment before snaking an arm around Loki's waist in order to support the swaying god. "Okay fine," Tony said, resigned, "let's just get outta this room first. Then answers."

Loki wasn't in the mood, or the desired health, to argue, so he allowed the smaller man to move him out of the room, albeit in a somewhat undignified stumbling way that had Loki frequently reaching out to lean on a wall for added support.

.

The ride up the strange Midgardian moving-box, called an elevator, if Loki recalled correctly, was smooth enough, although he felt strangely trapped, if only for a moment in the metal contraption. The shackles were incredibly irritating, although the chains were conveniently long, and it made Stark's attempt to support the god more difficult. The self-proclaimed genius' head poked out from under Loki's arm as Stark was slightly hunched to allow the god's arm over his shoulders. Loki couldn't help but feel annoyed at the stance he was forced to endure thanks to the length of chain, as though in a mock embrace around Stark's form.

Loki briefly wondered why the mortal would be helping him at all, and not, say, escorting him to a cell, instead of the couch they were so clearly now approaching. With a resounding grunt, Stark deposited the heavy god on the cream-colored couch, then stepped back, slightly confused.

Now what is he looking at? Stark was staring away, somewhere behind Loki. And now to the other side, and now up and around.

"And what the hell is this now?!" Stark fumed, although it was clear he was more confused than angry. Loki was just happy that the mortal's yelling was no longer beating his head as though Mjolnir itself rode the sound. Loki tilted his head to look where Stark was staring, the mortal's confusion confusing Loki in return.

"What are you staring at Stark?" Loki peeked over the back of the couch, still wondering what had caused the mortal's reaction.

"Again with the what's! It's fucking dark outside!" Loki sighed and lay back down on the couch.

"It's dark." Had the mortal lost his mind? "Is there something wrong with it being night-"

"But it's the middle of the afternoo-" Stark looked at his watch, then froze. What is it now? Loki was becoming irritated with the mortal. His behavior becoming more and more strange with each passing moment. "This can't be right," Stark sat on the coffee table next to Loki. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?" Loki jerked up, looking around. Is there someone else in here? The voice came from everywhere.

"What time is it?" asked Stark.

"The time is one forty-two p.m., sir."

Stark mumbled something about 'what the hell.'

"Jarvis? It was one forty-two when I woke up, why's it still one forty-two?" Loki stared at the ceiling, wondering what the problem was, and where that voice was coming from.

"Yes, sir."

"That wasn't a yes or no question, Jarvis. Tell me why you still think it's one forty-two."

"I am at a loss to answer, sir. My internal chronometer shows that it is in fact one forty-two p.m. fifty-one seconds." Tony tilted his head, then said nothing. Loki only stared at him. After a few moments, he started speaking to the air again.

"What about now?"

"The time is one forty-two p.m., sir."

Stark jumped up, "What the hell, Jarvis! It was definitely nine seconds since you last told me the time. It's one forty-three now!" He looked at his watch, then muttered curses Loki couldn't quite make out. "One...forty...two." The mortal furrowed his brow then let out a frustrated sigh that sounded more like a growl.

"Stark," Loki asked, "what is happening?"

Stark ignored him and walked slowly over to the window. Loki tried sitting up, his curiosity running wild. Stark was staring out the window, frozen in place like a statue. I tire of this... Loki managed to sit up, but was having trouble standing up. What's happened to me? Was I this injured before I arrived here? He could barely remember what had happened on Asgard. He remembered his cell. He remembered his broth- no not brother -Thor visiting him frequently. Then... he couldn't remember. There was a memory in the back of his mind, itchy and whispering, as though it wanted out, to come into the light. He remembered...pain. But where did the pain come from? Loki shook the thoughts away, concentrating on the mortal standing by the window.

"Stark?"

No response. Loki's heart began to beat faster.

"Stark? What's wrong?"

Still nothing. The mortal was staring out the window, back turned, unmoving. What is he doing? Loki looked out the window as he, somewhat ungracefully, stumbled toward the mortal.

Darkness.

What?

There was nothing. No buildings. No streets. No sky or stars. Nothing but blackness like a blanket outside the window. Wasn't there a city there..? But there was nothing, no one. Up or down, in every direction. Stark's words to him earlier rang in Loki's ears, 'I wake up, and there's nobody here. There's nobody there- outside, or anywhere!' Loki tripped slighty before reaching Stark, his knee cracking on the hard floor. Damn this! What's wrong with me? Without his magic he wouldn't heal as fast, but he was more annoyed that he didn't even remember how or even who had injured him.

Stark was within arm's reach now, and Loki decided to pull himself up using the mortal's weight, all the better to make the genius stumble with him. But Stark was still standing silently. So calm, unmoving. Loki couldn't bring himself to touch him. The god stared up at the mortal's back, suddenly thinking he didn't want him to turn around. His heart beat harshly through his ears, his breath caught in his throat.

Loki's hand was outstretched, frozen, about to do something- he suddenly couldn't remember what. The human didn't move.

There was somebody whispering near Loki's ear. He jerked his head around, staring with wide-eyes around the living room. But there was no one. Just the couch and coffee table and silence.

Loki turned back around to ask Stark, but the mortal's face caused the god to jerk back and fall on his back, his stomach jumping into his throat. The face wasn't exactly a face anymore; although it still somewhat resembled Tony Stark. The mouth was wide open, as though a yawn had gone wrong and opened his face up passed the point of possibility. There came no sounds, the mouth frozen as though in a scream. And the eyes- there were no eyes. Just pale flesh covering as though the forehead extended down the inhumanly stretched mouth.

Loki scrambled backward, not caring to find out what the hell was happening to the mortal. He crashed into the coffee table, scraping his back on the wood and glass, but continued backing up. Stark didn't move; his face was frozen, his back straight, his stance rigid. But Loki couldn't look anymore, he didn't know what this meant, and he didn't care to find out what the results might be.

He was still on the floor, still stumbling away, running into every piece of damned furniture on the level, or so it seemed to the mischief god. What is this? What is this? His mind raced. He suddenly realized the error of turning his back on the Stark-thing...whatever it is...and he now wished he hadn't. His knee still hurt, but he ignored the pain, as well as the strange weakness that had plagued him since he had woken up, and continued moving as fast as he could run-stumble-crawl away.

Before Loki could stop, he crashed into something solid- and metal.

A/N: It seems I like cliffhangers, lol. Sorry about that! Oh, what do you guys think would make a good picture for this story? I guess I could try and create one myself with Photoshop, but that's kind of a pain, ;D. Any suggestions?

*Edit* I've put up a temporary picture for now, although I'm hoping I'll get a more story-appropriate one in the future. Suggestions are still welcome!