Let's make this a double feature to start off right.
I don't own the Avengers or any characters there.
Trigger warning: abuse, torture
This story does not involve smut in any way, shape or form. It's only a little slashy at that, so if you want that, you'll need to go elsewhere. This takes place after the Avengers movie.
This entire story is already completed and edited. You're looking at another 8 chapters after this, probably one a day.
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Chapter 1
All of them heard the thunderstorm that was starting to roll in, but they ignored it in favour of movie night. Thor tended not to be a distant rumble-his storms came on fast or not at all, and so no one thought it was him. Granted, none of them had seen the god all that often lately.
"Why the fuck are we watching Disney movies?" Clint gripped, ignoring the glare that Steve gave him. Natasha smirked a bit, but he sighed and sat down by her anyway. Stark was coming in with the bowls of popcorn ready, one dripping in butter.
"Disney?" the genius asked around a mouthful of popcorn.
"We need something light," Steve said, ever the peacemaker. "It's also my turn, and I want to see this one."
Clint snorted. Bruce just gave one of his half-grins at them, perfectly content with whatever they picked. Beauty and the Beast, as it turned out. Well, at least Clint could mock Gaston, who looked a bit like a black haired Thor. He snorted at the idea of any woman who could toss Thor in pig pen.
A bolt of lightning struck down in the room, frying the TV. Stark was sputtering, going on about how he had just bought that tv Thor why can't you come through the door like a normal person, and everyone had nearly jumped out of their skins. Natasha had pulled a gun from... somewhere (though loose pajamas were certainly more conducive than some of the things she wore), Steve was on his feet, Bruce looked like he was trying not to have a heart attack and smash all of them. The noise died down a little as they realized Thor was... weeping. Not big sobs, but tears were on his face and he was sniffling a little.
His cloak was ripped off and wrapped around a small form (everything was small next to Thor, except Hulk), and as the silence descended they could make out horribly wet breathing. Clint eased his way back around the couch like he hadn't vaulted over it, smelling blood. His mouth set slightly in a frown, his face otherwise becoming impassive.
"My friends," Thor started, and his voice cracked. The god stood there, breathed in, focused. No one spoke. "My friends, I need your aid. Please." Kicked puppy dogs looked happy next to this.
"What's in your arms, Sparky?"
Thor seemed to hesitate, as if he would ask them for more, but then his trust got the best of him, and he shifted. The breathing-and it was the form in his arms-hitched, but no hiss of pain came out. A rumble outside, but inside all was quiet, staring at the black hair, sharp-boned face they knew even without its crazy smile and arrogance. Except the face was a mask of chemical burns, butterflying from his eyes, and his eyes were glazed and unseeing. Pink and raw tissue moved when he swallowed, and there was blood flecking his lips, and that awful sucking noise when he breathed.
Clint remembered nothingness and confusion as he stared at that face and he clenched his fists, trembling. Even broken and not a threat, he wanted to scream and pummel Loki for what had been done. Natasha set a hand on his arm, and he glanced at her, and relaxed his fists.
"Please, help him."
"Why don't you take him back to Asgard?" From Steve, it sounded gentle, curious. The super soldier looked a little green around the gills (torture, Clint realized, probably didn't sit well with him).
"I cannot. Asgard lost him in the first place, and I have only just found him. Please. I know what I ask of you is great, and I will owe you all a debt that I may not be ever able to repay. But he is my brother, and I do not want him to die."
"Oh no, this guy threw me out a window," Stark pointed out, "who's to say he isn't going to do it again? Soon as he's better? I'd really rather not do a repeat performance, I know how much you guys love encores but really now."
There was a murmur throughout the group and they all looked at each other.
"We'll patch him up. Bring him to my lab." Bruce's voice was quiet and cut through the room like a knife.
"What?" Tony and Clint glanced at each other.
Steve got it right away though.
"We help him, we patch him up, we give him a reason to realize we're better than who he's been working with..."
"...and he switches sides," Bruce finished.
"It's not that easy!"
"Isn't it?" Natasha was watching him, and Clint turned to look at her, and growled, grit his teeth. "Fine, you guys patch up your favourite crazy, whatever. But don't expect me to help." He stormed off.
"Thank you, my friends." Thor's smile was still wane, but a touch of his usual glow was back.
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Bruce would be the first to admit that he probably wasn't qualified to handle the class of wounds that Loki had, but Thor was insistent this not go beyond the Tower. He didn't want to expose his brother to more risk, and as they set Loki on a table and pulled the cloak away he had to admit that he had a point. Tony had become de facto aide, with his clever hands that knew how to do delicate work, and the rest were set to fetching what they needed.
A glance at Loki's back let him know they weren't setting him that way, but they needed to get his ribs back in alignment. He glanced at Tony, and they moved, Bruce slowly working on the ribs while Tony pried rocks out of Loki's back and started to wash and dress the remnants. Loki's eyes were sightless, and stared into the distance, but there were tears on his cheeks even if he didn't make a noise. Bruce wondered a little at that, but he kept working.
He was talking, his voice low and soothing, because whenever either of them touched Loki, even if they had just done so, Loki flinched away. He explained what he was doing, and Tony actually didn't interrupt him or even make jokes. Tony looked gray and like he was having a couple bad memories of his own come back to haunt him.
Bruce wasn't sure what to do about Loki's face, not yet, so he moved down to his leg. A prod at a bit of bone sticking out and Loki's eyes rolled up into his head and he fainted.
"Took him long enough," Tony whispered hoarsely.
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Clint frowned as he watched what going on in his room-what the rest called his nest. Jerks. It was a corner of the top floor, almost an attic really, and he found himself grimacing a little as he watched. He deserves this, he thought viciously to himself, ignoring the way Loki flinched from touch and didn't make a single sound. The audio was silent on the feed, but his brain helpfully supplied the sound of the... whatever Tony was digging out of Loki's back landing on the table.
"Revenge doesn't suit you, Barton."
"He deserves everything he's getting and more," he growled back, waving a hand to turn off the tv and looking over the edge of the floor to where Steve was, right next to the ladder leading to his little loft.
"You condone torture now? Because that's what has been done to him. I know he... did things to your mind, but no one deserves that."
"Yeah, well go back down to the basement and pity him some more. I'm sure he'll just sucker you in too."
"Barton."
Clint sighed, leaning back over to look at Rogers. Captain America indeed.
"He deserves a chance. You don't have to help. But give him that much. Coulson did the same for you and Romanov."
"That was different!" he snarled. "We hadn't crawled into one of our teammate's heads and forced him into nearly destroying what he belonged to!"
"Is that what all this is about? Your head? I get it. I told you, you don't have to help. But give him a chance. Please. If Bruce can do it, I'm sure you can."
Clint grumbled, leaning away and listening as Steve walked away. He didn't tell Steve no, but that didn't mean he would do what he asked.
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Loki was a bandaged lump underneath a big pile of blankets that Tony had dragged down from somewhere. He had looked at the rest of them like they were crazy when they stared, what he's freezing, you didn't feel that, isn't he Bruce he just needs some blankets, you saw how much blood there was. Bruce had smiled a bit, nodding and backing him up. At least someone had.
"So you said that his magic is bound," Natasha said, as they gathered in the kitchen. Tony was still down in the basement, muttering about cleaning and someone needing to stay nearby.
Thor nodded, eating a poptart. It was a lot more measured and slow than usual.
"Yes. Father was still trying to decide the best punishment, and the collar binds his magic inwards so that he cannot use it. It... itches, sometimes, when he tries to reach for his magic. It is where the marks on his throat are from."
"What happened to him? Did your people do this?" Steve's voice was quiet.
"No! He was... taken. He just vanished. We thought he had escaped, but there was no trace of his magic. I began looking for him, but after the first month much of Asgard did not care." Another measured bite of poptart.
"How long will it take him to heal then? Is he like you?" Bruce, now, finding out what he and Tony would need to know.
"I... do not know. I am sorry. Longer than me. Loki is so much magic, that I fear that it being hampered will hinder him in many other ways. He is not mortal, though. Your measures will do him great good. Thank you, again."
"Don't. We'll do what we can. You're a friend." Bruce waved it off. Steve nodded his agreement. Natasha looked less sure, but then she didn't really look one way or another about the whole issue. Something dark was wanting out to remind her of the past, and she had seen it in Tony's million watt smile downstairs-he was haunted too.
They chattered for a little while, but eventually drifted away. Natasha had a date somewhere, Bruce wanted to go check on his new patient and make sure Tony wasn't drinking himself into a stupor, Steve left to go beat up a few more punching bags. Thor finished his poptarts, thinking, debating what he should do. Where to begin looking.
"How long was he gone?"
Thor did not jump like Clint expected he would, and he suspected the thunder god had known he was there.
"Half a year."
Clint didn't say anything, and Thor did not break the silence. He watched his shorter friend, the way he paced.
"I understand that you do not like my brother, Barton, and I -"
"Shut up. Six months, and he's still fucking breathing after that? Well, gasping. Why didn't you ask us for help?"
"Would you have?"
Clint went silent. Sometimes he wondered if Thor was as dumb as he looked.
"Look, whatever. What are you going to do now? I don't see you rushing back to his bedside."
"Correct. I am going to find who took him from Asgard, and I will break them." Thor's voice bristled with energy, like a bolt of lightning cracking between the clouds, rumbled around the room, but it was not loud. Clint shivered, suddenly glad he hadn't tried to find Loki and get even.
"Do you even know where to look?"
"Where I found him." Thor was watching Clint pacing tight circles around the kitchen island.
"Look, I don't like the guy, but I've got a sharp eye. I can come if you want." Clint avoided looking at Thor, feeling like a bundle of raw nerves, Steve's words still knocking around his head. "What was done to him, it wasn't right. I don't like him, but I haven't seen anyone that broken in a long time. Ok."
Thor did not say anything for a few long minutes, considering him.
"I would be glad of your eyes, Clint. Thank you."
"Don't fucking thank me for nothing. I'm just getting out of the house before I have a flashback and try and kill him ok?"
Thor smiled, still lacking his usual boundless enthusiasm,.
"Of course. We shall depart in an hour."
"Right. Right." Clint watched Thor walk out of the room, still feeling raw and edgy. He slunk down to the labs, watched the little bundle underneath the pile of blankets (three goose down blankets, fucking seriously Stark?) and felt a shiver run up his spine.