It was the morning of the third day in New York, and things were settling down, much to Thor's and his friends' satisfaction and Loki's indifference. He did just as little here as he did in Wakanda, after all. His burns healed just as slowly. Dr. Strange still cleaned and rebandaged them every day, for all the good it would do. It was hard to regenerate muscle when the tendons were basically gone and the underlying bone mostly dead, and Loki was entirely willing to give up on the pointless exercise. Even Thor seemed ready to concede the point; he appeared to be spacing out his lengthy visits more rather than hovering, possibly in the hopes of seeing measurable progress if he stayed away long enough. Not that an hour or two was going to gain him anything, Loki thought disparagingly.

He looked around as the Man of Iron entered the room, with an unusually coy look on his face. "Hey, Rudolf," he began, and paused. Loki nodded in acknowledgement of the address but said nothing else. He didn't particularly care what the human had to say and would certainly not be bothered if he failed to say it. "How are you feeling?"

Loki snorted. He loathed small talk. "Why do you ask?"

"Um...I was wondering if you'd be up to meeting some people."

"I'm not going anywhere," Loki said shortly.

"Um, right. Well, I have some friends who would like to talk to you, if you'll let them."

"Are they sycophantic idiots?"

"No!"

"Then do as you please."

"...Okay. Hey, Fred, you can come in," he called. He fidgeted as three figures entered the room.

Loki raised his eyebrows at the newcomers. The man in the lead was fairly young and walked on a long false leg. The leg swung out to the side as he walked, since the simple prosthetic did not appear to include a knee. The other two men were both in wheelchairs, and Captain Rogers was pushing one, as the poor unfortunate lacked both arms and legs. Loki could not even guess his age through the burn scars covering his face and bald scalp. His mouth was a deformed hole, and his nose and one eye were reduced to an unusable mass of scarring. "What are you doing here?" he asked the group at large.

"I've known Tony for awhile," the Limbless One said easily, voice surprisingly bright, though his words were rather slurred. He was clearly unable to produce certain consonants. "He told me about you, said you were having a hard time of it, asked if I could get some of my 'handicapped buddies' to come chat with you." His lips quirked as Tony blushed slightly. "I told him he was a tactless monster, but I'd see what I could do."

Loki smiled slightly himself, liking the damaged human instantly. "I see. I take it Stark recruited you into his little campaign to make me 'see the light' and realize things aren't so bad and might even be sunshine and roses."

"Well, none of us had anything better to do today," the One-Legged Man said as he flopped into a nearby armchair. "It's a weekday. Fred and Andrew are both on permanent disability, and I'm a stay-at-home-dad. Kid's are at school, and the guys needed a ride, so... Anyways, I'm Mike. This one's Andrew-" he slapped the back of the heretofore silent middle-aged man in the second wheelchair- "And Fred is the cranky old fart who invited us along. Nice to meet you. You're Loki?"

Loki nodded.

"I recognized you from TV," Andrew commented. Loki looked at him, but didn't say anything. As far as he knew, the only television broadcast of him was probably last year, and not particularly favorable. He studied the man, trying to decide if he was expected to respond, but Andrew's face was unusually closed. His upper half appeared powerfully built, and he had maneuvered his manual chair on his own. He was only missing one foot, almost at the ankle, but both legs looked weak and shriveled.

A thought occurred to him. "Were you injured in the attack last year?" he asked carefully.

Andrew burst out laughing, and Fred chuckled as well. "No," Andrew assured him. "None of us were. None of our close friends and families either, believe it or not. And Tony's explained everything. We're good, honestly. No, I lost the use of my legs when a mine went off in Desert Storm. Broke my back, and debris crushed my foot. My mates had to cut me out to get me to the evac team."

"I see. Desert Storm?"

"That was a war about twenty, twenty-five years ago," Stark supplied from the couch. He turned to Captain Rogers sitting next to him. "We told you about that one, didn't we?"

The Captain rolled his eyes. "Since that war was closely related to several current conflicts, the government debriefed me, yes. I wouldn't trust your grasp of history to fill me in anyways, Stark."

"Good thinking, Cap," Fred cackled. "I first met him in AA, which he dropped out of. He's probably fried half his memory by now."

"I've cut down a lot, thank you very much, Freddy. And my brain works just fine."

"That's what they all say."

"Were you also injured in battle, Master Fred?" Loki interrupted.

"Ha! Nope. Industrial accident. Ages ago. I was just in my early twenties. It was my first real job, you know? Last real job too, of course. Whole damn factory burnt down with me inside. You don't want to know how I survived."

"Hmm. You seem surprisingly chipper, given your ordeal."

Fred shrugged, which looked very strange. "You'd be surprised, kid. Sure, I thought my life was totally fucking ruined, and it kinda is. I would have liked to be normal, have my own family, a job, a house, the American Dream and all that. But for many years, I was just as much to blame for my circumstances as the accident. I let my injuries rule me. I became a shithead drunk because my family enabled me, because they couldn't bear what had happened either. But you know what? I turned around. I turned around because my sister's life fell apart the way most good girls' do. Her husband was a dickwad who cheated then walked out on the kids. She could no longer spare the time to look after me because she had to support the whole damn family, so I got to dry out in a nursing home for a few months. Then my niece started visiting me way more than she used to, because home life sucked so hard she actually preferred hanging out in a shitty nursing home with a bunch of half-crazy old biddies. I won't go into the details, but I will say I finally had to suck it up and be an uncle and a brother. I was the college graduate of the family, after all. The 'smart' one. So I got off my ass, metaphorically of course, and got things sorted with my Workers' Comp and what not to go back home with full-time nursing care. The upshot being there was always someone there for the kids.

"Once I had the motivation, hell, I got a new chair I can even control myself. I got one of those voice-activated computer systems so I could help handle Sis's bills, although mine's old and kinda shitty, not all fancy like Tony's." (He twisted to glare at Tony for a moment, or at least, Loki assumed that's what he was doing, as his mangled face was truly almost impossible to read). "Anyways, the point is, yes, my life is objectively way shittier than it should have been. I can't take care of myself. I'm in pain a lot, particularly when I get open bed sores, which is pretty damn often. Physically, I simply can't get better, although I'm still always on the lookout for some cool new tech that will make coping easier. But I am still a contributing member of society, and I'm very glad now that I did not either die in the fire or successfully drink myself to an early grave. I've heard you're thinking of calling it quits and taking a visit to old St. Pete. I get it, believe me. But you should know it is possible to be a pretty damn happy wisecracker even if you're as ugly and broken as me."

It really was an impressive story, Loki thought. The man was a wreck. Loki couldn't imagine what his condition must have been when he had first been burned or how long it must have taken to heal, especially given the mediocrity of Midgardian medical science. It would have been months or years before he could have regained even the marginal function he had. He had given up for a time but managed to recover himself to become a quite jovial companion. He had to hand it to Stark. This was a much better gambit than Thor's floundering attempts at persuasion. "That's quite the speech," Loki said after a moment, expressionless.

"Thanks. I worked on it for all of, oh, the last hour or so while we were coming over here."

"Indeed. One wonders what you might have managed if you really prepared."

"Sis keeps telling me I should write a book. Or at least an article for Readers Digest. I keep telling her that people who like those inspirational self-help stories don't like them to be filled with cussing, which they certainly would be if I was writing 'em."

Stark, Andrew, and Mike all giggled. "You don't get it, Fred," Mike said, "that's why you should write a whole book. You keep the first chapter or two real clean, then start dropping f-bombs every other word...they won't know what hit them!"

Fred grinned. "You might have a point there. I could go on all the potty-mouthed late-night shows and have a real blast."

Stark produced a series of high-pitched beeps interspersed with apparently random words which sent the four cackling, while Loki just stared at them nonplussed and the good Captain looked vaguely constipated in his combined confusion, offense, and amusement.

"I can come back later if I am interrupting an important and sophisticated gathering," an imperious voice came from the door.

Loki looked up to see Doctor Strange, holding a tray of his evil supplies. He sighed. "No, come in, please. Gentlemen, Dr. Strange. Dr. Strange, meet Masters Andrew, Mike, and Fred, conspirators with Master Stark trying to convince me to join their convivial fraternity and write self-help books, I believe."

"Not quite," Fred hooted.

"Dr. Strange?" Mike asked, looking up attentively. His eyes widened as he studied the Sorcerer Supreme. "It is you! How are you, doc? I read what happened, and... why are you wearing a cape?"

Strange stopped dead still, looking suddenly nervous for the first time since Loki had met him. "You've met before?" he asked delicately.

"Sure. He's the doc who did my operation. The grenade that took my leg off in Iraq also sent shrapnel into the rest of me, including my spine. The army surgeons did something on the field, but they had to send me to the expert- him- to get it all out. Did a good job, too. Never had any trouble afterwards, at least not with the good leg."

"I'm glad you healed so well," Strange said, making his way over to Loki's side.

"Me, too. But what happened to you, doc? You sorta fell off the face of the planet."

Loki snorted at that, but Strange answered calmly, "I had an accident of my own." He held up a trembling hand. "But I have found an...alternative career..." he shot Loki a warning glare as he snickered again. It was a marvelously vague and misleading description, after all. "But, since our paths crossed, I find I am still qualified to assist our esteemed visitor with his latest difficulties... How are you today, Loki?"

"Unchanged."

"Really." Strange reached for his arm.

"Wait." Loki turned back to his other guests. "You certainly don't have to stay for this," he told them, "but I need to keep to a schedule with cleaning and debridement, you see..."

"Shit, I've seen worse, been worse," Fred said casually.

"And we went to war," Mike said matter-of-factly, gesturing between himself and Andrew. "Can't be worse than the mess left after an IED."

Loki shrugged. They weren't wrong.

"It was pretty horrible when it first happened, though," Stark said to the Captain in a loud whisper. "Like, really, really gross. I think I stepped on a bit of his fingers."

Strange glared at them briefly and then gently unwrapped Loki's arms. He lifted one and examined it carefully to a silent audience. Loki had made progress in the week since the battle, even without assistance from Asgard. (He had refused all magical offers point-blank, quite reasonably pointing out that Asgardian resources were needed elsewhere for repair of Earth's infrastructure and caring for the numerous fixable wounded). The skin was now fully restored to just below the elbow. Muscle reached halfway down the forearm, but ended in a disordered mess of soft, flimsy new scar tissue rather than tendons. The bone below it was stubbornly bare, and still looked singed with dark cracks in places. It looked almost exactly the same as yesterday. Slowly, Strange set the arm back down, pursing his lips. He met Loki's eyes. "What's the plan?" he asked finally.

Loki raised his eyebrows. "You're the doctor," he said drily.

"Yes, but this is your magic, not mine. The amount of healing you've accomplished is impressive, but nowhere near your initial estimate."

"Indeed. That was an optimistic estimate, as you recall. Per your request."

"So, are you going to reclaim more bone or not? Master Ulric will need to know today."

Loki shrugged. "I suspect not."

"Ah."

"So, what will you do instead?" Mike asked, leaning over with interest. "Trim the bone back? That's what the field medics did on me." He shivered slightly and eyed Doctor Strange's tray. "Hope you've got some painkillers for him around here somewhere."

Loki smiled thinly. "Unnecessary when the bone is dead, Master Mike, but thank you for your concern. And yes, I'd say it's time."

"Are you sure?" Strange asked.

"Completely. Just don't ask Thor. It would take another week with no progress to convince him."

Strange grinned crookedly. "Truth."

"What are you going to use to make the cut?" Stark asked from the couch, where he was averting his eyes. "He's probably solid as a rock. Don't break my toys, Strange!"

Fred snickered. "Break 'em, boy! He can afford it."

Loki grinned. "I have a better idea. Why don't you use your other skills, Doctor, from your 'alternative career'? It would be much cleaner."

Strange glared at him a moment, but then looked thoughtful. "A Circle might work, but you seem to be more certain of my aim than I am."

"I will judge the placement. Your task is to make a circle small enough to include only the bone."

"Mm. Good point."

"Think you can do it?"

"Probably."

"Show me."

With a last glance at his former patient leaning forward to watch, Strange shrugged and spun a delicate, orange spell-circle from his fingertips, no more than two fingerspan across.

Mike, Fred, and Andrew gasped in wonder. Loki merely asked, "Where does that go?"

Looking mildly chagrined, Strange concentrated, and a second circle appeared in the air over the work table. Nodding in satisfaction, Loki lifted his left arm and poked a naked bone through Strange's circle. The bone disappeared, only to reappear over the table. Their audience gasped again. Loki grinned and said in a mocking voice, "Now, watch closely everyone, because we're only going to do this twice!" He leaned forward until the spell circle disappeared into the cuff of matted muscle. A few specks of blood dripped onto the table from the rim of tissue around the edge of the bone.

"He's making a mess of your furniture!" Fred crowed at Stark, who still wasn't watching. "Blood everywhere! Like a horror flick! It'll take you days to scrub it!"

"I'll just make Thor do it," Stark mumbled into his hands.

Captain Rogers smiled. "If it comes to that, I'll do it."

"You really are just like your celebrity persona, Captain" Andrew commented. "I didn't believe that was actually humanly possible."

Loki ignored the banter, studying the spell with his magic, ensuring the position was correct. "Now," he ordered. Strange released the spell loop, and the severed bit of bone fell to the table with a clatter. It split along its deepest crack on impact. Loki shook his head at it. "There was no way to heal that," he said. "Again." They repeated the procedure with the other bone, reducing the left arm to a stump that ended about eight inches below the elbow.

"Give it here," Doctor Strange said, holding up a wad of gauze. He carefully staunched the bleeding, then rewrapped the whole arm. "And the other?" He spun another small spell loop, and the severed bones from the right arm soon joined the left, to Fred's whoops and Mike's soft applause. Amusingly, Strange's cape executed a small flourish. Strange scowled at it, but Loki grinned, performing his own slight bow while Strange methodically wrapped the arm. It was shorter than the left, ending only six inches below the elbow. It felt good to be done with it, though. Rather than training his magic on the impossible, Loki could focus on making the wound less painful and more presentable, and ready for Master Ulric's inventions. They would be able to return to Asgard in a few days. There would be a Boast and then feasts, but the ceremony would come swiftly. Within the week or two, it could all be over at last...

Author's Note: next chapter is probably the last. Go ahead and review!