The world was sudden and piercing and bright and intense, all harsh angles and too vivid colors. And pain. The pain in his muscles and joints, weakened by disuse and endless sessions of torture. In his eyes, unaccustomed to seeing anything but darkness for so long. In his mouth and throat, rubbed raw by the unyielding metal. In his wrists, ankles and neck, where the manacles bit into his flesh, leaving bloody welts behind. In his stomach that invariably clenched in hunger and still bore marks from the last round of abuse. In his veins that burned from poison administered directly into his bloodstream. In his chest, where a few cracked ribs did not heal properly and where his heart was beating at twice its usual rate and his lungs were fighting for oxygen against the solid, uncompromising pressure of Stark's armor.

It took Loki a moment to comprehend that the words of the voice in his ear are targeted at him. It took even longer for his bendy, feeble thoughts to wrap around the meaning. He wasn't used to being addressed so politely and with anything other than the stream of insults and threats his captors were dishing out just as eagerly as their punishments, even if they were not nearly as hurtful.

"I'm turning the controls over to you, sir," the voice sang in his head and the armor came to life, its low purr sending vibrations through Loki's bones, drowning the rush of blood in his ears. The panels readjusted and the pressure lessened. He took a precarious breath and then another and the sheer relief of being able to breathe again toned down the alarm in his rattly, sluggish brain.

He blinked, trying to ward off the blurriness creeping its way into the corners of his vision.

The plates of Stark's suit were still warm from their owner's body heat, the sensation unfamiliar but not entirely unwelcome. He reveled in it for a brief moment, letting his aching flesh suck in the whisps of warmth before they were gone.

He looked down at his hand, and watched, mesmerized, as the gauntlet responded to his fingers effortlessly.

The rusty gears in his head shook, ground together, and started rolling and the overdue realization exploded in his brain like a supernova, dulling his senses. The mortal did not come to levy his own version of justice on him. He did not come to aid his oppressors, to add another drop to the ocean of torment. Not even to end his miserable existence in an act of mercy.

Stark was here to steal him away.

The reason was a mystery Loki's befuddled brain refused to crack for now.

A new door flung open where there was just a hollow blankness before and a long-forgotten flame burst to life in Loki's chest and stung in his eyes and he reeled, overwhelmed with its sudden intensity. He stole a hiss through the slits of the gag and his tendons protested the activity as he swayed, but the machine held him upright, supporting his weight where his own non-existent strength could not and steadying his quivering limbs. Encouraged, Loki moved his hand up. Despite the bone-deep weakness that rendered it almost unusable just seconds ago, it obeyed him smoothly. Untethered, for the first time in what felt like forever.

Maybe even too smoothly. The machinery came to a jarring stop just a thumb away from his face, locking his body in its rigid grip.

The dull blade of disappointment twisted in his guts. No, please, don't take it away, not yet, he begged wordlessly, the inability to express it in words burning more keenly now after he was bestowed with the privilege so recently.

The voice chittered in his ear once more, the lock released, and Loki breathed again.

He looked up at the mortal, expecting some sort of order or signal, but the human only eyed him with impatient anticipation. Stark looked not nearly as impressive without the armor and older than Loki remembered, the sight numbly reminding him of the existence of the world outside of the prison that was his entire reality for... Loki wasn't sure. Months? Years?

It did not matter anyway. He was done with counting.

A thought that he should ask for permission crossed his mind, but he abandoned it before it fully formed. There was no point in delaying further and risking the human to withdraw his assistance already. If Stark did not want him to move, he would not allow it. There was no doubt in Loki's mind the mortal still retained full control over the situation, being able to command the suit via proxy, even now. He decided to leave worrying about that for some other time.

He slid off the table again, cautiously, wary of the volatile sensors. The shackles clanked, reminding him of their presence. Like he could forget. His jailers were explicit about it. They were a part of him, now. A permanent burden he has to carry, like the metal that covers his lips.

He pushed the thought away. It wasn't important.

Standing up was a lot less complicated with the aid. His head swam and his muscles spasmed, but the brilliant mortal machine kept him steady, able somehow to differentiate between purposeful movement and the effects of Loki's ill control over his own body. The plates shifted to embrace his torso; the fit reassuringly tight without applying too much pressure to the injuries at the same time. The line of pistons nudged his spine to straighten and the rest of the armor unfolded around his tights and bottom.

The helmet closed around his head, without a warning, plunging him back into darkness. Yet again, Loki was too slow to stop the exclamation that jutted forth from his larynx, a whiny, pathetic sound. He screwed his eyes shut and waited out the whetted spike of agony as the spell punished him for his lapse. The all too familiar metallic taste of fresh blood filled his mouth. He swallowed, expecting another bout of pain, but it did not come. There was no manacle around his neck anymore and the gorget altered to accommodate the motion without crushing his windpipe against the intrusion in his throat.

There was light on his eyelids, and he pried them open, then gasped at the sight. The entire faceplate was a display, and it showed his surroundings in immaculate detail. There were rows and rows of data rapidly changing in the corner of his vision, but he couldn't identify their meanings at first glance, so he ignored it for now. He turned his head and the visual representation followed without a hitch, as naturally as his own eyes would. It was an exquisite use of the primitive technology, pushing it as far as it would go.

The voice… Jarvis, it called itself, tuned in again. "Welcome to the dashboard of the Iron Man suit mark forty-one, sir. I understand your current predicament prevents you from vocalizing, but I need a quick confirmation that you understand my words."

Loki wasn't sure how to respond, so he just nodded, slightly, hoping for the machine to pick it up somehow.

"Very well, sir. If you bear with me for a moment, I will explain the basic functionalities, as briefly as I can. The suit receives motor input from the contact points and reacts to your body movements, so normal operation doesn't require any special input on your side. It currently relies on the secondary power source, located under your right clavicle." The display flashed an overlay with a schematic drawing of the armor shortly, a highlight at the upper right side of the breastplate blinking. "It will be able to sustain normal operation for two hours or flight for ten minutes, although the latter functionality is currently locked as it's inadvisable to use it without prior preparations. The charge indicator is on the right. Below that, there is the status of the life support systems, should you need those. I'll switch to a visual representation for easier access." The indiscernible data blinked away, replaced with a lot more readable icons and Loki squashed the absurd objection to being treated like a child before it bubbled to the surface. "I can track your eye movements; you can focus your vision on the controls to access them."

Loki nodded again.

"One more thing. I registered that your body temperature is significantly lower than the normal value for humans."

Loki felt his throat tighten.

"Do you wish me to turn on the heating, sir?"

Loki blinked, flabbergasted. It served no other purpose than his comfort and Loki wondered what weird glitch in programming caused the artificial intelligence to concern itself with something so insignificant in the middle of a daring heist. But, when a moment later a prompt popped up, presenting him with the option again, he vehemently focused his stare nonetheless.

An overwhelming wave of warmth flooded over him, flushing his cheeks and chasing away the chill that embedded its teeth in his bones ages ago. There was the stinging in his eyes again and he blinked the tears away. Those could wait.

Stark had to shoulder-charge the door to open it, which made Loki aware of how much inconvenience the mortal was putting himself through for his sake. There were distrust and open suspicion in his gaze, but he still gave up his best weapon and put himself at risk to get Loki out. His brain scrambled for possible answers to the burning "why?" question, but, once again, came up empty.

The ominous screech of the door swinging on its rusted hinges he grew to be acquainted with so personally over the countless times he'd heard it sent a shudder up his backbone and clenched an iron fist of dread around his heart.

Stark peeked both sides before stepping out of the cell. Loki followed.

He did not look back; he closed his eyes and did not open them until the door slammed shut behind him. He did not allow himself to hope it was the last time yet.

The mortal stopped after a few steps along the dimly lit corridor and looked both ways, his eyes lingering on the line of identical doors like the one leading to Loki's cell. He whispered something, the words not loud enough for Loki to discern, then he pressed his fingers to his ear, listened for a moment, inclined his head, and let out a sigh.

Stark was picking his battles, but he was not happy about it. Loki might have a comment or two about that if the sense of hypocrisy didn't silence it as effectively as the gag would. Stark turned to him. "You're good to go, E-tee?"

Loki furrowed his brows, then realized Stark could not see his face. [Yes.]

"It's an acronym for 'extraterrestrial'," Jarvis explained in his ear, "Also, the main character from a motion picture about an alien who wants to go home."

"You dirty turncoat, you were not supposed to tell him that," Stark chastised quietly, but there was no real vexation in his tone. "You have to keep'em guessing. By the way, there's a command to open the visor in the lower-left corner, if you feel like it. Jarvis the Betrayer will shut it for you if a need arises."

Loki did not feel like it.

"All right then, keep your secrets," the mortal uttered with a weird smile Loki could not assign to any specific expression. "And get moving. The place is giving me the creeps."

To that, Loki could relate.

The chain limited his stride to short, awkward steps – which he could endure, the human was moving slowly, cautious and on high alert, so it was not hard to keep up with him – and dragged on the floor, raising a ruckus, which was a lot more problematic. With wrist shackles, he could always keep the chain taut to prevent it from jingling but there was nothing he could do about the irons on his legs, other than just stop moving. He did not want to stop moving.

Stark regarded the fetters with one disgusted glance but did not say a thing. It was possible he had a plan of escape that would not be put at risk by the incessant noise. And, while Loki was not used to moving with them on yet, he was sure he would, eventually. It was not like he had a choice.

The cellblock culminated with two consecutive gates, forming a sluice. The first door needed to close before the second one could open, Jarvis informed, confirming Loki's conviction that there was something off about the assistant's programming. Stark already knew that and wouldn't need a reminder, he came in the same way as there was only this one route, in or out. And it served no purpose whatsoever to inform Loki, just like there was no point in wasting energy on heating for Loki's enjoinment or in providing context to Stark's name-calling. The mortal did not comment this time though.

Even armed with the knowledge, Loki's mind rang the alarm bell when the first gate closed behind, trapping them inside the small, dark airlock. His breath quickened and his heart fluttered in his chest. He twisted his arms around and tapped his fingers against his tight, focusing on the newfound freedom of movement instead of his surroundings, even if he knew it was fleeting at best. He still let out a breath of relief when a green light flashed above their heads and the door slid open.

The corridor on the other side was as non-descript and insipid as underground corridors go, on Midgard or on any other planet Loki visited: gray tile and dull green walls, lines of pipes and cables running under the ceiling. If someone wandered in here by mistake, they would have no idea of the horrors waiting just a couple of steps ahead.

"So far, so good," the mortal said and skittled ahead, his eyes lingering on the display more often than on his immediate circumstances.

Loki looked back at the gate before he could convince himself otherwise. The entrance was not even marked. Just an ordinary door one slides their eyes over without really noticing.

The urge to laugh was almost too strong to ignore, but Loki did not want to hear how hysterical it would sound. "Very" was his best guess. He also did not feel ready for another round of discipline, the pain still fresh from the last two he has earned, consecutively. Maybe later he would, but for now, he needed all the strength he could summon, and wasting resources on a lost battle with the spell was unwise. The effects felt more austere now than they used to, but Loki couldn't tell if it's because of his weakened state or if they truly have increased in intensity over time or with each time he triggered the spell. Or was made to. Perhaps it was both.

The hallway turned and then split into two directions. Stark steered to the left without a hint of hesitation. There were doors lining the walls on either side, but the mortal ignored them all and headed for the one at the far end of the corridor. There was some sort of keypad next to it and it flashed green and beeped as soon as they approached, the lock clicking open. Stark swung the door, revealing a staircase behind it.

Walking up the stairs was trickier, but doable and Loki wasn't going to complain as long as he could walk at all. That alone was a refreshing sensation that could be taken away any minute. He would be skipping stairs if the chain allowed it, knowing that every single step takes him closer to… He did not fool himself with thinking "freedom". It wouldn't be that, there was no doubt about it. Stark had his plans for him, that much was obvious, because why else would he be here? No one sane goes through this much trouble to retrieve a former, utterly defeated enemy from prison just to let them go free.

Perhaps the mortal just had a different idea about how the retribution for Loki's deeds should look like. Stark had his own damages to settle, Loki did trash his home and threw him out of his window after all. On top of that, the journey through the portal Loki orchestrated to open almost cost the human his life. Likely there was something – or someone – he lost to the swarm Loki unleashed on the city as well. That was quite a list and it was not even complete. And his life and his misery were the only currency Loki had left to pay him back with once he demands his dues compensated.

On the other hand, Stark didn't strike him as an overly cruel individual. He had all the reasons to hate Loki and enjoy the sight of his abasement, yet the appalled reaction to the way he was treated seemed genuine. According to Natasha's words, he was a man of knowledge first and foremost. Maybe it was Loki's secrets and not his suffering he was after? Loki could work with that, even though the two were not mutually exclusive. If the choice was between his current masters and the mortal, Loki would take his chances with Stark and live to worry tomorrow about what the rest of his existence may bring. And, if he plays it right, it may not be just darkness and pain. That would leave him with options…

He pulled the reins of his rampaging imagination short and schooled himself for allowing his thoughts to run free like that. He was still not close to being out of this place and the success was far from certain. Especially since the human was growing tired already, panting and sweating, and they cleared only a couple of floors so far. And Loki could not do anything more than watch with growing terror. How long would it take before Stark realizes that his stolen asset is not worth the fatigue?

There was nothing Loki could do when Stark decides he wants his armor back. His body was no longer a serviceable tool. It got broken – perhaps beyond repair – and now it was nothing but a deathtrap. He estimated he could take at most two steps on his own before collapsing to the ground. Then all he'd be able to do was to wait for his jailers to find him and drag him back to his cell. Then make him painfully aware of how discontent they are with the escape attempt.

Loki shivered.

Maybe he could convince the human to spare him the leniency of a swift demise once he takes his aid away, after all. A quick energy blast to the head was not a bad way to go and it would be all it took in his current state. Or, if the mortal refuses, he could be persuaded to allow Loki to do it himself, at least. It would not matter much which one it would be. Each alternative meant dying a death of a coward, on his knees, begging for mercy one last time.

If he were stronger, if he were more like Thor – the stupid, audacious, golden Thor – maybe he would find it in himself to endure more, to spit in the faces of his tormentors and not crawl at their feet, to laugh at them as they pull him apart, piece by piece.

He was not. Not now, not ever.

An indolent thought found its way into his mind before he could stop it. I wish I'd get to see the sky just one last time. He immediately pushed the notion away, but it was too late. He could almost feel it. The taste of fresh air, the warmth of a sun – any sun – on his skin, the gentle caress of wind…

He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to focus on the coppery taste in his mouth, on the sharp ache in his left hand where the bones were still mending after the last time they got broken, on the tug of the cursed chain on his ankles. This is all there is, a miserable existence fit for a pitiful creature you've become. The rest was just a foolish fancy. Even if the escape miraculously succeeded, there was only another dark cell waiting for him on the other side. There always was, in the end.

Why even wait for the inevitable? He could do it right now. The suit's weapons were disabled, but the propulsors on the palms still showed up as online. All he needed to do was open the visor, aim his hand at his face and press the release on the pad of his thumb. If he was fast enough, he might get it done before Odin's spell incapacitated him. It wasn't breaching the rules Stark set out, so the assistant would have no reasons to stop him. Getting one's face blasted off was a suitable end for…

You are not a monster, said Natasha in his mind, with one of those small smiles of hers that were both sad and reassuring at the same time, the memory so vivid it knocked the air out of his lungs. And Loki realized that – while he was prepared to die to escape more torture – he really, really wanted to live.

He owed her as much.

The stairs ran out and the sign above the door on the last landing announced they found themselves on the level minus ten, confirming Loki's suspicion that the outside was still a long way off.

"The staircases don't run all the way through the facility, besides the main evac one, but that's too heavily guarded," Stark explained in a hushed voice as they waited for Jarvis to open the door. "Also, completely not up to code, but I guess I shouldn't expect those Nazi fucks to have a higher regard for building regulations than they do for the Geneva Conventions." Stark sighed, like it was something to be sad or disappointed about, although most of the last sentence could be in a different language just as well for how much Loki understood of it. "We have to go through the labs to get to the western stairwell or for the elevator bank in the hub.

Loki nodded. He wasn't sure whether the mortal wanted to clue him in for strategical reasons or just couldn't bear not hearing the sound of his own voice for too long, but he appreciated having at least the rough outline of the plan presented to him. If Stark wanted to pretend Loki was an ally and not a prisoner for the moment, it was only to Loki's benefit. He knew he had to obey anyway, he was entirely dependent on Stark's whims, but an illusion of choice was still marginally better than no choice at all.

"And let me tell you, I'm all in for the elevators," the mortal added, and stretched his leg. "I'm totally ready to call it a day when it comes to stairs and there's still like a million more to go."

The door beeped open and Stark bestowed Loki's ankles with a pitying glare. "There may be people on this level. Stay here, I'll scout ahead, 'kay?"

Loki was not sure what exactly it was supposed to accomplish – from what he'd gathered the mortal had the access to the system of cameras and should be able to tell if someone was around – but submitted to the command all the same. Stark was in charge and that was his call to make.

He leaned on the wall and watched the door close. He did not need the support but clinging to it offered at least an illusion of coverture.

He was dead tired, his limbs were trembling in the confines of the armor and there was not a single part of him that didn't hold one ache or another, but his head was clearer already than it was in a long time. He could feel his body slowly working out the drug, burning the remnants of the poison away. He might not have his magic or his strength or his voice anymore, but his metabolism was still faster than that of a mortal. And it would take a lot more than the toxins coursing in his system to keep him under for long.

It was truly a delightful feeling.

He huddled closer to the wall and closed his eyes, just to give them a momentary respite from the brightness of the head-on display; it was overblowing the highlights and turning the blacks into greenish grays. Undoubtedly a convenient feature for humans, but Loki could see well enough without that and the light was searing his retinas.

"Sir?" came Jarvis' voice and he gritted his teeth against the metal involuntarily. "You should move. I have to rearm the security in this area before you and mister Stark could move on to the next zone."

Loki shook his head to rouse his brain back to alertness and peeled himself away from the wall. The clanking suddenly sounded even more jarring now that he found himself alone in the empty stairway. He should do something about that. Wrapping the chain would at least muffle the noise, but he had no option of doing it now. Not only he couldn't open the suit without alerting Stark, he also could not afford a delay in following a direct order to move. He should have thought about it earlier, but he was too preoccupied with other matters. Like moving and breathing.

He sighed and opened the door a notch to peek outside.

There were three hallways intersecting by the stairwell entrance. He scrutinized each one but could not see Stark anywhere, the man must've turned the corner already. Loki's thoughts curled around a juicy curse.

"Down the corridor to your right," Jarvis provided, and Loki stepped outside.

This level looked vastly different than the lower one. The walls, the floor and the ceiling shared a similar, off-white tone that burned his eyes before the contrast of the display adjusted. The halls were wider and brighter, although only some lights in the paneled ceiling were on. There were pieces of lab equipment scattered along the walls, some chairs and even plants here and there too, although Loki suspected they had to be artificial so deep underground.

Loki reached the next intersection and froze. There was a room with a window facing the corridor a couple of steps ahead and a light just flickered to life on the other side of the glass. He dropped into a crouch. "My sensors don't detect anyone in that room," said Jarvis.

"Your sensors are being messed with, buddy. There's a scrambler running, somewhere down the hall. Might be a coincidence, but something tells me not to count on that." Stark's voice was a screechy whisper overlayed with static and only then Loki fully understood how exactly the communication link in his ear worked. "Loki, come here!" The words were clipped and left him momentarily disoriented. Then there was a slight movement and a flash of light down the corridor as Stark's hand emerged from a niche two dozen steps ahead. It had a gauntlet that ended a bit above the wrist on, with a shining light on the palm. A back-up weapon, Loki supposed.

By the Norns, he would give up a lot to have his daggers.

On the other hand, what did he have left to sacrifice that wasn't already taken from him? Other than his life, which wasn't worth much right now.

He took one step, staying low.

A man entered the lit room via a door on its other end. A lab worker, judging from the white coveralls, preoccupied with a device in his hand.

Loki angled closer to the ground then gripped the chain and held it up, trading some of the already diminished range of movement for quieter operation. He took another careful step and noticed a faint reflection on the wall move with him. The visor light, he realized with a start.

Lower left, Stark has said. He searched for the icon and quickly found something that might look like a helmet if one exaggerated. He stared at it with intent. The headpiece retreated with an electrical whoosh and the unfiltered air filled his lungs. There was a familiar stench in it, the chemical they used to clean their equipment – or sometimes Loki himself – down in the cell. It was not nearly as irrepressible but still strong enough to send his head banking and stagger his breath.

He gritted his teeth and the stab of pain in his gums took his mind off the smell.

He skulked towards the wall with the window in it. The man on the other side tapped his device and put it away, then stepped closer to the glass, peering outside. Loki froze, hoping that the bright light reflecting off the pane would prevent him to see the darker corridor outside.

A second man went through the door, the first one turned to greet him, and Loki used the opportunity to cross the rest of the hallway. He pressed his back to the partition, just below the window, and wished he could silence the low burr and mechanical whine of the armor. It was an astonishing piece of technology, but, regrettably, not ideal for sneaking.

Two shadows appeared in the rectangle of light on the wall in front of him and Loki heard the low murmur of muffled voices. He couldn't recognize the words, but the tone was not alarmed.

He carefully put the chain down. [I think they don't know we are here yet,] he signed. He was not sure whether Jarvis could read his words from the suit movements alone, but it was worth a try.

"That's very reassuring," came a sarcastic reply a moment later. "Can you move?"

He nodded.

"Great. Any time now."

He took in a long breath, got a hold of the chain again and slowly crept along the wall, keeping his head low. He stopped once he passed the window, listening. The voices were gone and so were the shadows, but there were no other indications that would suggest the situation has deteriorated.

He reached Stark's hiding place and dove into the recess in the wall. Stark was hiding behind a stack of cardboard boxes and crates. It was a good spot, the obstacle was obscuring the view, as long as the mortal did not stand up, he shouldn't be spotted, even if someone walked past. He was crouching down next to a device that Loki assumed was some sort of a water container. One of those he saw before all over Midgard, in all kinds of establishments. Stark moved to make room for Loki and poked it with his elbow. The liquid in the canister sloshed, making Loki painfully aware of the existence of thirst as a concept, the water so tantalizingly close. He closed his eyes and waited for the pangs of yearning to subside. There were more important matters at hand.

"Fuck, I'm not constructed properly for all this clandestine shit," Stark complained with a pout. "I'm more of the guns blazing, American anthem blaring and bald eagles flying in the background type of guy."

[Why did you come then?]

Stark waited for the translation before answering. "You'd rather stay in that dungeon?" he hissed. "It can be arranged, if you miss it already."

Stark was being facetious, but Loki's heart skipped a beat at the suggestion all the same. [I would rather have you kill me than go back.]

"Geez, we talked about it, Stitch. Twice. No killing today. Unless, you know, goons. Do I need to get you a therapist or something?"

"Stitch is a character from an animated feature film about a genetically engineered alien who finds a family of choice after being banished to Earth," Jarvis interjected, only furthering Loki's confusion.

"I swear I'll delete your entire pop culture database if you don't shut up," Stark snarled under his breath.

Jarvis replied something, confidently into Stark's ear, and the mortal's face turned dark. "Yeah, right," he said somberly. "Let's keep going."

The man glanced at his display briefly and turned to leave. Loki closed a hand around his upper arm, stopping him. Stark winced and glared at the armored fingers squeezing his flesh with plain disfavor, more annoyed than hurt or else Jarvis would surely intervene. Loki slowly unfolded his digits. "What the hell?"

[Open the suit,] Loki said, to whomever it might concern. He suspected Jarvis wouldn't do it without Stark's explicit permission.

Stark was glowering at him now and the stare turned even harder when he heard the transcription. "Uhm, what?"

Loki wasn't playing this game, so he just waited for the mortal to gather the meaning on his own.

"What for?" Stark whispered after two heartbeats.

[Because I need to wrap the chain,] Loki explained, [or I won't go far without alarming everyone. My shirt would do.] It was ruined anyway. And, if their escape came to pass, wherever Stark decided to lock him up later, he could probably spare enough pity to provide him with fresh clothes, particularly after going through all the commotion to get him out first.

"Okay, yeah, good idea," Stark muttered, but – instead of instructing Jarvis – he tugged on his own sleeve. He was wearing some sort of close-fitting under-armor clothes, probably custom-made and very expensive. Of course, a man of his status and with his resources at the disposal would not fret with wasting it, just like Loki wouldn't before his station was reduced to what it was now, but it was still an unnecessary expense when there was a far more convenient option available.

Unless there was some other stipulation Loki was missing. Was Stark afraid that his enemy-turned-prisoner would attack him without the control of the suit? That was a ridiculous notion, undeniably and for a multitude of reasons. The mortal had no motivation to trust Loki, that much was true, but he must surely know that Loki had no other option but to follow. Did Stark not realize in how much of a disrepair Loki's body was? The mortal saw the dungeon, he saw what they did, there was no hiding the truth. But that one time, when Loki could use someone underappreciating his capabilities, the annoying human decided to give him too much credit?

Stark pulled off the external layer of his upper body attire, whatever one could call it, revealing the light in his chest shining through the undershirt. Loki's stomach dropped. He forgot it was there and now the memory of the power source singing its sweet melody in his veins overwhelmed him and made him shiver.

He couldn't feel it at all, now. Like there was nothing.

And when he tried to reach out for it, instinctively, his senses crashed against the barrier that surrounded his core. The spell flared up, the metal heated up and scorched his throat. Loki squeezed his eyes shut and focused on breathing instead.

Stark nudged him. "Here." He handed Loki his undershirt and pulled the outer layer back on, the motion awkward in the little space available in their hiding spot.

Loki did a quick job of tearing it apart. He sat down and started swathing the chain with strips of cloth, but the armored fingers were far from a perfect tool for that, stiff, clumsy and slippery. Stark watched him try for a while with growing irritation. He rolled his eyes and muttered, "oh, for fuck's sake, give me that," before discourteously swatting Loki's hand away and getting on the task, a lot more expertly.

"Here," he said when he was done, "can we go now, or do you need a diaper change too?"

Loki wished he could bare his teeth in a snarl for that. But he could not, so he just took in a breath and got up.

Only to immediately drop down again.

There was someone in the corridor. Multiple someones. Three people, walking in their direction, a lab worker and two soldiers, in full combat gear. They had their weapons out, but they were pointed at the floor for now.

Stark saw him ducking and did not even try to stand up on his own, staying crouched. Then he heard the muffled steps too and cursed under his breath. "Jarvis? Where's my warning?"

"I do not understand, sir, the cameras are still showing nothing in the area."

"Your own loop is being fed back to you, tend to that shit," Stark snarled. He was nervous. His eyes turned to Loki. "Got a look at them? How many are there?"

[Three, two with weapons.]

"Fuck," Stark cursed again, without a pause. The signs must've been readable enough without translation.

They could hear the talking now. "…heard some noises before the power failure and saw someone moving past his window. And Jenkins is reporting that there are issues with the feed from the basement. There might be a connection."

"We will look into that, go back into your office and lock the door," came a gruff reply.

One pattern of footfalls changed. The scientist was following the order and turning back. The other two were still heading in their direction.

There was a shot of static and the gruff one spoke again. "Leader, this is Roam Two, we're investigating a potential breach in lab level twelve. One of the eggheads claimed they saw some lights moving or some shit. They also have a problem with the camera feed from the basement."

There was a pause.

"Copy that. And send someone down there if the bums from IT can't get it fixed ASAP."

The steps reached their hiding place and one of the men slowed down.

"I'll check …" The words got cut short as Loki sprung up and shouldered the stack of crates, sending them flying straight at the soldier. The man staggered, but quickly regained his footing without going down. He started to raise his weapon, but Loki was quicker. Snapping neck gave out a satisfying scrunch and the guard crumpled to the floor.

There was a gunshot. The visor unfolded around his head, the bullet bounced off the metal and the pistons in the greaves compensated for the force of impact, keeping Loki steady.

An amazing machine, truly.

He dodged the second bullet then started circling, slowly, to get into a melee range. He would just lunge at the opponent, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get a good enough leap, wary of the chain. The guard fired again. Loki sidestepped to avoid getting hit.

"Stop where you…" The words turned into an incoherent scream and then cut to silence when a beam of energy hit the man in the face, sending him flying. He hit a wall and slid down to the floor. Loki picked up the weapon dropped by the first guard. He took a step forward then fired, directly between the man's eyes, as he was starting to rise.

"Okay, now drop the gun," Stark said, emerging from the niche, lowering his arm, the light on the palm dulling. He rolled his shoulder and crooked his head, waiting. The weapon clattered to the floor and Loki took a step back. "Half of the base must've heard that."

"There was an emergency broadcast from two offices, but I managed to cut the connection before it went through," Jarvis interjected. "But I would still advice you to clear the area."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Stark said, grabbed the gun and put it behind his belt. "Nice moves, by the way," he added, "but I'd appreciate if you refrained from further bloodshed, princess."

There was no heart behind the command and Loki knew Stark was just as eager to not get caught as he was, even if for a different reason. If he cared about the lives of the guards more than about his own – or, what was more of a surprise, Loki's – he would have Jarvis lock him in before Loki was allowed to fire the gun. The man was incapacitated and was not, in fact, actively trying to kill them anymore. Loki wondered briefly how far the loophole went.

Stark turned on his heel. "This way," he said and pointed at the end of the corridor the guards came from. "Keep close. And don't… Just keep close."

Then he hit into a strut and Loki found out, the hard way, that it's impossible to run in ankle shackles and look dignified at the same time. He still did. His dignity wasn't keeping him alive right now, the annoying mortal was. And Loki wanted it to stay that way, for as long as it could.