The best thing about the Avengers is that they're good. Earth's Mightiest Heroes. Always there to save the day.

The funny thing about the Avengers is that, sometimes, they're a bit too good. And this overabundance of angelical hearts sometimes drove them to make some very odd decisions.

Such as inviting a supervillain in "desperate need of therapy" to live with them in Avengers Tower. Only, Stark said he was definitely not a supervillain—more like a "glorified sidekick"—and Loki made it clear he did not need therapy of any kind.

He'd made his own choices. So what if Thanos had been holding the reins all along? So what if the Mind Stone was a bit more powerful than he'd originally anticipated? So what if he hadn't meant to kill that many people?

So what?

At first, Loki had been determined not to like it there. The tower was small compared to the Great Halls of Asgard, and the thought of living with six of the most irritating beings in the universe—that's including his oh-so-righteous brother—was enough to drive him insane.

Then, there was Clint Barton, who—despite the efforts of his teammates to (semi)welcome Loki in—made it clear that they would never be anything more than two people living in the same building. And that was fine. Loki didn't like him either.

And of course, there was the little matter of the Hulk. Bruce Banner was all right. Even Loki could grudgingly admit that the man held a sickening amount of kindness, understanding, and compassion in his heart. And that was all well and good. But the Hulk…

No, the Hulk was a concept that Loki still couldn't seem to get over. And rightly so. After all, it wasn't every day one got whipped back and forth through the air by a giant green beast.

So, when the Avengers went on missions, leaving Loki in the custody of whoever's turn it was to stay behind, he tried not to think about the Hulk running wild in New York, or wherever the team found themselves that day.

Yes, at first, Loki was determined to be miserable. He was being held against his will on a planet he'd never even liked. But… it was better than the alternative. Justice on Asgard. Odin's wrath. An eternity of solitude. Or even death.

Loki shuddered as he leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the last of Avengers disperse to do whatever it was they chose to do on their day off.

Thor had made him swear an oath not to try to escape. Of course, he wasn't called the God of Mischief for nothing. So of course, he'd tried to escape. Once or twice.

The bitter truth that he still couldn't bring himself to accept—the fact that kept tugging at the back of his mind—was that he didn't want to escape. Not anymore, anyway.

It was… nice in the tower. Sometimes.

Biding my time, he'd tell himself. I'm just biding my time.

Sometimes, he'd believe it. Other times, however, he didn't want to believe it.

The Avengers still didn't trust him. Well, most of them. That was to be expected, though. Yet, they had come to accept him into their intimate, little group. Why? He couldn't answer that question.

He didn't know how.

Not yet, anyway.

As Thor approached him, Loki suppressed the urge to scowl. It wasn't as if his brother had done anything wrong, it was just… Well, sleep had been elusive as of late and Loki found himself in a dreadful mood that morning.

Three months and still, even in his dreams, Thanos refused to leave him alone.

"The gym is open," Thor began with a smile. "It's been ages since we had a good spar."

"It's been three days."

"Like I said: ages. Ready?"

Loki rolled his eyes and pushed himself away from the counter. "I'm not in the mood. And I don't recall even agreeing in the first place."

"Oh, come on! You love to spar!"

"No, you love to spar." When Loki glanced over his shoulder, Thor was still following him, relentless to the bitter end. "Why don't you go play with one of your friends?"

"They're all too tired to spar."

"I wonder why," Loki muttered. Turning a corner, he skipped down the stairs two at a time, hoping to shake his shadow. "Seriously, Thor, I'm not in the mood."

"All right, it doesn't have to be sparring. What do you want to do?"

"I want you to leave me alo—!" A sharp cry tore from his throat, one he could barely register as his ankle twisted out from under him and he stumbled down the last few steps.

Strong hands closed around his arms before his knees could hit the ground. In the single moment after, Loki soaked in the silence. And breathed. They both just took time to breathe.

Thor was the first to speak. "Are you okay?"

Though his ankle throbbed mercilessly, Loki wrenched himself out of Thor's grasp. "I'm fine."

"Your ankle, let me take a look—"

"I tripped. I'm fine. Go find one of your other friends." Despite the pain, Loki forced himself not to limp. "I'm going to go read."

"Oh, well, I'll see you later then," Thor called out as Loki put some distance between them.

The young prince made no reply, turning another corner and descending the rest of the stairs. He had to make sure he was alone before he allowed a grimace to contort his face.

He'd been afraid this would happen. The throbbing, the pain, the flaring up of an old injury that would seemingly never cease to haunt him.

It had started slowly, with a dull ache squeezing his ankle. He'd ignored it, then. Brushed the feeling off as a sprain he couldn't remember getting. Gradually, the pain worsened, especially when he sparred with Thor or Natasha. Loki had never been one for voluntary exercise when the alternative was settling down with a good book. But since there hadn't been any good books when he'd first arrived, he had somehow let Rogers talk him into running track around New York at the most unholy hours of the morning.

Lately, however, he'd locked his door and pretended he couldn't hear the good captain's incessant knocking.

Yes, he could barely walk because of the pain most days, but no, he was not going to complain about it. He was many things, but pathetic was not one of them.

Besides, it's not as if they would believe him, anyway. Or care, for that matter.

So, he did his best to block the pain from his mind and go about his day. At least, that's what he had been doing, until his ankle chose to give out all of a sudden. And while Thor was right there, too.

Circling back to the kitchen, Loki planned to grab an ice pack and maybe a snack or two, then tuck himself away in his room for the rest of the morning—perhaps even the better part of the afternoon as well.

This plan was foiled by none other than the Black Widow herself. She was sitting on a stool at the counter, a smoothie and a magazine spread out in front of her.

Great.

If he was being honest with himself—a foreign concept indeed—Natasha wasn't so bad. Despite everything he'd done to her, she had been one of the first to come around, preaching some sort of mush about everyone deserving a second chance.

Yeah, right.

When she glanced up at him, a small smirk creased her face. "What? Thor couldn't use his powers of persuasion to get you to fight with him?"

"Believe me," Loki said, casting a quick illusion to get rid of the limp, "he tried."

"Not hard enough, it seems."

"Well, maybe I'm simply more persistent than my brother." And perhaps snatching the ice pack out of the freezer while she was still looking wasn't the best idea. But what else was he supposed to do? Stall by making toast until she left?

Right.

As if on cue, Natasha lifted a brow, gaze flicking to the ice in his hand.

"Headache," he explained, and while she didn't appear to be convinced, he knew she wasn't going to question it.

It's not that big of a deal.

"Ibuprofen would be better for that."

Ah, another one of those long, stupid scientific names. "What?"

"Sorry. On the left; second door."

"Painkillers are for weak mortals. I believe I'll stick with the ice."

But Natasha was still smirking. "Said the god seconds before his migraine kicked in."

"It's a headache, not a migraine," Loki grumbled. "What about you? I thought you were doing something with Barton today."

"Stark hijacked him before we could get out the door, so,"—She held up her magazine—"girls day."

"Ah. Fun." Sometimes, Loki wondered if she ever got tired of being the only female in the group. It didn't seem to bother her, but he considered himself somewhat of an expert at digging beneath the thin surface material.

"And you?" She turned to the next page. "Another reading day?"

"Oh, please. I'm not that predictable."

"You kind of are, though."

"Fine. Yes, I'm going to read. Happy now?"

She grinned. "Yeah."

"Well, I'll just leave you to bask in your victory, then." And though his ankle screamed at him, Loki made his way toward the door.

That's when Rogers showed up, poking his head in and wearing that familiar expression on his face. One Loki had come to despise.

It meant they were all leaving. Again.

All right, whose turn is it to play the role of the babysitter this time?

Not Barton, hopefully.

But the archer had stayed behind last time. That had been nothing short of awkward and uncomfortable.

"Suit up," he told Natasha. Then, to Loki's astonishment, the captain glanced at him. "You too."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's a Level 7. We're gonna need all the help we can get."

Before Loki could get another word in edgewise, the captain was gone.

"What's the matter?" Natasha questioned, not unkindly, when Loki made no move to follow her. "Don't trust yourself?"

"I don't trust your friends to trust me."

"You're on our side for this one," she said. "They're going to have to trust you."

Right.

He wouldn't lie, it was nice to have a reason to don his Asgardian armor again—not that Midgardian t-shirts and jackets weren't growing on him. They were, blast it. And fighting alongside the Avengers… That was a novel idea, one Loki could never have fathomed on his own.

Yet, there he was, taking down villains right beside heroes like Iron Man and Black Widow.

"On your left!" the captain called over the com-channel and Loki sent a dagger flying into an oncoming alien's stomach before glancing up at the star-spangled hero on the rooftop.

"Thanks" would've been the appropriate response, but the God of Mischief had neither the breath support nor brain power to reply.

His ankle was practically killing him, and while he'd perfected the art of keeping up illusions for days on end, the battle was starting to wear on him. They had been at this for the better part of the afternoon with no end in sight, and even the most skilled sorcerers had their limitations.

As the battle continued to drag on, Loki knew it wouldn't be long before he met his own limit. It was either drop his illusion or start pulling his punches, both of which he wasn't keen on doing.

It was supposed to be a relaxing day. Then, some imbecile scientist just had to go and open a wormhole big enough to let loose a tribe of alien warlords bent on destruction.

Honestly, reading would've been so much better. And really, this was considered a Level 7? Please, Loki and Thor had taken down far more impressive—and more dangerous—creatures when they were children.

Well, maybe that was an exaggeration… And he hadn't been injured then, either.

Come on, he chided himself as another attack came at him from the right, it's all in your mind. Nothing even happened recently to warrant this pain!

Not recently, no…

You're fine.

Right.

His ankle chose that moment to reveal its hidden weakness. Again. Pain crackled through his knees as they hit the pavement and Loki bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out.

Mere inches above his head, a laser blast from the nearest warlord flew by.

"You know," Stark began, sending his own blast of power into the creature's forehead, "you could've been dead, like, seconds ago."

"Oh," Loki ground out as he tried to push himself off the ground, "and how you would've loved that, wouldn't you?"

"Believe it or not, I'm not actually out for your blood. Yeah, hate is bad for my overall vibe, and mental health. Or so I've been told."

"Potts, I'm assuming."

"Astute observation, Watson," Stark quipped and Loki rolled his eyes. This Midgardian's obsession with pop culture references would never cease to annoy him.

He was still a bit wobbly, but at least he was on his feet again. Good. That's good. Now, just keep it like this.

"You know I don't have the slightest clue as to who that is, don't you?" he shot back, conjuring up another set of daggers.

Stark zoomed past him, taking down several aliens all in one go. "What? Oh, come on. Where were you when we were all watching Sherlock?"

"Not present, apparently."

"Well, that's your loss."

Loki didn't respond, placing all his concentration on simply keeping himself upright.

A short stumble later, he was back in the fight…

… For about a minute and a half, before gravity forced him down onto his knees. Again.

Weak.

Shut up.

"Hey, Reindeer Games, quit slacking." But Loki could hear the thin band of uncertainty constricting Stark's tone. "We're not out of the woods yet."

"We've got the portal closed," Rogers informed them through the comms.

"Well, if it isn't the Miracle Worker, himself. Bravo! Or should I say: it's about time."

"All right, cut the chatter, guys. It's not over until we're the last ones standing."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Normally, hearing their banter would vary between annoying and entertaining. At that moment, Loki felt neither. Only pain.

It shouldn't even have gotten this bad. Sure, his ankle hurt every now and then since that day in the tower, but never like this.

And why now? Why, when they were finally showing signs of trusting him?

You're weak, little prince.

Shut up!

"Seriously," Stark went on and it took Loki a moment to realize the metal man was talking to him now, "we didn't bring you in on this one because we thought you'd enjoy the show."

"I know," Loki gasped, gritting his teeth against the throbbing. "Just… Give me a minute."

"Did you take a hit?"

"No, I'm fine." Shoving himself up off the sun-kissed pavement proved a harder feat this time around. "It just flares up sometimes. But I'm up. I'm—"

A cry escaped his lips before he could stop it as the ground came crashing toward him again.

"What flares up?" Stark's voice had lost all its humor.

Loki clenched his jaw until his muscles screamed in protest. "My ankle."

"All right. Got it. Cap, Loki's down. I need backup on Forty-Ninth Street."

"No!" Loki pushed himself onto one knee. "I'm fine. I'm—"

"Copy that. Thor?"

"Already on my way. Talk to me, Loki."

"I have nothing to say. I'm fine. We don't need backup."

"No, we kinda do," Stark cut in. "But first…"

Stark's arms were around him before he could formulate any sort of protest.

"What in Helheim are you doing? Put me down!"

"At least give me a chance to carry you over the threshold first." Then, Stark placed him in a safe corner of a nearby bank with perhaps more gentleness than Loki knew he deserved. "Stay."

Crossing his arms, Loki stared the man down. "You know I'm just going to run back out there the second you leave, right?"

"Wanna bet? Twenty bucks, take it or leave it."

A scowl was Loki's only reply, not that Stark stuck around long enough to see it, though.

"Loki…" Thor's tone held a note of warning that sent shivers up Loki's spine. That touch of concern. So unwarranted.

So undeserved…

"I'm. Fine. Thor."

"He can barely stand," Stark offered. "Just thought you should know."

"Traitor," Loki grumbled as he leaned forward. If he had nothing better to do than sit and wait for the battle to come to a close, he might as well take a look at the damage…

Pulling his boot off took far more effort than it should have, and the thick band of red swelling that circled his ankle immediately told him why.

Loki bit out a curse.

His mind went out to the ice pack he'd been forced to abandon in the kitchen. Then, the memories began to resurface. Slowly, painfully. The longer he stared at it, the clearer the images became.

Avengers Tower.

The Hulk.

A terror he couldn't suppress.

"Enough!"

Alone. He'd been so alone…

"I am a god, you dull creature!"

Failure.

"I will not be bullied by—!"

Pain.

Unexpected, excruciating pain.

"Puny god."

Defeat.

He had lost. Thanos would find out about his failure eventually. The titan would come for him…

It was the sudden sound of silence that pried him out of his tormented mind. Quickly, Loki shoved his boot back on, gritting his teeth against the pain. They would be coming for him soon. Thor would be worried—was worried. Rogers would get those irritating, compassionate creases in his forehead. Natasha would sigh and kneel down at his side. Stark would make some sort of snarky film reference he wouldn't understand. Bruce would want to take a look at the injury. Barton would be minding his own business at the back of the suffocating crowd.

He had to get up. He didn't care to see that particular show—he couldn't bear it, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

He got three steps out the door before tumbling into Thor's arms.

"Loki! Are you all right? What happened?"

"Just shut up and get me out of here, Thor."

Just get me out of here…

"How long do I have to stay here, exactly?" With a scowl, Loki stared down the ice pack on his ankle, which rested atop two obnoxiously fluffy pillows.

"As long as it takes for your foot to heal," Thor replied, giving Loki's shoulder a light pat.

"You sound like Mother."

To his chagrin, Thor smirked. "Good. Maybe that way, you'll listen to me. And maybe next time, you'll tell me when you're in pain."

"I had it under control."

"Right," Stark began, that insufferable trademark expression on his face. "Did you have it under control when you collapsed in the middle of the battle that first time, or the second? Or was it the third time?"

Loki didn't grace that question with a response, choosing instead to fold his arms across his chest and roll his eyes.

"Come on, Loki, this is serious." Natasha gazed at him with those no-nonsense green eyes.

"She's right," Rogers added. "You jeopardized yourself and the mission."

"Oh, don't pretend you consider me to be on the same level of importance as your precious mission," Loki spat. "And I was only out there in the first place because you lot needed extra hands. At least now with my ankle all blown up like a balloon, you don't have to come up with any excuses when you leave me behind."

To his surprise, Rogers sighed. "Clint's gonna kill me for saying this, but we brought you out there today because, well…" He swept a quick yet meaningful glance over his teammates. "We think it's time you joined the Avengers."

"What?" Because no. This had to be a trick. Some cruel trick they all plotted together to make him suffer further for his crime against their city.

Stark just rolled his eyes. "We want you on the team, Rock of Ages. What part about all that do you not understand?"

The team. They wanted him on the…

What?

For once in his life, Loki couldn't find the right words. He couldn't find any words, in fact. Not a single one.

When Rogers placed a gentle hand on his knee, Loki jolted out of his stupor.

"Just think about it, okay? The invitation is out there, but the choice is still yours."

A nod was the most he could manage as one by one, the Avengers trickled out of his room.

Thor threatened him with a good talking-to once he came back from fetching Loki a glass of water.

That left only Stark, who stood at the foot of the bed, hands tucked loosely in his pockets.

"It's not some random little ache, is it?"

Loki kept his mouth stitched tightly shut.

"Or a sprain from your 'trip down the stairs,' or whatever sob story you tried to sell your brother. Well, I'm not buying it."

"So don't," Loki replied, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

"You know, if it were me, and some giant green monster snatched me up and whipped me around like a ragdoll, my ankle would've been the very first thing I got checked out. But, you know," Tony finished with a shrug, "that's just me."

Loki felt his gaze drop to the crumpled bed sheets. "It didn't seem important at the time."

"Maybe not. I've learned, though, that a lot of times, the things that seem the least important are the ones we should be paying the most attention to."

"Potts again, I'm guessing?"

"Nope." Stark flashed his signature smirk. "That one was all me."

"Well, it's a nice sentiment, but that's all it is in the end."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that. I mean, just look at us. Look at you. Yeah, just think about that for a while. And, uh, don't go running any marathons. At least until your brother gets back."

Seconds later found Loki alone, with only his swirling thoughts to keep him company.

"Think about it."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"What part about all that do you not understand?"

What part, indeed…?

Yes, at first, Loki had been determined to make his stay at Avengers Tower the most miserable period of his entire existence. However, plans don't always unfold the way we want them to, and if the next time Captain America told his team to suit up, Loki was right there with them, well…

He would conveniently forget to mention that to the darker parts of his mind.

And if, for some unfathomable reason, he found himself joining in the Avengers' next movie night, he would claim his brother had forced the activity upon him.

And if, by some miraculous chance, Loki actually helped save the world instead of destroying it, well…

Everyone deserves a second chance, right?

Everyone deserves a chance to wipe the red from their ledger.

Everyone deserves a chance to be a hero.