Alright, here it is! I was gonna make this chapter and chapter five one big chapter, but this was a good stopping point. Again, painfully short. My apologies.

As much as I hate to admit it, I stood in front of that doorway longer than was probably necessary. It was my tower, my guest room, and I was Tony Fucking Stark. Genius, billionare, playboy, philanthropist...and apparently scared shitless of waking up the hopefully-not-as-deadly god at the other side of the door.

There was a voice inside of me that let me know just how bad an idea this was. I usually drowned it in large amounts of alcohol until it was just a dull buzzing in the back of my head, and then I'd deal with it when it came back to kick me in the ass later. Unfortunately, the current situation left absolutely no time for that.

The man I let stay in my tower was a mass murderer, and I almost forgot with how miserable he looked. The darker emotions that were stirred up after looking at him were old, dusty, and not at all appreciated. To be honest, it clouded my sense of judgment to where I could do nothing but help the guy out. It might be a bit hard to believe, but there's certain situations where I'm not a total selfish asshole. It makes a difference when you've been there yourself.

So the question was, did I regret my decision? After battling against myself for a few minutes, I'd decided that I didn't regret a thing. No one deserved to be treated like that. The Assgardians obviously didn't know when enough was enough, and if that was their version of just and lawful punishment, I didn't want to know what kind of tactics they used for more severe crimes.

There was also the issue of Tall, Dark, and Deadly waking up to me leaning over him. He'd just had fucking stitches pulled out of his face, and their choice of thread wasn't exactly the weakest I'd seen. Their idea of thread was what I used for attaching circuits and panels. Granny would be horrified to see that kind of thing at the sewing club. Pointbreak would have some serious explaining to do the next time we ran into each other.

I figured that Frosty was too magicked-out to try anything anyway, or he'd have been gone already. That didn't mean that he wasn't ten times my own strength without the suit, and willing to beat the shit out of me for giving him a heart attack. Did gods even suffer from PTSD? If they did, Frosty had it. Big time.

"Sir, I'm terribly sorry for the interruption, but you've been standing at Mr. Laufeyson's door for exactly seventeen minutes and fifty-eight seconds."

I was jerked out of my thoughts and realized just how long I'd been standing there. "Right. Yeah. Thanks, Jarv." I muttered, looking down at the door handle that my hand was still clutching. To hell with it. The itch to finish what I'd started was killing me. I'd just go in there, patch him up, and get out. Simple as that. If anything, he'd appreciate my efforts. Sure, the pillows were soft and luxurious as several hundred dollars could provide, but having an open wound scraped by fabric was the exact opposite of that. Take it from a man who's speaking from personal experience. Not comfy.

I pushed the door open, leaving it that way so that the hallway light would shine in just enough to where I could see what I was dealing with. I should have emotionally braced myself for what I was up against, because seeing him in that lighting was way worse than when we were in the lab.

He was lying flat on his back, which was good news for me, because it meant that nothing was standing in my way, but I couldn't bring myself to step forward. I was forced to stare at him and take it all in, because that's the only thing my body would let me do. I was frozen in a sort of reminiscent horror that I hoped I'd never have to experience again. It was like looking into a mirror that reflected the aftermath of the Jericho incident. It unnerved me to where I thought I'd be sick.

The light made the shadows on his skin seem darker, and the drying blood on the smaller cuts I didn't bother with appeared almost poisoned and black. His eyes were sickly and sunken in, and were squeezed way too tight to suggest anything short of complete, nightmarish hell. His lips were parted, and not in the sense of being caught in an embarrassing, drooling, open- mouthed nap. I was almost one hundred percent sure that it was fear-induced. Probably too worried that if he closed it, he wouldn't be able to open it again.

Holy shit, what was I doing?

I forced myself to step closer until I was directly beside him and set the first aid down on the mattress with shaking hands that I knew were going to be a problem later. While this was going on, the alarms in my head were screaming a mantra that I wished I could shut up with a couple shots of liquor.

This is a bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.

Yeah, it was a fucking terrible idea. And that's never stopped me before.

I grabbed the antiseptic and tried applying it to the skin of his lips, cursing under my breath when I couldn't efficiently reach. Throwing all caution out the window, I got up on the mattress next to him and shuffled closer to where I didn't have to be a contortionist to reach for him.

It was going pretty well. I'd applied the antiseptic exactly where I needed to, and Loki didn't move a single inch. The shaking in my hands was gone, and I was finally getting into the typical Tony Stark inventor zone. I reached for the medical tape and gauze to finish the job, and looked over to meet the wide, panic-stricken gaze of Loki himself.

"Oh...shit."

Cliffhanger...muahaha! Sorry guys. Luckily, the next chapter's almost finished and should be up either tonight or tomorrow. Thanks to all who've reviewed and followed this story, you guys are the best. Please continue to let me know what you think, I'd appreciate it a ton!