A/N: Thus, we get part 2 of this madness. Please note that I have no real prior experience writing for any of the Avengers, or for that matter, Loki, so OOC scenes may or may not occur.
NOTE: My personal opinion is that Loki might actually appreciate cats, given that, much like him, they are elegant, cunning, fey-like creatures, they don't care for others' opinions, and if they don't like you, they make sure you know. They are hunters, creatures of the night, and are perfectly willing to manipulate those around them for their own benefit (given the way house cats are pampered by humanity, even with their demands for attention and love). Cats also have been associated for centuries with witchcraft, being regarded as witches' companions, walkers and seekers of doors between realms, and in some places, bringer of changes in fortune or even deities themselves, disguised in smaller forms. Yet at the same time, cats are revered for their capacity for affection, their intelligence and charm, and their resilience against a much bigger world.
Thus, the idea of Loki being associated with those sharp-eyed, claw-wielding little hellspawns makes perfect sense to me (although being referred to as "bag of cats crazy" put me in mind of "going-to-be-drowned sack of kittens" instead of a simple 1-dimensional antagonist). The Nyan-cat he has on his lap is a bit special, though, and not only because the furry creature has a giant poptart for a torso.
This crack!fic, for future information, takes place after The Avengers and, in some ways, after Thor 2: The Dark World. Since most stories set in this universe take place in an AU where Loki seems to repeatedly return to New York City and spread mass mischief by routinely throwing the laws of Physics out the window like Tony, in this universe, Frigga was horribly wounded from the battle but ultimately survived (Thor and Loki still went to kill Malekith, as it was very uncertain whether she would survive the injury, so vengeance for a looking-likely-to-die Frigga was sought).
In addition to this, Loki survived the stabbing in Svartalfheim but left the throne of Asgard be (Odin is...unspeakable to me, in both comic!canon/film! canon and a good chunk of Norse mythos, but as Frigga would likely be unhappy (at least from what we can see in film!canon) if he actually were dead and she lived, I've decided on leaving him alive in this. Thor also clearly needs to learn some more (and take a nice refresher course in humility and familial kindness) if he ever is to actually take on the throne (and he seems to like his role as an Avenger much better, so I'm leaving him doing that instead). I think Loki certainly has the skill set required, but not enough patience or proper reputation for permanent rule over the land that disliked him so much, given that they clearly didn't respect him beforehand when he took the throne in the first Thor film. Instead, Loki has left Asgard permanently, seeking to live somewhere without a lifetime of painful memories).
Instead, our favorite Norse God of Mischief has taken up residence on Midgard, free to live out life on his own without fear of being hunted down and executed, so long as he keeps himself out of the sight and hands of human authorities (Thor, at least for now, doesn't know that Loki survived, but given how he's been fooled into thinking him dead before, it really isn't very surprising...).
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the pop cultural references, songs, characters, or places shown in this.
Steve Rogers, known also as Captain America, looked on at the bizarre sight before him with both apprehension and a good bit of confusion as he reminded himself that, since aliens had invaded New York city, finding an alien once-prince cuddling with what appeared to be a cat crossed with a packaged, sugary snack food should not be so hard to believe.
The call for the Avengers to assemble had been issued by Director Fury, after a street camera by Central Park spotted the dark-haired marauder twirling the stick of yew wood (Fury outright refused to acknowledge it properly as a wand in the debriefing) back and forth between his thin fingers, conjuring flashes of brightly-coloured sparks and soap bubbles, apparently for the amusement of the bizarre creature curled up on his lap, watching the magical light show with bright, button-round eyes.
Frowning slightly, he turned to the man beside him. "What do you make of this? I don't...I don't really know what to do here."
Given the circumstances, it wasn't surprising.
They had seen Loki in Stuttgart, sharp-tongued and vicious, imperiously commanding the gathered humans to kneel before him after he had taken out someone's eye. He had been wild-eyed, his voice a sharp, demanding roar, terrifying and mesmerizing all at once, as if speaking in storms.
They had seen Loki imprisoned upon the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, a pane of bullet-proof glass the only barrier separating a mad, cunning god from the valuable technology and hundreds of humans aboard. He had paced the glass cage, taunted and sing-songed, a feral being, in full view of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surveillance equipment, and yet the unsettling aura of his presence persisted to keep everyone else balancing on a knife edge.
They had seen Loki, wrists chained and shackled, a muzzle silencing his tongue, binding his mouth shut in a way both effective and cruel. Steve had been reminded of the Norse myth involving that same mouth being sewn shut at the strange, unsettling sight, and the cold gaze of the chained alien had served to leave many a night since haunted with half-forgotten nightmares. He had seen victims of war from his own time, and though he would never, ever group Loki into the same category as those who had suffered the horrors of the war camps and the sickening hells of civilian oppression and wartime cruelty, the blank, empty expression in those ancient eyes had reminded him frighteningly of those who had come out of the war as empty shells of their former selves, bereft of purpose and left to wonder what had gone wrong, what they had done wrong, when did it all start and when did it end.
When Thor had come to them several months ago, he had told them, albiet a bit shakily, that Loki was dead, having perished from a stab wound while fighting alongside him in Svartalfheim, and that Odin had releaved him of his duties as crown prince, leaving him free to pursue a life here on Earth with his lover Jane.
The reactions had been mixed.
Jane was silent about the matter, but would embrace Thor whenever possible. Darcy reacted similarly. Dr. Selvig was rather happy about the news, but given his time spent under mind control, no one could blame him.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had removed Loki's file from the Off-World Enemy list.
Clint, a look of dark satisfaction briefly flashing in his eyes, had spent the day practicing archery on moving targets provided in Stark Tower's semiofficial training zone. Natasha had accepted the news with a curt nod, silent and unruffled.
Tony had shaken his head, muttered something about missed drinks, and then vanished down to his workshop for the day.
Bruce had sighed, giving Thor a brief shoulder squeeze for emotional support, and handed him a bucket-sized mug of calming tea.
Now, months later, it appeared that their former enemy was most certainly alive, and even looked, for lack of a better term, bizarrely, almost unnervingly, human. He had been a wild maelström of chaos, grandiose speeches and megalomania during New York's alien fiasco, and now he was sitting quietly in a tree with a cat...poptart...creature. There was no loud speech demanding subjugation of humanity, there was no invading armada of creepy space-insects here to devour the city like cockroaches roaming a garbage heap, and he looked almost terrifyingly calm.
Steve knew how to fight the enemy. He knew how to distract, to restrain, to slowly but surely take down the opposition until the battle had ended and the people could rejoice as the evils of the world were taken away to judged and punished for their crimes.
He did not know how to deal with a former enemy who seemed perfectly nonchalant with the fact that he was in the middle of the city that he'd nearly obliterated, a former enemy who wore regular clothes and apparently owned a pet cat.
"This like something out of the Twilight Zone or something. I'm not drunk enough to deal with this, I'm not."
Steve turned to give Tony a mildly reproving glare at the mention of alcohol. Tony, for his part, appeared completely unfazed by said glare.
"I'm not kidding, Cap, this is just wierd. I can deal with Reindeer Games when he's going for world domination while dressed for the space Viking version of an S-n-M club, I've got nothing for how to deal with...with this."
The formerly frozen soldier could sympathize with the confusion. This was not something covered in their protocol.
"So...what do we do, then? I mean, he's not actually destroying anything or hurting anyone..."
The billionaire shrugged his shoulders, brow furrowing in thought. "Technically, since he's still listed as legally dead by S.H.I.E.L.D., I don't think we can do anything."
This did not sit well with the archer perched high up on the roof. "He may be registered as dead, Tony, but he's still a war criminal. We're entitled to kick his ass, he's on Earth after he nearly turned New York into rubble, for god's sake!"
"You're just sore because he had you brainwashed."
"I've got every right to be pissed off for that, and you know it! How'd you like someone in your head, telling you to help them with their lunatic plans, forcing you to help build their goddamn-!"
"Barton, stop."
Steve didn't like to give a command to his friend, but it was necessary.
It had only been for a split second, but Tony's eyes had flickered with the memory of something horrible, his skin turning a shade paler.
He'd seen more than enough men during war suffer from memories of things they wanted desperately to forget experiencing, things no man should have to have gone through.
He didn't know what Tony had experienced to leave him with that sickeningly haunted look, but he knew better than to ask about something painful, breaching a closely gaurded privacy.
But that didn't mean he couldn't step in if someone went too far.
Clint fell silent after a moment, sharp eyes registering the slight headshake of enough from Steve.
Natasha's attention, meanwhile, was focused elsewhere: namely, the original subject of their debriefing.
Loki's pale fingers rubbed the cat's short, folded ears with a deceptively gentle air, smoothing down stray hairs. The feline's purring became stronger, head tilting upwards as a little strawberry-pink tongue darted out to lick at the thin digits affectionately. A soft, almost unnoticable chuckle chimed in the air as the god looked on at his feline companion, a hint of affection in the ancient green gaze.
This affection promptly vanished as, with a sudden, sharp thwackkkk, Clint loosed an arrow, shooting the explosive-tipped projectile at hair-raising speed at their target.
There was no hostile reaction. The god did not bother to rise from his perch, or even look up. He simply vanished, the air around him shimmering like a heat mirage for a split second as he disappeared, the cat-creature scrambling up from his lap to his arms immediately.
Clint blinked in confusion and quickly mounting rage as his would-be "pin-cushion" seemingly blinked out of existance, before letting out a stream of curse words as he realized that the god had left him a parting gift.
Safely relocated to the rooftop of an apartment building on the other side of the park, Loki felt a smirk dance around the edges of his mouth as his scrying spell revealed the reddening, anger-filled visage of Clint as the archer took in the sight of his arrow supply replaced by several dozen candy cane sticks, the new bubble-gum pink dye marring his previously brown hair, and the huge, flashing neon sign (which, judging by the casino insignia at the bottom, had been shamelessly whisked from Las Vegas) hanging in midair before him blaring the words TOO SLOW. BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, HMM?
The trickster hummed in contentment, vanishing silently along with his armload of cat as a shriek of "LOKI, YOU BASTARD!" echoed through Central Park.