Ugh, what a day. Hopefully this chapter finds you all well.

When the home phone rang unexpectedly with Tony's cell phone number as the caller I.D., Clint thought nothing of it. Probably Tony being his usual self and whooping on the other end of the phone because 'science trumps magic' and other related statements. Clint debated whether or not to pick up the phone or let it fall into voicemail before caving in; all that he was really waiting for was news that Loki and Thor could get off of Earth and back to wherever they needed to go, whether that be to Asgard or B-612.

"Yeah?" said Clint when he answered the phone.

"Barton? That you?" Tony, all right, and he sounded breathless.

Clint took a gulp of the smoothie he had snuck out from Tony's fridge. "Who else?"

"Where's Bruce?" said Tony. "I need to talk to him."

"I think he's showering or something," said Clint, yawning. "I'll pass the good news to him once he comes out."

"What?"

"It was a success, wasn't it?"

"No," said Tony. "No, it was the opposite. It was a disaster."

Clint nearly choked on his fruit drink. He thumped his chest, coughing.

"Come again?" said Clint.

"It failed. I failed," said Tony, his voice strained. "The Mind Gem was suppressed, but for some reason his magic went haywire, and it exploded out of him."

"What is going on?" Clint turned around to see Thor coming into the room. He groaned inwardly before reluctantly putting the phone on speaker.

"There was a bit of a mishap," said Clint.

Thor's face paled immediately. "What do you mean?"

"Point Break, is that you?" said Tony.

"Stark?" said Thor. He leaned closer to the telephone. "Stark, what happened? Where is my brother?"

"Shit," said Tony. "I was hoping to break the news to you last."

"What do you mean?" said Thor, gripping the edge of the table. Clint leaned away slightly; if Tony's bad news set Thor on a rampage, Clint was going to be the first person in flying out the window.

"The Mind Gem's power was repressed, but for some reason Loki's own magic just went crazy," said Tony. "It got completely out of his control and it—it destroyed almost everything around him. It destroyed nearly a third of the SHIELD headquarters. People died. People—so many agents, they—"

Clint felt his heart clench in his chest.

"What did he do?" Clint said.

"It wasn't his fault," Tony said, his voice extremely rough. "It was out of his control. He didn't mean to hurt anyone. It was me. I fucked up, and it was me. And I've got even more blood in my hands because of my creations. Look, can someone please get Bruce? I honestly don't know what to do anymore."

"I will get him," said Thor, his voice hollow. He looked positively ill and he stumbled away, his jaw clenched and hands curling into fists nervously.

"Shit," said Clint. "Shit. Who died? How many died?"

"Look, don't ask just yet, Clint," said Tony. "It was bad. Damn, I didn't even know that guy had so much magic in him, and something tells me that wasn't even half of it. I'm just wondering what would have happened if I kept the cuff on him the whole time."

"Wait—you took off his cuff?" Clint said.

"If I didn't, that magic probably would have made him into a human grenade. It would have made him combust," said Tony.

"Okay, so then how many of our agents are killed?"

"Clint, I—look, I don't know. I'm sorry, I just don't know. It was on no one's agenda. No one wanted it, no one expected it, and it happened. I'm sorry. I know that's never enough. Words are never enough. I just...goddammit."

Clint couldn't feel angry. He couldn't anymore. Because Tony was apologizing, Tony was distraught, Tony was guilty. Not everything would make him this way, and the gravity of such a situation made Clint's mind burn.

"Tony, what's the problem?" Bruce was running into the room with Thor closely behind him, his hair still wet from the shower. "Thor told me the reactor didn't work. What happened?"

"It triggered his magic to explode," said Tony. "I think—if magic really, really is alive—the Mind Gem must have squelched Loki's magic so much that when its influence was gone it was so free it ran too free, and he couldn't control it. And now people are dead, everyone's angry, and Loki locked himself in this damn room and he won't—let—me—in. Fury hasn't put anyone in chains yet but that doesn't mean anything yet."

"Wait, where are you? Where's he?" said Bruce.

"We're in the west wing of the SHIELD headquarters," said Tony. "He ran off after the whole fiasco and he locked himself in this room—or at least, I saw him go through the door and lock it—and I can't get through even when I try to kick it down and he's not responding. Hell, I don't even know if he can hear me."

"Let me go to him," said Thor, his voice shaking. "Please, let me come speak with him."

"Listen, Thor," said Tony. "I know you are his brother and everything, but this situation—I think Bruce and I would be better for this. I need you here, Bruce."

"What do you want me to do, get the other guy to rip open the door?" said Bruce.

"No," said Tony. "I'm at the door—he's locked himself in a room and I don't know if he's hurting himself, and I sure as hell am not good with injuries. And—you know how it is. You and I both know how it is, but you especially. This is in bad taste and I know it,and I'm sorry, but—he had no control over it, Bruce, and they're calling him a monster."

Bruce closed his eyes. Thor's face hardened with shock and indignation, his fists shaking from gripping them so tightly. Clint suddenly felt too aware of his presence among them, like a puzzle piece from the wrong box. They were all thrumming the same intangible bond he did not understand and it made him feel strangely inferior.

"I'll be there as fast as I can," said Bruce. "Tony, make sure he's—I don't know. Make sure he isn't trying to hurt himself. Do anything to talk to him, to make sure he's listening to you. And—if SHIELD needs to get their hands on someone, try not to let it be him."

"I know," said Tony. "I'm a step ahead of you."

With that, the phone line went dead. Bruce pulled on his jacket and swiftly made his way toward the elevators.

"Doctor," said Thor.

"Thor, we'll bring him back home," said Bruce. "Just hang tight. I know—it's going to be hard for you. He will need his comfort. But he might need people who understand him first."

I understand, Clint found himself wanting to say. I do.

He felt a dull ache in his chest, not far from where the scepter pierced his heart.

"Please hurry, Doctor," said Thor. "Please take care of him."

Bruce nodded before rushing into the elevators. The doors slid shut and Bruce was gone. Thor let out a choked sigh and he leaned against the wall, hands pressed temples. Clint was seized with the desire to say something, anything, but he suddenly felt so unworthy, so shameful, and the sensation was so out of place.

"He's not a monster," said Thor.

Clint jumped slightly, his heart nearly leaping into his chest.

They're calling him a monster.

Clint swallowed hard and had every desire to walk away, to escape, but he was chained to the spot.

If Loki was a monster, then what was he?

He, who killed who knew how many of his own fellow agents. Who gave information about the other Avengers to the enemy. Who did it all thoroughly and willingly, the only difference being his loyalties were forcibly changed. He nearly helped send the helicarrier plummeting into the ocean. No outside force tortured him to speak, to pull back the arrow and release it toward whom he once called companions. If Loki was the monster, when he had utterly lost control, what was Clint?

"Thor," he said. His voice sounded strange in his ears. "They'll bring him back. It'll be fine."

"Do you know how long he's been tortured with himself?" said Thor. "How long he believed he was a beast, a savage beast, and how it drove him into madness? And still does so?" Thor let his hands fall weakly to his sides. "He is no monster, Barton. Please believe me."

Clint thought of how driven he had been when he was fighting Natasha years ago, how hungry he was to kill her. He thought of New York in shambles, and a never-ending obituary. He thought of Natasha saying, don't do this to yourself, but thinking, it was me, it was always, always me.

"I know, Thor," said Clint. And it was the truth. "I know."

"Loki?"

Tony figured the bones in his knuckles were going to weather down from all the knocking he was doing. Figures—SHIELD and their impossibly heavy doors that he couldn't just kick them down. If only he had his suit with him to blast it down, but they had enough of fire here. Enough destruction and not enough tries.

"Loki, listen to me," said Tony. "You're in there. I know you're in there, and—open this door, Loki. I won't hurt you."

Nothing. Not even a blunt and heavy object being thrown against the door. Tony's nails dug into his palm. If Loki hurt himself in there—if he did something to himself behind locked doors—

"Loki, it's just me. Uncle Tony, remember?" said Tony. "Just me. No one else. But Bruce will come too, because Bruce knows you and he understands you and he's a friend."

Where the hell was Bruce? Tony had forgotten that not everyone had the ability to fly at breakneck speed like he and Thor.

"Loki—just give me a sign you're in there, or something," said Tony. "One knock means yes, two knocks means no, okay? Anything? Loki. Loki."

There was a crash inside and Tony winced.

"Okay. Okay, that's good. That works." Tony checked the time on his cell phone and cursed. Did it really have to take Bruce twenty minutes to get here?

"Loki—listen," said Tony. "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't. You had no control over it, you didn't choose to do it. It was the arc reactor. It messed you up and made your magic go crazy. It had nothing to do with you."

Three years ago, if Tony was told that Loki had a single ounce of guilt, much less heart, in him, Tony would have laughed and taken the bourbon away from whoever was talking. But now, with a heavy door between them, Tony knew too well just what Loki had within him, and to see him so raw and hurt was painful, to say the least.

"I told you to trust me and I let you down," said Tony. "I'm sorry. The blame goes to me, not you. SHIELD won't hurt you. The Avengers won't let them. Do you hear me—?"

Tony was interrupted by constant crashing on the other side of the door. Tony banged his fist against the door in another futile attempt to move it. He kept tugging at the door handles but they remained stone still.

"Tony?" Tony spun around and let out a cry of relief at the sight of Bruce running down the hallway. If he had to run to Bruce in slow motion and kiss him right now, he would.

"Bruce, you gotta help me," said Tony. "Loki won't open the door, I don't know if he's listening to me, and I think he's destroying something in there."

"Can you get JARVIS to somehow get into the security cameras so we can see what's going on in there?" said Bruce.

"Well—" Tony jerked his head toward the door's direction. "JARVIS was sort of compromised, remember?"

"Right," Bruce said. He rubbed his forehead before approaching the door and knocking gently. "Loki? It's me, Bruce. You know, the doctor? It's just me and Tony, Loki. You don't have to worry."

Tony wasn't even sure if Loki could hear Bruce over the constant crashing.

"Did you bring medical things?" said Tony. Bruce gave a grim nod and gestured to the messenger bag around his shoulder.

"He's not going to want to open the door for us," said Bruce.

"Well, he won't want us to break it down either," said Tony. "I'm not going to act like SHIELD."

"I know," said Bruce. He lowered his voice. "I saw the damage."

Tony felt his stomach churn.

"I don't even know where to begin," said Tony.

"Let's deal with the things we screwed over one at a time," said Bruce. "Before the damage gets worse on its own. And also, that one captain's still dead set on bringing Loki down."

"Asshole," said Tony.

"And he won't hesitate in breaking the door down," said Bruce.

"Point taken," said Tony. He gave the door one last tug. "Loki, let us in. We'll take you back home. We won't stay here a second longer; just let us take you back."

"None of the Avengers are angry with you," said Bruce. "They want you to come back. They won't hurt you or anything."

One last crash in the room, but the door did not move.

"It's not fear," Bruce said.

"What?" said Tony.

"He's not afraid," said Bruce. "That isn't why he's locking himself up like this."

Tony pressed a hand against his eyes. "This is all my fault. You were right, Bruce. Magic is one thing, science is another. I couldn't control it."

"It was my fault as much as it was yours," said Bruce. "But we can't dwell on that right now."

Bruce pressed a hand flat against the door. "Loki, listen to me. You know me and the other guy. Mindless beast and everything, remember?"

Silence on the other end, and Tony cringed at the thought that Loki wasn't even conscious on the other side. The idea of Thor's anger if that were the case never entered Tony's train of thought.

"You know what I've done. Or the other guy," said Bruce. "Because of the other guy, I've destroyed so much. I broke down a whole section of the city. I even killed a lot of people. It was completely out of my control, but I can't get that out of my head. I couldn't stop blaming myself, because it was my body and I thought I should have complete control over it, even though I don't. Deep down, I don't."

Tony couldn't help but stare at Bruce as the quiet, mild-mannered man poured truth after truth through the door cracks. Why were they doing this? When had they gone from more than reluctant babysitters of sorts to—this?

"I know how you feel, Loki," said Bruce. "You feel—you feel awful. Guilty. You think what other people are saying—that it's true. And it hurts. It angers you, and it hurts."

How had they become so certain? But Tony believed every word.

"And you're afraid of yourself," said Bruce. "You're afraid for yourself and of yourself and—you aren't a monster, Loki. I've seen my share of monsters. You're not one. You know how I know? Because we're here right now, talking to each other like this. If you were really a monster, you wouldn't feel all these things. Monsters aren't monsters for what they do, Loki, nor is it for what they are."

For a brief, wild moment Tony had the image of his father come into mind. The spitting image of himself. He took in a deep breath to squelch it aside. Now was not a time to contradict Bruce, regardless of how he felt.

"It's terrible that this happened," said Bruce. "It's awful. But you are not. We messed up but it wasn't you. Your magic isn't a bad thing, it really isn't. Just like how the other guy watches over all our backs, your magic protects you. It's a part of you, and that is nothing wrong." He leaned his forehead against the door. "We want you to come out. To be all right. Please Loki…come out."

Silence. Tony waited with baited breath. No way Loki would listen to them—even if everything Bruce and Tony said was the truth (and it was, he realized. It really was), Loki wouldn't trust them. Not after this.

But to his amazement, the door lock shifted on the other side. Bruce curled his fingers around the handle and gently tugged it open. Loki had locked himself in one of the conference rooms; the table was overturned, and chairs scattered everywhere. Bloody holes punctured the wall; no doubt Loki had punched through them.

Loki was retreating back to the corner, his hand steadily bleeding. His face was empty of emotion; the sight of it unnerved Tony. It was no mystery that Loki did not take this situation in stride, so how could his façade remain so blank, so silent? How could anyone suppress a scream?

"Loki," said Bruce.

Loki pressed his back against the corner of the room, letting his head fall back and his eyes close. He raised a bloody hand to his lips. Tony counted seven cracked holes in the wall, each bloodier than the previous.

"Tony, close the door," said Bruce. Tony obliged as Bruce slowly approached Loki. Loki did not react, only letting his blood coat his lips and chin, as if he was thirsty for a taste.

"Let me see that," said Bruce, reaching out to take Loki's hand. Loki's eyes snapped open immediately and he straightened, his eyes searing in comparison to his stone cold face. Bruce hesitated before turning his hand, offering to take it. Loki stood still before letting his hand fall to his side, ignoring Bruce's offer.

"You might have broken your hand," said Bruce. "I want to help it."

Loki pressed his lips together. Blood gushed from the tip of his lips and trickled down his chin. He touched his chest with his red, shaking hand.

Tony wished he understood.

"I'm not going to hurt you," said Bruce. "I just want to—"

All of a sudden, Loki's face twisted into a silent snarl. He spun toward the wall and sank his fist into the plaster over and over again. Bits of the wall flew after each strike, his blood smearing on the gray, but each hit was faster and fiercer than the last as if Loki was trying to kill. Tony immediately took a hold of Loki's waist and dragged him away from the wall. Loki thrashed in Tony's grip, clawing at his own eyes before he hung limply in resignation in Tony's arm, one hand pressed against his mouth as if to force back nonexistent sobs.

"Loki," said Tony, and he almost said 'it's okay,' except it was the most blatant and disgusting lie. Nothing was okay, Loki least of all. "Loki, none of this was your fault. Do you hear me? I'm an honest person, and I don't say things to sugar-coat, so you know you can believe me when I say this is not your fault."

Blood streaked the left side of Loki's face where his split hand tried to rub out his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, teeth bared as if he was undergoing torture—and perhaps he was.

Tony slowly lowered himself to his knees, taking Loki down with him to the ground. Bruce knelt in front of them, gently coaxing Loki to let him see his hand. Loki finally acquiesced; Bruce mopped the blood from Loki's torn knuckles and bound his hand with clean white strips of bandage. Loki's fingers twitched intermittently, instinctively urged to pull away from the caring touch. He absentmindedly rocked back and forth, still shuddering in Tony's grip as if ready to fall ill. When Tony finally let go of Loki, he was surprised Loki could sit up on his own.

"Let's go home," said Bruce.

Loki opened his eyes, uncertainty in those green. They questioned Bruce, Tony knew. They asked what he meant. They asked if he ever had one. If he still wanted one.

"Your home is where you're cared for, and that sure as hell is Stark Tower," said Tony. "I hate being gushy or honest, but you're under our wing now. And you're not leaving until we say so."

A flicker of a smile before it was gone. Maybe Tony imagined it. Looking at Loki's face now, Tony was sure he did.

"There's no why or how or for how long," said Tony. "You're you, and you need help, and you'll get it. We screwed up with this—the reactor—but like hell if that means we're going to screw up anything else. I know you don't trust us anymore, because we really did screw up, but—but just let us bring you back home and help you."

Loki watched Tony and Bruce with unreadable eyes. His tongue was absolutely silent, and his lips were twisted in a grimace. His eyes fell on his bandaged hand and he looked as if he didn't even notice Bruce binding his wounds. He pressed a hand against the side of his head as if the room spun in his eyes and stumbled along the wall, trying to edge away from them as he shook his head mutely to the floor.

Tony wished he could understand.

"We better go," said Tony. He kept close to the door and he couldn't tell if the footsteps running through the hallways were a part of his imagination or not.

"Right," said Bruce. He hesitated. "Is there another exit?"

Tony nodded. Going through the original exit would bring them back into that room. "There's probably one in the back. Let's get going. Loki?"

Tony stopped short. Loki had stopped paying attention to them, instead grazing his fingers across the shattered plaster where he drove his fist through. Pieces of the wall crumbled off. He pressed his forehead against the splintered holes, as if to see if it fit perfectly.

Bruce put a hand on Loki's shoulder. "Loki."

Loki's eyes flickered toward Bruce. The corner of his lips twitched upward, looking almost crazed, but it died away immediately. He pushed himself from the wall, staggering slightly. Tony couldn't help but feel his stomach churn at the sight of Loki. There was something off about him, something that was misconstrued like a mosaic piece built of a thousand broken pieces to form a hazy excuse for a picture. Almost like the God of Mischief they met for the first time three years ago.

If Loki stayed any longer, Tony was sure he would become catatonic, so he dragged Loki out of the room himself. When he drove everyone back home, he couldn't stop himself from glancing at the rearview mirror toward Loki in the back seat.

For too many moments, he thought he saw the old Loki he originally knew at the battle of New York City.

He couldn't recognize him.

Steve couldn't take his eyes off the window. It was pointless, he reasoned with himself. He was probably fifty stories if not higher off the ground, to the point where everyone was barely discernible; how in the world did he think he could see Bruce, Tony, and Loki from all the way up here?

But he couldn't take himself away from the window. It was either that or stare endlessly at Thor at the height of his worry (Thor seemed to exceed his level of worry every single time when Loki was involved). Clint and Natasha had been called back to the headquarters—probably to help iron out the entire situation—so it was only Steve, Thor, and Pepper left in the living quarters.

"Thor, do you need anything?" Pepper said. Thor was pacing in the hallway, his face drawn and tired. Thor shook his head and waved a hand. "Steve?"

"No thanks," said Steve. He let himself look away from the window. "Thor, they'll be all right. Bruce is there, Tony's there, and they're the smartest, ablest people possible."

"How can you be so certain?" said Thor.

"Because they'd be insulted if you thought otherwise," said Pepper. She handed Thor a glass of water. Thor hesitated before downing it in one gulp. "It's terrible that Loki has to go through all this, and that there isn't a guarantee that everything will be totally all right, but he has people on his side helping him, and that's going to help him little by little."

Thor nodded, handing back the cup. "I only hope he will remember that we are here to help him."

"Why do you say that?" said Steve.

Thor only shook his head and continued his pacing. Steve and Pepper exchanged a look before Pepper left the room. Steve sighed heavily and pulled up a chair.

"JARVIS?" he said.

The AI butler, whom Tony had to shut off and restart to shake out of its temper tantrum, could only deal with domestic situations without reverting back to a bugged state. He responded, his voice more disconnected and static than usual.

"Yes—Mr.—Rogers?"

"Can you alert us when the others come back?" said Steve.

"I—will try—my best, Mr.—Rogers."

Steve shook his head and suppressed a grin.

"He kind of grows on you, doesn't he?" he said.

Thor gave a small smile but did not cease his pacing. Steve wished he could only knew what was the right thing to say or do for Thor; the only times he saw Thor so vulnerable was when Loki was at stake, and Steven couldn't help but wonder if Thor ever stopped to care for himself sometimes.

"Do you know something, Captain?" said Thor.

"What is it?" said Steve.

"Before I was banished, I warred constantly and hungrily," said Thor. "I would easily kill tens of Frost Giants in a mere hour and feel not a single ounce of guilt in me. What Loki had attempted three years ago in this city, I had pursued just as passionately not long before. I was punished to feel humility, never to feel remorse. If SHIELD so wishes for a monster to revile, they ought to find one in me." He gave a wry smile. "And yet, they revere me as a hero."

Steve ran his hand through his hair. It was surprising, to say the least, for Thor to open up so readily to Steve about his faults. It amazed him how little Steve truly knew about his teammates, much less Thor, and he wondered now what deeper secrets every one of the members hid from the others. If they were haunted as they fell asleep at night.

"Everyone does bad things, Thor," said Steve. "Whether or not they were mistakes, everyone makes the wrong choices. But no one is a monster. SHIELD's wrong to call anyone a monster. You're not a monster, Thor. What you did before—okay, it was wrong, you shouldn't have done that, but that doesn't mean you can't or didn't change."

"I know," said Thor. He looked so tired. "And yet, I cannot help but question it. What are real monsters, Captain? Are they actually individuals that are irrevocably heartless? Are they truly that tangible?"

"Maybe not," said Steve. "Maybe they're as real as heroes are. Which is to say, not."

"Mr. Rogers—Mr. Stark and—Mr. Bruce and Mr. Odinson—are entering—the tower," interrupted JARVIS, his voice intermittent.

"Thank God," said Steve. "Are they all right? Actually no, don't strain yourself, JARVIS."

Thor's face paled and he hovered near the elevator doors. Steve left his chair and waited with Thor, keeping a comforting hand on Thor's large shoulder. He thought he felt Thor shaking, despite Thor's unbetraying face.

It felt like eons before the elevator doors parted and Bruce and Tony stepped out to meet them. Thor stretched his neck, trying to look for Loki behind them, but he was absent.

"Where is my brother?" said Thor.

"He bee-lined to his room the moment we got off his floor," said Bruce. "I think he wants some alone time. I tried talking to him the whole time, and he seems to at least trust us enough to follow us, but…"

"But what?" said Steve.

"He looks like he cracked," said Tony, pressing his hands against his temples.

"Cracked?" said Thor. "Are his bones injured?"

"No, not that cracked," said Tony. "He doesn't look sane. He like—something in him seems to have shifted, and everything's out of order and out of place."

"How did you find him, Stark?" said Steve. "After you got through the door?"

Tony winced. "He messed up the place. Everything thrown around, about five or so holes in the wall because he punched through them…he hurt his hand, but he should be all right now."

"But he hides himself so quickly," said Thor.

"I think he still feels guilty," said Bruce. "I mean…it's normal, to feel that way. We can't cure that so quickly."

"Even if he needed help, he would not seek it himself," said Thor. "And what of SHIELD?"

Tony and Bruce exchanged glances.

"We're going to say our relationship with SHIELD in a Facebook would be 'it's complicated,'" said Tony.

This time it was Thor and Steve's turn to exchange glances—one of cluelessness.

"Fury's not accusing anyone," said Bruce, "but the rest of SHIELD…not so much. Even if Fury may give them orders to let Loki be free, there's no stopping them if they—you know."

"They will hurt my brother if they were given the chance?" said Thor, his voice grave.

"It won't come to that," said Tony.

Steve couldn't help but still feel unsettled. If Loki had been alone in a room before Tony and Bruce could find him and had punched through the walls until his hands opened, who was to say he wouldn't do something else right now, especially if Bruce was right and Loki's emotions were not quelled?

He slipped away unnoticed, descending down the elevators. There was no need to distress Thor even further with this possibility, but Steve wasn't going to risk it. He had seen the heavy blows that guilt dealt to soldiers after the first battle. He shivered at the memory and urged the elevator to move faster.

When Steve finally approached Loki's room, he knocked twice.

"Loki?" he said.

No answer. Steve tried the doorknob; it was locked.

"Loki, it's Steve. Can I come in?"

Still nothing. Not even a scuffle of feet. Steve swallowed hard.

"I'm coming in, okay?" said Steve. "JARVIS, can you unlock this door for me?"

"Will—do—sir."

The doorknob clicked unlocked. Immediately Steve turned it and pushed open the door, letting himself in. The moment his eyes fell on Loki, he felt his heart drop.

"Oh, Loki…"

Loki looked up. He was doubled over on the ground and breathing heavily, on his knees as if in confession. What caught Steve's eye first was the blood streamed down his left arm, coating his rolled up sleeve and the carpet. The mirror from the vanity of the room was shattered; the largest piece was sharp and bloody in his right hand, having carved into his left arm's skin. Loki spelled out something on his arm, Steve was sure of it—but they were in ancient runes of Old Norse that Steve could not understand.

Steve immediately rushed to the drawers and tugged out a long-sleeved shirt that Tony kept for spares. He kneeled next to Loki, who looked the least bit perturbed that he was bleeding out, and tried to lift his arm to wrap it. The moment Steve touched Loki, Loki slapped Steve's hand away, his face still impossibly immovable.

"Loki, don't do this to yourself," said Steve. "I want to help you. You're going to hurt yourself even further."

He had no idea if Loki could die from this, but Steve certainly wasn't going to risk it. Steve tried again and Loki shifted his arm away, letting his hand fall to his lap. Steve winced; the ground was slick with blood, and Loki still held onto the jagged, bloody piece of mirror in his other hand.

"Why are you doing this?" said Steve.

The look Loki spared Steve was so stern and yet so unreadable, as if Steve had to chisel through the glacier of his frigid gaze before understanding.

Steve didn't know why he wasn't calling Bruce down this very instant.

"This is what you want?" said Steve. "To die? Just like this? Loki, the powerful sorcerer, brought down by a mirror?"

Loki didn't react—not even with a nod or a blink. He continued turning the piece of glass over in his hand as if in contemplation. Steve felt his voice swell in his throat.

"If you were supposed to die, you had your chance about a week ago," said Steve. "We all did. With the Chitauri, remember? But if you didn't die then, that should mean you oughtn't to die now. What about Thor? What about your mother? For the first time in a long time you guys are like a family again. They finally got back the Loki they've been fighting for. But if you let yourself die this way, what about them? You know they love you, and I know, deep down inside, you feel the same. Are you going to leave them like this?"

Steve was just about to try binding Loki's arm again when he looked down and realized that the wound had long closed. Blood still coated much of the chair and Loki's clothes, but the bleeding had ceased altogether, and all that remained were mottled, ugly scars that spelled something out on his arm.

"So…you weren't trying to die?" said Steve.

Loki's face was very pale, much like how it was when Loki had completely drained himself trying to heal Thor. He gave Steve a sardonic smile (you're a fool, Steve thought it said, but he couldn't be certain) before holding up his arm and with the mirror still in his hand carved into his skin.

"Loki, no!" Steve grabbed Loki's wrist, wrenching his hand away. Immediately Loki's indifferent façade shattered and he bared his teeth like a beast, reacting immediately by ripping his arm from Steve's hand and swiping at him. The bloody glass was a mere inch away from slicing Steve's nose before Steve tumbled back immediately.

Loki's eyes widened when he realized what he tried to do and the piece of glass fell from his fingers, all signs of the previous ferocity withering. The cut he had made on his arm healed over again, but it left an uglier, crueler scar behind. He backed away from Steve, a hand over his eyes as his face screwed into a horrified grimace.

"Loki, it's okay," Steve said. His heart still leapt from being incredibly close to having his nose chopped off. "It's okay, I—I'm fine, see? I shouldn't have grabbed you like that, that was rude of me—"

Loki shook his head heavily like distressed child, clutching his head with both hands. He was crouched over on the carpet, almost bowing to Steve with a curved spine fit for a slave. Steve's stomach churned and he crept closer, moving as cautiously as possible until the carpet muffled him.

"It was an accident, Loki," said Steve.

Loki suddenly grinned between his fingers, grinned so wide he almost looked feral, and all of a sudden Steve knew that the situation at SHIELD was not what was on Loki's mind.

(A grin so wide he knew that it was a lie)

Why couldn't Steve be like Natasha, or Thor, or even Tony to an extent, to be able to understand Loki? Why was he so incapable?

"Loki," said Steve. "Whatever it is that's on your mind—that makes you think it's okay to hurt yourself like this—let me tell you that it isn't. It isn't okay. I don't know what torture the Chitauri did to you, but they weren't right, and you didn't deserve it."

Loki lifted his head to face Steve. Steve did not expect a look of utter perplexity from Loki.

"What?" said Steve.

Loki's eyebrows knitted together slightly in confusion.

"What was it that I said?" said Steve. "Hurting yourself? Chitauri torturing you? It's not okay?"

Loki perked up at the last statement with a look of total incredulity.

"It wasn't okay. It's not," said Steve. "No one deserves two or so centuries of torture—or any torture—from the Chitauri or anyone. You certainly don't."

Loki's puzzlement only multiplied; he looked at Steve as if Steve had lost his mind.

"You think—you think you deserved it?" said Steve.

Steve felt just as disbelieving as Loki looked. "Why do you think that? No one deserves that! Not you, not me, not even—not even a Chitauri deserves that."

Loki looked as if he would have given a bark of sardonic laughter if he wasn't so silent. Steve dared to come closer to Loki and he was no stranger to how Loki hunched his shoulders like a wounded animal ready to attack.

"Listen to me—no one deserves that. It's wrong and it's inhumane, and it doesn't matter what anyone's ever done in their life. To be hurt like that is never right. I don't know what happened to you, and I'm not sure if I ever will, but I still stand firm to the fact that it isn't how it should be done."

Loki looked at Steve as if Steve had proposed his ambition of skydiving naked into the sun.

"Does every other planet think that torture is an acceptable form of justice?" said Steve.

Loki raised his eyebrow and nodded. Steve felt sick.

"That's never right. We wouldn't allow that here. Not legally, anyway. No one deserves to be hurt, no matter what they did. Sure, we have a justice system and punishments, but never like that."

The thought that Loki had taken his torture with so much stride(and it all made sense. No wonder Loki never cried, no wonder he seemed so shocked when people tried to help him) because he was used to the idea of torture as a form of punishment made Steve sick to his stomach.

"You're more than that, okay?" said Steve. "Listen to me—come on, listen to me." He reached over and gave Loki's shoulder a gentle shake to pull back his attention. "You didn't deserve a single thing the Chitauri has ever done to you. You don't deserve how SHIELD's treating you right now."

Loki lowered his eyes; whether in disconcertment or acceptance, Steve was not sure.

"So—I don't know what this means," Steve said, gesturing to Loki's arm. "But if you're using that as a reminder of the Chitauri or of the things you regret or—or a list of reasons why you think so, I'll have you know that it isn't needed. You hear? We're all one big and rowdy family here, and we're here for you. If anything—anything—goes bad, goes wrong, or you just need something, we're here. We don't turn anyone away."

Loki kept his eyes fixed on the bloodstained carpet; Steve wondered if Loki heard him at all. When Loki closed his eyes, Steve gave Loki one last shake.

"Hey," said Steve. "I don't think you should sleep if you might go into shock or something."

Loki's smile widened (it held no warmth), but he opened both eyes obediently. With a little more of Steve's goading, he sat up straighter.

"Do you want to…er, anything to eat? Anything outside of the room?" said Steve.

Loki raised his eyebrows and looked away. Steve understood—again—how little he knew what went through Loki's mind. For all he knew, Loki could have not believed a single word Steve said and played compliance. He knew deep down that Loki did not swallow Steve's words as smoothly as he pretended.

"You don't even have to socialize if you don't want," said Steve. "You could read books in the living room or something—Natasha's got a huge stash of books somewhere—I just think you could get out of your room a little."

Loki's eyes did not leave his bloodstained hand. It was shaking slightly, and Steve feared he would strike out again—or worse, strike against himself. Steve hesitated before glancing down at Loki's engraved arm. He wondered how long scars lasted for immortals.

"What does it say?" said Steve. "Can I—er, can I ask JARVIS to translate it?"

Loki clenched and unclenched his red hand. The blood crackled in the lines of his palm. He slowly drew his knees to his chest and hid his face.

"JARVIS?" said Steve.

"Coming—right up—sir."

Steve wasn't sure what he would find out, and he was afraid if it would unnerve him. But the fact that Loki was willing to let him know—or at least, not push away—meant Loki trusted him, did it not? Or was there not enough truth in his skin to fear that Steve would find out too much?

"The text—is in—Old Norse, sir."

"And?" said Steve.

"It reads—'Syrgi'—sir."

Loki placed both hands on the sides of his head and clutched his hair, his blood soaking his black locks, until his back and shoulders shook. If the world was on mute, then Loki would be screaming.

As if to say, Don't you see, Captain?

Don't you see?

In the end, Loki took the bloodied shirt and strung it on a hanger.

He hung the hanger on the wall and let the blood drip.

The shirt had been white, of no doubt an expensive material, now dyed with Jotun blood.

He wondered if his blood was red normally, or if it were the AEsir disguise that changed everything about him.

Not nearly as red as his personal ledger.

(it's coming back it's returning he could feel it probe in his mind he could feel it sinking its teeth into his soul like an illness it poisoned him and yet he wanted to laugh)

Later that night, when everyone was supposed to be sleeping, he retreated to his private bathroom.

Gallons and gallons of hot water in the bathtub only coated the shirt a muddy red and the water a musty pink. Old blood dried into a crackling brown on the shirt no matter how much soap went into it, how much searing water and steam. It remained stained, ruined, hideous.

In the privacy of the night, Loki sacrificed a mite of magic to burn the shirt, bloodstains and all. Time had carved the blood into the shirt. Inseparable.

Blood still coated his walls.

(OUT, DAMN SPOT—)