It could be worse. It could definitely be worse – but Tony was, admittedly, having a hard time coming up with a worse situation than being trapped under the ruins of a skyscraper with a half-dead Norse god keeping the rubble from crushing him and lunar craters in his suit. For once, his light-year-a-second brain just couldn't fathom a less appealing situation than the current one. The green shield crackled briefly, causing the rubble to shift and Loki's jaw to clench tighter in pain as the I-beam sunk deeper into his gut.

"So uh you and Thor've gotten into worse scrapes than this, right? I mean, hunting dragons or uh – what were they? – bil-somethings? Mere mortal buildings are nothing, right?" Tony rambled, painfully aware of the heightened pitch of his voice.

"Not, generally, with a damn metal rod - " Loki broke off with a ragged cough, blood reddening his lips in splattered drops.

"Uh-huh. And you can't heal yourself and keep us from getting flattened into roadkill?" Tony checked.

The comm was silent at the moment, which wasn't really helping Tony's twitchy anxiety. There was a lot of blood in the small cavity – more than he thought even gods should really be coughing up. Despite his desperate attempts to stay calm, Tony could feel the sweat building behind the hot confines of his helmet and running down his body.

"I. Am," Loki ground out.

"Oh. Oh shit," Tony breathed.

Loki never left a battle with even a scratch; even after a particularly wicked fight, he might have to catch his breath or mend tattered clothes, but his ivory skin was never marked. Now, though, the cuts and bruises along his body were untended as faint green sparks flickered uselessly around the metal rod. They'd already been through the teleporting route – Loki had sighed as much as he was able as he not-so-patiently explained that teleportation took concentration – something he was 'rather lacking at the moment' – and were now pretty solidly stuck until their teammates arrived.

"Ton—Tony," Steve's frantic voice broke through the static-y communicator, "Are y- -ere? –ming. Hold on."

"Hey, Spangle Pants. Me an' Lokes are breathing and all, but you should probably hurry up or Thor's going to be short one little, batshit crazy brother," Tony summed up.

There was a pause, and then they could both hear Thor without aid of the comm, though only Loki could understand what the Thunderer was saying. Tony could at least decipher that it was a lot of profanity from at least two different languages. Loki's hands, braced against the green shield, were trembling, and when his eyes flickered open they were no longer the gleaming emeralds Tony was used to seeing. Instead, there was a star-scorched blackness that reminded Tony way the hell too much of his own trip into the space between worlds.

"Loki? It- it's going to be okay. Your brother's going to get here and dig us out, and then you two will go back to hating each other – well, I mean, you hat-"

"Stark," Loki's voice was low and hoarse and his eyes once again green, "If you don't shut. Your. Mouth. I will be more than happy to drop this cement onto you just for the silence."

Hint taken. Tony settled back into the rubble, JARVIS more or less useless at the moment. Much as his mouth ached to chatter and antagonize and just relieve this idiotic stress, he had enough sense to get that it was probably for the best if he did just sit back and wait either to be killed or rescued. Aside from the occasional hiss or pain or crackle of magic, Loki, too, was silent and they simply waited for what seemed far too long.

Maybe someone else showed up – Doom would be more than happy… Those robots were scary as fuck – how'd we get here anyway…? Tony's rambling thoughts were cut short by a saturated gasp and sharp 'fuck' from Loki (had it been any other situation, Tony would have had a heyday with that oh-so-eloquent interjection) as their cavity suddenly seemed a lot smaller.

"Stark – if you get out," the god hissed, "don't let Thor do anything…stupid."

Then the world came crashing down.

Later, Tony would be able to translate the next moments as him rolling to crouch over as much of Loki as he could before he felt a strong hand grab the back of his armor and yank. Next, Loki's limp body was dragged out of the hole, and the entire team was knocked back. Sure, they dealt with death all the time – but this was different. Loki may have been their original enemy, but he'd been doing a damn good job of making it up to everyone.

"Fuck. Fucking shit," Clint swore, crouching immediately to try to staunch the blood from Loki's gaping wound.

"Where the hell's Banner?" Tony snapped, flicking up his faceplate.

"—ming. Are there any SHIELD teams on call?" Steve called through the communicator.

"ETA five minutes." Natasha's voice, as cool and professional as ever.

Only Thor was silent, moving only to gently pull Tony and Clint away from his fallen brother. His face was placid, even with a faint hint of a smile on his lips.

"What the hell? We can still save him – he'll be hurt, but-" Clint demanded, struggling against the god's vise-like grip.

"My brother will come back to us," Thor promised, "but first, I imagine his daughter will have words for him."

Helheim stunk. Actually, if Loki was honest, that was probably just a projection of his own distaste for this miserable realm, but that was irrelevant. Cold seeped through him like a dank chill, cooling even his frosty core. As much as he loved Hel, he would be damned if he was going to spend eternity rotting away down here until she had need of him for her Ragnarok plans.

"Father."

It was a title more than a fond name, he noted ruefully as he glanced over at his second eldest. Hela's one green eye studied him balefully, and Loki couldn't help wondering when he pushed her so far away. He had no illusions about being a good father, but he'd always loved all his children. Having them banished to the ends of the universe hadn't exactly made showing them that easy, but his little half-child surely should know.

"Hela, I…" he paused, the silver tongue twisted into forked iron that cut his gums rather than slipping out his lips to placate and wheedle, "Midgard… I – I'm not ready-"

As soon as the strangled words left his throat, he realized the idiocy of trying to negotiate with the Queen of the Dead and – more importantly – his daughter. Shortly after, he realized he needn't have bothered.

The slim young woman – still so young – wrapped her arms, one ice and one fire, about his waist and pressed her head gently into his chest just below his clavicle. Startled at first, Loki reeled slightly before relaxing and tightening his own arms around his darling girl. He was careful with her left side, always fearful of hurting that much tenderer hemisphere.

"I know," she whispered, "You're too early anyway."

Relief flooded the lanky man's entirety as he sagged slightly in her arms, and Hela couldn't keep the right side of her mouth from quirking upwards in a smile. God of Lies though he was, Loki had never been able to hide his passion for life – even his attempts to destroy himself had been half-hearted gestures. Hela knew very well the power that was housed in her father's thin body – she was counting on it, after all – and how easily he could kill himself if he only tried. The mortal who'd flitted briefly to her realm earlier had identified it so quickly: 'You lack conviction.' All of Loki in three simple words.

"I know you're used to it, but it will hurt," she warned gently, breaking away from the hug.

Loki nodded faintly, fairly buzzing with energy. It wasn't an entirely accurate description – in this state, all Loki was was energy – but as she readied his soul to escape yet again, Hela hid a smile at her father's familiar face. He could change to whatever form he desired, and yet always he would remain her father.

Then, with a flick of her tendoned wrist, his soul was rent from the dead and forced back. She hesitated a moment, letting a brief flicker of whist dance over her. Much as he'd done to wrong her – let Fenrir be mutilated, herself and Jormugandr banished, Asgard falling into Thor's idiot hands – she loved him, and a quiet part of her mostly-there heart ached faintly with a childish longing for her father.

Sentiment, she could practically hear him scoffing.

"Are you shitting me? We can fix this," Clint argued, backed up by an adamant Tony and more indecisive Steve.

"My brother is the most adept sorcerer in all the realms and his daughter Queen of the Dead. If they cannot fix this, none can," Thor rumbled.

At some point during this impasse, thunder had started growling lowly and steely anvils had begun forming overhead. Rain was a'coming, and they all knew why. None of them were sure why Thor was so convinced that they should simply let his brother's broken body remain draped and bloody over the rubble, but Bruce – ever the one to avoid conflict – held with the thought that being his brother, Thor probably knew best. Natasha simply hung back, waiting for the boys to duke it out.

A ragged gasp and the sound of shifting rubble, however, quickly distracted all six as Loki lurched forward, his hands clutching his previously-holey abdomen. Blood lingered all over him, but it had stopped flowing and all the lacerations were gone. Minus the gore-speckled clothing and harsh breathing, he was Loki once again.

"How is Hela, brother?" Thor queried lightly, his relief plain despite his knowledge that his brother would return.

Loki snorted derisively at this question, tired green eyes flicking up towards his brother as Thor leaned down to offer a hand. For once, he accepted and let the thunderer help pull him to his unsteady feet.

"Far more sentimental than I recall. You haven't been visiting, have you?" the trickster answered dryly.

Beaming, Thor clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder that caused tension to blossom in Loki's jaw to prevent himself from stumbling forward. Relief had washed through all the rest of the team, though it was shown in sharp quips and sporadic swearing - in the cases of Tony and Clint – and quiet smiles from Steve, Bruce and Natasha. Their resident sorcerer-cum-villain-cum-Avenger had too much pride to admit it, but a faint hint of warmth curled around his heart like a cat, thawing away some of the protective ice as he caught the undertones of fear dissolved and stifled joy in the mortals' gestures. Perhaps, he mused, they are not so worthless after all.

AN: So cliche...and short. Sorry. Just to clarify - in my head, Loki doesn't hate humanity [in fact, he, much more than Thor, has always been intrigued by/endeared to we humble mortals], but he has some unresolved issues with the Avengers, which'll come up later.

Also, thanks a bunch for the reviews/favorites/follows - they mean a ton! (: