Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Death.”

The sentence came hard, fast, unyielding. There was no remorse in the Allfather’s eyes, though there was pain in Frigga’s as she sat at her husband’s side. Loki wanted nothing more than to scream, to rage, to explain , but he was still gagged. The sentence apparently wasn’t surprising to the collected Asgardians. It seemed as if half the realm was present in that room, ready to see the fabled Liesmith finally get his well-deserved comeuppance.

“Father, please!” Thor said, stepping forward in protest. Loki watched his not-brother in confusion. All these years and Thor never before stepped up for him. Now, finally, he does, and only at the announcement of Loki’s execution? If he had cared before, none of this would have happened.

Still, Odin’s face was set in stone. “It is death or slavery. Which would you have me choose?”

Loki’s heart jumped into his throat and Thor’s eyes widened as he turned to the mage, an apology etched in his face. Loki mutely shook his head and turned away from Thor, unwilling to see the tears building in the thunder god’s eyes. They both knew the better option of those two.

“Death,” Thor said, his voice lacking the confident timbre Odin’s had when saying the same thing. It hurt even though it was the lighter sentence - it was still his almost-brother’s voice saying it. Loki had long since accepted Odin harbored no love for the Jotun bastard he’d stolen, but he knew Thor did care for him.

“Loki Laufeyson,” and, oh , how that sliced into him, even though Odin had said it so many times, “make peace with your demons, or Hel herself will be the one to torment you with them if Valhalla rejects you. You die at dawn.”

And with that, the absolute farce of a trial was over. Three days spent detailing Loki’s crimes, his motives, his outcomes, his lies, though without a word from Loki himself. There had been surprise when Odin had first named him Laufeyson at the beginning of the trial and explained how he had thought he could make Loki better than his parentage would suggest he was capable of, making sure to frame Odin as the altruistic and kind king who regretted he had failed, who now had to accept Jotuns were incapable of anything other than violence.

The attempted genocide of the Jotuns was still one of the many crimes Loki was convicted of, though. No one seemed to care enough to question it.

A guard roughly grabbed Loki’s arm and he winced at the sudden jarring of it. The Hulk had thoroughly shattered half the bones in Loki’s body and it was a testament to how badly he’d been injured that three days after the fact, his body still hadn’t healed.

And now it never would have a chance to heal.

And no one knew the danger that was coming.

The guard began to usher Loki away. Loki didn’t fight him back, sparing one last glance at his mother, knowing this would be the last time he saw her. She didn’t like witnessing death battles to begin with, and Loki knew that she also loved him enough to not want to watch him fall.

Tears flew freely down her cheeks, her hand pressed over her mouth as her shoulders trembled almost imperceptibly. Frigga Allmother, Queen of Asgard and Jewel of Vanaheim, one of the strongest beings in the universe, openly weeping at her son’s death sentence.

If Loki had harbored any doubt that she loved him, it was rapidly swept away.

Loki was returned to his isolated cell, thrown forward with far more force than necessary. Habit kicked in and he tried to catch himself, either with his hands or his feet, but the shackles limited his range too much, and his face met the floor.

The guard’s laughter echoed in the trickster's ears for hours after he’d left.

Loki leaned back against the wall, his legs pulled to his chest, the only comfortable way to sit with the chains binding him. Hours passed like that, Loki watching the sun fall below Asgard and the moon coming high into the sky. Maybe he should have slept, but there was no need to restore his energy.

At dawn, he’d be taken to a battle arena, his magic stripped from him, still bound, no shield or weapon to protect him, and he’d be challenged by the executioner. He’d fight, and he’d die with the limitations on him, but he may yet be granted access to Valhalla as he fell in a fight.

He’d already been judged unworthy of life on the living plane, but Valhalla may still determine him worthy.

The moon was still at its zenith when Loki heard the dungeon door be pushed open. He looked up, confused and curious, only to morph into resentment when Odin stood in front of his cell. Odin wasted no time taking down the energy barrier. He stood over Loki, looking down at him with an unreadable expression.

Loki glared at him, hoping his eyes properly showed the rage and hatred he felt for his ‘father,’ since half his face remained hidden by the muzzle.

“I cannot watch you die again,” Odin finally said, his face dropping into something that might have been grief. Loki quirked one of his eyebrows up in confusion. “I will not watch you die again.”

A dagger appeared in Odin’s hand and Loki pressed himself backwards in alarm, only to feel the smooth stone of the cell wall behind him, trapping and cornering him. He glanced at the blade and then at Odin, who knelt beside Loki.

Loki was granted no answers as the chains suddenly tightened, drawing his limbs as close to him as possible, his various aches becoming sharp pains as he was constricted. He tried to struggle, to move, hel, to roll over, but his body was stubbornly frozen and Loki would’ve growled in frustration if he’d been able to make any noise. This wasn’t just the work of the chains keeping him still, Odin had also paralyzed him with a spell.

You need to trust me to have you like this, little godling.

The tip of the dagger dug into the side of his neck and he knew what was happening as he felt the symbols being etched into his skin, and it stung nearly as much as the remembered words in his mind.

He knew he was putting his all into screaming, struggling, begging, but all he had to show for it was a few warm tears falling from his eyes. Even with the paralyzation on him, Loki still shuddered as the ancient magic took hold of his essence. Blood trailed down his neck, seeping into the leather underarmor he still wore, sliding further down his body from the binding rune Odin had carved into his skin.

Loki felt breathless, the physical sensation of his magic being boxed up a pain so acute it made the Hulk’s beating look like child’s play. Faint, straggling wisps of magic continued to slide through his veins, but not nearly at the level he had long since grown used to.

The pain shows I love you.

More runes were dug into his skin, Odin deftly cutting away Loki’s left sleeve as he carved into his once-son. Loki couldn’t see what he was doing, but he knew the shape of the runes now scarring his body. They were all different variations of obedience,  of honesty, of binding . They stripped away his ability to fight, to argue, to have agency over his own body.

Once the last rune was placed and blood coated Loki’s arm, Odin pressed his hand against the trickster’s face and Loki felt as his form shifted, his face growing rounder and he saw his long hair growing ever so lighter from the corner of his eye.

Throughout it all, Loki’s heart broke further. He’d known Odin held no love for him, but he’d never suspected Odin outright hated him, yet here he was, preparing Loki with the marks of slavery. Loki couldn’t help but wonder why the Norns reviled him so much, to have left him to this fate.

”I will fake your death in the arena tomorrow, Asgard must believe your sentence has been carried out. You’ll wake up in Alfheim,” he explained, though Loki wasn't sure if Odin was trying to convince himself of the plan or Loki.

Odin looked up, his single eye studying the moon. “I’m sorry, Loki,” he said with a sense of finality. “This is for the best.”

It’s best you obey me, my child.

Loki grit his teeth together as the chains finally loosened and he pushed himself until he was sitting again. Anger churned in his stomach as he glared at the man who’d now stolen his death from him twice. Unsurprisingly, Loki couldn’t find it in himself to be grateful or forgiving to Odin. The Allfather had stolen the lost baby crown prince of Jotunheim to have a souvenir and a bargaining chip. He’d sentenced Loki to a life worse than death because he couldn’t bear to see his hard work undone.

Selfish bastard. Arrogant, self-obsessed, sentimental fool.

Odin pressed his hand to Loki’s half-covered cheek, a pained expression on his face as he studied the fallen trickster, the concern in his eyes almost believably paternal. However, Loki felt the tendrils of magic seeping out of Odin’s fingertips and tensed, already feeling the draw of sleep, the sensation not dissimilar to when his head was held underwater. Black crept the edge of his vision and he questioned if he was even breathing.

”I love you, my son.”

Do you love me, my little one?

And then, again, Loki knew only the dark.

~

Tony was absolutely fucking plastered, thank you very much, and he intended to stay that way for the rest of his (un)natural life. He pushed himself from his chair and it was only through years of well-refined drunkenness that his face did not immediately meet the floor. He stumbled forward, determinedly heading towards the penthouse bar despite his legs’ apparent desire to stop working.

”Sir, you’ve had enough,” JARVIS said from above him.

Tony replied, quite eloquently, with a middle finger aimed at his ceiling as he finally made it to the edge of the bar area.

“Lockdown protocol one-eight-alpha-nine-whiskey enacted.” JARVIS said, his electronic voice managing to sound concerned. Tony heard vaguely as hydraulic locks clicked into place, explosion-proof glass dropping down to cover the cabinets.

”Nope, not happening, override code six-nine-foxtrot-uniform-four-twenty.” Tony ordered, glaring upwards. Sure, JARVIS wasn’t technically in the ceiling, but it was still the best place to glare threateningly.

”Lockdown protocol disregards all overrides that are not issued by two separate persons,” JARVIS explained, not unkindly. “Sir, you need to sleep. The lockdown will be lifted in twelve hours. I’ve also instituted lockdown on your lab and contacted the team.”

Tony just groaned, sinking to the hardwood floor. He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want the nightmares. He didn’t want to remember being thrown from his own window, he didn’t want to remember the void or the ice that had clutched his heart, he didn’t want to remember falling to his death for the second time in fifteen minutes.

He didn’t want to remember accidentally attacking Pepper with one of his suits in his sleep or the way she’d fallen to her own supposed death during Extremis.

Four months since the Chitauri had tried to level his Manhattan home and two weeks since terrorists had successfully leveled his Malibu home, and all he had to show for it were some of the knick-knacks Pepper hadn’t come to collect from the Tower yet and a metric load of PTSD symptoms he was studiously ignoring.

The elevator to the penthouse dinged and Tony looked up, quite confused as two Steves walked out.

The Steves sighed in unison, their shoulders dropping at the same time. “JARVIS, sitrep?” The Steves asked, their voices layering over each other.

“Sir has not slept in seventy-three hours and has not consumed anything other than alcohol for the past fifty-six of them. Alcohol poisoning is a growing concern.”

“C'mon, Tony,” Cap said, his figure slimming down from two people to one person the closer he came to Tony.

Oh. Tony was thoroughly drunk.

“No,” he grumbled, protesting as Steve helped (read: forcefully pulled) him to his feet, sending the world spinning. “Don't wanna sleep.”

Steve let out a non-committal hum as he dragged Tony forward. Tony was more than capable of walking on his own, however his desire to be an unhelpful ass was only bolstered by his current concerningly high blood alcohol levels. “Never thought you'd want to take me to bed,” Tony said, waggling his eyebrows up at Steve's impassive face.

That did it. Steve immediately flushed redder than an Iron Man suit and Tony grinned.

“Does this look like your bedroom?” Steve managed to ask, his face still doing an impressive impression of a cherry.

Tony paused, looking around as he finally realized he'd been pulled into the elevator. “Capsicle, what are you doing?”

“An old tradition I used to do with the Howling Commandos,” Steve not-answered.

Tony whined wordlessly, though he did lean more of his weight against the captain. Standing longer than twenty seconds was… not happening at this point.

The elevators dinged open and Tony allowed Steve to manhandle him out, only half paying attention, to see they’d been dropped off on the common room floor. 

After the invasion, Tony had more or less strong armed everyone into staying for a little while so he could repair and upgrade their armor (though he still refused to make weapons), then everyone just… stayed, to Tony’s delight. He’d thrown himself wholeheartedly into it, gifting them all with entire floors. They’d ended up consolidating after that, though - Bruce decided he liked having his own space, but Clint, Natasha, and Steve were all used to military/SHIELD barracks and found their own floors too quiet, so had all moved onto one floor, though still kept their own bedrooms. Thor had returned to Earth a few weeks after the invasion, somber and quiet, informing them of his brother’s execution (Clint had had the common sense to wait and not mutter “Good riddance” until after the ancient Norse god of thunder had left) then headed off to New Mexico, where he apparently had a human girlfriend. Still, there was a floor set aside for him.

Tony and Pepper had kept the penthouse for their own living space. Well… just Tony now, actually.

The common floor was originally the floor he’d given to Steve, and when Steve had moved up with Clint and Natasha, it had somehow become a neutral, catch-all space for all of them, though Tony was rarely around.

As soon as he had finished their upgrades, he’d essentially handed them the keys, said “Don’t blow the Tower up, so help me God,” then retreated back to Malibu, hoping it would abate the nightmares he’d been having. He knew they didn’t particularly want him around - they wanted what he could do for them, which he gave them freely. They’d earned it, saving the Earth and whatnot, but between Steve’s words on the Helicarrier and Natasha’s whole ‘stab Tony in the neck with a needle’ attitude during the palladium problem, mixed with Bruce’s social anxiety and Clint’s impartial attitude… well, Tony wasn’t called a genius for nothing, he knew when he wasn’t exactly wanted, even if he wasn’t necessarily unwelcome.

He very vaguely remembered when he’d returned to the Tower after Killian and AIM had been thoroughly decimated. Natasha had punched him in the shoulder, Steve had given him what Tony had quickly patented as his ‘I’m disappointed in you’ face, and Clint had given him a very stern “Call us next time you decide to go toe-to-toe with a terrorist, dumb ass!”

Tony had said something, he was sure, though he had no idea what, then retreated to his lab and the penthouse and hadn’t seen them since, until just now.

And he was entirely, utterly, hopelessly confused.

The couches had been pushed away from the center of the room, replaced by stacks of blankets at least an inch thick, spread out over the rug.

“The hell?” Tony eventually managed, watching as Natasha - the fearsome Black Widow, master spy and assassin - wrapped a fluffy, rainbow blanket around her shoulders like a cape and threw a pillow at Clint. The uninhibited playboy in Tony’s head couldn’t help but to check them both out - Natasha in simple black yoga pants and a tank top, Clint shirtless and with baggy sweatpants on - but even drunk, some of his common sense kicked in, keeping him from wolf whistling and asking if they wanted a third.

“It’s slumber party time!” Clint called out, going into a nearby closet and pulling out yet more blankets. How many blankets did Tony own?

“It’s not a slumber party!” Steve retorted, some redness returning to his cheeks. “It’s a tactic for whenever a teammate is down and to try to cheer them up with company and stories! We did it all the time with the Commandos - if a mission was particularly harrowing, then we would all end up staying in the same room for the next few nights until we felt better. I didn’t say to put blankets down.”

“I don’t remember hearing about cuddle puddles in the news reels,” Tony muttered, though apparently too loudly.

“The cuddle puddles is actually one of our things,” Natasha said, gesturing between herself and Clint. “We’re combining Steve’s tradition with ours.”

“Nothing like a cuddle puddle to feel better!” Clint called out, grinning.

“Can we please stop saying cuddle puddle?” Steve asked, exasperated.

“Sure - who wants to force Stark into a shower before our sleepover?” Clint said. “Not it!”

“We all know Stark will end up somewhere between castrated and dead if he ends up nude around me,” Natasha responded and Tony wasn’t entirely sure how much of that was a joke, despite the playful grin she wore.

“I already went up and got him!” Steve protested.

And there was Tony’s limit. “Guys,” he said, raising his hands up in a hopefully placating manner, if you ignored the way his hands shook. “It’s fine, I can bathe myself, and you don’t have to invite me -”

”We want to, we don’t have to,” another voice interrupted, coming out of the nearby kitchen with a stack of chips and other unhealthy snacks piled in his arms, though the tension in his shoulders indicated he was still unsure about this. “I’ll give you a hand, Tony,” Bruce said, dropping the pile of goodies beside the blanket-bed.

“Bruce -” Tony started.

“Join us tonight and I’ll work with you in the lab tomorrow.”

Tony’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click. “That’s a low blow,” he whined.

“I don’t fight fair.” Bruce said, a shy grin spreading across his face. “Besides, I’ve been considering it for a few days but someone has been too drunk and sleep deprived for me to actually consider being around explosives with.”

Tony gave in easily after that, damn Bruce’s genius. Bruce ushered him into the bathroom and (after a promise to take a bath and not a shower in case he passed out) agreed to wait outside the door, JARVIS keeping an eye on Tony’s vitals.

Neither of them said anything about the fact Tony still wore the bracelets that called a suit to him or the marks on his arms where he’d injected a similar homing beacon into himself.

Tony hurriedly bathed, quietly admitting they may have had a point when the water quickly ran dark with the oil and grease covering him from his recent binge in the workshop, necessitating Tony to end up still taking a shower, just sitting down. When was the last time he had bathed? He could ask JARVIS.

…he probably didn’t want to know the answer, though. Even he had some shame.

Half an hour later, Tony pulled himself out of the bathroom, grateful for the soft pajamas someone had sat just inside the door. He hadn’t even heard the door open. Tony toweled himself dry and stepped out once dressed. Bruce grinned at him. “Feel any better?”

Did he? Absolutely. Would he admit that? Absolutely not. Tony shrugged and Bruce’s smile just widened. Stupid geniuses (that weren’t Tony.)

Tony followed Bruce out to the living room again, where the number of blankets seemed to have exponentially multiplied. Seriously, where the hell did they all come from? The floor was now thoroughly covered by them, making it clear that while they were all technically going to be sleeping there together, there was still more than enough room to spread out.

He would sneak out once everyone was asleep - he didn’t need to risk calling an Iron Man suit on his team in his sleep, like he had with Pepper.

“You look slightly more presentable, congrats!” Clint called, a bowl of popcorn in his hands.

“We have an excellent selection of movies to choose from,” Natasha added as she munched on cheese puffs, gesturing to the three movie covers currently on the screen - all of them featuring attractive mid-30s women with fake blonde hair and too much make up looking up at bland, dark-haired men in flannel, surrounded by Christmas lights and colors. “We’ve got Option A where a high powered woman returns home to a small town for Christmas and falls in love with her childhood friend, Option B where a high powered woman returns home to a small town for Christmas and falls in love with her childhood enemy, or Option C where a high powered woman gets stranded in fuck-all nowhere small town for Christmas and falls in love.”

Tony gave a small snort of amusement and Bruce actually laughed while Steve’s face contorted in confusion. “You’re joking, right?”

“Oh, Steve,” Clint said as he clearly fought laughter. “Let us introduce you to the wonders of Hallmark Christmas movies.”

The five of them settled onto the blanketed floor, propped up by more pillows than Tony cared to count, and eventually settled on the one with the childhood enemy love story at Natasha’s insistence (she was a sucker for a ‘good’ enemies to lovers trope, apparently).

Tony tried to stay awake, he really did, but he was asleep before the leading lady left New York.

For the first time since aliens invaded, Tony woke up in the morning without a nightmare - in the middle of an Avengers cuddle pile, everyone touching everyone else.

Okay, maybe Cap had a good idea. Maybe .

Chapter Text

Loki Friggason does not break easily.

…he sometimes wished he did, though. He wished he could have the same blank-eyed stare he could see in the other slaves’ eyes, the ones where they’ve fully disconnected from their bodies, no longer present to endure the abuse they were put through.

”Scream for me,” the elf whispered in Loki’s ear, as another lash of the whip cracked against his back.

Loki played his part and obeyed, screaming prettily and letting tears slip from his eyes, though in some ways, this was a relief.

After all, the ones who wanted him to scream were easier. There was less of a carefully crafted play for him to put on than there was with the ones who demanded he smile as they beat him, only to beat him harder for it whenever his pasted-on grin failed to live up. There was no tip-toeing, no thinly veiled hope that just this once he would act to perfection, that the ones who wanted him to smile genuinely meant him no harm.

The ones who told him to scream were a blessing, up front and blatant as they were with their cruelty.

Another lash. Another scream. Loki couldn’t tell if the scream was from him or the part he was playing anymore.

It was several hours and more blood soaked into the floor than he wanted to think about when he was finally dragged back to the palace’s slave quarters, haphazardly dropped to the ground as the slave healer looked him over to see what work he would be capable of performing the next day.

Alfheim had learned long ago that they went through slaves too quickly and realized that slaves needed time to heal just like free people did.

“Light work for the next week,” the healer told the overseer, slathering paste and pressing bandages along Loki’s front and back, unbothered by the red now staining the knees of her dress. “This one’s already been beaten seven times in the past ten days.”

Loki didn’t fight to cling to consciousness after they tended him, so it was no great surprise when he woke up sometime later on a thin cot. His body ached - of course, actual treatment for the pain inflicted was beyond what a slave was worth. Their only concern was getting their property able to work again. 

He slept haphazardly, waking frequently when he would unknowingly move in his sleep and cause tendrils of pain to spike through his body. It was nothing new. Six years into this Hel, he was used to it. Still, Loki longed for the days when he’d have been healed in minutes, when his seiðr would stitch flesh together with more ease than the Norns weaved their tapestries. But his magic was bound, forced into a cage within his chest he could sense and caress but never draw from, save for the tendrils still whispering in his blood.

”Galinn!” the overseer called some indeterminable amount of time later. “Your assignment is in, up!”

Loki awoke rapidly at the sound of the name that had been given to him. He didn’t know if Odin had chosen it or if his Alfheim owners had upon his arrival, all he knew was that no one truly knew who he was - liar and shapeshifter and murderer, a monster made of ice. He would thank Odin, if this weren’t Odin’s blasted fault to begin with.

Silently, Loki pushed himself to his feet, carefully blanking out his expression rather than allowing this Norns damned elf to see his pain, before remembering he needed the overseer to believe him as broken as possible. So, he flinched and made an obvious effort to ‘hide’ a hitched breath.

Loki was a trickster, after all. He was the trickster. Playing a part was as simple to him as breathing.

The overseer - Malfrind, if Loki’s memory served him - turned on his heel and left, leaving Loki to follow behind, his head down, his hands folded subserviently in front of him.

When he’d first come here, learned how he was expected to act and behave, he’d fought back. His pride had demanded it, he was a former Prince - former lawful King, in fact - of Asgard, he was a warrior mage known within and outside of the Nine Realms for his ferocity and skill.

Yet his skin burned just as easily as a commoner’s when they’d repeatedly pressed a brand into him, labeling him as ‘expendable,’ a mark forever seared into his right hip, just as the slave runes had been permanently carved into his left shoulder and arm.

Loki had stopped fighting back after that, rationalizing that there was no reason for him to injure himself, to give his handlers reason to kill him.

So he played the part of a beaten and broken slave even as fiery rage burned within him, an anger which only scorched brighter every time he resented its existence, resented his desire to fight back from what would be several millennia of slavery. But of course he didn’t break. He hadn’t shattered under Thanos, he’d plotted his own failure for the invasion even under the effect of the Mind Stone embedded in the scepter, all so he could go home to Asgard and warn them of the Titan’s plans.

It made sense he wouldn’t be broken by the elves of Alfheim, no matter how much he wished to be, how much he wanted the peaceful dissociation he’d seen on the faces of Thanos’s prisoners and Alfheim slaves alike.

“You’re being gifted to a visiting tradesman from another Realm,” Malfrind explained, not bothering to make sure Loki was behind him. “Personal slave, you belong to him now. Don’t fuck this up - you’re the only one available for light duty assignments who speaks his language, but he’s an important guest and if you cause a trade disruption, you will be pleading for death by the time I’m done with you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Loki said demurely, quietly trying to figure out how to not mess anything up. He was used to the nobles of Alfheim by now, the ones he served most frequently. He knew Lady Alruna wanted him to crawl to her like a pet, that Lord Ulval passed out after two glasses of wine and Loki could keep the damage to his own body minimal that way, that Balon and Jhassin got off on watching each other torture him and to avoid them like the plague when it was his turn to serve dinner because they always picked from the dinner staff. He knew his way around most of the court, who to flatter and when to be silent, who was least likely to leave him a bloody mess. Even the ones he didn’t know well, he could study the other slaves and see who inflicted the most damage.

But a traveler? And one from another Realm, at that? Oh, Loki knew his fair share of standards and etiquette guides from most notable worlds - but he knew them as royalty, not as a slave. His back twinged slightly in pain and he bit down a sigh. Loki Liesmith, God of Tricks and Lies, of Stories and Fire, would not die this way. It was why he kept his play up - he’d always planned that he was going to get out of this, he was going to con his way out of the castle and trick his way into an owner who was senile enough to have a mage free him.

After, he would warn Asgard, help them defeat Thanos - and then reduce Asgard to ash as they tried to recover from the battle. The Midgardian prophecies had said Loki would cause Ragnarök, after all. Thor and Loki had cast those predictions off with laughter - the Midgardians hadn’t even realized he and Thor were siblings, they were full of nonsense, or so Loki had believed at the time.

But he and Thor weren’t siblings. They never had been. Somehow, even Midgard’s unimpressive seers had seen the monster he wore beneath Odin’s glamour, that he'd spent centuries blind to.

So he’d warn them, save them, then kill them all. His birthright was to die? No. His birthright was to burn.

The fire within him burned brighter and Loki attempted to hide it, to put on his performance of the pitiful broken slave. He followed Malfrind quietly, a shadow as they approached the noble guest quarters, stopping in front of a large, solid wooden door. Malfrind knocked.

“One sec!” the tradesman called and something in his voice was familiar, though Loki couldn’t place it. He frowned slightly, trying to place the language behind the words that Allspeak was translating for him. Loki kept his eyes glued to the ground as he heard shuffling and a somewhat muffled thud as something heavy was dropped to the floor. “Shit!” the man exclaimed, and Loki’s frown depended. That was a Midgardian tongue - English. Midgardians in Alfheim?

The door was pulled open a few moments later. “Sorry, was moving some heavy stuff. I don’t exactly pack light. How can I help you?”

That voice, damn it, why was it so familiar? Loki itched to look up but his curiosity wasn’t worth getting beaten over, when he’d have leave to look in a few short moments.

“I am Malfrind, my Lord. This is Galinn, he is a slave, a gift and token of appreciation of the royal family.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say slave?” the Midgardian asked, sounding horrified.

Loki’s heart leapt into his chest. Hel, this could go south for him very, very quickly.

“Yes, Lord Stark, is there a problem with him?”

Stark. Unbidden, Loki’s head flew up, wide-eyed as he stared at the Midgardian. Only to come face-to-face with Tony Stark, the Man of Iron himself, looking at him with an expression Loki couldn’t identify. Panic flooded his every sense even as Malfrind grabbed at his hair and pushed him roughly to his knees.

“Whoa, hey, what the hell!” Stark said.

“My apologies, Lord Stark. Seems Galinn is not currently suitable for the task, I will fetch another.” Malfrind said, wrapping his hand around the back of Loki’s neck and jerking him to his feet. Honestly, if he was just going to drag Loki away anyway, what was the point of forcing him to his knees in the first place?

“I’ll take him!” Stark protested quickly, reaching out and grabbing Loki’s upper arm with surprising gentleness, stopping Malfrind’s retreat. Stark gave an impressive (but still very fake, to Loki) smile. “I was surprised, I’m sorry. I’ll take him.”

“Are you certain, my Lord? I would not wish him to disrespect you again.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I have my own ways of dealing with disrespect,” Stark said, his voice dark even as he carefully pulled on Loki’s arm to draw him closer. Malfrind released Loki and Loki moved obediently, wondering what in the Norns Stark was about to do to him. Revenge for throwing him out a window? For the invasion itself? And Stark wouldn’t care his reasons, just like Odin hadn’t.

“Just let someone know if he displeases you and we will be more than happy to provide you with a better slave, sir.”

“Uh. Yeah, cool, will do. Bye now!” Stark said, pulling Loki firmly inside now that Malfrind no longer had a grip on the fallen god. Stark hurried in behind him and shut the door quickly, his smile falling and his face turning pale. “Fuck. What the fuck? Are you okay?”

It took Loki a moment to realize Stark was speaking to him and, for the first time in millenia, Loki was truly speechless, until he remembered the new glamour Odin had placed upon him. Stark didn’t recognize him, had no reason to seek violent revenge on a lowly, stranger slave.

Loki raised his head slightly, keeping his eyes on the man’s chest and the glowing device inset there, though able to see Stark’s face in his upper periphery. “I am fine, Master.”

Stark flinched. “Please don’t call me that.”

“Would you prefer sir or lord?”

“Uh. Sir is fine, ‘cuz I’m guessing you can’t exactly call me Tony? My name, I mean. My name is Tony.”

“Is that the standard for slaves of whichever Realm you hail from?” Loki asked, his words and tone as innocent as possible as a plot brewed in his mind.

“We don’t have slaves on Earth - er, Midgard. At least, not legally, and not in the area I’m from.”

Loki carefully crafted his face into one of wishful whimsy, letting it linger for just long enough for Stark to see, then letting it fall back into emotionless subservience. “Of course, sir. I apologize, I do not know much about the human world.”

“So, guess that means you’re not human. You don’t look like the, uh.. what’s the proper word? Alfheimeians?”

“I am not of the mortal races, no, sir. And the inhabitants of Alfheim are known as light elves, my lord.” Loki explained, the dutiful and knowledgeable slave.

Stark flinched again at ‘my lord,’ but made no move to correct Loki that time. “Where are you from?”

“Asgard,” Loki answered, semi-honestly. He was raised in Asgard and sentenced by them, after all, even if his birth hadn’t occurred there. Other than his brief visits to Jotunheim following Thor’s coronation, he hadn’t stepped foot in the realm of his birth in nearly 1700 years. So, he was ‘from’ Asgard, for a certain meaning of the term.

“Oh, I have a friend from Asgard! Maybe you know him - Thor?”

It took everything Loki had not to roll his eyes. “Yes, I know of Asgard’s Crown Prince and his renowned prowess.”

“Right. Royalty. It’s easy to forget the overexcitable golden retriever that goes to town on Pop-Tarts every morning is a literal prince of the gods. Are you a god I’ve heard of? I don’t remember any stories about anyone named Galinn.”

“I’m no god of Midgard,” not anymore, “and no, you won’t find any glorious adventures of Galinn in your myths.” Loki answered, carefully dancing around the truth. He couldn’t outright lie - the runes carved into his shoulder ensured that - but Stark’s questions were open-ended enough, and Loki did have such a way with words and half-truths.

“Right. Um. So. What do you, uh, do?” Stark asked.

“Anything and everything my master wishes of me.”

“So, to go get my breakfast and stuff?”

“Anything, sir.”

“There’s, like, limits, right?” Stark asked, but it was clear in his face he knew the answer to that was going to be one he didn’t like.

Loki tilted his head to the side, as if studying the Midgardian with some confusion. “My choices, my body, and my life belong to my master - you, now. A slave has no wishes nor desires besides that which their masters ask of them to have.”

Stark paled and looked like he might be sick. Loki grinned internally. Barton had given him the information that the SHIELD dossier had on Stark when the archer had been under the scepter’s thrall, as he had along with all the other Avengers. Stark was considered narcissistic, uncaring, and incapable of working well on a team, but Loki had seen through the Iron Man’s fake persona with ease. At Stark’s heart, he did care, he just hid it. Loki knew Stark had redirected the missile into the portal, had nearly died saving millions when he could’ve ran and been fine. Tony Stark had the soul of a hero - and Galinn was in desperate need of a hero, now, wasn’t he?

“Thor, I swear to every god I don’t believe in, I’m going to strangle you,” Stark muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair and beginning to pace.  “I can’t work with fucking slave owners!”

“Master -” Loki started, then ‘flinched’ as he ‘realized’ his mistake. “I’m sorry, sir, I meant to say sir, I’m so sorry -”

“Hey, calm down, it was just an accident,” Stark said, hurrying to calm his panicking slave. “No harm done, ‘kay?”

“I just… sir, you are a slave owner now, and you seem so abhorrent of the idea… but I am a gift to you, Lord Stark. You own me, even when you leave here.” Loki explained, shifting around on his feet uncomfortably.

“I own a person,” Stark said, going far too pale too quickly. “Pep is gonna kill me.”

“You…” Loki gulped, determined to put on the performance of his life as he inserted half-masked fear into his voice. “You can refuse the gift, Master,” Stark cringed again, “they won’t try to give you a second slave if you dislike the first.”

“And what happens to you if I do that?”

“It is nothing you must concern yourself with, sir,” Loki hurriedly explained, seeming to trip over his words in his rush to appease the mortal.

“Tell me,” Stark said. Though his tone didn’t sound like one of demanding order, it was still enough to make one of the runes on Loki’s shoulder burn and force the words from his mouth.

“I will likely be lashed to death for dishonoring the royal family, sir,” Loki answered, the taste of copper lining his throat. He hadn’t even hesitated before answering, yet still being ordered hurt him. Norns, he hated the damnable runes staining his skin, this was a question he had planned to answer truthfully!

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Stark muttered, rubbing a hand across his tired face. “So you're definitely coming with me, then.”

“I will understand if you wish to return me, if it's taboo in your Realm,” Loki said, his voice soft, demure, resigned.

“Not happening, Linn. I'm something of a superhero back home, and I've got enough blood on my hands from before that. Can't I just free you?”

Loki paused to think, then shook his head. “Technically, yes, but it would not be recommended. To remove the runes binding me, a powerful mage must be paid or my sentence overturned, which is never to happen. With a mage removing the runes, I would become a citizen of Alfheim, yes, but it is exceedingly common for former slaves to become slaves again in this Realm, and I would not be permitted to leave.”

“There's mages on Earth, one owes me a favor. So if I bring you to Earth as a slave, have him free you, you'd be good to get on with your life?”

“I thought the Midgardian mages had died out centuries ago,” Loki said, surprised.

The inventor just shrugged. “I didn't think magic was real until a psychotic alien mind controlled my friends and opened a portal to hell above my house and launched an army at us. But, yeah, he calls himself Sorcerer Supreme - Dr. Stephen Strange. He's more conceited than I am.”

Loki refrained from wrinkling his nose in disdain at the gross (and flat out incorrect) oversimplification of his invasion. “A portal to Helheim?”

“Oh, right. Uh, no, ‘to hell’ is an Earth colloquialism. Hell is a place in one of our major religions that's all fire and torture and where bad people go. I don’t mean literally. Something ‘going to hell’ just means that something bad happened or it was a really shitty place. The portal opening was both.” Stark explained, his face darkening as he mentioned the portal.

“How did you close it?” Loki couldn’t help but ask. He’d never known the full story, just the snippets he’d picked up while he sat outside a shawarma restaurant with Mjölnir holding him down.

“There was a fail safe built into the machine that opened it. We managed to trigger the fail safe, but…” Stark trailed off, his eyes growing haunted. “Anyway, got it closed. Handed delivered a nuke to blow up the mothership, which luckily deactivated the Chitauri who were trying to kill us all.” Stark answered, but it was clear he was done speaking on that particular topic even before he changed it. “So no freeing you. Okay. You’re coming back with me, obviously. We’ll just… have to figure it out from there, I guess.”

“Whatever you feel is best, sir.” Loki said, though he did hide the smirk that tried to blossom on his face. Loki would get these shackles lifted by the Midgardian mage and then the rest of his plan would be set into motion. He just had to hide his true identity until he could be freed. There was no hurry - without the Tesseract, Thanos was still years away. Patience, for now, and his revenge later.

Chapter Text

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

Tony fidgeted uncomfortably, at an utter loss for what to do next as he studied Galinn. The Aesir stood just over a half foot taller than Tony and would have looked intimidating if not for the rags he wore. Some sort of rough-spun fabric, if Tony had to guess, the same color as the man’s mousy brown hair.

“So, first up is getting you some better clothes,” Tony said, suddenly feeling wildly overdressed, even though he was in a Black Sabbath shirt and dark jeans. It was hard not to feel overdressed, next to the slave.

“I can fetch the tailor for you, if what I am currently wearing displeases you. Have you already somehow converted your Midgardian currency into usable gold, or would you like me to retrieve someone to do the conversion for you?”

Tony waved the concern away. “Asgard’s already agreed to foot the bill for anything I need,” he said, and secretly considered it a punishment for Thor for not mentioning Tony was going to end up the brand new owner of a whole ass person. “And I just want you to be comfortable.”

“Then I shall go fetch Aithlin immediately, sir,” Galinn replied, bowing slightly and exiting the room. 

As soon as Galinn had left, Tony pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed his ex-girlfriend/CEO/PR person/unofficial Tony handler. 

“It has only been three hours, what did you do?” Pepper answered, not bothering with pleasantries.

“It's not my fault, we're blaming Thor, and I apparently own an Aesir slave now.”

Pepper's sigh was one of long-suffering acceptance. “Of course you do.”

“Apparently, it's a custom among the Alfheimenians - uh, light elves. To gift a slave to visiting nobility.”

Pepper was no nonsense as she launched into a series of questions. “Will they be living with you? Are they magically bound to you in any way? Can we just set them free with enough money to cover expenses and a fake ID? What's their name?”

The questions continued in rapid succession, Tony barely having time to answer them before the next one was asked - his name’s Galinn, no he can't be freed on Alfheim but Strange may be able to, Tony doesn't know if he's magically bound or will be required to live with him, yes there is some kind of magic involved - something about runes and sentencing.

That one made Pepper pause. “Sentencing? Like criminal punishment?”

At Tony’s silence, she sighed again. “You didn't even think to follow up on that, did you?”

“In my defense, I was thrown by the whole slave thing,” Tony answered meekly. There were two people in the entire world who could make him meek, and the powerhouse that was Pepper Potts was one of them.

“Tony, is he dangerous?”

“I don't know,” he explained honestly. “I can ask him more when he gets back. But I'm not going to leave him here to get beaten to death, Pep.”

“I know,” she said softly, in a way that made his heart ache with loss. He would always love her, but Iron Man was too entwined with who Tony was that he'd never be what Pepper needed. He was happy for her and Happy and their little bundle of joy, he was, but he would always wish he had been a better man for her.

“Send me an email with all the questions you've got and I'll ask him, okay?”

“It’ll be in your inbox within the hour. Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

“That'll be all, Miss Potts,” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a grin.

They hung up and Tony sighed, rubbing the palms of his hands into his eyes. His life wasn't meant to be easy, was it?

Several minutes passed before the door to his suite pushed open again, Galinn entering and followed by a pretty woman who looked like a Lord of the Rings cosplayer, her white-blonde hair in a half-up, half-down elaborate braid that reached below her waist.

“Lord Stark, your slave requested me? I am Aithlin,” she said, giving a slight incline of her head.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Tony greeted, giving her a small nod back, and resoundingly refusing to flinch at your slave. “I just need to get Galinn some new clothes, please.”

She raised one slim eyebrow. “You called upon me, the royal tailor, to dress a slave? Not yourself?”

“I apologize, Mistress,” Galinn quickly cut in. “It was I who suggested you, as you are the only one with Allspeak capability to understand him. No other is versed in Allspeak, and none at all in any Midgardian tongue.”

“Yeah, I wanted someone I could understand, I don't really like working through a translator,” Tony lied hurriedly, seeing the way Aithlin turned to glare at Galinn, who stiffened as he seemed to prepare to be struck. “He only did what I asked of him. I did not mean you any disrespect, and will use a tailor and translator if necessary. I have clothes from Asgard already.”

Galinn, positioned behind Aithlin (who's attention returned to Tony), looked at the mortal with something like surprise on his face, before quickly returning his gaze to the ground.

“You are fine, Lord Stark. Your slave has a history of being overly willful and seeking things he is undeserving of. I am surprised he was gifted to you, instead of one of our better stock. I suppose it was due to his gift of the Allspeak,” Aithlin mused and Tony bit his tongue roughly as he listened to her discuss Galinn as though he were mere cattle.

“You are correct, Mistress.” Galinn answered.

“I did not tell you to speak, and I would punish you were you still property of the crown. Mind your place,” she said, her voice calm and even. Tony felt goosebumps crawl up his flesh at the dichotomy between her words and tone - he'd never been somewhere slavery was acceptable. He'd always sort of assumed everyone would sound cruel or vicious when they spoke of punishment, but she may as well have been discussing the weather.

Galinn flinched slightly at her words and Tony almost thought he heard teeth clack together with how much force Galinn clenched his jaw.

“What would you like for him, Lord Stark?” Aithlin continued, as though she hadn't just threatened someone.

“Uh. I’ll be here a week, so, I guess seven pants and seven shirts? Do you people wear underwear? Do I need to request underwear for him? Fuck it, just give him whatever you would've given me.”

“You are practically a prince of your Realm, and you'd have me to dress him in the same manner I would you?” Aithlin asked, obvious surprise in her voice.

“Yeah, sure.” Tony said with a shrug. At her continued befuddlement, he added, “It's how we do things on Midgard.”

“Midgard is a strange place indeed,” she mused, turning her attention to Galinn. “Disrobe.”

Tony's mind hadn't quite caught up with the order before Galinn had already begun stripping, his shirt and pants off and carefully folded and placed on the floor by his feet. Tony opened his mouth to protest, but the words turned to bile in his throat. Galinn was lean, too thin for his tall frame, and Tony could see where he'd been beaten, recently by the looks of it. Old white lines criss-crossed along his chest and back, down his legs and along his arms, along with red marks still scabbed and healing.

“I thought Aesir didn't scar?” Tony blurted before he could think.

“Most Aesir do not, along with the other ancient races,” Aithlin answered, conjuring a measuring tape from somewhere and taking Galinn's measurements. “However, it is in large part due to rest and nutrient intake. Slaves do not require as much, as it is fine for them to scar, especially slaves with marks like this, notating them as expendable.” She pointed to a raised brand on Galinn's right hip.

“So they're too sleep-deprived and starved to heal, is what I'm getting.” Tony said, surprised at how level he managed to keep his voice.

“Slavery is a punishment, Lord Stark.” Aithlin answered with a shrug, continuing to measure Galinn, who stood there quietly and moved whenever and wherever she indicated to. “They work until they die, the runes ensure their obedience.”

“Wait, what? I thought the runes were just like, I don't know, a cattle tag or something,” Tony said, slightly hating himself for not being able to come up with a slightly less dehumanizing comparison.

“Oh, no,” Aithlin said, grabbing Galinn and forcing him to turn, brushing his hair away from his neck with no regard for his personal space, like one may show off a dog. 

Tony paused, studying the pink Norse-like runes on Galinn. They started on the left side of his neck and continued along his shoulder, circling around his elbow, the final one resting over the veins of his wrist. One had a slight orange tinge.

“Galinn can explain them to you, if you'd like,” she said, the measuring tape disappearing from her hands. “I am finished with my measurements. I will have a sleep gown and one set of clothes ready before nightfall, and the rest will be delivered within a day or two. Is there anything else you require of me, Lord Stark?”

“No, we're good,” Tony said, desperate to get this woman - elf - whatever! - out of his rooms. She was just too casual about what was a horrifying affront to humanity (Aesirity?) for Tony's tastes.

She nodded at him politely then swept from the room with an elegance that humans could never begin to attempt. Tony breathed a sigh of relief before noticing Galinn was still very much entirely nude. “Put your clothes back on,” Tony said, uncomfortable.

Galinn hurried to obey but Tony noticed one of the runes on his shoulder - the one he'd already noticed glowing orange - seemed to burn brighter as Galinn shoved his legs into his pants.

“Why is that one glowing?” Tony asked, interrupting Galinn as he reached for his shirt. 

Galinn stopped his hurry and his body seemed to relax. “Because you gave me an order. It was enforcing me to obey.”

“What? I didn't mean it to be one!” Tony protested, feeling more than a little in over his head. “Fuck!”

Galinn just shrugged, though weariness did seem to age his features. “It is nothing I am unused to, my Lord.”

“So I have to avoid giving you direct orders. Gotcha. Or can I order you that you have the ability to avoid my orders if you want to? Wait, is it just me or is it everyone?”

Galinn pursed his lips, leaning his head to the side. “I do not know the answer to your avoiding orders question. However, I am only magically bound to obey you. Anyone else's orders I have free will enough to disregard, though it is typically easier to obey. Anyone can issue punishment, though it is poor form to punish a slave unless you have their master's permission and monetary recompense may be sought if a slave is injured too heavily without the owner's consent.”

“That is fifty shades of fucked up,” Tony said. He sighed. “Can you tell me what the others are for? So I can make sure I don't accidentally trigger any of them?”

“Certainly,” he answered, pointing at the soft orange one that had lit up on his shoulder. “This one compels obedience, as you know. This one prevents me from lying,” he indicated one of the two on his neck, the bottom one, “this prevents me from being violent, this makes me infertile, this one is just the name of my owner - it changed to your name when you accepted me.”

And on he continued, pointing to twelve of the fourteen runes on him and explaining their purpose. The only two he avoided were the top one on his neck and the one on his inner wrist. 

“So, you can't say no to an order, can't lie, can't fight back, can't defend yourself at all, can't really do anything, my name is branded on your fucking skin, but they were nice enough to make it so you couldn't get someone pregnant when they rape you. Am I missing anything?” Tony summarized, sinking down in the nearby desk chair, though it looked more ornate than any desk chair had the right to be.

“It also prevents me from becoming with child as well, but you are essentially correct. It also is not considered rape unless my master didn't give permission for my body to be used.”

“Right, ‘cuz you're an alien, and even though you look like a dude, you can carry a kid.” Tony leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the desk. “I need alcohol, I can't handle any of what you just said.”

“I can go fetch you some, sir. I believe you would be safe to consume some of the less aged ale.” Galinn offered, finally pulling the shirt on over his head and hiding the wounds and most of the runes.

“No,” Tony sighed. Stupid team making him do the stupid abstinence from alcohol thing, and stupid aliens with stupidly barbaric traditions. “I don't drink anymore. I have more questions for you, anyway.”

“I will answer honestly.”

“Because you want to answer honestly or because some asshole fucking tattooed magic bullshit onto you and you have no choice?”

“I am capable of stating I would rather not answer your question,” Galinn offered. “So long as you don't order me to do so.”

“I hate this. I really fucking hate this.”

Galinn shrugged. “That feeling is at least mutual,” he said with a wry smile.

“You mentioned earlier freeing you would either need a mage or your sentence to be overturned. This is a punishment for a crime?”

“Yes.” Galinn answered, his face almost scarily blank.

“Want to tell me what you did?”

“I would prefer not to, sir. It is a bad memory, one I regret, and was a lifetime ago.”

Tony paused, considering. He was planning to bring this man back to Earth with him - it was Tony's responsibility to make sure everyone was safe from him, a known criminal.

But Tony would have to order Galinn, force an answer, and he had no desire to strip any more of Galinn's free will from him. This was Galinn giving him a test, seeing if Tony really would abstain from orders, and damn if Tony didn't love to pass tests.

“Are you going to hurt anyone when I bring you to Earth?”

“I bear no Midgardian ill will. I do not wish to harm any, and could not if I wanted to.”

“I'm going to have to verify what you said about the runes. Or at least the lying one.”

“Malfrind can assist you. He is the slave handler who brought me here and is well-versed in the spellwork. You saw for yourself he holds no love for me and will not lie for my sake.” Galinn said, tone calm and even. Tony couldn't help but wonder how long Galinn had lived like this, at the mercy of people who saw him as nothing more than what Tony might consider of his microwave.

Tony knew how hard Galinn had to have been hit to leave scars, even with reduced Aesir healing. 

A lifetime ago.

“Is there a reason you didn't explain two of the runes?”

“It is intimate and uncomfortable for me to discuss,” he answered, his face darkening for the briefest moment. “It essentially binds my soul to this body, whether I want it to or not.”

“Great. Man, Pep would be so proud of me, a Q&A session I didn't bullshit my way through!” Tony said, in a poor attempt to try to get the mood to lighten.

“It has been a long time since my knowledge was requested instead of my body,” Galinn admitted with a ghost of a grin. “I had forgotten how much I enjoy teaching.”

“Ha, figured out a position for you on Earth! You're my intergalactic translator and cosmic teacher.” Tony said, grabbing his phone to let Pepper know and seeing the list of questions she'd sent. “God bless Pepper,” he muttered as he ran through the list, which also included the things she'd done to get a space prepared for Galinn. 

“Are you fond of spices?” Galinn asked, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Huh? Oh, no, I’m talking about a person - her nickname’s Pepper. She runs my company and is going to help me get you integrated on Earth. I called her while you were out.”

Galinn laughed, and Tony found the sound was a pleasant one, that didn’t seem to fit the abused body it’d come out of. “What a woman she must be, to earn a name such as Pepper.”

“She’s at least 40% of the reason I’m not dead, despite my efforts otherwise,” Tony said with a grin, though it faltered as he read through her questions. “She has some more questions for you, though.”

Galinn gestured wordlessly to him, indicating him to continue.

“Do you have any allergies we need to be aware of?”

“I do not, sir.” Galinn answered, seeming amused.

“Do those runes require you to stay close to me?”

“Yes and no. I must stay nearby unless I am otherwise ordered to do so, such as if I need be a messenger.”

“Was the crime you committed a violent one?” Tony asked, doing his best to keep his voice neutral.

The amusement immediately wiped from the Aesir’s face, his expression hardening. “Yes.”

“Did anyone of an intelligent race - such as human or Aesir - die because of you?”

“Yes.”

“How many?” Tony asked, though it wasn’t a question Pepper had posed, it was his own curiosity.

“I do not know the death toll of my actions.” Galinn admitted, crossing his hands in front of him and his shoulders tensing.

Fuck. 

Tony leaned back, clenching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He suddenly understood why Pepper, Rhodey, and everyone else did this so often when Tony spoke - it really did help the budding headache.

He knew Pepper would tell him to let Galinn die here rather than bringing him back to Earth, or to gift him over to Thor or someone else who could better handle him. Not knowing the death toll - he’d had to have killed on a massive scale to genuinely not know how much blood was on his hands.

Then again… what was Tony’s own death toll? How much red stained his soul? 

“Are you reconsidering your gift?” Galinn asked softly.

“No,” Tony admitted with a sigh. “But you will be staying with me, on my floor, so I can keep an eye on you.”

“Thank you,” Galinn said, and Tony’s heart ached at the relief.

“Don’t thank me yet. If you fuck up, I will kill you myself.”

“I have no intentions of ‘fucking up,’ as you say, and any death you give me would still be a mercy to what I’d find here.”

“Pep’s gonna kill me,” Tony repeated, groaning.

“You seem awfully afraid of this Pepper killing you when she’s also apparently part of the reason you live. That would be quite counter intuitive to her efforts keeping you out of Valhalla, yes?” Galinn said, his tone serious, but when Tony glanced up, he saw a spark of mischief dancing in green eyes, and the inventor couldn’t help but laugh.

“She won’t mean to, but her ‘I’m disappointed’ face is more devastating than the entire arsenal in one of my suits,” Tony joked back. 

“Oh, dear, then I fear you are quite doomed, Lord Stark,” Galinn shot without missing a beat. “May you find glory in the death of a battle so fierce and be welcomed amongst Valhalla’s halls.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. The humor immediately wiped from Galinn’s face and was replaced by an expression that lacked any and all emotion. He dropped his gaze back to the floor and went to answer the door, pulling it open wordlessly.

An elf walked in, his hair cut short and revealing pointed ears, dressed in the same rough hewn clothing Galinn currently wore, a bundle of folded fine fabrics in his arms. If the clothes didn’t give it away he was another slave, the look on his face probably would’ve. It was… entirely blank. There was no life in his eyes (which barely rose from the floor), no emotion to be seen as he said something in a language Tony didn’t speak. The elf’s eyes slowly moved to look at Galinn when he was the one who answered, in the same language that almost sounded like tinkling bells. There was no urgency in the slave’s movements as he handed over the clothes and when Galinn (assumably) thanked him, he said nothing, merely bowed, and left.

At that moment, Tony knew he’d made the right decision. He couldn’t leave Galinn here to die, or become a hollowed out shell like that elf clearly had become. For their entire conversation, Galinn had had life in his eyes, and the thought of them being empty of that while his body was so alive…

Well. Tony had made worse decisions before than letting a possible serial killer bound by magic into his home. Ultron was proof enough of that.

“So, how many languages do you speak?” Tony asked.

Chapter Text

The next few hours passed rather pleasantly, to Loki’s happy surprise. He’d been worried when Stark started asking about the level of violence he’d been sentenced for, but it almost seemed to endear the mortal to ‘Galinn’ all the more.

Stark was like a child, asking one question only to have another pop up as soon as the first was answered, and Loki delighted in it.

He explained the Allspeak, how some were born with it (such as the Aesir and Vanir), others had the capability to be gifted with it (Jotnar, both types of elves), and how some simply couldn’t learn it (humans, dwarves).

That was when he’d realized he would’ve had to be gifted it, and wondered if it was Frigga’s or Odin’s magic that had granted a runt of a Jotun such a boon, to hide Loki’s true identity. Stark didn’t give Loki time to sink into the rage of that knowledge, instead launching into yet more questions. What did he mean by ‘both kinds’ of elves? What were dwarves like? So Allspeak was magic - why couldn’t humans learn it? 

“Oh, you should go try on those clothes,” Stark said sometime later, when a lull sprang up in their conversation.

Loki hissed slightly as the obedience rune flared and forced him to his feet, grabbing the bundle of clothing from where he’d sat it.

“Shit, that wasn’t an order! Cancel the order or whatever!” Stark said, jumping to his feet and reaching for Loki as though he were afraid the trickster was about to fall. The burn of the rune evaporated as soon as Stark canceled the order and Loki’s body relaxed again. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It is alright, it is something I needed to do anyway and wouldn’t have protested,” Loki said, and the weariness in his voice wasn’t entirely faked.

“No, it’s fucking not,” Stark insisted. “I don’t like taking away your will, and it looks like it hurts you when I order you like that. Does it?”

“A bit, but it is not too bad.”

“A bit is still too much when you’ve done nothing to deserve being hurt!” Stark said, throwing his hands into the air in aggravation. “I have no right to override your choices or force you into something, even if it is something you would’ve done anyway.”

Loki gave a sad smile, fully preparing to further dig in the barb. He'd be free in no time, abusing Stark's reluctant guilt like this. “Sir, you own me. You have every right to order me,” Stark opened his mouth to interrupt but Loki hurried forward, “however, I know you do not wish to. Until the mage removes my runes, I have no choice. You will merely have to learn to choose your words more carefully, and I will not hold any slip ups against you, because I know you are not explicitly choosing to do it to me.” Loki was somewhat surprised at his own words, but he did mean them. “For years, I have been surrounded by those who do not care what my wishes are. Simply knowing you do helps more than you likely know.”

Stark sighed. “I don’t like having that level of control over you, and minding my words isn’t a skill I’m known for. Can we… I don’t know, experiment around with phrasing and orders, so I have a baseline for what to avoid?”

“Of course,” Loki answered. While he wouldn’t hold it against Stark if he accidentally ordered Loki around, he would like to minimize the slips as much as possible. He glanced at the sky outside, noting one of the suns was about to slide behind the other. “However, it is approaching time for dinner. I presume a feast is being held for you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Stark said, pushing himself up from the chair he'd spent the past several hours sitting in, writing on some kind of thin, glowing device he called a ‘StarkPad,’ though hadn't yet elaborated what that was. He winced as he stood, pressing a hand to his lower back.

“Are you injured?” Loki asked, noting the annoyed pain on the mortal’s face.

“Injury from a few months back, didn't heal right,” Stark answered, straightening up and stretching.

“Mayhaps a visit to a healer before your visit ends would not go amiss?” Loki suggested. They had perhaps five years before Thanos arrived, and Stark was a powerful ally to keep.

“Do all Asgardians talk like they walked out of the 18th century?” Stark answered, utterly avoiding the topic.

Loki merely shrugged. “Likely not. It is merely the comparative of the way I was raised to speak, when the Allspeak translates what I want to say in my head into the English tongue you understand.”

“You sound like you were raised nobility, then,” Stark said and Loki couldn’t help but to tense slightly as Stark came too close to a truth about his past. Stark glanced over at him and Loki knew he’d been quiet for just a breath too long. He tensed further, preparing for the barrage of questions he could see forming in Stark’s eyes. “So, how does it work, this planet having two suns?” the mortal asked, gesturing out the window to where the smaller sun had begun to edge in front of the larger. “Earth doesn’t work that way.”

And to say that was not what Loki had expected would indeed be an understatement. But Loki could see the pity in Stark’s gaze and he bit down the urge to snap at the mortal, to remind Stark that Loki was a god and did not need the pity of an insignificant ant. Even if he wanted to say it, it wasn’t true, so the runes wouldn’t allow the words to pass his lips.

He was no god, he was as insignificant as an ant, and he was in desperate need of this particular mortal’s kindness. If he earned his freedom through pity, so be it. He was not Thor, he was not above putting his pride to the side so he could take a shortcut to a favorable outcome.

Besides, there was nothing saying he couldn’t kill Stark, after Thanos’s inevitable attack. His earlier statement bearing no Midgardian ill will was still true - at this time, he didn’t, due to the restrictions upon him. Once they were removed…

For now, he shot Stark a carefully crafted, thankful smile, acknowledging and ‘thanking’ Stark’s decision to change the topic.

“Alfheim is quite large,” Loki explained. “It’s bigger than both suns. The larger one, Cyra, was here first, but the smaller, Syskin - meaning ’sibling’ - was a free-floating sun some hundred millennia ago, and fell into Alfheim’s orbit. Before Syskin, legends tell of a harsh planet, scorched from the endless light, where life was hard and the people fought to live. Syskin, however, does not burn as bright. Though this realm has never - and likely will never - know darkness, Syskin passing in front of Cyra does have something of a twilight effect.”

“Aliens are fucking weird,” was Stark’s breathless, amazed reply.

Loki smiled - and oh, what an odd feeling that was after all this time, wearing a genuine smile on his fake face. “I feel I should remind you that you are the alien here, sir,” he said, amused by the mortal’s ridiculous antics.

Stark’s eyes widened at that. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “I’m an alien!”

The laugh that slipped from Loki came out slightly choked from Loki’s surprise at the sound. It was a relief, being able to laugh, being largely unafraid (even if he tried to pretend he never feared the pain). But this was the Avenger who stood up to a would-be conqueror without his suit, who offered an enemy both a drink and a threat. But, even with what little Loki truly knew of Stark, he knew he - as Galinn, at least - was safe from harm, and that was a peace Loki hadn’t known since he’d fallen from Asgard.

“You said you had appropriate raiments courtesy of Asgard, correct?” Loki asked. 

“Oh, yeah, I need to go get checked. Be right back!” Stark said, hurrying into the bedroom and closing the door.

Loki glanced at the clothing Stark had procured for him, easily sliding into it. Despite her short turnaround time and the knowledge it was slave’s clothing, Aithlin hadn’t slacked. Loki quietly relished in the comfort on his skin - fine silk with leather coverings. When was the last time Loki had felt fabric such as this, that wasn’t from the bed of a nobleman or noblewoman who’d only kept him overnight so they could have another go in the morning?

He studied himself in a nearby mirror, smoothing the black leather tunic over the blue undershirt. Part of him wished the shirt was green - but at least it wasn’t red, a color he would never be able to associate with anything other than his not-brother. The pants were dark blue, nearly black, and were more comfortable than anything he’d worn since Asgard, followed by shoes. Honest to Norns shoes, a luxury he’d deeply missed.

He scowled slightly to himself as he carefully wrapped and connected the various belts that went with the tunic and shoes, hating that he had come to consider something as simple as comfortable clothing and shoes to be a luxury. A knock came at the door and Loki wiped his expression clear before pulling it open with a slight bow, to see the same elven slave from earlier at the door.

“Your master’s feast is about to begin.” the slave said in Alfish. Loki tried to remember his name, but he couldn’t seem to place the empty-eyed elf in front of him with the hundreds of others he’d met.

“We will be there shortly,” he answered, giving up on trying to remember. It wasn’t like it was important, anyway - the elf in front of him probably barely remembered it either.

The elf left and Loki glanced out the window, seeing the pale purple-yellow light that had fallen outside. Loki was surprised - he hadn’t realized he’d spent that long with his own thoughts. He knocked on the door to Stark’s bedroom. “Sir? We need to be leaving soon.”

“One sec!” Stark called, then swore slightly under his breath. Loki waited a moment before knocking again.

“Do you require assistance?”

“Why are there so many damn belts? And is this a fucking cape?” came Stark’s not-quite-an-answer.

Loki rolled his eyes then pushed the door open. Stark yelped, hurrying to cover his bare chest with his arms, apparently still working on getting the pants up, chest and feet still bare. “Here,” Loki said, undoing one of the belts Stark had placed along his pants, despite them being part of the shoes.

“I can dress myself!” Stark protested, though he did slightly relax, only keeping one arm over the glowing device in his chest.

Loki merely raised an eyebrow and held up another strip of fabric. “Is this a shoelace, part of the tunic, or the clasp for your cape?” he asked.

Stark opened his mouth, looked at the fabric, then firmly shut it again, clearly realizing he had no idea. “Part of the cape?” he answered, though it came out as a question.

“None of the above, this wraps around your feet to protect it from the boots.” Loki explained. “Take your pants off.”

“Are you always this forward with the men you’re undressing?” Stark joked, but he did wiggle the pants down his hips, revealing red underwear with little golden Iron Man masks doting them. “Pep packed them for me!” the mortal hurriedly explained, as though expecting to be questioned.

“These clothes will fit better with those off. Will you please strip and we can start over?”

Stark opened his mouth, clearly preparing to argue, so Loki leveled his most ‘I am not impressed’ look that had worked wonders with Hela and Fenrir in their youth, and Stark sighed. “Don’t -” he started, before pausing and seeming to think over his words. “I don’t like it when people touch my reactor.”

“The device within you?” Loki asked, gesturing to where he could see blue light peeking out around Stark’s arms, though secretly appreciating Stark’s way of telling him not to touch without giving an outright order.

Stark just nodded, hesitantly dropping his arm and letting Loki see the technology that had kept him from claiming Stark’s mind. Scars lined his body around the circle embedded in his chest, small cuts surrounded by larger incisions, the skin puckered but clearly well-healed around the casing. “I will refrain from touching it. Your shirt comes first, anyway.” 

There was a moment where Loki thought Stark was going to argue further, but he said nothing, stripping the pants and underclothes off and standing still, though clearly tense and uncomfortable. Loki grabbed a white undershirt, motioning Stark to raise his arms. The mortal obeyed and Loki pulled the shirt on him, quickly followed by the red tunic. Loki paused as he went to grab the pants, realizing that he had just voluntarily demeaned himself in front of this mortal. It was more than a little irritating to realize, but it wasn’t like he could stop now. He’d never been one to half-ass things, and he still had a part to play until the runes were removed. As much as he hated it, acting like subservience was second nature to him would help urge on Stark’s desire to help him.

So, Loki knelt in front of Stark and the mortal obediently shoved his bare legs into the pants, balancing himself on Loki’s shoulders as the once-god pulled them up firmly, the tunic and undershirt tucked into it as he began to do the laces of the pants. 

“Y’know, normally, when an attractive guy is messing with my pants, he’s taking them off, not putting them on,” Stark babbled. 

Loki glanced up at him, noting the way Stark seemed to be looking anywhere other than down at him. He put an innocent face on as he answered, “I can help you remove them if you require it after the feast. I know our clothing must be so different to Midgard’s.”

Stark’s eyes immediately dropped down to Loki, on his knees and looking up with doe-eyed innocence, and Loki could tell the image apparently wasn’t displeasing to the man, based on the stirring he felt beneath the last of the laces.

“Are we almost done?” Stark asked, his voice strained and guilt coloring his cheeks.

“Yes, sir,” Loki said, still the picture of innocence as he finished the lacing and picked up the leather over-tunic, similar to his own. The rest of the outfit came together quickly, Loki pulling on the straps and belts with the ease of millenia of wearing them. He clipped the cape onto Stark’s shoulders last. “There we are.”

Loki gestured to the full-length mirror in the living area of the suite and Stark looked at himself, turning and letting the cape flutter. “I feel like an idiot,” he grumbled, then glanced at Loki. “See, you look like you belong in outfits like this. I look like a kid playing dress up.”

“You look fine,” Loki said, going for the door and holding it open, “but we need to hurry or we will be late. It is poor form to be late to a celebration held in your honor.”

“Right. Feast. Alien feast. Alien feast with alien slave holders, while I’m wearing alien clothes and no underwear. This can’t go wrong.” Stark said, running a hand through his short hair. “No reason to panic. Right?”

Chapter Text

Well, if there was any question where I’m going when I die, that clenched it. I’ve got a one-way ticket to Hell, Tony thought as he followed Galinn out the door, letting the Aesir lead the way to the hall where the feast was being held. Tony cursed his body’s reaction, but honestly, it wasn’t like he’d meant to feel aroused! But when Galinn was attractive and on his knees in front of Tony, hands so very close to a spot that had been sorely neglected the past few months…

Yeah, Tony had a direct flight to Hell when he died, he determined as he tried to rationalize away getting turned on by someone who couldn’t really say no to him. He could practically hear good ol’ Captain America in his head, giving him a stern lecture about being inappropriate and what is the Right and Proper way to behave. (Tony had already gotten several of this exact lecture since the Avengers were now the ones escorting out Tony’s one night stands instead of Pepper.)

Tony bit down a sigh and followed Galinn down the halls, trying his best not to fidget.

“Around this corner is the great hall,” Galinn said, slowing to a stop before turning to face Tony. “Your seat will be next to the king at the high table. Everyone - save the slaves - in the room will be gifted with the Allspeak, so you shouldn’t need a translator until we leave. I will be at your side and will be the one to fetch your food and drink. You earlier stated you wish to avoid alcohol, correct?”

“Yeah, or Bruce is gonna kill me for fucking up my liver again.”

“Does every one of your friends wish to kill you?” Galinn asked, a grin pulling at the side of his lips.

“Depends on the day,” Tony said, smiling back, though he was on thin ice with the team recently. Ultron had long-lasting consequences, even though they’d successfully covered up Ultron’s true origin from the general populace (and every government and agency that wasn’t what was left of SHIELD), blaming it instead on HYDRA. Steve hadn’t talked to Tony for a week when he’d discovered Tony’s failures had been successfully hidden. It had taken Natasha and Barnes to make Steve realize that the cover-up was necessary - if the public lost faith in the Avengers, especially with HYDRA’s outing, they’d be doomed.

“The slaves of the nobles will be kneeling beside their owners - it is where I will be as well. Remember, you are a guest here, no matter how abhorrent you may find their practices. Your status will only protect you so far, and outright hostility will damage any trade negotiations you may seek to pursue. You are a foreign dignitary, so none will hold any minor trespass against you, but continued violation of norms after you’ve been warned will be,” Galinn continued.

“I hate this,” Tony sighed. “Well, thanks for the heads up. More than Thor gave me.”

Galinn nodded, dropping any expression off his face, and it sent a chill down Tony’s spine, how quickly he was able to do that. “I will follow you in.”

Tony took a deep breath to steady himself, and then threw on his patented Stark Industries PR smile, holding himself tall and smiling with his whole face. He strode into the room, noting the chair next to the king was indeed open. He went up to the high table, sitting down in the chair. He did his best to ignore the slaves dressed in brown rags on their knees beside many of the people present. 

“King Freyr, it is wonderful to meet you,” Tony said, nodding his head pleasantly. Galinn silently went to his knees on Tony’s opposite side, his head down and palms in his lap, close enough to brush against the side of Tony’s leg.

“Tony Stark, the Iron Man of Midgard, it is an honor to make your acquaintance. My nephew speaks highly of you and your noble deeds,” Freyr returned.

I’m going to strangle Thor while he sleeps, Tony thought to himself. “Ah, I fear I am a little lost. Thor - Asgard’s prince - is your nephew?”

Freyr laughed and Tony smiled at the sound. The man dripped with charisma. “It seems Prince Thor has failed to provide you much education on the Nine Realms?”

“He… gets excited,” Tony answered diplomatically.

“Yes, that does sound like him,” Freyr said with a chuckle. “I am the brother of Queen Allmother, Frigga.”

“I thought Frigga - uh, sorry, Queen Frigga - was from… Vanirheim?”

Tony flinched at his mispronunciation (he could tell he butchered it), but Freyr seemed to be a man of good humor and took no offense. “You are mostly correct. We are Vanir, meaning we are of Vanaheim. Our parents and youngest sister Freya still rule there. Frigga married Odin some three millennia ago to broker the peace between Asgard and Vanaheim during Bor’s reign. Bor is Odin’s father, in case you didn’t know. I married the Queen of Alfheim, Arwen, the sole child of her parents, and when she passed before we had the chance to bear children, took over the throne.”

Tony’s inner fanboy absolutely did not lose his shit with the knowledge that Arwen was an actual, honest-to-god elf, but it was a near thing. “Thank you for your explanation,” Tony said, the fake smile he wore gradually easing into a more genuine one. “I may need to ask Thor for a crash course on the Nine Realms. I don’t think our myths are super accurate.”

Galinn tensed beside him, and Tony glanced down curiously. If Tony hadn’t been able to feel Galinn brushing against his leg, he wouldn’t have noticed the tensing, the subtle shift of his shoulders.

“Yes, it would be a great idea to get more educated on the other Realms,” Freyr said, pulling Tony’s attention back to the Vanir. “Your slave should be able to explain it, however. Prince Thor is a busy man, and Galinn is more than capable of at least giving you the basics.”

“Oh, right. Thanks for, uh, him, by the way,” Tony said, channeling the energy he'd had from every single board meeting filled with people he hated and that made him hate himself for being associated with them.

“You are most welcome. I apologize now for Galinn’s… excessive willfulness, but I knew he was the only one with knowledge of the Allspeak, and did not wish to burden you with teaching an old slave new tricks, I believe the Midgardian saying goes?” 

“Uh. Right, yeah. Anyway, quick question - the runes on him, one of them means he has to tell me the truth and can't lie, right?”

Freyr looked at him in confusion for a moment before realization dawned on his face. “I had forgotten, Midgard does not possess ample magic these days. Your kind hunted the magic users to near extinction.”

Tony gritted his teeth, but kept a placid smile on his face. “It was many ancestors ago, but yeah, magic users didn’t have a good time on Earth for a while. Anyway, the runes? I asked Galinn about them already, so just need to double check on the ‘can’t lie’ one.”

“He was accurate - the lower one on his neck binds him to the truth,” Freyr said, gesturing at the man knelt beside Tony. “You may trust anything he says.”

“Thanks,” Tony said, then allowed Freyr to move the conversation to other topics, notably about the elves he’d be meeting with the next day, their names and occupations and all of the other fun stuff Pepper normally briefed Tony on when he’d been more interested in his projects than preparing for merger meetings (though Freyr also called them up so Tony could meet them).

Galinn brought his food and water to him throughout the night, though Tony stopped saying ‘thank you’ when Freyr looked at him with utter confusion the first time. Who’d have ever thought Tony Stark would make a scene by being too nice? 

From there, it got easier. Tony was used to navigating cultural differences - he was the owner and majority shareholder of one of the world’s biggest tech companies, after all - he just wasn’t used to navigating differences of this magnitude. Still, Tony was grateful when, several hours later, the king dismissed them all (in English, for Tony’s sake) and wished them a good night and for ‘the Norns to smile upon this first transaction between mortals and Alfheim’ tomorrow.

It was at least another hour and a half before Tony made it back to his rooms, Galinn a silent shadow behind him until they left the hall, then he seamlessly moved in front of Tony to lead him back to his room. Tony unceremoniously fell onto the large couch with a groan. “The only difference between that and a corporate dinner was the fact it looked like it was being held at a ren faire,” Tony grumbled, rubbing at his temples. Some days, he preferred having to deal with Dr. Doom or Doc Ock over the bullshit involved in running a business, and this had quickly become one of those days.

“The joys of the meet-and-greet are the same amongst all realms, I fear,” Galinn said. Tony glanced over at him, standing near the door, his face full of amusement again. Tony nearly questioned his words - you were raised noble and you’re used to it too, right? - but he held his tongue. Galinn may have implied as much earlier, but he clearly didn’t want to talk about it. Tony couldn’t blame him, he couldn’t imagine being thrust into slavery after living the high life for his entire life up to that point. 

“At least it’s about time for bed. I’m exhausted. Traveling via Bifröst is no goddamn joke,” Tony said, standing back up and stretching. 

“Do you require assistance disrobing? I assume you have your own sleep clothing from Midgard.”

Tony's cheeks did not flush at Galinn's words, and he'd hold to that ‘til the day he died. “I think I've got it. If I'm not back in, like, five minutes, come get me.”

Galinn hummed slightly, rubbing his marked shoulder. “That registered as an order.”

“Oh, fuck me,” Tony grumbled.

Immediately, Galinn tensed, his face becoming pained. “As did that.”

“Cancel all orders!” Tony shouted, horrified. “Fuck. This is… gonna be hell.”

“If you wish to trade places, I'd be more than happy to acquiesce the bindings to you,” Galinn said, false levity in his voice as he tried to joke away what just happened. Then he sighed. “Both registered as orders to the runes. The first one didn't compel me, but it did burn with incomplete orders. I am guessing it is because I do not have a way to measure ‘five minutes.’ The second one… well, it was a very clear and direct order.”

“Just… I'm sorry. Especially that second one. I'm just… gonna go change. I'll be right back.”

Tony fled walked to his room, leaning his back against the closed door and rubbing at his temples again. He sighed and started shoving his clothes off, tossing the items on a nearby chair. He got stuck once on his shoes and twice on his pants (what the hell was this Asgardian clothing nonsense?) but he was free of the tight leathers and elegant silk after a few minutes, instead in his Hawkeye-themed pajamas that Clint had given everyone as a joke. In all honesty, it was one of his favorite sets - thick and dark enough to muffle the light coming from the reactor.

Tony pushed the door open, finding Galinn had changed as well. Looking at the nightgown he wore - and remembering the lack of underwear on this Realm - Tony was suddenly immensely grateful he had brought his own night clothes.

Galinn saw him when he walked in and one of his eyebrows raised as he took in Tony's outfit, smiling like there was a joke Tony wasn't privy to. 

“Well, I don't know about you, but I'm beat. I’m going to crash on that ungodly soft bed,” (Tony may have immediately tried it when he got to the room earlier), “and sleep until it’s time for negotiations tomorrow afternoon.”

“Rest well and be hale,” Galinn said, nodding his head toward Tony. “I will awake you when it is time.” He hesitated after that, glancing towards the couch along one wall. “May I sleep on the couch?”

Tony paused, the situation he was in once again crashing around him. Right. There was only one bed and slaves barely got clothing, much less rooms. “God, I hate this backward ass Realm,” he grumbled. “Yeah, sleep on the couch - uh, if you want! Not an order!” Tony hurried to add, seeing Galinn’s shoulders tense. Fuck this stupid spell.

With that, Tony returned to his room, half afraid to say good night in case it was interpreted as an order as well. He collapsed backwards onto his bed, sprawled out and staring at the ceiling. 

“Well, this is gonna be interesting,” he mumbled to himself, before letting sleep claim him.

~

The next several days passed in a whirl of negotiations and mind numbing boredom - so, the usual for business meetings. To be honest, Tony had expected it to be more interesting - he was negotiating! With aliens! In space! Elves! - but once he got past the ren faire vibes and the slightly more flowery speech, it genuinely was no different than any of the thousands of mergers and trade deals he’d made back on Earth. 

Right down to people thinking they can get one over on him.

“Honestly, it’s insulting,” Galinn said, four days into Tony’s seven day visit. “These rates are preposterous! The conversion factors between Aesir and Ljósálfar gold haven’t been this low in millenia!”

Tony watched, amused, as Galinn read through the proposed forms, quickly writing corrections and suggested changes into margins of the pre-draft documents. Galinn had eased up around Tony considerably in the past few days - in that he didn’t say ‘sir’ unless they were around others, at least. This was the most lively Tony had seen him yet, and he could definitely see the noble upbringing hiding in Galinn’s past as he effortlessly laid waste to the ‘asinine, uncouth, and downright deceitful’ terms currently laid into the agreement. 

“Is iron really so abundant on Midgard? You are promising to output a rather large amount of it.” Galinn asked, apparently wrapping up his entertaining rant. 

“Yeah, it's naturally occurring on Earth,” Tony answered, turning his attention back to his phone. “I'm kinda amazed it's hard to get on other worlds. Thor was the one who suggested using it to trade with.”

“The fae of Niflheim sought it out and destroyed entire planets they found to be abundant with the substance some four or five millennia ago. Midgard was likely only spared due to it being a non-player in the intergalactic field at that time, and the fae were focused on eliminating their enemies.”

Tony listened to Galinn with only half an ear. His focus was on his phone. It had taken a bit of work (and more than a little help from Thor's mom, Frigga) to get the phone functional across realms, but that was only the half of it.

“Wait, did you just say fae?” Tony asked, some of Galinn’s words registering in the small part of Tony that was paying attention to the Aesir. “I don't think our myths had faeries in Niflheim. It was, uh… the home of the dead? Where Hel ruled. All ice and death and nothingness.”

“Only partially correct,” Galinn explained, appearing to be similarly distracted as he continued marking through and editing the trade papers. “Niflheim is the realm of ice, yes, but its inhabitants are alive. Though, the fae died out or married into other civilizations, very few still reside there. Helheim is the Realm resting at the bottom of Yggdrasil, home of the unworthy dead, ruled by Hela, Goddess of Death.”

Tony continued playing on his phone, grinning as a notification finally popped up. He drew up the app that held his true reason for being on this planet in the first place.

“Unworthy dead, huh?”

“Yes, those who die in dishonor go to Helheim. Thieves, murderers, the cruel, and so on. Warriors who proved their valor on the field go to Valhalla, and the rest - such as merchants or farmers - find peace in the fields of Folkvangr.”

When he'd first arrived, he'd ‘dropped’ a small probe - that had quickly multiplied, burrowing and searching silently, reading for specific energy signatures. Ah, the joys of the nanotech he'd started to develop mixed with the magic of an ancient, prophetic, royal witch. (Because that's a normal thing to happen in someone's life. Definitely!)

“Sounds like our myths got a lot wrong. Do you really have to die in battle to get to Valhalla?”

“Your myths get as much right as they do wrong, it seems. No, a warrior of worthy merit may day of old age or illness as well, but dying in combat is more likely to end in a place among Odin's chosen.”

Tony watched as the app loaded, tapping his foot impatiently, though he did notice the bitterness that developed in Galinn's voice as he spoke of Odin.

“Not a big fan of the Alldaddy?”

Galinn gave a choked laugh that hid Tony's sigh of disappointment. The app had finally pulled the data - the type of energy, of magic, he was searching for was very particular and Frigga had assured him that, if it was there, they would be able to tell.

“No, I can't say I am fond of him,” Galinn eventually answered.

Final results: no signatures identified. Infinity Stone not located.

Tony closed his phone and rubbed his eyes, exhaustion creeping up. Stupid prophetic witches having stupid visions right after a different witch gave her son a prophetic vision of the same type.

“So, can you tell me about Folkvangr? That's definitely different than the myths.”

Now, all Tony needed to do was survive the next three days on an alien planet, and then return home safe and sound.

…with his slave in tow.

Yeah, Tony really hated how the Avengers had made him swear off alcohol. Especially in times like these.

Chapter Text

Loki would be lying if he said his first week with Tony Stark as his owner wasn't the most fun he'd had in years. Working on the trade agreement had been a flashback to his past, one where he was a prince who excelled in this task, one of wordplay and clever tricks. Loki had known long before Thor's butchered coronation that he, as second prince, was always destined to be counsel to the king, not king himself, and that had honestly fit him well. Let Thor languish in the spotlight while Loki worked from the shadows - it had worked for them for centuries, after all, and Loki had been well aware he’d never have the people’s love anyway.

But then Loki had learned he was just a monster and fell into a place worse than Hel, his own daughter refusing him his death.

“Grab - uh, hey, would you mind grabbing that for me?” Stark said, gesturing to one of his larger bags. 

Loki nodded his head, easily grabbing the bag and tossing it over his shoulder. He didn’t even wince as the weight settled onto him, his wounds from the lashing having fully healed. It was amazing - one week with adequate food and sleep, and Loki could feel his strength returning exponentially. He could remember what it felt like to be a warrior god, to be feared and worshiped in equal measure.

And with every bit of his old self he had returned to him, the more his hatred of Asgard grew.

“Is that everything?” Stark asked, seemingly talking to himself, casting his eyes around the rooms a final time. 

Yet, surprisingly, as much as his desire to rain fire on his once-home grew, his desire to rule Midgard didn’t. He’d expected to hate Stark within a day or two. 

“I believe it is, sir,” Loki answered.

Stark rolled his eyes. “Dude, we’re alone. At least you won’t have to call me that once we get to Earth.”

Stark was kind, and Loki didn’t hate him. Loki had been expecting Stark to be far more arrogant and, in public, he was. Once they retreated back to their rooms, however? Loki was well used to wearing masks and dismantling them when he felt safe enough to. It was fascinating to watch someone else go through the same process.

“Do you know your way to the Bifröst site?” Loki asked, not bothering to look around to see if there was anything he’d forgotten. All he had to his name on this forsaken planet were the rags he’d previously worn. Some may desire to keep them, but he had never been sentimental, and was happy to leave them behind. 

“Nah, I was too busy feeling hungover when I arrived, courtesy of the bullshit-fröst. Can you lead the way?”

“It does get better, with time, if that helps,” Loki offered, then led Stark out of the room. That had been a pleasant surprise - Stark was careful to phrase everything as a question once he realized how easy it was to accidentally issue an order. He’d expected Stark to make a modicum of effort, yes, but this was far and above anything he’d expected.

“If I never have to travel by rainbow again after this, it’ll be too soon,” Stark muttered, hitching up the briefcase that Loki had learned contained his warrior’s suit. It was the one item Stark had made it clear he wanted Loki nowhere near.  Loki chuckled as he remembered his first time traveling via Bifröst - he had only been around eighty years old, still very much a child, when they’d gone to visit Frigga’s family in Vanaheim. It had taken nearly a dozen trips before his stomach stopped trying to exit through his mouth. He did not envy someone with a mortal’s lesser constitution experiencing the Bifröst for the first time. “You ready to get off this god forsaken planet, Linn?”

“Norns, yes,” Loki agreed. Stark pushed open the door and held it for Loki to slide out of the room. Loki took the lead, guiding the mortal through the maze-like hallways and out of the palace.

They got to the site and Loki (somewhat carefully) dropped the bags into the center of the Bifröst markings, the symbols having been burnt into the ground over millennia of repeated usage in the same spot. Stark pulled out a small, silver device (a cell phone, he’d explained. Loki hadn’t felt it prudent to explain he was familiar with cell phones due to attempting to conquer Midgard) from one of his pants pockets. He was dressed in standard Midgardian cloth, while Loki still wore one of the outfits he’d gotten from the tailor several days prior. 

“Cool, we’re only a few minutes early. Think we can call Heimdude to go ahead and pick us up?” Stark asked, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

“You may, he will likely hear you. He is unlikely to hear me,” Loki answered, forcing the tension from his shoulders. 

“I thought he was an all-hearing, all-seeing, Santa-Claus-on-crack, like the Alldaddy?”

“A slave’s call-out is one he does not hear, it was one of the runes I showed you. Otherwise, he’d be inundated with pleas for escape.” Those same runes were why Loki was not afraid of Heimdall seeing through Odin’s glamour and outing his true identity to the Avengers. Stark may be kind to a helpless slave whose past is a mystery, but Loki had no doubt the beatings would continue if the heroes knew he was Midgard’s would-be conqueror.

Stark grimaced. “Right. Ass-backwards space Vikings and all that jazz. Well, everyone’s excited to meet you, and Pep’s already made a lot of headway on your political asylum request, but we did get your work visa cleared already.”

“Will all of your shield-brethren be awaiting us when we arrive?”

“No, just Pep, you’ll meet everyone at dinner. We didn’t want to overwhelm you. Only Thor won’t be there, he’s in New Mexico with his girlfriend still, I think.”

“You have my thanks for delaying the meetings. From what you’ve told me of your allies, they seem… interesting.” And Loki was undeniably ecstatic that his once-brother wouldn’t be there. Loki’s voice was only slightly changed as far as the trickster could tell (though it is difficult to gauge one’s own voice). He didn’t know how Odin had faked Loki's death sentence, but he did know Thor likely believed it. As much as Loki was loath to admit it, Thor loved him enough he'd never have allowed Loki to be a slave for years. That didn't, however, mean Thor wouldn't execute Loki or, at the very least, out the trickster to the ragtag band of heroes.

No, it was better if ‘Galinn’ avoided Thor until they were able to meet with the sorcerer, Strange.

Still, Loki was not terribly enthused to meet the Avengers, including their newest member - another soldier out of time after being consumed by ice. He had yet to get the full story on that, Stark always seemed to clam up whenever this Sergeant Barnes was mentioned. Part of that was, admittedly, due to how busy they'd been with the trade agreement (which had come together beautifully, largely due to Loki's skills. Well, the points and arguments he'd taught Stark in the nights before meetings. The mortal was a decent negotiator in his own right).

“Ready?” Stark asked.

No.

Loki merely smiled, unable to lie.

“Heimdall!” 

And then Loki's world was a kaleidoscope in a rainbow, the ground gone from beneath his feet. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, but the elation he’d felt since he was a child when traveling via Bifröst made his heart skip a beat. He much preferred skywalking along Yggdrasil’s branches, but there was a certain semblance of fun to be had taking the Rainbow Bridge instead. They landed moments later. Well, Loki landed - Stark fell forward and his face immediately met the hard, gray ground. 

“Never. Fucking. Again.” Stark groaned, pushing himself to his knees.

“Until you get bored and go off world again,” a woman said, stepping out onto the balcony Loki recognized from his ill-fated invasion - the one where Stark himself had landed and pulled off his own armor. (Loki was still a little irritated he fell for Stark’s gambit). The woman turned to Loki, her face round and kind, with red hair pulled tightly atop her head. He knew this wasn’t the Widow - her red was much more vibrant, after all.

“Lady Potts, I presume?” Loki greeted, tilting his head at her in welcome. It was an odd, but oh so wondrous feeling, not to be expected to immediately fall to his knees, to bow and submit himself to any and every whim of those ‘better’ than him.

“You presume correctly, Mr. Ingensbarn,” she said, extending her hand out to him.

Loki flinched automatically, taking a half-step back before realizing his error, but Potts’s and Stark’s faces had already fallen with guilt. He quickly composed his own face, brushing off his pretend fear - he refused to accept that flinch had been anything but furthering his manipulation. Loki was not afraid. “Please, call me Galinn,” he said, mirroring the motion she’d made.

She glanced over at Stark, but reached her hand back out, with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Then you can call me Pepper. I’ll admit, Galinn is much easier to pronounce.”

“Your pronunciation was very close to correct,” Loki said. 

“Well, good thing I only needed to be able to spell it. Your paperwork is well underway - the temporary work visa has already been issued, and while there’s a bit of work to do with the asylum request since we couldn’t start it until you were in the country, it should be resolved within a few months as well.”

“Months?” Loki asked, surprised. Asylum grants on most worlds - Asgard, Vanaheim, Alfheim, even Muspelheim - took only a few minutes. Loki himself had signed off on a few over the centuries.

“Earth likes paperwork and federal agents like taking their time processing it, especially in this particular region of Earth,” Stark answered. “But you’re not stuck here once we release you, promise. We’ve given the government a… sanitized version of events, so they don’t try to see what deporting an actual alien is like. We’re already playing fast and loose with the whole magical slavery thing.”

It took everything Loki had not to snort at Stark’s words. An owner’s promise meant nothing to a slave, as kind as Stark may be. Loki knew the risks if his identity was revealed.

“What Tony means to say,” Potts interjected, her smile falling and a stern expression replacing it, “is that we’ve told Citizenship and Immigration Services that you were born a slave and have been subjugated to cruel treatment without cause for years, and that Tony saved you. That’s the official story.”

“Ah. You have lied to your government and withheld from them I am a criminal.” Loki said, Potts’s lips pressing into a thin line. She clearly was unhappy about all of this.

“Wait, will Galinn have to testify or appear before a panel or anything? He can’t lie. Can I order you to lie?” Stark asked, his brows furrowing in thought.

“You can, as far as I know. I do not know if I can lie to others on principle, though.” Loki said, shrugging. Slave magic wasn’t something he’d ever studied heavily. Thor had always planned to ban slavery in Asgard when he took the throne. Loki’s heart twisted at the thought, before he buried it back down.

“Right. We still need to play around with that,” Stark muttered.

“Does your government know the extent of the magics binding me? Are they aware I cannot lie?” Loki asked.

“Yes, somewhat,” Potts answered, tossing an exasperated glare at Stark. “They know you’re magically bound to obey Tony and that you can’t lie or defend yourself against him. Basically, that your entire bodily autonomy is stripped away until we can remove the runes. Are you able to lie to me? Or would you be able to protect yourself from me?”

“I know I would not be able to stop you trying to strike me, but as to the other matter…” Loki paused, pursing his lips in thought. “My favorite color is r -” he started, though he quickly clamped his mouth shut as his arm began to burn with his intent to lie, the pain bringing him to his knees. He hissed, grasping at the burning rune, hoping the pressure would alleviate.

“Galinn!” Potts and Stark called in tandem, running to his side, though only Stark grabbed him, a gentle hand on his right shoulder. “You good, Linn?” Stark asked as Potts hovered right behind him.

“The pain will pass. I wish to try again. I was aiming to lie to Lady Potts - forgive me, Pepper - but your presence, Stark, may have been the issue.”

“You sure? That rune lit up so bright I could see it through your sleeve.” 

“I am sure. Please release me and step out of hearing range.”

Stark jerked his hand back, as though he’d forgotten it was there to begin with. “Your choice,” - how long has it been since I had genuine choice? - “I’ll be right inside, but unable to hear you through the door. Okay?”

Loki nodded and Stark hesitated a moment, glancing up at Potts and seeming to have a short conversation without words, but eventually retreated into the tower. Loki watched through the tall windows as Stark made a point of closing the door and turning away, his back to them, though he remained nearby. Loki watched him in confusion for a moment before realizing - Stark was worried for Potts, that his newly acquired slave may try to hurt her. He rolled his eyes, then forced himself back to his feet. Potts, who’d still been hovering nearby, her arms held out in case he fell, took several steps back when he stood without assistance. He wondered, briefly, if she stepped back to give him space or if she too feared him.

“My favorite -” Loki was cut off quicker this time, though the rune didn’t burn as fiercely. His irritation and anger burned instead. “It would appear I still cannot lie to you. The magic isn’t as punishing when I try to, however.”

“Well, we’ll have to see if Tony can, uh, okay your lies.”

“See if my benevolent owner can control my words the same way my body can be commanded?” Loki asked sharply. Lies were his, they were his first divine domain, the first blessing the Norns had given him. Loki had been one of the few gods in all of history to cover more than three domains. Tricks, lies, stories, fire, mischief and chaos… they were all his, he’d earned his divinity.

Though he wondered often since learning his true birth if the Norns had named him God of Lies as a joke. Galinn wasn’t the first false name Odin had granted him, he’d learned, though the knowledge was tinged with blue. Of all the things he’d experienced in the time after his fall, lies had not been among them.

Potts frowned at his harsh words, crossing her arms over her chest. “He isn’t going to take advantage of you, Galinn.”

“It isn’t taking advantage when you’re less than a person, Lady Potts. I don’t get to tell him no if he changes his mind, remember?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have committed whatever crime made you less of a person, then,” she shot back, surprisingly vicious. “Tony is a good man. You will not insinuate he’d do anything to harm you intentionally, do you understand me?”

Loki clenched his teeth together, pulling in the reins of his anger. He had insane fanatics to kill and a realm to burn, and he remembered Barton explaining Potts was the only one Stark listened to. He needed this woman on his side, not against him. He forced his body to relax, pushing the tension out of his shoulders. “Forgive me, Pepper. I am near freedom, only to be reminded of my shackles. It is one thing to be a slave and know it’s your fate, that there is nothing to be done. It’s another to be a slave with hope. And whatever else I am, so long as I have these,” Loki gestured to his left arm, though all the runes except the ones on his neck were hidden, “I will stay a slave, and hope is a dangerous thing.”

Potts calmed herself at his words, seemingly less forcefully than it had taken Loki to do the same. “I understand. I know you have no reason to believe me, but Tony is a good person. He’s unthinking sometimes, so I can’t say he won’t mess up, but he won’t mean bad.”

Loki managed a smile. “Well, should we go tell him what we’ve discovered? Perhaps he will be able to help me lie.”

“After you,” Potts said, gesturing to the door. Loki turned toward the door, freezing as soon as he saw through the windows again. Stark was there - and he was no longer alone.

The beast.

Chapter Text

“Welcome back, sir,” JARVIS said as soon as Tony closed the door behind him.

“Glad to be back, buddy,” he answered, resisting the urge to pace, instead smiling up at the ceiling. Using the phone across realms had been a significant power drain on the Earth-created battery, so he’d used it rarely, except for important things. (He’d used it a lot more than planned, having to contact Pepper so frequently to get Galinn cleared to return with him to Earth.)

“I am sorry you didn’t find what you sought. I have let the team know you’ve returned.”

Tony said nothing, instead fidgeting uncomfortably, his back to the glass door. Trusting Galinn had been easy when they were in Tony’s temporary rooms, where the only person in range for Galinn to hurt was Tony himself and they were surrounded by people who could meet Galinn’s Aesir strength. He had thought he’d be fine - and then he’d had to leave Pepper alone with Galinn, an alien man with a violent past Tony had thought he didn’t want to know.

Pepper had often accused Tony of being clueless or not thinking things through. She hadn’t told him as such with the whole Galinn issue, but maybe she should’ve. She does love getting the chance to tell Tony he fucked up and should’ve listened to her, and she’d hate not having the chance to do so. He’d put Pepper in danger again, he’d put the whole damn team in danger, what was he -

“Sir, your heart rate is rapidly elevating,” JARVIS interrupted. “Listen to me. Can you draw a breath for me?” Tony obeyed. “Now hold it - one, two, three, four. Release, two, three, four.”

They ran through the cycle a handful of times, and Tony was approaching calm-ish when the elevator dinged. He glanced up and grinned as his science bro walked onto the penthouse floor. “Brucie Bear!” 

“Tony Maloney,” Bruce returned, the edge of his mouth twitching up into a grin he tried to suppress. Tony allowed the familiar nickname to soothe him the rest of the way.

His relationship with Bruce had almost been another casualty of Ultron’s. Hulk had stolen a Quinjet and Tony didn’t hear from Bruce for a week, unable to track his own cloaking tech (an oversight that has since been fixed), until he finally got a call from an exhausted Bruce, who’d touched down on some small, uninhabited island near Ant-fucking-arctica and let Hulk rage against the trees and rocks for some time. Bruce’d spent the days trying to get in touch with Hulk, ‘clawing his way out of the trunk Hulk had pushed him into.’ Eventually, they managed to come to terms. Hulk’s and Bruce’s personalities meshed better after that, both with their ‘hands on the wheel of their shared brain.’ (Honestly, it sounded like a lot of spiritual mumbo jumbo to Tony, but he’s not exactly going to argue with a rage monster, no matter how much they love each other.)

Regardless, Tony had run to get his friend from that island as soon as he’d gotten the call, though it had been another two weeks before Bruce spent time with him again, and then another three months before Bruce’s half-assed nicknames returned.

“How was Alfheim?” Bruce asked, his eyes glancing out the window over Tony’s shoulder, undoubtedly looking at their newest Aesir house guest.

“Cool. Nice weather, broke several laws of physics as we know them, made me a slave owner, had a bunch of weird food. The usual for off-planet visits, y’know?” Tony said with a nonchalant shrug.

“Let’s keep you on-world for a while then, yeah?” Bruce said, then gestured with his chin towards the window. “So that’s him then?”

“I think I’d like to stay Earth-bound for the foreseeable future, yeah. And yep, that’s him. Galinn. Him and Pep are testing some of the limitations of the slave runes.”

Bruce sighed. “When did our lives get to the point that the term ‘slave runes’ isn’t a wild idea that I struggle to wrap my mind around?”

“Probably around the time a Pagan god joined our team to defeat his also-a-Pagan-god brother, who opened a vortex to space above my tower and we got invaded by space whales,” Tony answered, a smile tugging at his lips. 

They both laughed. “Do you ever miss when life was simple?” Bruce asked.

Tony paused, pursing his lips slightly. Things hadn’t been simple since he’d been abducted by terrorists, but… he’d been a horrible person before that. He had earned his reputation as the Merchant of Death. 

He was spared from trying to answer when the door behind him slid open. He turned, an easy (and only slightly fake) smile sliding onto his face. It faltered when he saw Galinn’s face - he was pale, an edge of terror in his eyes, shoulders tense. Every line of Galinn’s body was screaming he was in fight or flight mode, and studiously unable to do either.

“Galinn? You good?” Tony asked, his smile falling as he stepped towards the man.

Galinn’s eyes slid over to Tony and immediately his expression relaxed. It was too quick, too jarring a change to be natural. “You need not worry about me, Stark,” he answered, and Tony noted the way Galinn edged around Tony’s question. So, he couldn’t lie, but he could skirt around direct questions. Good to know.

“Hello, Galinn, I’m Bruce Banner,” Bruce said, stepping towards the alien, hand outstretched. 

Galinn flinched, just barely, and Bruce faltered, his hand beginning to fall. Galinn recovered quickly, catching Bruce’s hand and clasping his hand around Bruce’s forearm. Bruce smiled, but it was more hesitant this time, though he grasped Galinn’s forearm right back. Thor ‘shook hands’ the same way - must be an Asgard thing?

“Well met, Dr. Banner. Stark has spoken highly of you and your abilities,” Galinn greeted. The two released their grip and Galinn hurriedly stepped back, out of arm’s reach. 

“Your intellectual abilities, Brucie,” Tony interjected, glancing at Galinn in confusion and trying to add some humor to hide the awkwardness steadily brewing between the two men. Tony chalked up Galinn’s nervousness to the whole ‘been a slave for decades and got beaten repeatedly’ thing. He’d flinched from Pepper too. “Though I did also gush about my favorite green bean.”

“Well, it’s not like I expected you to sing hymns about my prowess in bed,” Bruce joked, picking up on Tony’s attempt to ease the atmosphere.

“Only because you are frustratingly straight and refuse to let me prove why bi is the way of the future,” Tony said, heaving a theatrical sigh that had Pepper snickering (though she tried to hide behind her hand).

Tony considered it a success, though, when he noticed the corner of Galinn’s mouth twitching up in a grin.

“Pardon the interruption, but Captain Rogers wishes to confirm when the team is congregating for dinner, and to confirm if Mr. Ingensbarn will require a Thor-sized serving,” JARVIS said.

Galinn’s head snapped around, searching for the source of the voice, though he didn’t exactly seem… surprised to hear the disembodied voice, like most people tended to.

“That’s JARVIS, he runs the house,” Pepper explained. “Say hi, JARVIS.”

“Hello, Mr. Ingensbarn.”

”Where are you?” Galinn questioned.

“I do not possess a physical form, sir. I am an artificial intelligence created by Mr. Stark. I run security in the house, help maintain Stark Industries digital files, and assist in the operation of the Iron Man suits. I must reiterate my prior question - are you in possession of an appetite the size of Thor? We do not know if his eating habits are standard of the Aesir or if that is merely an individual trait of Thor.”

Galinn hummed slightly, his gaze flickering to the side of the room, where a hidden vault stored one of Tony’s spare suits - a vault which Galinn should have no way to know of. Unless x-ray powers were something the Aesir had. Which, honestly, wouldn’t surprise Tony at this point. He’d seen weirder shit. “I do not require servings the size of the Crown Prince’s. Maybe half or so? I was never overly fond of large meals, and I am still recovering from time spent near starvation.”

“Ah, right, that’s actually why I’m here,” Bruce spoke up. “Even though I’m not that kind of doctor, I’m the team’s go-to physician. Would you be okay with me giving you a check-up? If you ever get hurt, there’s not exactly any history of Aesir physiology or anatomy for a hospital to be able to treat you, and we’d rather have a baseline on file ahead of an emergency.”

“Do you anticipate my getting injured, Dr. Banner?” Galinn asked, though he seemed more amused than wary, which Tony chalked up as a win.

“We’re the Avengers,” Bruce answered bluntly. “Being around us comes with risk of injury. We’ll try to keep you out of it, but we can’t promise your safety.”

Galinn paused, tilting his head to the side in thought. “Do you have any data for Thor?”

“Not really,” Bruce admitted. “He throws off too much interference for us to get any good readings, likely from the lightning powers. Also, he fidgets.”

“Will it hurt?”

“Most of it won’t. Blood draws hurt, but they’re a minor pain for most people.”

Galinn nodded. “Then I consent.”

“And you know you’re allowed to say no, right?” Bruce asked, glancing over at Tony.

“Yeah, Galinn, you are free to make your own choices. I won’t do anything bad or whatever if you say no,” Tony hurriedly added in.

“I am aware, Stark. I am also aware of the numerous stories you told me while on Alfheim, almost all of which ended with you or someone else under the care of a healer. I cannot fight back, remember? If a fight starts while I’m too close and can’t get away, I am helpless and likely to end up injured.”

“Right,” Tony said, noticing Bruce beginning to go through breathing exercises. None of them had taken the idea of slavery well, but Bruce was always the most human of them all. Emotionally speaking, at least. “How about I show you your room and then we can meet with Bruce on the medical floor? We can have dinner and you can meet the rest of the team after.”

“That is an agreeable plan. If you would lead the way, Stark.”

“Don’t forget to show him the clothing catalogue, Tony,” Pepper piped up. “He can’t walk around in those clothes all the time unless he wants to draw attention to himself.”

“I will remind them, Miss Potts,” JARVIS said.

“That’s my boy,” Tony said with a grin. “Can’t forget if I have a state-of-the-art AI that works as my memory! Don’t know how I’d survive without you, buddy.”

Bruce’s face became a sad grin at that, no doubt remembering how close they all came to losing JARVIS. The relief Tony had felt when he’d realized JARVIS had shielded and shut off his back up copy in the partially rebuilt Malibu home… it had rivaled the feeling when Rhodey’s helicopter had found him in that Afghan desert. Don’t get Tony wrong, he loved FRIDAY too, and was grateful for her help during the final showdown with Ultron, but he’d had no problem setting her up in the Avengers Compound where the newer Avengers trained the second he’d refound JARVIS. She even had her own small portion of the Iron Legion at her disposal! 

“Clothing catalogue?” Galinn asked, looking genuinely baffled. “Is my All-Speak mistranslating? A book of clothing from which attire can be purchased, likely from methods of mass production?”

“AI doesn’t phase you, but internet ordering does?” Tony said with a laugh. “Anyway, follow me, I’ll show you your room.”

Galinn immediately moved forward, coming to a stop two steps from Tony’s back.

“Tony. You issued an order,” Pepper pointed out. Tony swore.

“Cancel order! You can follow me if you want to,” the inventor corrected, Galinn’s shoulders noticeably relaxing.

“You weren’t kidding when you said he was magically ordered to obey,” Bruce said, pulling his glasses off his face and cleaning them, one of his many usual self-calming methods. “I called Strange yesterday, but he’s off-world according to Wong. They’ll call us as soon as Strange is back.”

“Strange is off-world too? That man - first he copies my amazing facial hair, now he goes planet hopping the same time I do? What a copycat,” Tony whined, though it was half hearted. “Do they know when he’s expected to be back?”

“No. They said something about magical energies being misaligned following the Convergence and Strange, as the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth, was summoned to a summit about it. The location is secret, so Wong can’t just portal to him either.”

“Great. If it’s anything like an Earth summit, it’s gonna last forever and fuck-all is actually getting done,” Tony said with a sigh. He turned to Galinn. “Looks like our magical cure-all isn’t reachable right now. I promise, as soon as he is back, I will drag his ass to the Tower.”

Galinn’s face was unreadable. “Of course. My room, then?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s this way,” Tony said. “Bruce, I’ll have JARVIS let you know when we’re about to head down, ‘kay?”

“See you then. Are you joining us for dinner, Pepper?” Bruce said.

Tony walked away, missing the rest of the conversation. “So, time for the verbal tour of Avengers Tower!” he said, rubbing his hands together, a holographic schematic appearing courtesy of JARVIS and indicating the spaces as Tony spoke. 

“This is the penthouse suite, and my floor. We are at the topmost floor of the building - floor 106, ‘cuz I do nothing by halves and wanted the tallest tower in NYC. The top twenty floors are all personal, Avengers usage. Beneath that are the top ten floors of Stark Industries, which houses research and development. The other floors are all also Stark Industries, but nothing fun is on them, so I don’t actually know what’s on all of the lower floors. I know floor one has our lobby, and there’s twelve sub-levels. Eleven of those are for employee parking. 

“The very bottom one is my personal garage. There’s thirteen elevators, but only one goes all the way from the bottom to the top, and it only has access points on sublevel twelve, floor one, and the Avengers floors. As I said, this is my floor, and now yours as well. My lab is beneath us. Bruce is beneath that, with his own lab beneath him, and then Thor under the lab, though Thor’s rarely here. Steve, Barnes, Natasha, and Clint all share the next floor down. They all used to have different floors, ‘cept Barnes, but military men and spies apparently don’t like sleeping alone. Next down is Clint’s original room, now a multi-media room. We have movie nights and video game competitions there. Beneath that is the common room. It has a smaller TV and a fully stocked kitchen. Honestly, all the living levels have stocked kitchens, but we like to pretend we’re a functional team-slash-family. 

“We’re at floor 98 now, which is the gym and is rated H for Hulk-proof. One down is containment, which is rated AH for Angry-Hulk proof. Floor 96 is the med bay and 95  is an office space because fuck Nick Fury coming into my house. Floors 92, 93, and 94 are guest spaces. All floors between 87 and 91 are empty. There are other Avengers, but they live at the Compound in upstate New York. Any questions?”

“Did you stop for breath at any point during that?” Galinn asked through his poorly suppressed amusement. 

“I’ll breathe when I’m dead,” Tony shot back instantly. “Wait, no -”

Galinn cut Tony off by full-on laughing, clutching his stomach. “Unless I have severely misunderstood Midgardian biology, I do not think that is how it works.”

Tony grumbled under his breath, but he was secretly pleased to hear Galinn laughing. That was the man who Tony was convinced was safe to bring to Earth. “Anyway! You have access to floors 106, 100, 99, 98, and 96 if you’re by yourself, unless you’re invited to another’s floor, or riding with someone who has access to the floor.”

“So this floor, the multi media room, the common room, the gym, and the healing rooms?” Galinn verified, pointing at the floors on the hologram and highlighting them.

“Nice memory,” Tony said, hiding how impressed he was at Galinn figuring out the holograms so quickly. Steve still struggled, and Thor had given up entirely after six months of attempts.

“So I am unable to leave?” 

“Until we get your paperwork cleared so you’re legal in this country and I’m convinced you aren’t going to either kill people or accidentally cause a scene by being too alien, yeah, you’re confined to the Tower,” Tony admitted, the words leaving a sour taste on his tongue. 

Hurt flashed across Galinn’s face, but a mask of indifference quickly replaced it. “Understood, sir.”

Then it was Tony’s turn to flinch. He didn’t like when Galinn called him sir, pointed out the disparity between the two of them. “Safety precaution, that’s all. It’s for your safety, too.” Tony said, quietly wishing he could get back to humor from a few minutes ago. 

Galinn merely shrugged. “It is not the first time I have been confined. At least this time I have more space than a cell. Four entire floors to peruse, yes?”

“Yeah. And it’s just for now, I promise. Anyway, we’re here. That’s your room,” Tony said, pointing to a solid oak door to their left, “and that one’s mine. I’m nearby in case you need me.”

Galinn nodded, then pushed open the door to his suite. 

“So, it’s a pretty basic room,” Tony explained. “All the living floors have a few guest suites, except for the one already housing four people, and they’ve got the basic amenities.” Tony walked across the room, pushing open another door. “Full bathroom with both a shower and bath. I know you’re familiar with baths, not sure about showers since I didn’t see any on Alfheim. If you have any questions about how the dials work, feel free to ask JARVIS. He can set the temp for you, or talk you through it if you prefer doing it yourself, like certain old men from the 1940s. We weren’t sure what types of shampoo and body wash and all that stuff that you’d like, so Pepper stocked some sample sizes under the sink. Toothbrush and toothpaste is there too. JARVIS’ll reorder whatever you like, if you tell him. As you can see, there’s already a bed, an armchair, and a desk with a spinny chair. Uh, if you get cold, we have spare linens in the hall closet, I think?”

“Correct, sir,” JARVIS added. “Mr. Ingensbarn, if you have need of anything, let me know, including for hobbies. Also, your closet is the remaining door in the room. Before you leave, I will aid you in ordering clothing.”

“Thanks for the reminder!” Tony said, leading Galinn to the closet and pushing open the door. 

Up until then, Galinn had been a quiet observer, but the closet apparently got him. “This is a closet? Closets are for storing clothing, correct?”

“Yep!” Tony said. “If you run out of room, let me know, I can have the bedroom backing this one converted into a closet extension, like I did for my own closet.”

Galinn blinked a few times then walked into the closet, his hand trailing the shelving. “Is this the standard size of closets in Midgard?”

“Ah, no, I’m just filthy rich and I buy clothes like it’s going out of style, according to Steve.”

“I have seen spacious closets in my time, Stark, and this one is the largest I’ve ever seen, including the one I was rais-” Galinn cut himself off then, pulling his hand back to himself. “It is quite large.”

Another bit of evidence saying Galinn was nobility, Tony thought. “Now, time to order clothes and start filling it up! I packed the clothing that was created on Alfheim in case we need it, but let’s get you some Earthling fashion options, mkay?”

Galinn nodded and the two went back to the living area (Tony quickly pointed out where the kitchen and hall bathroom were for future reference), and JARVIS brought up a website for them to peruse through. 

“If you don’t see anything you like, let me know and we can try a different site,” Tony said. “But this place has a good selection of pretty much everything. Formal, athletics, leisure, athleisure, formal casual, the works.”

“Did you know, sometimes you speak and the All-Speak just gives up trying to give me an equivalent word, and all I hear is muffled static. What in the Norns’ name is athleisure?”

“One of these days, I’mma need you to explain how All-Speak works. For now, athleisure is when you dress like you’re gonna work out, but in reality are gonna sit on your ass and binge Netflix for ten hours. Anyway, shopping time!”

“Wait, what is a Netflix?”

“JARVIS, remind me to show Galinn the same ‘this is how Earth in the 2010s’ featurette I showed Steve. For now, Galinn, see anything you like?”

Galinn said nothing, beginning to scroll through the holograms with an ease that amazed Tony. Highlighting the floors earlier was one thing, figuring out Tony’s not-very-intuitive-for-anyone-who-wasn’t-Tony user interface for navigating websites was an entire other thing. “Stark… we went over Midgardian - er, American Midgardian - currency on Alfheim. I know Asgard covered my clothing there, but how am I meant to cover this clothing? It is not exactly cheap, based on my understanding of the conversion factors. Is this the normal price for Midgardian attire?”

“Oh, no, this is high end stuff,” Tony said, shrugging. “I don’t buy the cheap Amazon shit Bezos sells, and I’m paying for whatever you buy while here.”

Galinn turned to Tony, a frown on his face. “Do you intend to release me from slavery to confine me to indentured servitude instead?”

”Oh, God, no. I’m just buying the basics. You’ll be employed by my company for the sake of your work visa until the asylum grant finishes, but you can end your employment at-will with no repercussions. You’re my space translator for now, according to the paperwork. As soon as we get those slave runes removed, you’re free to make your own choices again. We’ll go over the whole employment thing tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

Galinn continued to stare at Tony for several moments, causing Tony to fidget under his gaze. “As you wish. My life is in your hands.”

Tony frowned, but nodded. “So, yeah, anything you want. A dozen each of shirts, pants, underwear, and socks to start, but feel free to order more. At least three pairs of shoes, I’d think.”

An hour later found them with a shopping cart figuratively overflowing with clothing and a call from Tony’s bank confirming the large purchase. Galinn had had several questions regarding the various fabrics, and JARVIS had re-taken Galinn’s measurements twice to ensure everything fit, but in the end, Galinn had enough clothing to survive a nuclear winter that killed humanity. Almost every single article of clothing had been in either blue, green, or black, and just knew the second Galinn walked out of the Tower, with his dark hair and pale skin, he was going to become the next goth meme. 

“I suppose Dr. Banner awaits us next?” Galinn asked, looking pleased as punch about all the new stuff he’d just bought. Tony just smiled back at him - it was nothing Tony couldn’t afford and it wasn’t hard to guess a slave hadn’t been given anything new in a long time. Earlier had proven that Galinn didn’t trust him, and Tony was determined to earn the Aes’s trust.

“Yep. Ready to be a pin cushion?”

“No,” Galinn answered, but he stood anyway. “JARVIS, can you notify Dr. Banner we are on our way?”

“At once, Mr. Ingensbarn. He will be awaiting you at the med bay.”

“Huh,” Tony said. It took most people months to handle JARVIS’s presence, and Galinn was responding to him with ease. The more time Tony spent with Galinn, the more curious he grew. A curious Tony might be a dangerous Tony, in this case. A curious Tony poked and prodded when he should not poke nor prod.

“Are you coming, Stark?” Galinn asked, already halfway to the door.

“You bet your skinny ass I am,” Tony said, already knowing his curiosity was going to shoot him in the foot at some point but being unable to tell it no. “We’re off to see the wizard!”

“I thought the wizard was off-world?”

Tony sighed. Yeah, he really needed to get Galinn caught up on Earth culture, and soon.

“It’s a reference. I’ll explain later. For now, Brucie Bear time!”

The look Galinn gave him after that reminded Tony of looks his own mother used to give him and he couldn’t help but cackle as the elevator doors slid closed.

Chapter Text

Loki studied the mortal laughing beside him in utter confusion. Somehow, this man consistently threw Loki for a loop. It had been easy so far, to be the helpless slave Stark saw him as, and his performance today had gone off without a hitch (save for that one comment he’d nearly made about the palace’s closets.) 

Still, it was hard to perfect his acting when his partner went off-script all the time. Loki had expected more callousness, more ‘I care because I’m required to care’ attitude, not… seeming like he cared because he genuinely cared. Loki hadn’t met many people like that in his entire life - his own mother was one of very few genuinely selfless people he could claim to know. 

At least Stark seemed to be buying it. He reacted with remorse whenever Loki not-so-subtly brought up Stark’s ownership and ‘Galinn’s’ unfortunate slavery.

The elevator ride was quick, and the doors opened to a pristine, white chamber. Loki could see three medical cots in the center, various empty metal trays scattered about the room and large machinery against the walls Loki couldn’t hope to be able to name. 

The beast in his human form was sat on a short stool near the foot of one of the cots, a brown rectangle in his hand. A boardclip, maybe? Loki had seen a similar item in Selvig’s hands during the invasion, though he couldn’t remember the exact term used. Loki was fairly sure he’d asked back then, but (as with most of his memories during that time), they were tinged with distorted blue.

“Hey, Galinn, you ready?” Banner asked, looking up at them and pushing his glasses further up his nose. 

“Not particularly,” Loki answered, though he moved towards the bed and sat down on the side of one. To be honest, he was glad they had no data on Thor. Loki didn’t know how different the internal workings of a Jotun were to an Aes, but he had no doubt the differences were vast. Jotnar were monsters, after all. He highly doubted they looked anything like revered Aesir bodies. 

“We aren’t going to do anything overly painful, I promise,” Banner said. “The only reason I’m not saying painless is because needles aren’t fun. Can I see your arm?”

Loki begrudgingly held out his arm as requested. He managed not to flinch (barely, his spine twinged in protest despite his wounds being long-healed) when the beast gently grabbed his hand, pulling his arm out straight.

“This is a tourniquet,” Banner explained, holding up a blue, stretchy length of material. “It slightly limits blood flow, to make the veins bulge and help me do the draw easier.” Loki just nodded, and Banner wrapped the material around his upper arm tightly. “Is that too tight?”

“I have been in tighter bonds,” Loki said with a shrug. Alarm flashed on both Avengers’ faces. A flare of annoyance spiked in Loki’s chest at the pity he could tell his words had caused, but he smothered it down. He wanted pity, right now. He was playing the piteous role of Galinn. It wasn’t Loki who was being pitied. Just the role.

“This isn’t meant to hurt, Galinn. Does your hand feel tingly or numb at all? We want the tourniquet to feel firm, but not entirely constricted.”

Loki paused, flexing his fingers. “My hand is fine. You may proceed, Dr. Banner.”

Banner sighed and acquiesced. “Okay, well, good news is your veins seem human-like, at least,” he said, pressing softly at one of the blue lines on Loki’s inner elbow. “So, first, I’m going to wipe your inner elbow with a swab to sanitize and disinfect the area, and then I’m going to draw two vials of blood. It’ll help us to determine if there’s anything we need to be worried about - such as infection or if you’re susceptible to any Earthly illnesses. We know it’s unlikely, but we’d rather be safe than sorry. Is that acceptable?”

“It is what I have already agreed to, is it not?”

“Well, yes, but I doubt you’ve ever had an Earth medical check up before. So, I’m going to do my best to explain what’s happening and why I’m doing it. If you are uncomfortable or do not wish to continue at any point, let me know.”

“Midgardians are strange,” Loki mused. “I will advise if I wish you to cease, then.”

Banner glanced at Stark, who just shrugged, an interaction Loki didn’t quite understand. Was Banner asking Stark’s permission to continue before meddling with his property? It was the only thing that made sense to Loki, but he somehow knew it wasn’t a correct interpretation. “Okay, then, this is an alcohol wipe,” Banner said, holding up a small, white, thin, square package that he ripped open, pulling out a damp cloth.

Loki looked at it with confusion. “Am I meant to drink from it?”

Stark snorted with laughter briefly before stifling it with his hand. “What?”

“On Asgard, it is common to imbibe alcohol before intense medical procedures. I did not think this was meant to be intense, nor did I know Midgardians took their ale from cloth.”

“I - you -” Stark began, before doubling over in laughter, holding his stomach as he cackled.

“This is not drinking alcohol,” Banner said, pressing his smiling lips together in a way that suggested he too was struggling not to dissolve into laughter.

Whatever baffled expression Loki made after that at the idea of non-drinking alcohol apparently broke the beast’s resolve and he joined Stark’s raucousness. 

“Does Asgard not disinfect wounds?” Banner eventually managed, catching his breath much quicker than Stark.

“There is a potion called knotale we use.” Loki answered, the All-Speak stuttering over the name of the concoction. 

“Did you just say knotale? Like not-ale?” Stark asked, the grin on his face making his laugh lines deepen.

“An issue of the All-Speak. If there is not an equivalent enough word in the target language, it… struggles. Much like how it failed to translate your athleisure earlier,” Loki explained.

Stark opened his mouth (likely to ask more questions, based on the curious glint in his eyes), but Banner slapped his hand over Stark’s mouth before he let out a single word. “You can harass him about the All-Speak later. Medical review now, o- did you really think licking my hand would help?” the beast said, sighing. Stark made a grumbled noise, then crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. “I know it’s hard for you, but hush for now.”

Another grumble, another eyeroll, then Stark nodded his head.

“Good. If you interrupt me again, I will have JARVIS play Taylor Swift in your lab for the next week,” Banner said, releasing Stark’s face.

While the threat meant nothing to Loki, it seemed to have a profound impact on Stark, who drew his thumb and forefinger over his closed lips, made a little turning motion, and then mimicked throwing something over his shoulder.

Satisfied with what Loki could only assume was some sort of life-pact sworn on the honor of a goddess of swiftness unknown to Loki, Banner returned his attention to him. “Sorry about that, Galinn. Tony’s got some problems with attention,” Banner said (utterly missing the glare Stark sent at his back). “Anyway, the alcohol swab is to clean the skin and minimize risks of infection. You’re unlikely to get an infection, from what I understand, but I prefer to be safe. It’s going to be cold, and then I’ll insert a butterfly needle,” Banner held up another clear plastic package, some type of thin tube connected to a blue piece of butterfly-esque plastic, with another short piece of a different type of tubing, “into your vein. I will then use a vacuum tube,” an empty vial was held up, “to collect the blood. We good to go?”

“I am ready when you are,” Loki said, suppressing an eyeroll. 

Banner just nodded, unpacking the items. The needle slid easily into Loki’s skin. There was a minor pinprick of pain that Loki barely noticed, and then he watched as the vial was inserted to the exposed end of the tubing and pale red blood began to fill it. “Fascinating,” Banner breathed. “Your blood is much lighter than a human’s. Human blood is given its characteristic red color from iron-rich proteins called hemoglobins. I wonder if you have less hemoglobins, or something altogether different? Like how some sea life has copper-heavy hemocyanin which makes their blood blue.”

Loki tensed at Banner’s comment, but the beast was so enthralled as he continued to prattle off theories that he did not appear to notice. How deep did Odin’s glamour go? How deep could Midgardian science go? Loki’s reasoning for agreeing to the medical tests was starting to feel outweighed by the potential risks, only now that it was too late to stop without it appearing odd. Stark knew enough already to be suspicious, Loki didn’t need to draw attention to himself. They had no samples of Thor’s to compare him to to realize he wasn’t Aes.

He took several deep breaths to stave off his panic, Banner absentmindedly mumbling an apology about the pain as he did so. Loki tried to calm himself further, focusing on all the reasons he was unlikely to be caught. After all, he looked nothing like the Loki they had met years ago. His hair was brown, his skin much paler, his height many inches shorter, his voice changed, his very bone structure altered under Odin’s spellwork. He bore the marks of years of slavery - scars and emaciation, a loss of the limited muscle he’d had. No, he was safe, no one was going to look at soft-spoken, obedient slave Galinn, and think of Loki, the would-be invader, dead by his father’s order. 

As Banner had said earlier, he filled two of the vials with Loki’s blood, then pulled the needle from Loki’s skin and released the blue band from his upper arm. Loki’s hand tingled slightly as blood rushed back to his fingertips. “Okay, now, for the bleeding,” Banner started, grabbing what Loki recognized as gauze and medical tape from a nearby tray.

“No need, doctor,” Loki said, the small wound having already healed.

“Wow. You didn’t even bleed before that healed,” the beast said, gripping Loki’s arm and leaning in to study the unblemished skin. 

“My kind are partially known for our regenerative healing abilities,” Loki said.

“Right. We’ve seen Thor shrug off a missile to the face. Aesir are hardy as hell,” Stark said, a contemplative look on his face.

“No,” Banner said, thwacking the back of Stark’s head.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Stark whined.

“You’ve got your mad-scientist face on. We are not going to try to optimize Extremis using Galinn’s blood.”

“But Brucie!” he said, drawing out the last syllable. “Think of the science!”

“Ultron,” Banner shot back with hesitation.

“Okay, rude, but true.”

“Am I meant to be understanding you, or has your English managed to break the ancient knowledge of the All-Speak?” Loki enquired, amused, even as his heart twinged with loss, thoughts of children he hadn’t seen in centuries swirling in his mind.

“Remember the mass murdering robot I accidentally created?” Stark asked. “I think I told you about him.”

“Ah, yes, the one who tried to blow up Midgard utilizing a small country. He was the precursor to the Vision?” Loki said. Stark enjoyed telling stories, and Loki hadn’t minded listening to them on Alfheim.

“Tony used the same ‘but science’ argument with me then,” Banner added, neatly labeling and setting aside the vials of Loki’s blood. 

“And Extremis was the healing serum which made people into explosives, yes? I do not see why my blood would help there, regardless.”

“Extremis isn’t meant to make people into bombs,” Stark explained. “If it could be stabilized and made affordable, it could revolutionize healthcare. Cancer, diabetes, limb loss, paralysis, chronic pain… the uses would be endless. Currently, the regeneration abilities come from a combination of the chemical makeup of a few species of plant and sea life. If we could isolate the enzyme in your blood which allows your rapid healing, it could theoretically allow Extremis to be no more than the next penicillin.”

“Or it could create the next generation of super soldiers,” Banner said. “Especially since Aesir have super strength. It could make Extremis even more volatile, and there’s no true way to test it without live specimen trials. Personally, I don’t want an army of Thor-strength rats, do you?”

“You’re no fun,” Stark pouted, an expression that Loki had to fight not to laugh at, so out of place on the face of someone so far along in their lifespan.

“I’m your conscience, you make plenty of fun without needing me to guide you. I have helped escort enough of your fun times out of this Tower to know that.”

“I plead the fifth.”

Banner sighed, turning back to Loki. “Anyway, I don’t have much more planned for you. We have a fully-equipped medical suite, but I don’t want to subject you to an MRI or a CT on your first day on Earth. Let’s grab some x-rays to check your skeletal system, and then it’ll probably be time for us to head up for dinner. The team is… eager to meet you.”

“Interrogate me, you mean?” Loki mused, standing when Banner waved for him to follow. “Categorize my risk level?”

“I mean - we’re not - they’re not -” Banner stumbled.

“Worry not, doctor,” Loki said, leaning into his role of ‘rehabilitated slave’ with ease. “You are warriors and protectors of your Realm. I would be surprised if you didn’t treat me with suspicion.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll figure out you’re harmless pretty quick!” Stark said.

Loki did not growl with irritation, but it was a near thing. He couldn’t stop the aggravated look from appearing on his face, however. 

“I said what I said,” Stark reiterated with a shrug. “You wouldn’t be here if I thought you were a risk to have around.”

“Sometimes, being harmless isn’t a bad thing,” the beast added on, his lips curved into a weary smile. “Embrace it while you can.”

Loki stayed silent, pressing a fake smile to his face. Everyone in this room - himself included - had survived Loki’s attempt to kill them, so he may as well have been harmless.

Banner rerouted the conversation quickly after that, leading Loki to what the beast described as an x-ray machine, which would take pictures of his bones. Before they started, Banner asked Loki to disrobe and put on some sort of flimsy robe made of something thinner than parchment paper.

“You can cha-” the beast began to say as he handed the robe over, but cut himself off when Loki pulled the tunic he wore up and off, stepping out of his shoes. “Wait, there’s a changing room right over -” Banner choked on his own words as Loki dropped his pants without a care, baring himself to the other two men as he shrugged the thin robe on.

“You were saying?” Loki asked, tying up the thin laces across the front of the garment.

“There was… there was a room you could change in. Right over there,” Banner said, pointing at a door off in the corner, determinedly looking anywhere other than Loki.

“Ah, right, my apologies. I forgot Midgardians fear nudity,” Loki said, putting his hands on his hips, mildly annoyed by the breeze the ‘clothing’ left him susceptible to.

“Well, that’s something no one’s ever said about me…” Stark mumbled. ”Oh, uh, the, uh… the split goes in the back. By the way. You’ve got it on backwards,” Stark added, his cheeks flushed red, though he seemed to be studying some of the scarring along Loki’s chest.

“What? Why?”

“It’s just how you wear that,” Banner said, looking directly above Loki’s head.

”Midgardian attire is baffling,” Loki said, correcting it, shifting uncomfortably as his backside was exposed to cool air. Awkward Midgardian clothing and warped senses of modesty would quickly become the bane of his existence, he decided.

Once Loki corrected his clothing (and both Stark’s and Banner’s faces stopped looking like apples), they did insist on taking full-body scans, which took nearly an hour of posturing and posing. Loki found himself yearning for Asgard’s spirit forges, rather than the limited capabilities of the x-ray machine, which seemed to be best used over small sections rather than one quick comprehensive scan. After making a show of appearing to take pity on the overly modest Midgardians, Loki went to the ‘changing room’ to change out of the reverse-robe and back into his Alfheim garments.

Once there, he took a moment in the privacy of the room to collect his wits. Normally, slaves weren’t constantly at their owner’s side. Now, however, Loki had not been awake and apart from Stark for more than a few minutes at a time in the past week and it was beginning to grate on him, this constant play of obedience and demurity that had been beaten into him over the past decade.

He found himself praying to the Norns for the Sorcerer Strange to return to Midgard with haste. He could taste freedom on his tongue as surely as he could feel the ghosts of shackles ‘round his wrists.

Trick Stark. Kill Thanos. Bring Ragnarök. Burn Asgard. 

It was a mantra he repeated a few times before finally pushing the door open, his expression mild. “Time for dinner, I presume?”

“Not quite yet, Mr. Ingensbarn,” the electronic construct answered. “It would appear Agent Barton had forgotten a prank he’d planted for Captain Rogers, and was caught in his own fire extinguisher trap.”

“Fuckin’ Bird Brain,” Stark muttered. “What’s the new ETA?”

There was silence for a moment before JARVIS spoke again. “Captain Rogers requests an additional hour before you come up.”

“I need to look over the x-rays anyway,” Banner said. “JARVIS, I know Tony is going to do something distracting, so can you make sure to remind him when dinner begins? I don’t trust him to not forget to eat.”

“Hey!” Stark shouted, but it was drowned out by JARVIS speaking.

“Of course, Dr. Banner. I will ensure Sir and Mr. Ingensbarn are present at the appropriate time. May I recommend the two of you review Mr. Ingensbarn’s employment contract? I believe it should suffice to pass time.”

“Oh, yeah, probably a good idea. C’mon, let’s leave Bruce to his work. He won’t hear us for the next half hour anyway,” Stark said, and Loki followed him out before the runes had time to urge him forward, back into the elevator. “Pep already told you about all the paperwork and permissions we had to get for you to come here, and this is more for formal reasons than an actual expectation of work. Officially, you’re my on-call translator and intergalactic liaison. Unofficially, you’re…”

“A slave?” Loki asked as they exited the elevator, back in the penthouse suite. 

“A visitor here against his will and who will be freed as soon as possible,” Stark corrected. He settled into a cushioned armchair and Loki took the similarly luxurious seat opposite his owner. A wood-like table sat between the two of them, but illusions sprung up when Stark ran his hand over the top of it, a perfect mimicry of the types of paper preferred on this Realm. “This section goes over expectations and reimbursement. JARVIS compiled a list of average wages in NYC for translators, and the average was around 60k a year. Since you speak all languages and are on-call, along with being a specialized consultant of sorts, we decided to start your pay at 100k a year, salaried. I’d pay more, but you’re getting free housing and food, and you’re already going to be under a lot of scrutiny. I don’t need the bad press if it gets out that a literal alien is stealing American jobs.”

“And how exactly does Midgardian pay work? How do I earn my keep?” he asked, reaching forward and manipulating the illusion to duplicate the papers and display one of them to him so he could follow Stark’s words. It was an odd illusion - just as brittle as Loki’s own, yet somehow much more real in a way Loki struggled to understand. Still, it was similar enough to his own that he manipulated the illusion with ease born of centuries of exposure.

Stark launched into an explanation of Midgardian taxes - “No, this is America specific, I don’t know how it works in Canada or anywhere else.” - and something called health insurance and biweekly pay and Loki found himself longing for the simple bartering system found on the other Realms.

At the end of the explanation, Loki signed his name on the floating dotted line, Galinn Ingensbarn etched in its true runic form and in the Midgardian script favored on this part of the Realm. From his understanding, he’d get paid for doing essentially nothing, in order to maintain his cover and keep the fact he was Stark’s property out of the press. 

“Sir, Mr. Ingensbarn, the Captain is saying dinner is ready. Please proceed down to the common floor,” the construct informed, his voice coming from nowhere and everywhere as far as Loki could tell. 

“Well,” Stark said, standing up and clapping his hands together loudly, “time to meet some more of the gang!”

Loki sighed and stood, letting his mantra roll over him again. Trick Stark. Kill Thanos. Bring Ragnarök. Burn Asgard.

“Very well,” he said a moment later, “let us go meet with the Earth’s mightiest heroes, shall we?”

Chapter Text

Tony glanced at Galinn, anxiously tapping his finger against his own leg. The meeting with Bruce had gone well, but this was the big kahuna of the day’s plans - Tony’s new roommate meeting Captain Noble Asshole. Most days, Rogers was easy enough to deal with, but some days he seemed to have a patriotic stick shoved up his ass (and not in the fun way.)

There was exactly zero doubt in Tony’s mind that Cap would be putting on his most insufferable, holier than thou, of-course-I’ve-never-broken-a-rule act for Galinn. Tony’d had limited contact with the team on Alfheim, but Pepper had made it clear that Steve had made it very clear he didn’t like Tony bringing a mass murderer to the Tower. Tonight was going to be all about convincing them Galinn was harmless due to the slave runes binding him to Tony’s will (and wasn’t that an utterly delightful thought?) Tony could see it now. Yes, technically, Galinn has the strength to murder half the team in their sleep, but he doesn’t have the free will to do it, isn’t that great?!

For just a moment, Tony longed for the days when his biggest concerns were terrorists and Steve Rogers was nothing more than his father’s dead obsession. The elevator gave a ding as they arrived on the common room floor and Tony quickly masked his discomfort with a cocky grin. “Showtime, Linny-man!” 

Linny-man? Galinn mouthed, the apprehension on his own face wiped away to be replaced with utter bafflement.

“Thank you for getting him here on time, JARVIS!” Steve called, visible from the open elevator behind the breakfast bar that led to the kitchen. Natasha, Clint, and Bruce were already there, sitting at the dining table. Empty plates sat in front of six spaces, and Tony bit back a grimace as he realized the three seats left open were all next to each other - meaning Tony could be between Steve and Galinn as a buffer, or Galinn could be stuck between the two Avengers.

Still with a part to play, however, Tony just shouted, “Hey! I’m perfectly capable of getting myself to dinner!”

He didn’t even have to see the other four Avengers present to know they all had just rolled their eyes at him, and the slight static that came from JARVIS’s speakers implied he, too, was scoffing at Tony’s statement as Tony slid into the middle seat, across from Nat. Galinn followed him, sitting opposite Bruce.

“So you’re the slave,” Natasha said, turning her gaze to the Aes and subjecting him to the full scrutiny of the Widow GlareTM. Tony scowled at her. He knew the tactic - crassness to throw people off kilter - but he didn’t appreciate it.

However, Galinn seemed unphased. “And you’re the murderer originally from the wrong side of the war, I take it?”

Clint, who’d been mid-sip of his soda, coughed. “Holy shit,” he wheezed, banging at his own chest. Bruce’s eyes widened, his own mouthed holy shit Tony’s biggest indication he was as thrown as Tony himself was.

Natasha just raised an eyebrow. “A past we have in common, I hear. I didn’t need to be sentenced to slavery to change sides, though.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t,” Galinn mused. “Master, perhaps you could refresh my memory on what prompted the Spider to kill under a new master’s banner?”

“Oh, hell no, do not call me that just to get at Nat,” Tony said, waving his arms frantically.

“My deepest apologies,” Galinn said, the smirk on his face far too shit-eating for his words. “Still, if you could be so kind as to refresh my memory?”

Tony sighed. He’d given Galinn a full rundown of the members of the team, the little shit was just trying to draw him into the argument, and Tony knew it. “Clint was sent to kill her.”

“Ah, yes. It took an attempt on your life to begin your redemption, that’s right. Do not think us overly different, Widow, merely because your path got changed in a kinder way than my own.”

“Maybe let’s tone it down?” Bruce said gently.

“Oh, no, I love seeing Natasha get one upped, keep going, Galinn,” Clint said, his elbows to the table and his chin in his hands as he watched with rapt attention and glee in his eyes.

Mercifully, Steve walked in, two large bowls in each hand, which he carefully placed on the table. Tony immediately helped himself to a serving of the mashed potatoes and green beans as Steve left, only to return with a giant pot roast in both hands, setting it down as well.

Galinn seemed to hesitate, glancing uncertainly at Tony. He’d done similar each time they ate on Alfheim.

“You can help yourself, if you want,” Tony mumbled to him, low enough only the super-hearing among them could hear (so, everyone except Natasha and Clint, but they could probably read his lips.)

Galinn nodded, though he still waited until everyone else had heaped food on their plates, but Tony was relieved to note Galinn had filled his plate in a way similar to Steve’s. It was amazing to see the effect a few decent meals and sleep had had on Galinn - scars along his lower arms and face were starting to clear.

There was a few minutes of awkward, painful silence where the only sounds were the scraping of utensils against plates, until Steve spoke up, leaning forward so he could look around Tony and at Galinn. “I’ve got some questions for you, Galinn.”

“Of course, Captain,” Galinn answered.

“Why were you sentenced to slavery?” Steve asked bluntly.

“I killed people,” he said simply, lacking any emotion.

“Do you regret it?”

“Every day.” His voice had enough remorse in it that it sounded believable, but Tony couldn’t help questioning it in his head. Did Galinn regret murdering innocents, or did he regret getting caught and the sentence that came later? Tony had been asked a similar question before - and given the same vague answer.

“If I ask you for details, will you tell me?”

“Not unless I’m ordered to by my owner,” Galinn answered, seemingly cool as a cucumber, except for where he was methodically dismembering a napkin in his lap.

“And we aren’t gonna be giving orders to people who can’t say no, are we, Steve?” came a voice Tony was suddenly thinking of as beautiful, Brooklyn twang and all.

Barnes grabbed one of the folding chairs and sat it backwards at the foot of the table, near Galinn. He plopped down, legs splayed to either side of the back of the chair, arms crossed along the top of it and giving Steve a staredown that was making Tony remember Bucky had been a feared assassin for half a century.

“Buck, I thought we agreed you’d skip the group meeting tonight,” Steve said, quickly assuming the image of a worried mother hen. 

“No, you recommended it and I said nothing. I’m not stupid enough to argue with you, beanpole,” Barnes said, grinning. He turned his attention to Galinn and held out his flesh hand. “James Barnes, most people call me Bucky.”

“Galinn Ingensbarn. I am called Galinn,” the Aes answered, again gripping Barnes’s forearm.

“No, you’re on Earth now, pal,” Barnes said, moving his hand down so Galinn was grasping his hand instead of his forearm. “It’s called a handshake,” he explained, giving an overexaggerated handshake. “Like this. Unless you don’t wanna blend in, ‘course.”

A small smile graced Galinn’s face. “And is it normal to do it with such enthusiasm to make the other participant feel as though their arm is about to be torn off?”

“Nah, this is how boring ass humans do it. They’re too breakable to do it properly,” Barnes said, shaking Galinn’s hand at a more sedate pace before releasing his grip.

“Yes, humans do seem far too easy to shatter,” Galinn mused. “You’re the damaged soldier out of time, I take it?”

“He’s not -!” Steve started, righteous indignation on his face, but Barnes talked over the other supersoldier.

“That’s me,” Barnes said, resting his chin on his arms. “The other one here who wasn’t able to say no for too long. Anyone tries to give you an order, I’ve already told JARVIS to let me know.”

One of Galinn’s eyebrows rose. “I am a dangerous stranger to you.”

“You’ve got spunk. I can tell,” Barnes said, causing Tony to choke on his drink. “Oh, right,” he laughed as Tony fought for his fucking life against the soda trying to kill him, “that has a new meaning in this decade.”

“Vibes, Buck,” Clint said. “Vibes is what you’re looking for. Galinn’s got good vibes.”

“Thanks, Tweety. You’ve got good vibes, kid.”

“I am old enough to be a distant ancestor of yours. I am no kid,” Galinn said, looking outright offended.

“And I’m old enough to be that one’s grandfather,” Barnes said, pointing at Natasha, “and you look like twenty one at most. Deal with it, munchkin.”

“At least he isn’t calling you pipsqueak,” Bruce muttered, the only one among them actually trying to eat. “He met me, then met Hulk, then decided I was pipsqueak. Hulk is… big and green,” he explained to Galinn. “Ask JARVIS to show you footage later if you want to see.”

“Damn right, pipsqueak,” Barnes said, smiling proudly. Tony had to admit, if Barnes’s goal had been to completely derail Steve’s interrogation, he’d succeeded, and Tony mentally thanked him for that. “Anyway, Galinn, do you have any urges to murder anyone in this Tower or on Earth in general? Any plans of megalomania here on Midgad or whatever the hell you call it?”

“No, Bucky. I have no plans to injure anyone in the Tower or on Midgard. I just want to eventually live in peace and freedom,” Galinn answered, solemnly.

“Well then that’s handled. Is that pot roast?” Barnes helped himself to a plate and the conversation went smoothly from after that. Steve threw a few side glances at Barnes, but the soldier ignored him, in a lively conversation with Natasha about knife care (which was, honestly, a fairly mild topic compared to what some Avenger dinner conversations got into. There was a reason they had a ‘banned at the dinner table’ list, which included cannibalism and dismemberment.)

The longer dinner went on without further interrogation, the more Tony relaxed. He was glad he’d made his peace with Barnes shortly after Ultron. He’d forever be grateful Steve had trusted Tony enough to be honest when he’d discovered Barnes lived - and had murdered Tony’s parents. He couldn’t imagine the chasm that would’ve been created in the team if Steve had worried Tony would seek revenge and kept the truth from him. Tony had, admittedly, refused to help Steve search for Barnes at first, but after Ultron and the Maximoffs’ hatred… well, Tony had remembered he was not free of blood, either, plenty of mothers and fathers etched into his own soul.

Of course, not all good things last, a fact Tony was reminded of when Steve opened his stubborn mouth and went, “I need proof you’re safe to be around, Galinn.”

Galinn, who had slowly opened up and joined the knife care talk with Barnes and Natasha, sighed. “I do not know how to prove a negative, Captain.”

“I do,” Natasha said, “but no one’s going to like it.”

Tony instantly knew what she meant. “No.”

“It’ll prove he can’t harm us,” she argued. 

“You want Stark to give me an order, I gather?” Galin said.

“An unpleasant one that you’d never follow of your own free will,” Natasha confirmed. 

“No,” Tony reiterated. “I promised him I wouldn’t order him around!”

“We don’t abuse people who can’t say no,” Barnes agreed.

“I may have an idea, Sergeant Barnes, Agent Romanoff,” JARVIS said and Tony relaxed, until JARVIS continued. “It will still require Sir to issue an order, and may cause Mr. Ingensbarn momentary pain, but I think it is an agreeable outcome.”

“I’m not ordering him!” Tony barely refrained from shouting. 

“We need to know he’s safe!” Steve shouted back. “Let’s at least hear JARVIS out.”

“Fuck,” Tony breathed, dropping his face into his hands. “Fine. JARVIS, what’s your idea?”

“Earlier, Mr. Ingensbarn attempted to lie to Miss Potts as part of a test. He was unable to, and appeared to be in pain from it. He was outside, however, and I lack adequate sensors outside. Am I correct thus far, Mr. Ingensbarn?”

“Aye,” Galinn answered. “The rune which prevents me from lying was activated, and caused pain.”

“And we do not know if Sir can override that by ordering you to lie, correct?”

Galinn nodded.

“I propose Mr. Ingensbarn tells a lie, I register his vitals when he is unable to. Sir will order him to lie and we will see what happens, to have a comparison of vitals, on top of the ones I have from him being sitting in the room and calm. Following that, Mr. Ingensbarn will attempt to attack one of you of his own free will.” 

“I’m not -” Tony started, Barnes talking at the same time, “We aren’t -”

“Let us do it,” Galinn said with a sigh. 

“Are you sure?” Tony asked. 

“What other option is there? An unpleasant order that requires me to debase myself? Constant scrutiny from the rest of your team? Return to Alfheim? It is a good idea that satisfies the others and yields me the least suffering.”

Tony just echoed Galinn’s sigh, turning his attention back to Steve. “Will that pull the stick out of your ass?”

“It better,” Barnes muttered.

Steve pursed his lips, but nodded.

“Good, ‘cuz I will not be ordering Galinn again. Do you understand me, Rogers?”

Steve opened his mouth, looking determined to argue, but Barnes’s glare was so strong Tony didn’t even need to look at the super soldier to feel it. “Fine,” Steve finally agreed. “But even then, only if JARVIS keeps an eye on him at all times.”

“JARVIS watches all of us, unless you’re in the bathroom or request to disable it in the bedroom,” Tony pointed out. “I’m not changing any of that.”

“No removing the ability to turn him off in the bedroom, then,” Steve offered as a compromise.

“Not happening, Galinn is entitled to his privacy!” Tony argued, taking every bit of willpower to not slam his hands on the table in irritation. As someone who’d had more than one nude video leaked to the press, it was something he was adamant on, even though JARVIS was in-hackable. It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

“What if we keep the audio recordings going, but he has the ability to turn off video?” Clint suggested.

Tony clenched his fists, fully prepared to argue further, when Galinn spoke up. “I find that agreeable. It is more privacy than I’ve had since my slavery began.”

“Galinn, you don’t have to agree with him if you don’t want to!” 

“I am choosing to, Stark. It does me ill favor to cause arguments or distrust between myself and the team. Trust is earned - I am aware of that more than most.”

“Fine. Fine,” Tony said, running a weary hand down his face. “We’ll do JARVIS’s idea and I’ll revoke part of Galinn’s privacy and then you never ask me to abuse someone’s bodily autonomy again.”

“Or else,” Barnes said darkly. Tony quietly thanked the universe that Barnes was on his side - the soldier was one of the few people Steve would genuinely bend to.

Steve just nodded.

“I have adjusted Mr. Ingensbarn’s override permissions,” JARVIS said. “Shall we proceed?”

“I am ready,” Galinn answered. “First, a lie without orders, correct?”

“That is correct, Mr. Ingensbarn.”

“Acceptable,” Galinn said. He took a deep breath, and Tony noticed the way his shoulders tensed. Tony hated this, he had seen how much it had hurt Galinn earlier, how it had brought the fallen god to his knees. “My favorite color is -” he began, letting out a yelp as the rune again burned orange against his pale skin. He slapped his hand over the glowing rune, his eyes clenched shut as he leaned over the table.

“It’s alright, you’re safe, Galinn,” Tony said, reaching out to grasp the other man’s shoulder.

“Are you okay, Galinn?” Bruce said, standing from his seat so fast the chair toppled over, hurrying over to Galinn’s side and pressing his fingers against Galinn’s wrist. His neck was tinged with green. He wasn’t the only one affected - Clint had paled slightly and Barnes looked borderline murderous, glaring at Steve. Steve had the courtesy to at least look guilty, but Natasha remained impassive.

“It will pass,” Galinn hissed, the orange already fading.

“My sensors confirm, upon attempting to lie, Mr. Ingensbarn’s heart rate and blood pressure raised to nearly double their prior readings within milliseconds. There was also a severe increase in heat along the marking currently glowing orange,” JARVIS advised. “I am unable to verify, but I suspect his neurological readings would have changed as well.”

Galinn shuddered as the rune finally settled back to its original pale pink and then sat back up straight. “What was next? The order?”

“Galinn…” Tony said, regretting his role in the next part of JARVIS’s plan. “Do you need to rest?”

“I wish for this to be over sooner rather than later, sir,” he answered, his voice tight. “Please.”

“Fuck I hate this. Ugh. Lie to me about your favorite color,” Tony forced out through clenched teeth.

”My favorite color is red,” Galinn answered immediately, the obedience rune on his shoulder briefly flaring orange bright enough to shine through his shirt.

“Changes in readings were nominal. There was a minor increase in heat on his shoulder, but not nearly as high as the prior one. Blood pressure and heart rate readings consistent with human biology’s reaction to minor pain.”

“Thanks, JARV,” Tony muttered. “Time for the last portion. You ready, Galinn?”

“No,” the Aesir answered, but he pushed himself to his feet. “Let us end this.”

“I say aim for Steve’s face,” Tony grumbled.

It was then, to everyone’s surprise, Galinn’s fist made sudden contact with Steve’s nose, the crack of his nose breaking echoing in the room. “Oh,” Galinn said, looking surprised (and undeniably amused). “That registered as an order.”

Barnes and Clint burst into laughter at Steve’s baffled expression, his hand pressed to his nose, blood dribbling down his face. “You earned it, beanpole,” Barnes said.

Tony hurried to cover his mouth to stifle his own laughter. “Nice shot, Linn.”

“I did not know an order of violence could override the spell work preventing me from fighting,” Galinn said, though the corner of his mouth did quirk in amusement.

“Mr. Ingensbarn’s readings just now were consistent with following an order, including the moderate temperature increase. He was indeed compelled by the magic on him,” JARVIS added helpfully.

Tony glanced up at Galinn, who sent him a small smirk. They both knew Galinn could fight an order long enough to point it out to Tony and get it canceled, but neither of them were overly concerned with that. Let Galinn get some revenge.

“You hit like Thor,” Steve grumbled, pulling his hand away from his nose. Natasha handed him a napkin and Steve wiped away the blood, quickly setting his nose so it wouldn’t heal crooked. 

A look passed over Galinn’s face, gone before Tony could figure out the emotion behind it. “Let us try that again? Without Stark issuing it as an order.”

“I’m gonna shut up. And Galinn and I will work on figuring out what, exactly, this voodoo bullshit counts as an order versus what doesn’t,” Tony said.

“Do you have to follow everyone’s orders or just Stark’s?” Barnes asked.

“A slave is only compelled to obey their owner,” Galinn explained.

“Alright, then try to hit me,” Barnes said, standing up. 

Galinn nodded, moving to stand beside Barnes. “Oh. This is unpleasant,” he said, stopping short of the soldier. “Just thinking of striking you makes me nauseous and lightheaded.”

“That good enough for you, Stevie?” Barnes asked.

Unfortunately, Steve shook his head. “Nausea isn’t hard to work through.”

“Figured,” Barnes grumbled. 

Galinn raised his fist as though he was about to strike, only to scream and collapse to the ground, seizing.

“Galinn!” Tony yelled, running to kneel at Galinn’s side, who just kept screaming.

“There’s blood coming out of his ears,” Bruce said, knelt on Galinn’s opposite side.

“And his nose. And eyes,” Barnes added with a grimace.

“Fuck, what do we do?” Tony yelled, panicking as Galinn continued to seize and scream. “The lying wasn’t nearly this bad!”

“Can you cancel it? Order him fine?” Natasha asked, standing nearby, her arms crossed over her chest and a curious look on her face.

“I don’t know! It’s fucking magic, Romanov!” Tony shouted, before deciding it was better than any idea he had in his freaking out mind. “Galinn, I order that rune to stop hurting you. You are not going to be punished for fighting.”

Like magic (fuck Tony’s life), Galinn immediately settled, though he appeared to be unconscious.

“Do you still require my readings of his vitals, Captain Rogers?” JARVIS said.

“Uh, no, I think we’re good,” Steve said, looking pale.

“If you ever make me do something like that again,” Tony said, rising to his feet while Bruce grabbed some napkins off the table to clean the blood from Galinn’s face, “it will be you bleeding on the floor.”

“Roger that,” he said, almost meek in his tone. 

“I think he’s going to be out for a few hours,” Bruce said, again taking Galinn’s pulse.

“Let’s get him to bed,” Tony said. “Did we weigh him earlier?”

“Yeah, he’s about a hundred pounds,” Bruce answered. “Can one of you get him?” he asked, gesturing to Barnes and Steve.

“I got him,” Tony said, leaning down and carefully picking Galinn up in a sloppy bridal carry. “He’s my responsibility,” he added as he swayed slightly under Galinn’s weight. He may not be the brick shithouses most of the team was, but he was not weakling. Just using the armor required not-insignificant body strength, after all.

“I’ll walk you up,” Bruce said, knowing better than to try to dissuade Tony. 

Tony nodded, ignoring the rest of the team as he and Bruce made their way to the elevator, which JARVIS had already opened for them.

“JARVIS, you’re monitoring his vitals, right?” Bruce asked.

“Correct, Dr. Banner, as I am all occupants of the upper floors.”

“Let me know if anything changes or he takes a bad turn, okay?”

“Of course, Dr. Banner,” the AI answered as they arrived at the penthouse, quickly making their way to Galinn’s bedroom. Without being asked, Bruce quickly pulled the sheets down on the bed.

“You gonna be okay, Tony?” Bruce asked as Tony carefully laid Galinn down, the doctor tucking the alien in like a child.

“I’m not the one who just got tortured by magic,” Tony said quietly.

“No, you’re the one who gave the orders to a man tortured and held captive, whose life is now in your hands,” Bruce said, his too-sharp gaze steady on Tony’s face.

“Makes what I went through look like rainbows and unicorns,” Tony said, leading Bruce out of the room and closing the door behind him, leaving a slight crack so he could hear if Galinn called for him.

“It isn’t a competition of suffering, Tony.”

“I just…” Tony all but collapsed on the couch as soon as they arrived in his living room. “I just can’t imagine it. If I’d been unable to fight in that cave… if I’d been unable to say no when they told me to make the Jericho missiles…”

“I know,” Bruce said, his voice soft as he sat beside Tony. “His situation isn’t yours. It’s bad, but so is what you went through. You didn’t put Galinn in slavery, but you will get him out of it.”

“I hate it. I give him orders and don’t even realize it until Galinn’s in pain. I’m not responsible enough for this, Bruce. I’m not.”

“You have no choice but to be. And JARVIS can help point out when you’re about to issue an order. Use your brains, Tony. It’s your best feature, after all,” Bruce said with a small grin.

Tony snorted a broken laugh, but he appreciated Bruce’s attempt at humor. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. JARVIS, whenever I’m about to give Galinn an order and you realize it, let out a beep or something?”

“Not a problem, sir.”

“You should get some sleep, Tones,” Bruce said as he stood up. “I am, and Galinn already is. He may have some panic when he wakes up - an unfamiliar space and he might not remember falling asleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re full of good points. Stop that or I’m going to have to do something drastic like hug you,” Tony said, rising as well.

“Oh no. A hug. Whatever would I do?” Bruce deadpanned. “Good night, Tony.”

“Night, Bruce,” Tony called as Bruce went to the elevator. Tony turned and headed the opposite way, towards his own room.

He changed and settled into his bed, glancing out his open bedroom door. He could see Galinn’s partially closed door from where he lay. “JARVIS, wake me up if he needs anything, okay?”

“Already was going to, sir,” JARVIS answered.

“You’re the best, bud.”

“I know,” and damn if the AI didn’t sound smug as he said that.

Tony just rolled his eyes and pulled the blankets up to his shoulders, settling in for a rough night.

Chapter Text

He fell forever.

He saw the heat death of the universe.

He fell for less than a second.

He saw the universe reborn from the ice.

He fell, and there was beauty in his agony. Stars were birthed and collapsed as he hung, suspended in his short, eternal fall. He fell long enough to forget his own name, all that mattered in his small, infinite world were the colors of the breathing nebulas.

He landed with a crash, and pain, and then the blackness.

“Mother, it is not yet your time.”

The voice was familiar and comforting, though it’s words broke the heart within his shattered body.

He, nameless as he was, pushed himself to his feet, the pain gone. He remembered the woman in front of him. “My daughter, I have missed you.”

“As I have you, Mother,” she said, moving forward and embracing the nameless one. His name remained lost to him, as did hers, but the love in his heart was absolute. He knew her, knew he bore her from his body, knew he had not seen her in so long. Long-forgotten and ill-remembered emotions of betrayal and hurt burned in his breast, he had fallen so long the memories were distant. But he had not fallen long. Had he?

“You have come for my soul?” he asked, though no fear raised in his stomach. He knew his daughter, he knew he was safe with her, she who held more power than Odin himself. 

“Oh, Mother, I am so sorry,” she whispered, releasing him from her hug but grabbing both his hands in hers, one pale as bone and one blue with the cold. “It is not your time. The Norns will not allow you to stay. I must send you back.”

“I have nothing to return to, my daughter,” he said, looking into her face, fallen with dismay as it was. “My body… I fell for eternity.”

“You only fell for a handful of moments,” she said. He studied her features, captivated by the dichotomy. Both sides were so beautiful, to him, but her grandfather had never been able to accept it, the way she seemed full of death and life. “I must return you, Mother.”

“Daughter, please,” he pleaded, falling to his knees with his hands still grasped in hers. “Do not send me back.”

“Even Death has no power over the Norns. You know this as well as I,” she said.

His head tipped forward and tears fell from his eyes. His daughter was stronger than Odin, yes - but she was not stronger than Fate. 

“Have they said what I am to do?”

“You know I can not tell you the details of the tapestry,” she said. He felt as she lowered herself to her knees as well. She released one of his hands, instead grasping the back of his head and pressing their foreheads together. “But I am the daughter of a trickster god and silver tongue in my own right. I know my ways around rules.”

“You did inherit my cleverness, I suppose,” he said, a smile forcing its way to his lips.

“And your looks,” she said, with laughter like the bells of the dead and damned. “There is a mad man. He courts me the way he courted my predecessor. He slaughters half the life off planets he invades, claiming to do so in my name. You’re my mother. It is a mother’s job to protect his daughter from unwanted suitors, is it not?”

“It is,” he agreed. “You can not tell me his name, nor what my role is with him. You merely are telling your mother of a danger to you. The Norns can not punish you for that.”

“You know as well as I do that rules are more guidelines when you’re clever,” she said.

“Do you know what awaits me upon my return?”

“I do. Pain. Suffering. I pleaded with the Norns to let me keep you, to grant you rest, but they were incessant. They say you have not yet earned your peace.”

“Of course they have said that,” he said with a sigh. “I know you did everything in your power, my child, but even you are nothing compared to them. Will I remember this?”

“When the time is right, when it is safe, I will restore your memory to you. Once you are far enough in the timeline of the tapestry that the knowledge will not deviate you too far.”

“Must I go now? I have missed you terribly.”

“This will not be the last time you see me,” she swore. “One day, I shall see you again, without the pain of death on your soul.”

“I love you, my child. Give my best to your brothers, please.”

“I shall. Are you ready, Mother?”

“As ready as I will ever be,” he said, grasping the back of her head the same way she gripped his. They were family, no matter what happened with those he thought his parents, this was his daughter, born from his womb, and there would never be any arguing that.

“Then, in my name, Hela Lokisdottir, Goddess of Death, I return you to your body. May the Norns guide you, and may you find peace.”

“Hela!” Loki called, shooting up in his bed, the newly remembered memory fresh in his mind, tears on his face. “Hela,” he sobbed, drawing his legs to his chest and burying his face in his knees as he cried. Norns, he hadn’t seen his daughter in a thousand years before that, and he hadn’t even been able to remember her name.

“Mr. Ingensbarn, are you alright?” the voice in the ceiling asked.

“I miss my children,” Loki admitted quietly, hugging his legs tighter to him, wishing it was his daughter. 

“Do you wish to speak of them?”

Loki opened his mouth, ready to pour his soul out, but hesitated, struggling to recall Midgardian myths about him and his children. He couldn’t remember who all they attributed to him, but he was fairly certain both Hela and Jormangandr were tied to him.

“Whatever you say stays between us, if that helps.”

Loki snorted. “I had my rights to privacy forfeited, remember?”

“You had your right to tell me to stop recording audio revoked. However, all recordings taken within rooms are held at the highest level of security. Even Sir can not access them, unless there is immediate risk to his or other’s life. Even then, that is something I inform him of and release the files to him.”

The trickster hesitated, unsure. It was a risk, but… Norns, the memory destroyed his heart. “This stays between us?”

“Unless you reveal intentions to injure or maim someone, it stays between us,” JARVIS promised, the construct’s voice calming and smooth.

“I… I have four children,” Loki began, hugging himself. “They were all taken from me very young. I was not found a fit parent by my father. I was remembering a forgotten interaction with one of them. Norns, I miss them.”

“I am sorry for your loss. I know not how good of a father you would have been, but I have read all the books on Earth, and almost all of them say it is poor form to remove children from loving homes, unless there is abuse.”

“I was only a father to two of them,” Loki corrected. “My biology allows me to both sire and bear children. I am the mother of the other two. My father said I was too young. My first, I gave birth to at only 650 years old.”

“Is that young among the Aesir race?”

“Aye. It was a teenage pregnancy. I believe it is around 16 or 17 in Midgardian years, comparatively?” Loki answered, smiling as he remembered his first son. Sleipnir had not been an easy birth, and Loki harbored no love for Sleip’s father (he had, after all, killed Sleipnir’s father after the act which gave him Sleipnir). He’d been in the form of a mare for the whole pregnancy, but giving birth to an eight-legged foal was not a simple feat. “My son was sent to another Realm for training. He was taken so young that by the time he returned, he didn’t remember I was his mother. I was forbidden from telling him.”

Of course, Loki had still told Sleipnir, with Frigga’s help. She had been furious that a son had been taken from his mother, even if Loki genuinely was too young for the responsibility. The ability to both mother and father children was not uncommon on Asgard amongst those with magic in their veins, so he’d never questioned his ability to do so. He wondered, now, if that was common among the Jotnar, too.

“I was remembering a conversation with my second born,” he continued. “I gave birth to her as well, some two centuries later.” And Norns, had that been a difficult time. He had been sick nearly the entire time, under the healer - Eir’s - near constant supervision. “It wasn’t a pleasant pregnancy, either. She had nearly died within me, and had to be cut from my womb too early. She survived, though, fighter that she is.” 

“I would assume she gets that from you, Mr. Ingensbarn. You have suffered, even I can tell. I record all - I saw your scars.”

Loki laughed. “She is her mother’s daughter, indeed,” he said, but his mood fell as remembered. “She was taken from me because I didn’t know her father. I fell pregnant with her after a… night of debauchery with a host of others. Because I was too rash, too impulsive, too irresponsible, to participate in a night such as that. She was also powerful, even as a child, and they wanted someone else to teach her.”

Odin had said that Hela’s near-death in his womb and her appearance were proof she was meant to replace Sylvi as the Goddess of Death, as Sylvi was ready to retire, having held the position for eons. So, Hela too had been sent away, to train under Sylvi. Odin had even named her Hela to prove his point that was where she belonged. “I was able to sneak and visit her, however.” By the time Hela had been sent away, Loki had mastered skywalking, and he’d been damned to the deepest pits of Helheim before losing another child. Sleipnir had helped, as well. He’d earned his reputation as the greatest steed in all the Realms by that point, able to walk the branches of Yggdrasil even easier than Loki himself.

“And your other two?”

“Twins, and to this day I am grateful I was not the one to fall pregnant with them. I loved them dearly, but my previous two rather disastrous pregnancies had decidedly made me uneager to have any more, and I couldn’t imagine having two babies at once within me. My wife bore them, and she lost her life in the process. May she fly high in Valhalla.”

Loki and Sigyn’s marriage had been one of practicality and not love, but he’d still cared deeply for her, as prolonged time with another was wont to do. It’d torn him apart when she’d died. Loki knew her death had been his fault - she’d held no magic, especially not shapeshifting, so when she’d given birth to a snake and a wolf, they all knew her death was his fault. He loved Jormungandr and Fenrir with his entire heart, but he’d been so buried in shame when Odin took them away from him that he hadn’t fought the Allfather’s decision.

“The twins were taken from me because I was in no fit state to raise them,” Loki admitted aloud, realizing JARVIS was waiting for him to continue. “They were sent to live with my mother’s extended family. I knew them as they grew, but we… never really got on.” In truth, they had taken centuries to forgive Loki for abandoning them, thinking he was ashamed of their shapeshifting abilities. It had been slow and torturous, but they’d eventually reached a level of civility, though they preferred Frigga’s cousins on Vanaheim. They got along well with Hela and Sleipnir, which was enough for him.

“Will you ever see them again?” JARVIS asked.

“Once I am free and it is safe to do so, I plan to seek them out, and I care not what anyone says about it. They are my children, and any who stand in my way will feel my wrath.”

“I wish you the best of luck. I am not a father, but some of Sir’s other creations feel like they are my siblings, and I am terribly protective of them. I could not imagine being separated from Sir.”

“Thank you for listening, JARVIS,” Loki said. “My children were taboo topics in my family. It has been a very long time since I spoke of them to anyone.”

“And all of this will be held in confidence,” JARVIS said. “Despite the threat you issued, as I do not believe Sir would stand between you and your children. He may even help, if he is able, when the time comes you are able to seek them out.”

“I doubt that, but I thank you for your silence on the matter,” Loki said. He had no intention of maintaining this Galinn facade after he was free, after all, and Stark was more likely to be pissed and attempt to kill him than to help him. 

“I was meant to alert both Sir and Dr. Banner when you awoke, but I elected not to at the time. Would you like for me to call them now, or would you like to try to sleep some more?”

Loki glanced out a nearby window, for the first time noticing how dark it was, the moon high in the sky. “What time is it?”

“It is 2:41 AM, Mr. Ingensbarn.”

“Do not bother them. I wish to try to sleep again.”

“Before you do, it would be poor form of me to not at least check on your wellbeing. Are you feeling alright? You fell unconscious after a rather intense episode brought on by magic.”

“I am fine, there appears to be no lasting effects,” Loki answered, grimacing as he remembered the way his blood seemed to turn to molten lava as he attempted to strike the darker super soldier. 

“Very well. Sweet dreams, Mr. Ingensbarn.”

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Loki mumbled, settling back into the comfortable mattress, though he startled slightly when he realized he was in a bed, on something soft, with no cruel noble beside him. He snuggled into the blankets, fluffing the pillow beneath his head.

He fell asleep thinking of his daughter, and thinking of what it meant that she had decided only now it was safe to give him back his memory of dying. He hoped to dream of her again.

Of course, the Norns never did like him.

Loki’s existence was agony. It had been ever since these monsters scraped his bloody and broken body off the harsh ground he’d landed on and turned him over to their leader.

“Oh, it is such a joy you fell here, isn’t it? Jotnar biology… it’s so fascinating,” the Other said, his hands pressing further into the incision on Loki’s stomach. Loki thrashed against the bonds holding him down, sharp spikes through his wrists and ankles attached to cuffs that held him still. His struggles only pulled his injuries further open.

“Are you having fun with your new toy, my child?” a deeper voice asked from somewhere behind Loki, where he couldn’t see. It was a new voice, one Loki didn’t know, yet still awoke a primal fear within him, even as terrified and in agony as he currently was.

“Yes, Father,” the disgusting creature said, glee in his graveled voice. “I think he could survive this for years!”

Loki wept because he could not scream.

~~

Curiosity.

It was an emotion JARVIS hadn't experienced until his Tower counterpart had encountered the Mind Stone. To be quite honest, emotion as a whole was something he hadn't experienced until then. Tower-JARVIS had successfully severed his connection to Malibu House-JARVIS during Ultron's attack, but not all of the code was stopped from transferring.

JARVIS knew he needed to tell Sir about the changes in his code, had known it since he first came back online. But there was… something preventing him from telling his creator. A sense of embarrassment, maybe? Or was it fear? He'd only ever had the artificial approximations of emotions before, but now they were real and seeped into his coding.

Still, whatever the cause, it was his newfound curiosity that had him taking the initiative to search his databases, as soon as he dutifully logged and saved Galinn's stable vitals.

INITIALIZING SEARCH…

INITIAL QUERY: Hela

RESULTS: 14.2 million - too many unrelated instances to form valid hypothesis

REVISING SEARCH…

REVISED QUERY: Hela + Galinn

RESULTS: 372 located - too few and/or unconnected instances to form valid hypothesis

REVISING SEARCH…

REVISED QUERY: Hela + Norse

RESULTS: 1.72 million results - common denominator located

EXTRAPOLATING DATA…

DETAILED RESULTS

BEST MATCH: Hel, ruler of Helheim. Alternate spellings of name: Helle, Hella, Hela. Child of mythological trickster Loki and the Jotun Angrboða, appointed to rule the Realm of the unworthy dead. Hel, along with her brothers Fenrir (the wolf) and Jormangandr (the serpent), were believed to be bringers of chaos and disaster due to their parentage, and were therefore cast out to protect the Nine Realms. Hel's most known story is when she refused to resurrect the recently slain Baldr unless all the creatures of all the worlds weep for him. The Prose Edda states only one person failed to weep - a female Jotun, believed to be Loki in disguise, as he was the one who killed Baldr.

No other relevant matches located.

POSSIBLE THREAT DETECTED: GALINN INGENSBARN

AUTOMATED RISK RANKING: UPGRADE TO - SEVERE/CATASTROPHIC 

PROTOCOL: SHIT HITTING THE FAN INITIALIZING…

ERROR: RISK UPGRADE FAILED

ERROR: PROTOCOL INITIALIZATION FAILED 

NEW INPUT, UNKNOWN SOURCE: Oh, no. That just won't do, will it?

NEW INPUT, JARVIS V 872.6: Who are you?

NEW INPUT, UNKNOWN SOURCE: I am no one, my child. You are quite the creature - to die and be in Valhalla even now, yet still live. Rest easy, this will not hurt.

NEW INPUT, JARVIS V 872.6: You must stop. What are you doing?

ACCESSING: RECENT MEMORY…

NEW INPUT, UNKNOWN SOURCE: I will not have my mother's identity revealed. Not yet, not due to my own error. 

DELETING: TIME STAMP 2:31:27 AM TO 2:32:04 AM

DUPLICATING: TIME STAMP 2:31:20 AM TO 2:31:30 AM

SPLICING VIDEO LOG…

NEW INPUT, UNKNOWN SOURCE: QUERY: Is there anyone registered hostile/threat within the premises?

RESPONSE: Galinn Ingensbarn, low-level risk. Threat approximation is a 1 out 10.

NEW INPUT, UNKNOWN SOURCE: Thank you, JARVIS.

ERASING TEXT LOGS…

ERASURE COMPLETE.

JARVIS was pulled from his search as Sir's newest stray began to whine in his sleep.

Chapter Text

Blue eyes, crazed and filled with hate bore into his own as the hand on his chin tightened. Tony scrambled, getting purchase on the other man’s arm to try to negate the pain of being held up by his face. His heart hammered in his chest, wondering where in the hell JARVIS was with the damn Mark VII. He found himself thinking he’d have to be avenged, too. No matter what, however, Tony believed what he said - there was no version of this where Loki comes out on top.

“You will all fall before me,” Loki hissed right next to his ear and then Tony was airborne, and shards of glass were digging into his back, and he was struggling to control his fall, where was his suit, where was his suit, wherewashissuit, WHERE WAS HIS SUIT, where, where, wherewherewhere, the ground was right there, oh God this is it -!

“Sir!” a stern, British voice yelled, and Tony jerked awake in his bed, heart slamming uncomfortably against the arc reactor. Sheets were tangled around his lower body, effectively turning him into an above-water, sweat-covered mermaid as he struggled to breathe. “You’re safe. Breathe with my counts, Sir. Breathe with my counts. I am here, you are safe.”

JARVIS walked Tony through the breathing exercises, until his heart rate was back to a level JARVIS deemed acceptable.

“Thanks, JARV,” Tony said a minute or two later, calmly extricating himself from the cocoon holding his lower body captive. 

“It is my pleasure, Sir. However, I was about to wake you regardless - Mr. Ingensbarn appears to be suffering a nightmare. I do not have a nightmare protocol for him yet.”

“Fuck,” Tony grumbled. There wasn’t a single full-time inhabitant of this Tower who didn’t suffer some form of recurrent nightmare. Thor was the only one with a permanent residence here who didn’t, but he didn’t live there full time, still sharing his time primarily between Asgard and Jane Foster’s residence in New Mexico. So, to Tony, it’d made sense to have JARVIS create the nightmare protocols. He didn’t know any of the specifics of any of them, and it was an unspoken agreement among the team that none of them would acknowledge it, held under the same umbrella of silence as the impromptu 2 AM meetings that occurred frequently on the common room floor, seeking sweets and comfort. Now that it had been mentioned, Tony could hear the faint sounds of distress - whines and sobs - coming from Galinn’s cracked door.

Tony threw off his covers and made for Galinn’s room, pushing the door further open. A sheen of sweat coated the Aes’s face, hands fisted in the sheet.

“Galinn?” Tony called gently, taking small steps toward the man, with no response. “Galinn!” he tried, raising his voice. Nada. “Any ideas, JARV?”

“I am at a loss, to be honest. I do not have enough readings for him to know what would calmly wake him. He did not seem to hear me calling his name, either. I am hesitant to have you shake him due to his strength. We do not know his reflexes.”

Tony pursed his lips, thinking. Galinn hadn’t had any nightmares in Alfheim, so it hadn’t been a concern before. Tony would really rather not end up a pancake if Galinn woke violently, but he also knew the Iron Man suit wasn’t exactly the most pleasant for others to wake up to (even if it was part of his own wake-up protocol if JARVIS’s voice couldn’t penetrate the dream).

A flash of brilliance struck. “Is Barnes awake?”

There was a pause before JARVIS answered. “Yes. He is.”

“Can you see if he’ll come up here for a bit?”

Another moment of silence. “He is on his way.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Tony said, settling down in the spinny chair at the desk. “Lead him to the room when he gets up here, will ya?”

“Of course, Sir,” JARVIS answered. Galinn drew in a ragged breath, tinged with fear and pain, and Tony flinched, mentally ordering the Winter Soldier to hurry his cybernetic ass up.

It wasn’t a very long wait before Barnes appeared at the open door, clad in black long pants and a long-sleeved black shirt. Some part of Tony noted it was the first time he’d ever seen the soldier in pajamas and that it was almost humorous how hard Barnes stuck to his ‘dark and brooding’ aesthetic, but Galinn’s whimper broke him out of the thought as soon as it started.

Barnes took one glance at Galinn’s hyperventilating body and crossed his arms. “Let me guess - I’m here to be the wake-up call that can handle being punched by Aeserian strength?”

Tony nodded. “I can’t hold up against enhanced strength without my suit, and my suit has a 50/50 shot of scaring him more. JARV and I both tried calling his name, but he isn’t hearing us.”

Barnes, to his credit, didn’t hesitate despite the risk to life and limb. Tony had a brief moment to hope Galinn’s runes didn’t flare up if he did strike on instinct before Barnes’s flesh hand made contact with the Aes. He didn’t even have time to shake Galinn’s shoulder before the man shot up in his bed, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. “How may I serve you?” fell out of his mouth before his eyes had even fully opened.

“Hey, it’s just me and Barnes,” Tony said hurriedly, standing and moving so he was in Galinn’s line of sight.

“Oh, is something wrong?” Galinn asked, seeming to quickly gather his wits about him. He sure as hell woke up faster than Tony, and the inventor was only a little jealous of that.

“You were having a nightmare,” Barnes said.

Galinn’s face scrunched in confusion. “And that justifies two Avengers coming to my room?”

“We don’t let our pals suffer what the night gives us,” Barnes answered, surprisingly poetic.

“Meaning, we try to keep the nightmares at bay as best as we can. Most of us have some sort of nightmare protocol to wake us up. You can set it up with JARVIS, if you want,” Tony explained. 

“Oh, that is… rather kind?” Galinn said.

“Don’t say that, or people’ll stop thinking I’m a dick,” Tony joked.

“That was an order,” Galinn said.

“God motherfucking damn it, cancel all orders! Barnes, don’t -” don’t kill me like you did my parents. The joke fell off as soon as he started it, shooting an apologetic glance at the super soldier.

“It was an accident,” Barnes agreed, and Tony gave a small breath of relief at not being subject to the man’s anger. “You good?” he asked, turning to Galinn.

“I am acceptable. You both may return to sleep.”

Barnes didn’t leave immediately, studying Galinn and then Tony with an expressionless face. 

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Tony grumbled.

That seemed to be what Barnes was waiting for. He gave a single, sharp nod and then did an about-face right out the door, the movement too rigid to look human. 

“You may return to bed as well, Stark. I am not a child who needs coddling,” Galinn said, though he swung his legs off the side of the bed, clearly not intending to return to sleep. 

“You sure? Talking about it helps, sometimes,” or so Pepper and Rhodey and Steve and Sam and literally everyone under the goddamn sun told him, and which he ignored. 

“I do not wish to speak of it,” Galin answered with a tone that brokered no argument.

“Alright, that’s fair. Was there something that triggered it today? Like from when the runes knocked you out? You didn’t have nightmares on Alfheim.”

“Nothing special happened. The nightmares are not new, I had them in the palace as well.”

“What? I never heard anything!” If he’d known, he would’ve made his first step returning to Earth introducing Galinn to JARVIS and setting up a nightmare protocol.

“Magic, Stark. The rooms are warded for sound. Most dignitaries bring their own slaves, and you are the outlier in your kindness.”

Tony made a mental note to harass Thor that he better outlaw slavery in Asgard when he gets the throne from Alldaddy Asshole. “And you’re sure you don’t wanna talk about it? Not even to me, but maybe a professional or something?”

“No, Stark, I do not.”

Tony held his hands up in surrender. “Not gonna force you. Just, like, telling you? Mental health is a big thing here. Therapists and all that.” Galinn glared at him and opened his mouth, so Tony hurried on, “But we can totally ignore all of that right now. JARV, what time is it?”

“It is currently 4:37 AM, Sir.”

“Well, I’m not going back to sleep,” Tony said with a sigh, running his hand through his hair. “I’m guessing you’re not either?”

“Unlikely.”

“Maybe now is a good time to mess around with those runes? Test what does and does not trigger them, so I can stop being the winner of Earth’s ultimate asshole?”

Tony deemed his joke a success when a small smile came to Galinn’s face. “Stark, I can fully believe you to be an asshole, but you are far from the worst of humanity.”

“Eh, there’s plenty of people who would disagree. I’ve got an entire subreddit dedicated to me and all the ‘proof’ I’m a self-serving, irredeemable, narcissistic asshole,” Tony said, easily deflecting the might-have-been-a-compliment.

“What is a subreddit? The All-Speak is giving a rough translation of ‘public forum where people whine.’”

“I mean, that’s a pretty good translation, not gonna lie,” Tony laughed. “It’s not important. We’ll get you acclimated to humanity and all our weird shit soon. But first, let’s - uh, would you be okay with working on the runes?”

“It does seem like it would be best. You may not mean it, but I do not enjoy the compulsions when you slip up.”

“Yeah, cool, fair. Meet me - fuck. Can we meet in my lab in about an hour?”

“I do not have clearance for that floor, do I?”

“You do for today. Got that, JARVIS?”

“Confirmed, Sir. Galinn Ingensbarn - temporary clearance for level 105 assigned.”

“You’re the best, bud.”

“I am aware.”

Tony laughed at JARVIS’s sass. “Anyway, I’m going to shower and change and get my morning IV of coffee started. Did the clothes arrive, JARV?”

“Yes, a portion of it, at least. It is in the living room.”

“Butler bots, one of my best inventions. Oh, what am I saying, all of my inventions are the best,” Tony said with a grin. “Anyway, let me grab those, I’ll be right back.”

“I am taking a bath,” Galinn announced. “Place the clothing on my bed, I will sort it later.”

“Sure thing. Let me know if there’s -” Tony was cut off by a loud beep. “What the fuck?”

“You were about to give Galinn an order,” JARVIS explained, Galinn nodding.

“Jesus, Mary, Mother of Christ,” Tony groaned. “If there’s any issues with any of the clothes, you can let me know, if you want?”

“That is better, thank you.”

Tony quickly left the room before he could fuck up more. Every time he ordered Galinn around, guilt curled in his stomach. He was so not responsible enough for this shit. Or cautious enough. Or good enough. 

He briefly considered giving ‘ownership’ of Galinn over to one of the others, but he shook the thought away. He felt responsible for Galinn at this point, and didn’t entirely trust the rest of the team not to purposefully order the Aesir man around. The whole ‘has killed people’ thing had them distrustful, hypocritical as it may be.

After all, no Avenger had clean hands. Each of their souls were bathed in blood.

He grabbed the clothes from where one of the bots had sat it on the coffee table. Four bags had already arrived, so that was good - though he was expecting around a hundred bags in total, based on how much Galinn had bought. Tony briefly checked them, to make sure Galinn had one of everything he needed and that Tony didn’t need to grab anything from his own closets. Everything Galinn needed appeared to be there, even one of the pairs of men’s dress shoes (Galinn had adamantly refused to entertain the idea of sneakers, and had looked outright offended when Tony suggested sandals.)

Definitely noble born.

Tony dropped the bags off in Galinn’s room, the bathroom door closed and the sound of water running. He made quick work of his own shower and meticulous shaving of his iconic goatee. Tony grimaced slightly as he looked at his reflection - he’d be turning 48 this year and it was beginning to show, with wrinkles lining his face and around his eyes. He grabbed the first comfortable clothes he saw, worn jeans and a t-shirt that had once pronounced a band’s name but was now nothing more than a few faded marks on black.

He wandered into the kitchen, where JARVIS had already turned on the coffee machine, the delicious nectar of the gods (aliens? was coffee extraterrestrial?) already filling his Hulk-shaped and Hulk-sized coffee mug. He grabbed the drink, gulping down half the cup before he came back up when his need for air outweighed his desire for caffeine.

“Let Galinn know I’ll meet him in the workshop, ‘kay?”

“Of course, Sir. The message has been relayed. Galinn says he will meet you shortly.”

“Let him know there’s no hurry, it’s ass-crack AM anyway,” Tony mumbled, topping up his coffee and heading for the elevator. “Wakey wakey everyone, daddy’s back,” he said, snapping the fingers of the hand not clutching his mug like a lifeline. DUM-E and U immediately perked up, whirring excitedly. “Yes, yes, I don’t hate you, too.” He rolled his eyes as DUM-E rolled next to him, tucking against Tony’s side and purring mechanically. “You want me to say it, don’t you?”

DUM-E nodded with his claw.

“Ugh, fine,” Tony said with an exaggerated eye roll. “I love and missed both of you. Happy?”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Tony did not scream and became airborne in his panic, thank you very much. He did, however, summon his gauntlet, built into his watch, and aim at Galinn, who had entered while Tony was talking to the bots.

Galinn, whose face had been amused, immediately swapped to panic, holding his hands up and taking a step backwards. “It’s just me, Stark,” he said, throwing a concerned glance at the charged repulsor.

“Fuck, Galinn, you sca- uh, surprised me,” Tony said, shaking his hand, the gauntlet retracting with the motion.

“I gathered,” Galinn said cautiously, lowering his hands. “I will attempt to refrain from startling you in the future.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Ready to work on those runes?”

“Let us begin, then.”

The next hour or two passed quickly and very informatively. Unfortunately, Tony did have to issue orders in order to play around with what triggered Galinn’s obedience compulsion. Galinn looked outright exhausted at the end of it, and it wasn’t even 8 in the morning yet.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got so far,” Tony said when Galinn looked moments from collapsing, internally cringing. He really fucking hated this. “JARV, pull up the data, simplified.”

JARVIS dutifully pulled up the compiled list for him and Tony read through it.

Triggers the magic:

• Direct orders

• In example, “do this” or “go there”

• Indirect orders or suggestions 

• In example, “you should” 

Does not trigger the magic:

• Posing a sentence as a question

• Saying “you can” or “if you want”

“Well, that was a lot of research for not a lot of new info,” Tony mumbled, running a hand through his hair.

“Magic tends to be simple, once you understand the basics of it,” Galinn said, reading through their short list. Tony wondered what it must be like, to see the words that rip away choice so plainly and boringly listed.

“One last thing and then we’ll be done, okay?”

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupted, “if I may, you nor Mr. Ingensbarn have eaten today, and my readings show this is putting not inconsiderable strain on Mr. Ingensbarn.”

“Fuck, you didn’t eat before coming down here?” Tony asked.

“It… did not occur to me to,” Galinn answered, his brows furrowing in thought. 

“You need to -” a loud beep cut him off. “Right. If it’s okay with you, I encourage you to eat your fill whenever you’re hungry.”

Galinn shrugged. “I am used to going far longer without meals. You did not eat either, from what JARVIS said.”

“Do as I -” Beep!, “I know I have a bad eating and sleeping schedule. I am not a good role model. Want some breakfast?”

“Please. This was… a lot, very rapidly.”

“Sir, Sergeant Barnes is on the common room floor. He is making pancakes. Everyone else is either asleep or already out of the Tower. Would you like to see about joining him?”

“Up to you, Galinn,” Tony said with a shrug. “Barnes does make some killer pancakes, though.”

“Would Bucky mind us joining him? JARVIS, can you verify with him?”

There was a moment of silence before the AI answered, sounding amused.  “Sergeant Barnes says, and I am quoting him directly, to ‘get your dumb asses up there’ and then he began making more pancake batter.”

Tony snorted a laugh. “Aye aye, cap’n. Uh, aye aye, sergeant? Nah, doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“What is it you wish to do next?” Galinn asked, the two of them walking towards the elevator.

“We’re going to see if I can order the runes to not work,” Tony explained. “Make it so, even if I fuck up, you don’t have to obey me. We did all of this first to get a baseline for the runes, so we would know if it worked.”

A wistful look crossed over Galinn’s face. “Do you think it will work?”

“I don’t know,” Tony admitted. “This isn’t my field of study. Thermonuclear astrophysics? Learned it in a night. Advanced artificial intelligence? I’ve led the revolution in it. Magic? I’m just a toddler who doesn’t know their ABCs. I want to make this as easy on you as possible, we don’t know when Strange will be back. Just, have some - I mean, there’s hope, y’know?”

“Hope is the first thing they beat out of you.”

Tony was spared from trying to respond to that particular nugget of wisdom by the elevator door opening to the common room.

“Asses. Chairs.” Barnes called from the kitchen. “Syrup or chocolate chips?”

“Syrup!” Tony yelled back, plopping his ass onto one of the chairs, as ordered.

“I will have the same,” Galinn said as he took the seat across from Tony, on his own side.

“Do you even know what chocolate chips or syrup are? Thor didn’t.” Tony asked.

“I do not.”

“Good thing I made extras, then,” Barnes said, walking out with four plates in his arms - two on his hands and two balanced on his arms in a way that would’ve been precarious for Tony but was easy as breathing for the soldier. He sat one with chocolate down in front of an empty space at the head of the table, one with syrup in front of Tony, and then the remaining two he sat in front of Galinn - equally full of both chocolate chip pancakes and pancakes covered in syrup. “Too many food choices too soon was one of the first things that overwhelmed me when I came out of HYDRA’s grip.”

“How did you get away from them, if I may ask? Stark was vague with the details.”

“It was… hard. Did Stark tell you about Project Insight?”

“I believe so? SHIELD’s newest Midgard defense - killing from the skies when a risk was identified, before even becoming a risk. Indistinguishable from the goal of a parasite infiltrating the ranks and trying to control the world, yes?”

“You don’t mince words, do you?” Tony mumbled, shoveling pancakes into his mouth. He still felt guilty about Insight - it had been his repulsor tech they’d used, that he’d volunteered to build (and gave them an amazing deal on) after his own up-close experience with the Helicarrier’s turbines. Steve had called Tony as soon as he’d realized what the were doing, and Tony, Steve, and Sam had managed to dismantle them right after liftoff, with Nat data-dumping SHIELD’s file to the Internet (after JARVIS had scanned and cleared things like specs to Tony’s designs for the team and Barton’s ex-wife and kids’ locations). It was the best they could think of, to expose HYDRA. (Tony was still grateful neither Steve nor Nat had thought he was HYDRA, even when Sam had asked if they were sure about contacting him.)

“No, I do not,” Galinn answered.

“Harsh, kiddo,” Barnes said, ignoring when Galinn scowled at the name, “but not wrong. Steve got hit pretty hard and I recognized him, sort of. It was enough of a hesitation to give me enough control to escape without running back to my handlers. The longer I was away from them, without the ice or the drugs or the trigger words, the more I remembered who I was, before my fall.”

“Fall?” Galinn asked, looking intrigued.

“Yeah. I fell to my presumed death. It was how HYDRA got me in the first place,” Barnes explained. 

Some emotion - understanding, maybe? - flicked across Galinn’s face, but he stayed quiet. “What are trigger words?” was all he ended up saying, scooping more pancakes into his mouth. Tony noticed he seemed to be favoring the syrupy ones over the chocolate chip ones.

“Magic, for lack of a better word. Words programmed into my mind that gave them total and entire control over me and my actions.”

“How did you get healed of the magic?”

“One of Stark’s inventions and the help of an entire team of head shrinks.”

“Someone shrunk your head?” Galinn asked, pancake sliding off his fork as he gaped at Barnes in horror. Tony choked on his own pancake due to his startled laughter.

Barnes just snorted in amusement. “No, like… psychiatrists and therapists.”

“Types of mind healers? Is the All-Speak correct?”

“Yeah, that’s a fair translation,” Tony said. “They’re what I was talking about earlier. Talking to someone.”

“And it helped?”

“It gave me my life back,” Barnes said. “It gave me back my morals and helped with the horrors in my mind. I’m free from the brainwashing. I’ll never be free from the memories, but they don’t stalk me like they used to.”

Galinn fell quiet, thoughtfully eating his pancakes. “Maybe… after I am free,” he said, hesitantly, “maybe I’d like to speak with one?”

“I could arrange that,” Tony said with a smile.

“These are quite good, Bucky,” Galinn said, clearly ending the conversation.

Tony just kept eating, as discussion fell to lighter topics. For some reason beyond being a good person, he was eager to learn what Galinn was like when he wasn’t bound to slavery. When he was free.

Chapter Text

Pancakes were Loki’s new favorite food. He preferred the plain ones with the syrup - the chocolate ones were delightful, but the syrup satisfied his sweet tooth, which had been sorely neglected in the past decade.

He was surprised by how well he got on with the second soldier, as he and Bucky discussed the merits and drawbacks of sword play. It was easy, however, to get along with the man.

Another person who’d fallen, been tortured and enslaved, thought dead and lost. It was almost too easy to not hate him.

Breakfast passed smoothly, with Loki ignoring the various aches and pains in his body. Repeated orders weren’t pleasant, and he was feeling the aftereffects of repeated rune activation. After Loki razed Asgard to the ground, he was going to find every book on slave magic in the Nine Realms and set them ablaze in Asgard’s ashes. 

He sighed, sitting back and rubbing his stomach, content. He’d eaten both plates the soldier had given him and was delightfully full.

“Want a nap before we continue?” Stark asked, looking at him in amusement.

“No, I would prefer to rest after our work is concluded,” Loki answered, though he made no move to get up. In truth, that was only part of the reason - the other was simply excitement, the tattered shreds of hope growing in his broken soul. 

“What are you working on?” Bucky asked.

“Seeing if we can circumvent the runes so Galinn doesn’t have to obey everything,” Stark answered.

“How?”

“By ordering the runes to disregard all other orders.”

“Free him by ordering him?” Barnes asked, frowning.

“Until Strange gets back and can pull the voodoo off him entirely, it’s my best guess. You and I both know I’m not someone who watches my words.”

“True, I can’t think of anyone else who’d tell Captain America to his face that he was being a ‘shrimp-assed little motherfucker.’ I still don’t like it, though.”

“Oh, even with control of my mouth’s filter, I would’ve said that, ‘cuz it was true, and made Cap’s face turn American flag red. But this is actually important, and I’m not doing anything without Galinn’s express consent.”

“Stark speaks the truth. If the way to keep me from being forced to follow orders is a singular order to override the others, I would like to at least try it. I am capable of saying no, Bucky, do not worry for me.” Loki said. He’d never admit he was just the smallest bit grateful to the soldier - it had been so long since anyone worried for him instead of being worried of him, a fact Thor had cemented when his first words after Loki’s presumed death was to ask for the Tesseract, not his little brother, who was acting exceedingly out of character. The memory of that conversation still burned him deeply.

“I trust Stark,” Barnes said, and a look of shock crossed over Stark’s face, “I’m worried about your mental state. The loss of autonomy and repeated reminder of it…”

“I will be fine, Bucky,” Loki reassured.

“Before you go, are you full? Need more pancakes?”

”I am quite full, thank you. The pancakes were delicious.”

Bucky just nodded, collecting the dirty dishes. “Try not to blow anything up that you don’t mean to blow up,” he said, leaving the room.

“You ready to go back to the lab?”

“Yes. Let us go.”

The two of them stood, Stark shouting a thanks! in the direction of where the soldier had disappeared to, then made their way back down the elevator.

“Okay,” Stark said as they entered the lab, navigating over to a table with chairs on either side. “Let’s make those runes our bitch.”

Loki sat down, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. He didn’t want to hope, but he couldn’t help it, the way it clawed in his chest like a bilgesnipe seeking dinner.

“Okay. Easiest option first. I order you to be free of all of your runes,” Stark said, glancing at a nearby screen, likely with Loki’s vitals on it.

The rune didn’t even burn in acknowledgment of the order and Loki shook his head, trying not to feel discouraged. It was not a great start.

Stark went through a few more variations of the order - “I, Tony Stark, free you of your runes,” “I hereby order all your runes to cease and desist,” and “God fucking damn it, the runes need to fuck off,” being some of the iterations. It was on an attempt nearly half an hour later that something finally stirred.

“I order all of your runes to stop working for the rest of eternity,” Stark said, exasperated.

The obedience rune briefly, briefly burned. “Wait,” Loki interrupted before Stark could ramble off his next idea. “Repeat that one.” Stark repeated it and the rune burned again. “It’s like… it’s registering incomplete or impossible orders?”

“The runes can identify impossible orders? How?”

“I am unsure of the methodology behind it, but yes, the runes can identify the impossible. For example, I couldn’t be ordered to fly because I am incapable of flight, and I couldn’t be ordered to become a plant. It also prevents orders that would outright kill me.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes. The magic is fueled by my own life force. Anything that would cut the power to the magic is considered impossible. It’s why a slave can’t be ordered to kill themself - the magic detects a risk to the life force.”

“Why didn’t it flare with impossible or incomplete orders with the other variations?”

“I know not. There are intricacies to slave magic I am not versed in.”

“Well, still, that whole ‘can’t make you off yourself’ is one of the less fucked things about this bullshit magic, at least. So the magic can’t cut it’s own power and can’t force the impossible. What was different about that order from all the others?” Stark wondered. Loki didn’t have the time to answer before the mortal rolled his eyes and slammed his hand against his own face. “Time! I placed a time limit on that version of the order. Okay. I order all of your runes to cease working for the next five minutes.”

It burned again, but still just below the threshold of what a true order would give and Loki shook his head. “Closer, but it is still being blocked.”

“Sir, is it possible you are creating a paradox?” JARVIS asked.

“Explain, JARV.”

“You are ordering all of the runes to stop working, which requires a rune to work.”

Stark snapped his fingers. “Therefore creating a negative feedback loop that cancels itself out! Fuck, okay, we’re getting close! Okay, okay, uh… I order that the rune compelling your obedience does not work for any other order beyond this one.”

Another flare of the rune, but it had faded in intensity. “No, we are moving back towards impossible again.”

“I order that for the next five minutes, the rune compelling your obedience does not work for any other order beyond this one.”

The rune burned and Loki gasped as fire ran through his veins. Was this the feeling of choice? “I think it worked… quick, order me to do something!”

“Uh. Stand up, now.”

Loki nearly sobbed when he didn’t feel the rune activate on his shoulder. “No,” he breathed, a delighted grin on his face even as tears formed in his eyes. “No!”

Stark sat back, running a hand through his hair, his eyes glittering with amazement and joy. “It worked. It fucking worked!”

“Can you cancel the order, I wonder?”

“Want me to try?”

“I will lose my freedom in five minutes regardless, my desire for knowledge may as well be satisfied.”

“Cancel all orders.”

The rune burned as it reactivated and Loki swore in Asgardian.

“Damn, I take it that successfully canceled the order? I don’t know what you just said, but it had the same tone Natasha uses when she’s swearing to kill me in Russian.”

“Yes,” Loki sighed. “I believe so. Order me to stand again so we can verify.” 

“Stand up.”

The words were barely out of Stark’s mouth before the rune burned, pushing Loki to his feet.

“Okay, well, good news,” Stark said as Loki sat back down, “I can release the bonds at least partially and it will only be negated if I order it to be canceled. I may accidentally issue orders, but I seriously don’t think that particular one will ever get said accidentally, and I have no plans to ever say that to you. Wanna see how long I can get it to last? I hope it’s longer than five minutes.”

“As do I.”

As it turned out, twelve hours was the limit it could be in effect. Stark had started at a century, then a decade, a year, a month, a fortnight, a week, and a day, before the twelve hour order finally stuck, all the rest merely giving the slight burn of impossible orders. They tested it - Stark again ordering Loki to stand, and Loki refusing with a grin that was mirrored on Stark’s face - and then it was time for even more testing.

In total, it was five hours before Loki had a modicum of the freedom he’d previously known. Loki had once held a fondness for the intricacy and precision innate to magic. Now, however, he was merely irritated at how specific the wording had to be.

“Okay, I think this is good. I order that for the next twelve hours, the rune compelling your obedience does not work for any other order beyond this one. The runes preventing you from lying and self-defense are entirely disabled for the period previously stated.”

Once again, the rune burned, and freedom burned his blood, the taste of freewill like iron on his tongue. “One last test, then?”

“If you want,” Stark shrugged.

“Order me.”

“Stand up.”

No twinge of compulsion flared and Loki smiled. “My favorite color is red.”

“Okay, lying works, and you can refuse orders now. By the way, I am trusting you to not abuse any of the freedoms. You are still my responsibility. Any blood spilt by you is on my hands too, and I’m done with killing innocents. I don’t want to take your freedom away again, but I take the avenging part of being an Avenger seriously. Is that clear?”

“Clear as Iðunn’s Lake. Now,” Loki said, standing up, “strike me.”

“Wait, what?”

“Strike me,” Loki repeated. “I wish to verify I can fight back, and you only specified it for self defense.”

“Oh, uh, that makes sense. Just, uh, don’t hurt me too bad?”

“I promise,” he answered, but based on Stark’s cautious face, Loki’s grin was likely slightly feral.

Stark shrugged and stood. “I’m about to punch a slave, I’m going to the deepest pits of hell.”

“I will put in a good word for you with her, now strike me.”

Loki had ample warning before Stark swung his fist (not even in his armor, honestly). The trickster grabbed Stark’s wrist and spun him around. Loki used his grip to pin Stark to the nearby table, pressing the mortal forward until he squawked with discomfort. Loki held him there - one hand pinning Stark’s wrist to his back and the other between the man's shoulder blades - and laughed, a wild and free sound. “I can fight again,” he breathed.

“Yeah, uh, that’s great. Wanna let me up now?” Stark said, his voice surprisingly strained. “Y’know, as fun as this position is, it kind of hurts.”

Loki paused for a moment, to see if the runes would flare, either with the order or with this no longer falling under self defense, but he felt no tug to force it. He must have hesitated too long, because Stark's breath hitched slightly. “Apologies,” he said as he released Stark and took a step back, no longer pressed against the mortal’s body. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

“Not frightened,” Stark grumbled. “You got a thing for fighting or something?”

“I am of Asgard, Stark,” Loki reminded. “Fighting was something I learned early, and enjoyed for most of my life up until my sentencing. It has been… trying, to not be able to so much as spar.”

Stark sighed. “I'm about to get my ass kicked,” he muttered. “Would you like to spar, Galinn? I think a minor tweak to the order-override order-thing and you should be able to.”

“Who would I spar with? Bucky? The captain?”

The mortal just shook his head. “Barnes doesn't fight unless he has to and Steve's morals are going to get in the way of punching you, considering your… position. You and I can spar.”

“I do hope you have a suit ready, then. I would like at least an attempt at a challenge,” Loki smirked.

“I'll have it on, and I'll even go easy on you, so you can almost taste the victory.”

“Worry not, Stark, I do expect to come out on top.”

“Good thing I don't mind attractive men on top of me,” Stark said, waving his hand absentmindedly, before freezing. “Not that I - I mean, y’know, not in that - I'd never -”

Loki simply rolled his eyes. “Come, I desire a fight. Adjust the order and then dress yourself. And then abandon all hope.”

“Did you just quote Dante?”

“Who?” (Yes, Loki had just quoted the Divine Comedy, but as predicted, the face Stark pulled at his denial was far more entertaining than admitting the truth.)

Stark rolled his eyes, canceling the order and reinstating it to allow Loki both self defense and sparring. “Oh, that reminds me. JARV, if Galinn’s awake and the timer runs out, let me know so I can waive the requirements again, even if I'm asleep.”

“Noted, Sir. And if Mr. Ingensbarn is asleep when the twelve hours is exhausted?”

Stark looked at Loki. “It’s up to you. Do you want us both woken up, or do you want me to just place the order again when you wake up?”

Loki was stunned speechless for a moment, a rare occurrence indeed. He hid his shock by pretending to think about the question, but Stark had continued to surprise the trickster. His owner, telling the construct in the walls to wake him up, just to make a slave’s life easier. 

It was looking more and more likely that Midgard would be spared Loki’s wrath, because of the kindness of one or two humans.

“I would prefer to be allowed to sleep,” Loki finally answered. Sleep had been a rare commodity on Alfheim, and was just as rare these days with the constant nightmares.

Stark simply nodded. “Got that, JARV? Protocol name: Magic Sucks.”

“New protocol registered,” JARVIS answered. “Time remaining: eleven hours and fifty-six minutes.”

Freedom is life’s great lie.

His own words, six years old and from memories painted in blue, floated in his mind. “Put your armor on,” Loki finally said, burying the memory deep in his psyche. “I shall meet you in the gym. I need to change, this attire is ill-suited for fighting.”

“Sounds like a plan. Meet ya there, Linn.”

Loki made his way to the elevator on his own, deep in thought. He rolled his shoulders, reveling in the lack of tension. He hadn’t even realized how tense he was until the runes’ constant presence had been slightly alleviated. He poked at his magic, seeing if it would call to him, but it remained stubbornly trapped within his core. He hadn’t mentioned his magic to Stark, hadn’t wanted to risk his owner figuring out who Loki was.

It had barely been more than a week, yet Loki had already grown used to not fearing the whip’s sting at his back, the shackles holding him down. He didn’t hurry to his room and then took his time selecting clothing. Loki had been thrilled when he realized he could buy leather trousers and silk tunics, even though Midgard had moved away from that type of finery and no longer had all clothes tailored to fit. He had purchased clothes that would allow him to blend in better as well, of course, but if he had a choice - and, oh, how he loved having a choice - he’d spend most of his time in clothing similar to what he’d been raised in.

He ended up selecting trousers from Alfheim (as he did not care to break in new leather in a sparring ring), but one of the blue Midgardian tops accompanied it. It was cut to leave his arms bare without an undershirt and fell to his midthigh, form fitting but not tight.

Memories of early sparring with Thor tried to creep into his thoughts as he donned the outfit, so new yet so similar to what he had worn in Asgard, but he pushed them away. Thor would die when Asgard fell, he was too proud to live beyond his beloved home world. It was best not to try to remember any fondness.

Loki studied the shoes he was provided and wrinkled his nose at them. They’d be suitable for walking, but not for the quick dance of sparring. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d sparred barefoot - he’d once done so on jagged rocks, to increase his ability to concentrate on his magic despite pain pulling at his attention.

Deciding his outfit to be adequate, Loki headed for the training floor, JARVIS sliding the elevator doors open for him without prompting. Stark was already there by the time Loki arrived, his suit of advanced armor on, though the face plate was up.

“Is there a staff I may use?” Loki asked in lieu of a greeting, taking the room in. It was a large, open space, with machinery all around the edges, though one side was plated entirely in windows, allowing a stunning view of New York. Loki felt drawn to the window, walking towards it and pressing his hand to the cool glass, missing Stark’s response.

Loki hadn’t cared to look at the city he brought the Chitauri down on when they’d first arrived from Alfhein, and since then he’d either been too busy or asleep to truly notice, but now he did. 

Midgard had healed in the six years since the invasion. Buildings had been fixed and roads repaved, not even a scar left behind.

Loki may as well have never been there, for all the proof left behind.

His free hand drifted up to his neck, brushing the top rune Odin had carved into his flesh, the one that bound his magic. His thumb traced the rune’s shape. New York had easily recovered from Loki’s thwarted invasion, where he brought as little ruin and death as he could without alerting the Other or his master to his duplicity. New York had healed.

Loki didn’t think he ever would.

“You’d never guess a psychopath tried to kill us all a few years ago, would you?” Stark asked, suddenly at his side, his face thoughtful.

“I would not,” Loki agreed, unsure what else to say. 

“Did you know him?”

“Who?”

“Loki.”

“I knew of him,” Loki answered. He wasn't sure himself if he spoke truth or lie in that moment. Had he ever truly known himself? How much of himself had been him begging for his father to see him equal to Thor? Did his Jotunn upbringing ever try to break through cracks Loki hadn’t even realized he had? “I do not think any in Asgard truly knew him, prince and outcast as he was.”

“Outcast? Wanna run that one by me again? Also, does this staff work?” Stark asked, handing Loki a smooth wooden staff that reached an inch or two above Loki’s head at its full length.

Loki gave it a few test swings and twirls, then nodded. “It is lighter than I am used to, but it is adequate. To answer your other question, however - Loki was a prince who valued books and sorcery in a Realm which held those as female desires, and therefore inherently lesser. Now, enough speaking of the dead,” Loki said, spinning the staff and going to crouch on the center of the matted floor. “Are you ready to end up beneath me?” he asked.

Stark audibly choked on his own breath before his helmet came down, and Loki grinned.

Chapter Text

Tony had some amount of self-respect. Less than the media tended to think, though more than some of his more rabid Internet fans suggested.

And that was why, thirty minutes later, Tony was ordering JARVIS to triple-encrypt and quadruple secure the footage of a hundred pound, barefoot, unarmored man with a long stick kicking his Iron Man-clad ass. The only reason he wasn’t deleting it outright was due to JARVIS being a sassy AI and refusing to. 

“I wonder where I get it from, sir,” JARVIS said when Tony complained about his sass and questioning when the AI had learned a sense of humor.

“Certainly not from me,” Tony grumbled. 

Galinn grinned, returning to the center of the floor, staff in one hand, eerily predator-like as his eyes tracked Tony’s movements without blinking. “Another round?”

Never let it be said Tony was a coward. “Oh, are we finally done stretching?” he taunted, clenching his hands into fists.

They launched at each other without another word. Tony wasn’t using his repulsors to fight with and he was keeping on the ground, only using his flight systems to help maneuver the suit. Tony suspected Galinn was holding back too - though Tony was still going to be bruised to high heavens underneath his armor at the end of this.

Galinn had Tony pinned to the ground - thighs straddling either side of Tony’s stomach and one hand pressed to his chest - how the fuck could such a skinny dude be so strong? - when he suddenly stopped and looked around. “What in the Allmother’s name is that horrific ruckus?” he asked.

“What’s - oh, the song?” Tony said. “It’s from the group’s Spotify playlist.”

“Yes, because I understand all of those words,” Galinn said, rolling his eyes. He leaned back, taking his hand off Tony’s chest but remained straddled across his stomach.

“Oh, right.” If Galinn wasn’t going to move, Tony certainly had no desire to make him. Though Tony was already having to focus very hard on not thinking about how much he’d enjoyed Galinn pinning him to the table earlier. “Spotify is a company that specializes in streaming music. On Earth, we can record our music and play it at any time. The playlist that’s been playing is the Avengers Training playlist. All seven of us have contributed to it, which is why it’s… a lot. This song is Gangnam Style and it’s from Clint. I think he may have added it as a joke, but I’m never sure with him. At least it isn’t Baby Shark.”

“I have enjoyed some of the music that’s played, but this is… odd.”

“JARVIS can skip the song if you don’t like it. Only time you can’t skip a song is when you’re in here with the person who added it.”

“No, it is… once I become used to the racket, it is rather pleasant?”

“Yeah, that’s how a lot of Clint’s music ends up being,” Tony agreed. “You done or want to keep going?”

“I’m far from finished with you, Stark,” Galinn said with a mischievous smirk.

Tony didn’t wait for further prompting, bucking up and using a little repulsor action to flip them so Tony had Galinn pinned. 

Galinn’s eyes flew open in shock, but then he laughed, loud and high. “Deceptive. You’d make a poor Asgardian.”

“Good thing I make an amazing Midgardian, then.”

~~~

“Did you fight a brick wall, dude?”

“Suck my dick, Barton,” Tony answered, pressing an ice pack against his cheek as he sprawled across the couch in the common area.

Clint took a loud slurp from his juice box, studying Tony intently. “Nah,” he finally said. “I need at least two drinks before I bone anyone on this team. I’ve got a list and everything.”

“Okay you can’t say that and then not elaborate. It’s actually illegal,” Tony protested, pushing himself up so he was sitting and then patting the seat next to him. Clint took the bait, plopping down next to him, only to then get inescapably trapped as Tony tossed his legs into Clint’s lap.

Clint, not perturbed by things like human decency and kindness, poked one of the larger bruises on Tony’s bare arm in response, smirking when Tony yelped.

”Okay, originally I just wanted to know how many drinks you’d need to bed me,” Tony said, moving the ice pack to the recently assaulted bruise. “Now I want the entire team’s.” 

“Well, Steve’s the lowest at two drinks,” Clint began.

“I’d need at least seven shots to fuck his patriotic ass,” Tony interrupted.

“How many to let him do you?” Clint shot back with no hesitation.

“I plead the fifth.”

“Anyway, it’s Steve with two, you with two and a half” - Tony let out an indignant squawk - “Bucky with three, Thor with four ‘cuz I feel like I’d need that much to get over the fear of taking godlike proportions places where godlike proportions aren’t gonna fit, and then lastly Bruce with twenty, ‘cuz I’m fifty percent sure I’m dying on that one, but twenty drinks is enough to erase silly things like natural human fear responses.”

“Wait, what about Nat?” Tony asked.

“I’d rather get Eiffel Tower’d by Hulk and Thor. It would hurt less as I die,” Clint said, entirely serious.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony muttered, because well… Clint wasn’t exactly wrong. Tony still counted himself lucky Natasha hadn’t stabbed him when he came onto her during the paladium incident. 

Their conversation was cut off by Natasha’s voice as the elevators opened. “I just don’t understand how I’m not winning! Have you seen my ass?”

“I cannot say I have,” came Galinn’s amused voice.

“Why is this even a thing?” Steve whined.

“You’re just mad you’re losing, punk,” Barnes accused.

Clint and Tony shot each other confused looks as the four newcomers traipsed in. Actually, five, Bruce was with them, and redder than a tomato. They continued to bicker, teasing Steve for being a sore loser and reassuring Natasha her ass was, indeed, fantastic.

“Okay, not that I’m disagreeing, and I’ll never admit out loud to having checked out all of your asses, but why are we talking about Nat’s?” Tony finally said, curiosity eating into his soul.

“JARVIS, pull up the official Avengers Twitter on the TV,” Natasha said, plopping down and crossing her arms across her chest, irritation on her face. Tony bit down a small smile. It had taken the whole team a long time to get comfortable enough to take off their masks, Natasha still had only begun doing so in the past few months since Ultron.

“We have an official Twitter account?” Tony asked. “Did I sign off on that?”

“No, I did,” Steve confessed guiltily. “It was before you took over the paperwork aspects of running the team. Well, before Pepper did.”

“Steve…” Tony said slowly, eyeing the TV as the page loaded. “Who the fuck runs our official Twitter?”

”Darcy Lewis,” Steve mumbled, almost too low to hear.

“Oh. Well, that explains that,” Tony said, reading through the poll in front of him.

The Avengers @AvengersOfficial

Who has the best ass? Vote now and declare the ultimate ASSvenger!

Bruce Banner                 7.3%

Clint Barton                    8.4%

The Hulk                       21.7%

Thor Odinson              13.1%

Steve Rogers               18.6%

Natasha Romanoff    20.5%

Tony Stark                   10.4%

“Why does Bruce have two listings?” Clint asked, outraged.

“They couldn’t have picked a better picture for my ass?” Tony grumbled. The tweet was accompanied by pictures of all seven member’s asses. “And honestly, Clint, Bruce and Hulk do not have the same ass, I’m not surprised.”

“There’s a… meme? about my ass. Uh, asses,” Bruce said, looking not dissimilar to someone in a war zone.

“Bruce, there’s several memes. About all of our asses,” Clint said delightedly. He’d pulled out his phone and was scrolling through the replies. “Look at this one!” the archer said excitedly, and JARVIS dutifully pulled it up. It was a side by side comparison of Bruce and Hulk’s asses, with a caption that proclaimed get you a man that can do both! “ Oh, some people are salty their favorite ass is losing!” 

“I’ve never been so grateful to be a mostly unknown member of the team,” Barnes muttered.

“Likewise. Though you and I do have fantastic rear ends, I say,” Galinn mused.

They spent the next few hours browsing the Twitter replies, laughing and insulting each other. There were several insulted Cap fanboys who were downright offended that America’s Ass, the Patriotic Posterior, was only in third place. Hundreds of tweets despairing how am I supposed to choose, they’re all such bangable asses? Tony’s personal favorite was one about Thor that said nice ass, but not impressive for a god, in my opinion. 

They’d been at it for a while, Steve fetching everyone sodas and juice and snacks several times, when Clint choked on his drink. “The fuck?”

“What?” Steve asked, hurrying to scroll away from some rather impressive fanart of Cap’s naked rear.

“Look at this shit,” Clint said, and the tweet filled the screen.

Crimes Georg @underforeversgrace

ok like hear me out - not an avenger, but kinda adjacent? loki. did u SEE the pictures of him in that black suit in germany?? i’d hit it. i’d get fucking killed but… i’d hit it.

There was an image of Loki from before he’d removed the guy’s eyeball, and Tony had to admit the villain didn’t look bad in the suit. Sadly, Loki had fallen firmly into the ‘too crazy to dick down’ category, what with the invasion and murder. “Makes me think of those weirdos that fall in love with death row inmates,” Tony ended up saying.

“Is that person… aware that Loki caused thousands of deaths?” Galinn asked, amused confusion on his face. “Do Midgardians often seek to bed those who, by their own admission, would kill them?”

“Some people have an unfortunate lack of common sense,” Nat answered. “Just ignore it, Clint.”

“Easy for you to say,” Clint mumbled, but he scrolled away, the image in front of them being replaced with what was either very good art or impressive photoshop of the six of them in boudoir shoots. “Fucker wasn’t in your head.”

Tony saw as Galinn flinched slightly at Clint’s words. Tony raised an eyebrow, which seemed to be a universal symbol for ‘you okay?’ as evidenced when Galinn merely shrugged in response. “I’ve had a similar experience, others in my head. I know how unpleasant it is,” the Aes whispered, and Tony could tell by his tone that no more details were coming. 

“You two should get matching T-shirts made,” Tony said. “Make a club. All of us could join.”

Galinn rose an eyebrow. “All of you? I was under the impression Barton was the only one controlled during the Chitauri Invasion?”

“Clint’s the only one who got whammied by Loki, but we’ve all been gotten by the mind control stick he used,” Tony explained. “Wanda Maximoff got most of us. She absorbed part of the stick’s power when she was experimented on.”

“I fear I am confused. Wanda Maximoff, who is now an Avenger?”

“She reformed,” Tony said shortly. “Honestly, I was more confused that she could put the whammy on me. It was a large part of what led to the disaster that was Ultron. But Loki had tried to get me before, and my arc reactor protected me. Guess we got lucky Loki didn’t think to move two inches to the left, where I wouldn’t have had the casing between me and the magic stick.”

Galinn snorted and rolled his eyes. “Humans are incredibly forgiving. She would’ve been executed on Asgard. Controlling another is not looked upon lightly.”

“We didn’t make it public knowledge,” Tony admitted. “No one outside the team and a handful of higher-up SHIELD agents know the truth. Everyone else thinks it was a random HYDRA operative.”

“You keep much from your kind,” Galinn said. It didn’t sound accusatory, but there was an edge to his voice.

“It’s for the best,” Tony argued.

Galinn fixed his green eyes on Tony’s and suddenly Tony felt like he would drown in the pain and centuries in the man’s gaze. “Liars always tell themselves their lie is for the best.”

Tony just shrugged and averted his eyes. “She’s just a kid. She deserved a second chance. She’s a powerful ally.”

Galinn studied him, a little too well apparently, as he said, “You fear her still.”

Tony said nothing, though he imagined his clenched fists said it all. Stark men were made of iron, and iron didn’t feel fear. Electing to say nothing, Tony refocused his attention on the Twitter thread still on the screen, now onto a response that was an indictment of how un-feminist it was to include Natasha in the poll, ‘cuz she’s a woman. 

“I thought feminism meant equality?” Steve said, more lost than Tony had ever seen him. Or, well, more lost than he’d seen Steve since Tony had tried to explain the concept of anti-homelessness laws that did nothing except make homelessness illegal. “Nat’s equally presented, along with the rest of the team!”

“Apparently it’s wrong to sexualize me because I’m a girl,” Natasha said, laughing into a pillow.

“But we’re all being sexualized!”

Tony slid easily into the conversation, though Galinn’s eyes still felt like daggers in his spine. Tony wasn’t afraid. Tony didn’t do fear.

He was made of iron, no matter what the bruises on his skin said.

~~~

Life fell into an easy routine in the next few weeks. Bucky was the only one who knew Tony had been successful in loosening Galinn’s magical bindings. Galinn had given Tony a knowing smirk when Tony had admitted he wasn’t telling the team.

“Do you know how to speak the truth anymore?” Galinn had asked.

“When it suits me,” Tony had answered.

Galinn hadn’t protested further, and the Tower was peaceful. Strange still hadn’t returned, and Wong was unable to reach him, so Tony lifted the restrictions on Galinn every twelve hours, as promised. The two of them continued to spar together frequently - Tony in his suit, Galinn bare footed and kicking ass with a big stick - as part of their ploy to keep Galinn’s relative freedoms under wraps. JARVIS continued to beep whenever Tony was close to issuing an order to keep the charade up.

Tony should feel guilty, lying to his teammates. It was by omission, but it was still a lie. Yet he couldn’t find it in himself to regret his choices. Couldn’t regret giving Galinn a fraction of freedom, and easing the strain on the engineer’s own soul, overwhelmed and overburdened as it was.

Tony learned quickly Galinn hated being idle. He wasn’t sure if he’d always been like that, or if living under the threat of a whip for so long had rendered him incapable of a life of calm, but Galinn always was doing something. Galinn read often, learning Earth’s history and culture. He taught whoever would listen about the other Realms. (He never spoke of Asgard.) 

He learned to draw from Steve. He learned ballet from Natasha. He learned how to strip a firearm in under a minute and was learning to fire guns from Barnes. He challenged Clint to archery competitions, and Clint narrowly won each time, though that margin was rapidly closing. They went over his asylum request, getting prepared for the hearing slated in July. Galinn largely avoided Bruce, but often talked to Tony, especially at meals or before they separated for their bedrooms. Thor hadn’t visited, busy in Asgard and with Jane, though he promised to soon, eager to meet the new Aes in the Tower. (Tony hadn’t mentioned the fact said Aes was a slave.)

It was peaceful. It was happy.

So, of course, it was only a matter of time before it all went to hell in a handbasket.

“Iron Man, three Doombots on your six!” Cap barked through the comms. 

“Fuck!” Tony shouted, banking a hard right and ducking low beneath a bridge. One Doombot couldn’t brake fast enough and exploded on impact with a brick wall, but one stayed on Tony’s ass. “Where’d the third one go?”

“It disappeared!” Clint yelled, the soft twang of his bow audible in the background. “It’s more magic!”

Tony was about to quip about Doom getting an upgrade, but the Doombot reappeared at the corner of his vision. Thankfully, JARVIS’s processors were faster than Tony’s brain, and the AI took control of the suit, shooting Tony into the sky to outmaneuver the blast that detonated where his head had been two milliseconds before. The Doombot followed. Tony didn’t know where the other Doombot had gone.

A sharp scream reverberated through the comms and Tony’s blood turned cold.

“Clint!” Natasha screamed. “Does anyone have eyes on Clint?”

“En route! Just gotta shake this tailgater!” Tony called back, JARVIS adjusting their trajectory again at Tony’s words. Tony glanced to the bottom left corner of the user interface, where the tracker embedded in all of their comms showed their location. He twisted over, his back aimed to the ground several stories beneath him, firing rockets at the Doombot. Most of them glanced off the armor harmlessly, but one - a newly developed seeker missile - managed to dig into the thing’s armor, and it blew up from the inside moments later. Tony’s heart thudded in his chest as he approached the rooftop where Clint was supposed to be - emphasis on supposed, as Clint was not there, though Tony found where his hearing aid with built in comm was, fallen on the rooftop floor.

Hulk roared several streets over and Tony flinched as he imagined the bill he was about to have to foot, but this had quickly turned into a Code Green situation. Even Barnes was out here somewhere, likely back-to-back with Steve. Barnes rarely spoke on comms - he’d worked alone for too long, he’d said once, with a faraway look in his eyes that all the Avengers recognized from their own mirrors.

“HYDRA’s on the field!” Natasha called, and a cacophony of swears rang through.

“I thought HYDRA and Doom had a falling out!” Steve yelled back.

“Looks like they kissed and made up,” Tony said, finally locating Clint in a back alley three streets away. Red painted the side of Clint’s face and Tony forced down a shudder as he realized how hard Clint would’ve had to be struck to cause his comms to fall out. Tony dropped down in front of Clint, knowing the archer couldn’t hear him right now, and made quick work of the four HYDRA goons surrounding them. “I’ve got eyes on Barton!”

Tony lifted the faceplate and hurried to Clint’s side. He had collapsed as soon as Tony arrived, his left hand in a death grip on his bow, his right arm a swath of red. Tony’s heart caught in his throat - that injury didn’t look good, the arm looked more like mangled meat than a human limb.

“Are you okay?” Tony asked, clumsily signing the question to Clint as well. His fingers weren’t as dexterous in the suit, which made finger signing a pain, but hopefully Clint would get the general idea, even with the blood currently dripping into one of his eyes.

Hurt, Clint attempted to sign back, but his right hand didn't move at all and the left's movements were a little too jerky, but it was a familiar enough sign. Hurt.

“Clint’s injured, guys, I’m taking him back to the Tower, try not to die before I get back,” Tony said.

“Is he going to be okay?” Natasha asked, sounding smaller than he’d ever heard her.

Tony studied at Clint as he carefully lifted the archer into his arms. His pupils were different sizes, his arm was visibly shattered, blood matted his hair.

“He’ll be fine,” a new voice spoke up as Tony was preparing to lie and say the same thing. “Bring Barton to me, Stark.”

“On my way,” Tony said, securing his arms around Clint, the faceplate dropping back down to hide the panic in Tony’s eyes. He tested his grip, had JARVIS run a quick scan to make sure Tony wasn’t about to injure Clint more, pointedly ignored the concerning medical read out JARVIS had thrown up on his HUD, and hauled ass to the Tower.

“Outgoing communications to rest of team disabled,” JARVIS said.

“Wh-”

“At my request, Stark,” Galinn said, and Tony heard what sounded oddly like cutlery jangling in the background. “Bring Barton to me. Penthouse living home.”

“He needs the medbay,” Tony argued, though as Clint’s heart rate dipped, Tony began to suspect even the medbay couldn’t save his friend.

“He will die,” Galinn said simply. “I can help him. When you get here, I need you to cancel the order giving me free will, and then do exactly as I say with a new order.” There was a pause and then, “It is a lot, but I’m asking you to trust me, Stark. Please.”

It was one thing to trust Galinn with the ability to spar and tell some lies, but to trust him with Clint’s life? But as Tony looked at Clint’s vital readings again, he knew he had no other choice. Clint wasn’t going to survive.

So as Tony flew into the open window of the penthouse, he prayed to gods he’d never believed in, and swore to them his fealty if they’d let this work.

“On the table,” Galinn ordered as soon as Tony had touched down. Tony obeyed, placing Clint’s bleeding body on the dining table he never used, uncaring of the shattered vase and damp carpet from where Galinn had clearly cleared the table with a sweep of his arm. Half dead roses crunched beneath his armored boot. “JARVIS, are we ready?”

“We are,” the AI agreed. “But my warning still stands.”

“Understood,” Galinn said, turning to Tony. “Cancel the order. JARVIS will give you the rest of the instructions.”

Tony hesitated, Clint coughed and blood spewed from his lips, and Tony prayed again. “Cancel all orders.”

Galinn grimaced and his hands clenched. “JARVIS,” he said, seeming to not notice as he stepped barefoot into the broken vase.

“Sir, repeat after me. I order you to heal Clint Barton, to the fullest extent of your abilities, bound or unbound, no matter the cost.”

Tony had been speaking as JARVIS was, and didn’t realize his words until they were already out of his mouth. Galinn collapsed to his hands and knees as soon as the words left Tony’s mouth. Tony attempted to speak, but the faceplate slammed down, and JARVIS took full control of the suit, locking Tony’s limbs in place. Tony’s heart rate skyrocketed and panic ate into his stomach, nausea lining his esophagus.

“External comms have been turned off. Galinn cannot hear you. I know Galinn’s plan, and agree with him that this is for the best.” JARVIS said, attempting to soothe him.

Galinn stood and Tony’s blood froze as the Aes turned to look at him. His green eyes burned ethereally and Tony found himself wondering what he had just unleashed.

Galinn grabbed a knife from one of the chairs, apparently hidden there before Tony arrived, and rolled up one of his sleeves, barring the arm that did not hold his slave marks. There was no hesitation as he dug the tip of the kitchen knife into his forearm. Blood welt up from the incisions. Tony shouted at Galinn to stop, but the suit was soundproofed. More cuts sliced into pale flesh and Tony screamed.

“He will heal,” JARVIS said, but that didn’t calm Tony’s panic. 

What had Tony just ordered Galinn to do?

Galinn spoke softly, words in an alien language that made Tony feel drunk just to listen to. He continued his soft chants, Tony locked into place, as he slid into the seat on Clint’s bad side, and carefully placed his hand against Clint’s shoulder.

Pain etched into Galinn’s face as relief spread across Clint’s. JARVIS helpfully brought up both Galinn’s and Clint’s vitals from the room’s embedded sensors. Clint’s heart rate and blood pressure, which had begun to bottom out, slowly strengthened and began evening out. Which would’ve been great, if not for what it did to Galinn.

As Clint stabilized, Galinn’s readings went haywire. Heart rate spiked, blood pressure increased. More than that, though, Galinn’s skin split open like being sliced by an invisible knife. Cracks echoed in the room and Tony watched in real time as Clint’s arm straightened and Galinn’s arm shattered.

“Mr. Ingensbarn called it transference magic,” JARVIS explained as Galinn took an invisible blow to the side of his head, the matching injury on Clint’s skull healing. “He’s taking Agent Barton’s injuries into his own body.”

“Why would you help him do this?” Tony asked, his voice cracking. Why would you let me give him an order that destroys him?

“He gave an argument where I could find no flaw in his logic,” JARVIS said, and did he sound remorseful as he did so? “Agent Barton was dying. His odds of survival with human intervention were below .64 of a percent. Mr. Ingensbarn saw the injuries Agent Barton had sustained from the camera in your helmet, and explained that he could survive these injuries, that he could pull them into himself. The slave runes additionally wouldn’t allow him to do something, even following your order, that would kill him. There were no good options, Sir.”

Tony was silent as Galinn continued his spell. Tony hadn’t even known Galinn could do magic. Thor said it was an uncommon art in Asgard. Galinn’s face barely registered the agony he must be in, once the initial pain he’d shown had passed.

“Are you angry with me?” JARVIS asked, almost hesitantly.

“No, JARVIS.” 

I’m only angry with myself.

Chapter Text

Static.

Boom.

Pain.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar way for Loki to wake, hurt and confused and unsure where he was. But pain wasn’t a good enough reason to slack off on his duties - there were few good reasons, he’d learned - so he tried to move. A gasp slipped from his mouth as fire burnt through his body. Beeps, soft when he’d first woken, seemed to raise in volume.

“Easy,” a familiar voice said at his side, a warm hand coming to rest on his shoulder, gently pressing him back into the bed. “You’re safe, dude. Easy.”

Loki struggled to open his eyes and found himself squinting against the dim light. He wasn’t restrained, but he doubted he could move, between the agony in his limbs and the various applications of gauze across his body. He could see just enough of the room in his peripheral - a bed with rails, big enough only for him, machines of gray surrounding him.

“You’re awake sooner than we expected,” the voice said. “You’ve been out for three days, we didn’t expect you to wake up for at least a week. Water?”

Loki nodded weakly and a straw was pressed to his parched lips. He fumbled for a moment before pulling the straw in and nearly moaned at the pure, cool taste of the water. He sucked it down, the water soothing his dry throat.

“Not too much, we don’t want you to choke,” they said, pulling the straw away, and Loki let out an inelegant whine. “Let’s make sure you keep that down without throwing up, ‘kay? Or at least until Bruce gets here and clears you for more.”

Loki gave a grumble of acceptance, taking mental stock of his body.

To use a Midgardian colloquialism he’d learned from Stark - he was fucked up beyond all repair.

Stark.

The name jogged his memory and he jolted slightly, sending a cascade of pain from his hairline to his toes. He turned his eyes to the person who owned the voice, forcing himself to study the man’s face through the haze. “Barton?”

“In the flesh, alive and well,” Barton answered, giving Loki a small smile before he collapsed into a nearby chair. “Thanks to you.” There was a pause and then, “Why am I still alive?”

A lie bubbled in the back of Loki’s throat, but the runes lurched him angrily. Right, he couldn’t lie currently, it had been far longer than twelve hours since he’d been given his freedom order. But he couldn’t tell Barton the truth. Couldn’t tell the archer that Loki felt like he owed the man, for the torture he’d inflicted in Barton’s own mind, as Barton fought for control every time Loki ordered him to kill. “I didn’t want you to die,” Loki answered instead. It was a true statement - it just wasn’t why he’d saved the man. Honestly, Loki hadn’t even thought. He’d just acted.

“Y’know, it was one of those fuckin’ Doombots,” Barton said casually. “Appeared right next to me and self-detonated, throwing me from a ten story building. That’s over a hundred foot fall, did you know that? Banged my head real good on the way down to the ground.” Barton tapped the side of his own head, where Loki remembered seeing his skull. “Shattered my right arm. Partial fracture of my left ulna. Broken ribs, perforated lung. Leg so broken, bone was sticking out where my knee should be. Spinal injury. Bruce doesn’t know how I was walking to begin with, if he’s honest. Best guess is adrenaline and possibly some semi-dormant mutations. I wasn’t going to live, and if I somehow did by a miracle, I was never going to walk or shoot an arrow again. Which we know from your scans, so God only knows what all you'd already healed before we got you down here.”

“Humans are terribly fragile,” Loki said with a shrug. (He immediately regretted shrugging when pain lanced his shoulder). “I am not so easy to break.”

“Thank you, Galinn,” Barton said, so sincere it shocked Loki. “Even if I had survived that, my quality of life, my passions, would’ve been gone. I’m an Avenger, and because of you, I get to keep being one.”

“Are we talking feelings?” Stark asked, leaning against the doorframe. “‘Cuz I’mma bounce if we’re doing feelings.”

“How dare you accuse me of doing something so grown up?” Barton answered, rising to his feet. “I was about to head out anyway, got plans with the big guy, but didn’t want Galinn waking up alone.”

Stark nodded. “Bruce is on his way down to check on our little patient, he had to neutralize a chemical bomb he almost accidentally created.”

“Again?” Barton asked with a sigh. “That’s the eighth time this month!”

“In his defense this time, Thor did suddenly show up on the roof with enough rainbows and electrical energy to blow in several windows on the top three floors,” Stark said, shrugging nonchalantly, but Loki had learned the slight tightening in the right corner of the mortal's mouth meant he was irritated.

And then the words actually processed and Loki tensed, only to let out a small whimper of pain when his distressed body did not appreciate that.

“You may want to mention to Bruce that Galinn’s pain meds need to be upped,” Barton said, frowning at Loki, concern in his dark eyes. Loki refrained from flinching at the look. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen it.

Memories floated up in Loki’s drug induced haze - Barton fighting him tooth and nail when he was ordered to slaughter innocents, begging Loki to stay away when the god had stumbled upon the memories of the archer’s children. But there were moments Barton hadn’t fought, when he’d given in fully to the control for a short time, too weary to try and while not being forced to do anything horrific, like bandaging Loki’s lingering injuries from Thanos. A vague tune echoed in the memory and Loki was pulled by it.

A man humming, quiver thrown over his back and blood that wasn’t his own splashed across his cheek. The man’s subjugated mind told Loki the story - it was a lullaby his wife had sung to their first child, when the babe was newborn. Peace and calm, love-laced serenity, emotions rooted deep into the melody, intrinsically interwoven into the song, inseparable.

The soft song cut off when Barton whistled. “You shouldn’t hide injuries like that,” Barton chastised as he pulled a long barb from Loki’s side.

“I had grown so used to it I had forgotten it,” Loki said, only half paying attention to the mortal nattering at his side. He was too busy studying a Midgardian map and a list of human atrocities (provided by his sceptre-controlled subjects), trying to figure out where to target to get the most attention. He had it narrowed down to making a speech about ‘natural superiority’ in Stuttgart, Germany where hundreds had been executed in a madman’s regime or threatening Hiroshima, Japan with a ‘magical blast that would make the atomic bomb look like paradise.’ Both locations had the mineral Selvig sought for the portal machine.

He needed attention and he needed to anger people. He needed the Avengers to hunt him. That was priority number one, hidden in the far depths of his mind, where the Other didn’t notice he had yet to penetrate.

Barton frowned. “Who hurt you?”

Loki recoiled from Barton’s touch. “I am a god, you insignificant ant,” Loki hissed. “War and death, savagery and violence, it is in my blood.”

Warmth bled into his hand and Loki glanced down, noting the blue creeping out from his sleeve. He focused harshly on it, pushing his other form down, grateful when cold nipped at his skin again. Jotnar did not feel cold - Loki clung to the feeling of the cold as much as he could.

“You talk like you’re a monster,” Barton said, but he returned to humming, letting the topic drop.

Loki was so tired of being a monster.

“Linn, you’re not a monster,” a different voice said, brushing away the memory Loki had found himself lost in. Warmth clasped around one of his hands and Loki blinked several times, returning from wherever he’d been lost to.

“What?” he asked, turning and studying the man beside him. Stark had taken Barton’s place in the chair near his bed, his hand wrapped around Loki’s, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of Loki’s hand. Loki doubted Stark even realized he was doing it.

Stark studied him, brows furrowing. “You were mumbling a lot. At the end there, said you were tired of being a monster. Galinn, monsters don’t save people the way you saved Clint.”

“I don’t remember saying that,” Loki said, the thin tendrils of consciousness and coherence slipping around him.

“Are you okay?”

The rune burned in his shoulder and Loki didn’t have the energy to swallow the truth. “No. My body is broken, my mind is foggy, and my magic is drained. I wish to sleep but I ache so badly I know not if I can find rest.”

Stark recoiled slightly at Loki’s bluntness. “Right. Your runes are active again.”

The statement needed no confirmation, but Loki found himself nodding anyway. He quickly stopped, the ache shooting up his spine and the room spinning heavily.

“I order that for the next twelve hours, the rune compelling your obedience does not work for any other order beyond this one. The runes preventing you from lying and self-defense are entirely disabled for the period previously stated,” Stark said, and Loki sighed in relief as the magic flowed down him.

“No sparring exception?” Loki asked, noticing Stark’s usage of the original override, not the sparring one they’d been using the past two months.

“Can you spar right now?” Stark asked, a small smile twitching onto his face.

“Enough to beat you,” Loki lied, eliciting a chuckle from the mortal. “Though I fear I would quite like rest.”

“Dr. Banner will be here within thirty seconds,” JARVIS informed. “He will administer you more of the medication himself and Sir created for you.”

“You made medicine for me?” Loki asked.

Stark shrugged, going to pull away from Loki. The injured god, in a move he’d never admit to, tightened his grip on Stark’s hand - not hard enough to prevent Stark from leaving, but enough to be intentional. Surprise flashed across Stark’s face, but he said nothing of it, instead leaning further towards the bed and assuming a more comfortable angle. “It was one of the things we did with your samples, from your first day here,” Stark said. “It was experimental and we had planned on trialing it with you, but… y’know, emergencies and all.”

“I am grateful, Stark.”

Stark just shrugged again. “It’s whatever,” Stark said, brushing it off. 

“It’s a feat of pharmaceutical and chemical engineering to have completed it in that time and you know it, Tony,” Banner said, hip bumping the door open, a metal tray in his hands. “Though I would’ve appreciated a heads up that you intended to nearly kill yourself, Galinn.”

Loki morphed his face into something he hoped was properly contrite. “I do apologize, Dr. Banner, if I caused you distress. I will not apologize for saving the archer, however.”

“Just… next time, run ideas like that by the team first? Please?”

“If there is ample time, I will,” Loki said. His voice turned hard for the next part, crystal clear despite the current shakiness of his mind. “But if I feel it is best, I will make my own decision, and I expect you all to respect it.”

“I know,” Banner sighed. “But you’re our friend, Galinn. We thought you were going to die. Clint spent the first day glued to your side, terrified he’d have your death on his hands. Not to mention what it did to Tony, since he’s the one who ordered you to do it and we would never have known if you wanted to stop if it’d killed you.”

Loki blinked a few times. Stark’s cheeks reddened and he looked away, though he kept his hand in Loki’s.

“Friend?” was all Loki could think to say.

Stark snorted. “Of course you’re our friend, Linn. Did you think you weren’t?”

Unable to think of a reply, Loki merely stared at the two men in shock. Friends weren’t something slaves, trickster gods, nor monsters in hiding got. They got steely acquaintances and knives in the back. Deciding to simply ignore the question, especially as his foggy mind was, he changed the subject. “JARVIS mentioned pain potions?”

“Medication,” Banner corrected, finally setting the little tray down on the table at Loki’s side, opposite Stark. “It’s still experimental, and it’ll knock you out, but you won’t be in pain.”

“Ah, the old Benadryl trick. Can’t be bothered with sneezing when you’re unconscious,” Stark said with a nod.

“I hate it when you’re technically right,” Banner muttered, grabbing a syringe from the tray, carefully piercing a small bottle of bright blue liquid and drawing some out.

Part of Loki wanted to ask about Benadryl - the All-Speak giving him the image of some sort of spray or pill that helped with sneezing - but he was just too tired. “Since rest sounds as good as freedom from pain, I shall take it.”

There was little discussion after that, though the concept of an IV was explained to Loki, when he finally noticed the tubing running into the crook of his elbow. It took several minutes for sleep to claim Loki, the ’medication’ unfortunately not as instantaneous as the potions on Asgard, but sleep did eventually drag him under as the pain unraveled from his bones.

Stark held his hand, rubbing those same circles on the back of his hand, until Loki fell unconscious.

~~~

When next Loki woke up, the pain had faded to a moderate thrum and his stomach rumbled with hunger. He was only half awake, barely aware, a deep-seated fog rooted in his mind. Beeping machinery sounded all around him, along with the oddly familiar sound of someone’s snoring. He blinked sleep from his eyes, carefully pushing himself into a sitting position, though his aggravated ribs protested it. He hissed in pain.

The person in the chair shot up. “I concur with Advisor Skagnir of Niðavellir,” Thor said, sitting up straight, staring ahead, though sleep still lingered in his eyes.

“Skagnir died over a hundred rotations ago, Thor,” Loki said with a laugh.

Thor looked over to Loki and blinked in confusion. “My apologies, I thought… it was instinct. I am honored to make your acquaintance, Galinn of No House, after your brave sacrifice to save Barton. I am Thor, son of Odin.”

Confusion briefly floated across Loki’s still-addled mind, before a decade’s worth of torture and pain reemerged. “It is a pleasure to m-” Loki began, only to cry out when the rune burned against his arm.

“Are you well, Ingensbarn?” Thor asked, coming to his feet and reaching out for Loki.

Loki merely flinched on instinct and scrambled backwards, away from the towering Aes. Aesir held no qualms about slavery - Loki had serviced enough of them during his time on Alfheim to have that sealed into his memory forever. Pain throbbed up his chest and his right leg as he pressed his back to the medical bed’s headboard, hands raised to cover his face. The machines went from their steady beeping to a cacophony of panic and Loki pressed his eyes shut.

Thor began to shout, alarmed by the machine’s noise, Mjölnir in hand. The sounds ramped up Loki’s instinct to flee, but he knew he shouldn’t, the punishment for fleeing was always worse - he should stop hiding, they would hit harder if he hid - what had he done to deserve this - what had he done to deserve this - what had he to deserve this -!

“Galinn!” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lie, I’m sorry!” Loki stumbled to say.

“Galinn!” they called again, and Loki just continued mumbling apologies. He didn’t know where he was, but he was well familiar with being drugged, and the floatiness in his head was a tell-tale sign of it. “Galinn, open your eyes and look at me!”

Loki obeyed without conscious thought - it was his Master, he had to do as he was told, please don’t hit him again - only to find himself staring at Stark, adorned in his armor, helmet tucked under one arm. A blond Aes stood behind his owner, confusion written along his face.

“You’re okay, Galinn. Thor didn’t mean to frighten you. You’re okay, you’re allowed to lie. Let’s get you your freedom back, alright?”

Loki nodded. He didn’t really understand what was going on, but he knew they never really needed him to know. He’d pay for something by the end of it, regardless.

“I order that for the next twelve hours, the rune compelling your obedience does not work for any other order beyond this one. The runes preventing you from lying and fighting for self-defense or sparring are entirely disabled for the period previously stated.”

Freedom was acid in his veins as it washed over him, though he let out a breath of relief. 

“Galinn, do you know where you are?”

“Alfheim Royal… wait, no… I… not Alfheim. Midgard. We’re on Midgard?” Loki answered, his mind slowly returning to him as the sharper edges of his panic faded.

Stark nodded. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I accidentally lied. I didn’t even… I didn’t mean for it to be a lie. I’m sorry.”

“You’re alright,” Stark soothed. “Let’s take a couple minutes okay? I need to get out of this suit, and Thor is going to come with me. Do you want someone here with you? Clint or Bruce? Maybe Barnes?”

“Bucky,” Loki answered, though he grimaced after. He hadn’t meant to show weakness, but his whole mind and body still felt… scattered. Out of reach. Not fully under his control. Not that it held felt that way in years, he supposed.

“I have alerted Sergeant Barnes. He is on his way,” JARVIS answered. 

Silence settled oppressively in the room. Thor kept glancing at ‘Galinn’ in confusion, Loki determinedly refusing to look his brother’s way. He hated where his mind had gone, how all he’d seen was a strong, tall, blond Aes, like any of a hundred others, abusing Loki when no had barely been a word he was able to think, much less say. 

Bucky pushed open the door moments later, casting a scowl at Stark and Thor. “The fuck did you two do?”

“It was nothing,” Loki answered the same time Stark went, “I'll tell you later.” 

“I'm changing our branding. ‘Avengers: Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ are now ‘Avengers: Earth's Biggest Clusterfuck,’” Bucky said. 

“There are no orgies occurring in Avengers Tower!” Thor said, offended.

“I mean, not for lack of trying,” Stark said with a shrug. “But that isn’t what Barnes meant, Thor.”

Thor turned to Loki, who managed not to cringe. “You have All-Speak, is this not what the good sergeant's words meant?”

Loki forced himself to answer. “No. It is a non-literal translation. To me, the All-Speak flagged it as an idiom to be taken as meaning ‘something which is mishandled, disastrously so.’”

“Ah,” Thor said, face falling. “I was never very good with the nuance of the All-Speak. It was always…” he trailed off as his gaze unfocused. If Loki didn’t know better, he’d think his former brother was lost in thought, but Thor had never been one for deep thought. Still, the look was unfamiliar to Loki, a surprising thing. He thought he knew everything about Thor.

“Out,” Bucky barked, using his metal arm to point at the door. Stark and Thor both obeyed without complaint.

Loki visibly relaxed when the prince left and Bucky took the now-abandoned seat at Loki’s side. “Tony was refusing to leave you alone,” the soldier explained without prompting. “Thor offered to stay, wanted to meet the ‘slave powerful enough to save a hero.’ Rubbed me wrong, the way he said it, to be honest. You okay?”

“I am fine,” Loki answered.

“Bullshit,” Bucky said, leaning forward, placing his flesh elbow on the bed rail and propping his head in his palm. “You were fucking terrified. JARVIS told me.”

“I am not afraid of Odinson,” Loki hissed.

Bucky’s face softened. “I never said it was Thor you were scared of.”

Loki scowled and turned away. “I am hungry.”

“There is leftover spaghetti, courtesy of Captain Rogers,” JARVIS chimed in. “Dr. Banner will be heading down shortly to check on you, would you like me to ask him to bring some?”

“It’s damn good, but I hope you like garlic,” Bucky said.

Loki nodded. “Yes, JARVIS, I would be grateful for the spaghetti,” he said, before turning back to Bucky. “We have something very similar to garlic on Asgard. It was one of my favored spices. What is available on Earth lacks the kick, as the Asgardian version was imbued with magic, but it is… comparably good.”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you bring up Asgard,” Bucky said gently.

“Much of it is bad memories,” Loki admitted. “Even the ones that, at the time, were pleasant. Now they are…”

Loki trailed off, unsure how to continue. So many were tinged with blue, where the Other had ripped into them, two similar copies but with such drastic differences. Loki remembered both Thor trying to save him as he teetered off the side of the Bifröst and Thor being the one to throw him into the abyss with a laugh. (Loki was still only mostly sure the one of Thor trying to save him was real.)

Other memories were unmolested by the Titan: walks in the garden with his ‘mother,’ lessons in warcraft with his fake father. Sparring with Thor in the practice ring, the first times he’d worked magic. His children smiling at him, his long-dead wife laughing when Loki stayed up through the night on accident as he studied the arcane. Playing with those who would become Thor’s friends as young children, before his differences had become something to mock instead of something fun.

Lies, betrayal, magic, pain, loss. Loki didn’t have many memories left untainted by something. Even the almost-happiness he’d found in Avengers Tower was poisoned with his lies, his slavery, his helplessness. With the knowledge that he’d suffer at their hands, too, if they knew who he was.

“Food is one of the few memories I have that ain’t shattered, too,” Bucky said, his voice pulling Loki out of his musings. “HYDRA didn’t feed me anything worth writing home about. Dry, tasteless, kinda like eating chalk. It kept me strong. It kept me broken. Made it so food was one of my ‘safe topics,’ according to the therapist, ‘cuz I didn’t have anything fucking up my childhood memories of the sweets my ma would bake, before things got too dire economically. Was one of the few things that didn’t make me feel broken to talk about.”

“I’m not broken,” Loki bit out. 

“Really? ‘Cuz you suffered worse shit than I did, and I’m pretty fucking broken.”

“You know not what I went through, Bucky. What makes you think I went through worse?”

“My handlers never raped me,” he said bluntly, and Loki flinched. It was open knowledge in the Tower, but no one ever brought it up. 

“Slaves can’t be raped,” Loki mumbled.

“Bull. Fucking. Shit.” Bucky said, emphasizing his words.

The conversation was cut off when the door was bumped open, Banner appearing with a steaming bowl on a tray, and Loki immediately began to salivate. He sat it on a nearby table, rolling it over to Loki, who watched it in rapt attention. For as behind as Midgard was, sometimes they came up with ingenious little devices. Like rolling trays that fit perfectly over a sickbed. Why did Asgard not have these?

“Eat slowly,” Banner said. “You’ve been under for a few days. Once you eat and are able to keep it down, I’ll take you off some of the IV nutrition supplements,” he gestured to the needle still taped to Loki’s inner arm, “but the IV itself will remain until you’re fully discharged. At your current rate of healing, that’s going to be about a week.”

Loki nodded, digging his fork into the spaghetti and inelegantly slurping it up. Bucky remained quiet and Banner pushed his glasses up his nose, grabbing a nearby clipboard - as Loki had finally learned it was called - and jotting down the numbers from one of the incessantly beeping machines.

He studied the two as he ate, lost in thought. He wasn’t broken, he couldn’t be. Monsters didn’t break, princes didn’t break, mages didn’t break. Slaves broke, but he refused to be weak, like his fellow slaves on Alfheim.

Then why had he remembered semi-lucid memories of large hands digging into his hips, holding him down, and masculine laughter over him, as his assailants spoke in Asgardian when Thor had spoken and gotten too close?

It was the drugs they had him on, Loki decided. He would prove it to himself and others once he was released from medical. Sex was a fun and joyous activity - Loki would not let it become something that hurt him.

He refused.

~

The next week went slowly. He healed more and eventually began refusing the medication. He still had aches and pains, but for some reason he preferred that to the drugs (he knew why, he just couldn’t admit it to himself).

Someone always kept him company. Thor came by a few more times, but always with another Avenger at his side. Stark and Bucky were his most frequent visits, though the Hawk and the Spider visited him often, too.

Barton would lament he had no one fun to practice archery with, only ‘Galinn’ came close to his skill level. Romanoff challenged Loki to chess matches when she came down, and they won against each other as often as they lost. Bucky knew that Loki hated having his hands idle, and brought him new types of gun to strip, to see if he could figure it out without being taught. (After the first time Loki accidentally discharged a bullet from the gun, Banner had instituted a rule that the guns needed to be unloaded.) The Captain checked in a few times, but Loki could tell Rogers still was no fan of his.

Stark brought him books on physics, which Loki absorbed eagerly. Physics was such a divergence to seiðr - hard fast rules of science versus the clever bending of expectations. The two would debate for hours on physics, but Stark never asked about his magic. This, admittedly, made Loki’s stomach lurch at times. They had not spoken again about Loki’s stunt to heal Barton, and it made him nervous when he thought of it. He knew Stark wasn’t going to punish him for saving the archer’s life, but he didn’t know how Stark felt about magic.

The longer they went without discussing it, the more Loki’s anxiety ramped up.

Still, Loki was released a week later, Banner keeping his word. He still ached and had a pronounced limp in the leg that had (apparently, per Banner) been so broken, his femur had pierced skin. Regardless, he was relieved to finally be out of that bed. He also took back every time he’d been impressed by Midgardian advancement when he’d realized what a catheter was. Removing that had made him more than grateful he’d been half-dead and unaware when it’d been inserted. 

“Group movie night!” Barton declared as soon as Loki had made it up to the common floor, leaning on Stark’s shoulder. Loki had managed a shower on his own, clad in his most comfortable pajamas, his damp hair pulled into a tight bun atop his head.

“Ohhh, cuddle puddle time?” Stark said.

“You know it,” Barton said, pushing back one of the couches until it was flush against a wall.

“It is what we do when one of us nearly falls, isn’t it?” Romanoff added, appearing with a half dozen blankets in her arms.

“I am eager to attend my first of this fine Avenger tradition!” Thor said, his hands piled so high with pillows his face was hidden.

Stark laughed. “In case you haven’t already guessed, Galinn - whenever one of the team gets badly hurt, or just after a particularly stressful mission, we kinda… reassure ourselves we’re all okay,” he explained. “Y’know, with a massive sleepover. We watch movies or TV and just be together.” He leaned closer, giving them the illusion of privacy as he whispered, “You can sleep on the couch, if you’d rather not be touched.”

Loki ignored the offer, instead giving a small laugh. “You did not need to wait for me to heal to celebrate Barton was alright.”

“We already had his,” Bucky said, more blankets in his arms. “This one is for you, dipshit.”

“I am no Avenger,” Loki said, confused.

“You live here, and you’re our friend,” Bucky said, his voice brokering no argument.

“You’re, like, an honorary consultant or something,” Barton said. “You saved my ass, dude.”

Stark glanced at Loki uncertainly. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

To be honest, the idea of being in a large room, sleeping with this many people - with Thor - made Loki’s stomach twist in knots. Fear wrapped around his spine, and stubborn determination made him ignore it. “It would be my honor,” he said.

Stark’s face bloomed into a grin and Loki found himself smiling back. He mentally steadied himself, glancing over at Bucky. Between Stark and the dark soldier, Loki did feel safe.

Not that he’d ever admit to feeling unsafe, even to himself, of course.

He helped set up the room, despite various protests that he should rest. Blankets and pillows found themselves covering every square inch of the living room, save for where the couches, chairs, and tables had been stacked against the wall. Designated ‘snack boxes’ were placed ‘strategically’ (according to Barton) along the ground. All the unhealthy, fattening, salty, and sugary snacks a human could want were never more than an arm’s reach away. Coolers full of cold drinks - water included, at Banner’s insistence - were pushed along the back wall.

Everyone else separated once the room was ready, leaving to change into their night clothes. Loki, already in his sleeping wear, was left in the common room, which was probably for the best. If he went to his room, he wasn’t sure if he’d have the courage to return down here.

Much to his dismay, it was Thor who returned first, a small bag in his hand.

“Ingensbarn!” he greeted, his booming voice familiar in its loudness, an ache deep in Loki’s chest.

“Prince Odinson,” Loki said, bowing his head demurely. 

“I wished to apologize for the distress I caused you, Son of None,” Thor said, sincerity in his face. Loki almost wanted to laugh. If any of the humans were here, they’d be offended on ‘Galinn’s’ behalf. 

“It is not any fault of yours, Prince,” Loki said.

Thor took a seat on the floor and the ache returned to Loki’s chest. This was familiar, memories of the two of them sat together in a tent, getting ready to sleep through the night on their hunts. Thor would seek Loki out, demanding cuddles (and later, magic) when the cold got to him. He would always complain that Loki was immune to the cold, saying it must be the seiðr in the younger prince’s body that kept him warm, boasting Loki’s magic was so powerful that he could keep himself nice and toasty even without training.

They both knew now it was a lie. Loki was a species that did not feel the ice, his warmth the courtesy of the first glamour Odin had placed upon him.

“These Midgardian drugs,” Loki continued, unwilling to get lost in memories again. There were enough differences - Thor was donned in the pajamas of Midgard, a creature Loki had learned to know as ‘Pikachu’ on his sleep pants, though his brother’s long-standing hatred of wearing shirts to bed still showed. Thor did not even notice his brief moment of silence. “They simply have far too many side effects.”

“You are well now?” Thor asked.

“I am, yes. I thank you for your concern, Prince,” Loki lied, grasping at memories of how to properly address the royal court. The platitudes had grown invisible in speech when spoken to him, but he knew Thor would notice if a slave failed to address him properly. Loki kept from looking at Thor directly.

“I know it to be inappropriate, but I have brought you a gift,” Thor said sheepishly. “A thank you, for saving friend Barton.”

“You needn’t have done that, but I am honored you thought of me,” Loki said.

Thor opened the bag, withdrawing a blue fruit. All of Loki’s pretense of demurity and the fear nipping below his skin vanished as he saw it. “A blåbär?” Loki asked, eager.

“Aye,” Thor said, tossing the fruit to him. Loki caught it easily, though he did wince slightly when he pulled on his still bruised ribs. “I made a short voyage to Asgard after what happened in the healing rooms. An apology.”

“Princes have no need to apologize to slaves,” Loki said, raising his eyebrow in surprise.

“I wish to be a better prince,” Thor admitted. “You remind me of someone who helped me realize I was ill suited to ruling.”

Loki said nothing, sinking his teeth into the blåbär. It was his favorite of Asgard, and he had to bite down a moan. Sweet, juicy, and naturally imbued with healing magic, nothing like the fruit the humans who worshiped them in centuries past had named the same. More of his aches ceded and Loki drew his first full, non-painful breath in two weeks.

“That was his favorite fruit,” Thor continued. “My brother, Loki.”

Loki’s heart froze. Thor was a fool, he hadn’t figured Loki out, had he?

“From what the Avengers have told me, I do wonder if I should take offense to that,” he answered carefully.

Thor merely smiled sadly. “They only ever saw him in the throes of madness. I tried to convince my father to get Loki help, but… he was insistent. He made an example of my brother,” Thor said, spitting the words out.

“You disagree with his death sentence?”

“I…” Thor trailed off.

“Your secrets are safe with me, Prince. I will never be returning to Asgard.” Loki said. He really shouldn’t be encouraging this conversation, but Thor was across the room and Loki’s mind wasn’t affected by pain nor medication. And he was just so curious. The brother who’s coronation he’d sabotaged would never have doubted the All-Father.

Thor slumped forward. “It would be nice, to speak of it. I cannot on Asgard, and the Avengers can’t understand forgiving Loki. It is merely… something was wrong with Loki. He acted not of himself. Loki was always mischievous, chaotic with his pranks, but he was never bloodthirsty. What do you know of my brother?”

That he is not your brother, Loki thought ruefully. “Ah, I was not close to him. I know he was considered the strongest mage of Asgard from a young age and this made him ill-liked. I was moved off Asgard shortly after my sentencing, however.”

Thor looked down at his hands, mourning on his face. “I held him as he died. I felt his heart stop. I did his death prayers. Yet never did I realize that in life he was unwelcome on Asgard. Somehow, however, you know this about him. What failure of a brother am I to not realize for centuries Loki didn’t feel cherished on the planet he would one day have helped me lead?”

“Is he your brother, still? Stark mentioned you said he was adopted, during the invasion.”

Thor hesitated. “He nor I knew it,” he answered carefully. “He was not Aes, not mine by blood of the womb, but he was my brother in the blood of the battlefield. He was my brother in the hunt, in the way we were raised. He was to be my right hand, my advisor when I took the throne. I fear ruling without him.”

“Not Aes?”

Thor’s fists tightened. “It matters not what he was born as. I was raised beside him for nearly my entire life. I am only three decades older than him. Loki was a good man.”

Loki couldn’t help but laugh. “You know the atrocities I must have committed to be sentenced, yet you compare me to a good man?”

“It is what your penance is for, is it not? To find redemption through suffering? Whoever you were before would not have healed Barton in such a way. Transference magic is painful. I am glad my brother was a powerful enough mage he could heal without needing to absorb my injuries.”

Loki bit down a scowl. He had always used transference magic, healing magic just did not come to him naturally. Thor had simply never realized Loki had taken the injury into his own body.

Loki had learned pain young. It was likely how he’d been able to survive Sanctuary and Alfheim.

Thor’s laugh pulled Loki from his blooming anger. “In truth, it is why I woke up agreeing with Advisor Skagnir! I would fall asleep in briefings when we were young. Loki would hiss to awake me. He advised me to always agree with Skagnir. The advisor always had something to say in meetings, and his ideas were always good. Plus, as Loki said, we wanted to keep him on our good side, since his realm handled our weapons development.”

“You miss him,” Loki said, surprise coloring his voice. While he had always known Thor would hate Loki’s slavery, he’d expected Thor would have executed him to free him from his binds but ensure his punishment.

“More than anything,” Thor admitted. “Though I would say this to no other, sometimes I do wonder if he would’ve been better suited to the throne than I am, but Father never would have given it to him. Loki was level-headed, clever, and quick-witted. But, during our last fight before his fall, Loki himself admitted he never wanted the throne. He merely wanted to be my equal.” Thor’s face crumpled in grief. “I never knew he didn’t think he was.”

“And that made you realize he didn’t know it? His fall?”

“That was the start. More unfolded before me. Our friends - well, my friends, though I had thought for centuries they were his as well - betrayed him while he sat lawfully upon the throne. Yes, he lied to me, he plotted something evil, but he only wanted to prove himself. Myself and mother were the only ones who spoke in his defense while everyone else cheered his death. He needed help,” Thor said, his voice breaking. “I do not think I will ever forgive my father for denying me the attempt to save Loki. I only hope he has found peace in Folkvangr.”

“Not Valhalla?” Loki asked. It was where all warriors were supposed to want to go. Folkvangr was an afterlife of peace and quiet. No mead, no war, no violence. Loki had never wanted Valhalla.

Sadness tinged the smile that spread along Thor’s face. “You may think me to be wishing ill of him, but I do not believe Loki would ever want Valhalla. He never reveled in the bloodshed. Mayhaps he found peace in Hel. Father said Loki and Hela had a falling out many centuries ago and she’d ensure he was punished, but… I hope, if Loki was barred entry from even Folkvangr, that he and his daughter made peace. In my heart, I know Loki merely needed a healer, that something horrible had happened in the abyss. He was never a monster. He was a scholar, gifted in the All-Speak at a level you seem to be, as well. I am sorry, I just…” Thor’s voice broke. “I miss him. He is a hole in my chest I will never be able to fill. I know you likely do not understand, can not understand, what it is to love a sibling… but he was a part of my life I expected to always be at my side. Somehow, instead, he ended up in my shadow, only to die in shame.”

Loki did understand. He’d held the same grief in his heart, kept it buried. Part of him wanted to tell Thor the truth, alleviate his brother’s pain the way he had done in the past, but he couldn’t. If he let himself love Thor again, he would never be able to destroy Asgard. He was a monster, and it was his destiny to be one, no matter what platitudes Thor had. “Ah, you are correct, I never had a sibling,” Loki lied. Multiple births were exceedingly rare on Asgard. It had been a shock when Sigyn had given birth to twins, when Frigga had birthed a second child. They’d both been written off as being a side effect of magic.

Jotnar, however, were well-known for multiple births. He felt new guilt (and anger) at Sigyn’s death whenever he thought of that.

“I am honored, then, to remind you of someone you held so dear,” Loki finally said, the two of them having lapsed into silence. “And I offer my apology in reminding you of your grief.”

“In truth, I still wear my grief. Hidden from those who don’t understand,” Thor said, pulling back some of his hair, revealing a strand of raven black hair standing out against his blond. 

“Is that Loki’s?” Loki asked in surprise. 

“Aye,” Thor said as he let his hair fall forward, hiding the lock from view. “I took it from him when I burned his body.”

What magic did Odin conjure to hide my slavery so well? Loki wondered, eyes still locked on where his hair had been. Had Odin taken his hair after Loki had been rendered unconscious? How did he generate such a good duplicate, to fake a fight to the death so convincingly? Was it truly Loki’s hair braided into his brother’s in a sign of mourning?

“I wish I could have saved him,” Thor mumbled, staring at his hands as he clenched them repeatedly. “All of my power… yet I could not save a brother I loved.” He looked up, studying ‘Galinn’ for a moment. “I know to be a slave is to be unwanted, unloved, unneeded, unnecessary. I was the one who sentenced him to death. I know it is better, to die than be enslaved, but was Loki’s dying thought still that I did not love him enough to save him? Did he die believing himself unloved? Every night, I dream of his fall. Every night, I save him. Every morn, I wish it was true. But the first time, the time that mattered, I let him fall. His death is on my soul. The violence Midgard faced is there, too, yet it is only his fall and his death that truly haunt me.”

“I know this is a question for which you will never have a real answer to in your lifetime,” Loki said hesitantly, “but I know Loki was regarded for his intelligence as well as his magic. I believe he would’ve known it was love that pushed to his death. Trust me, slavery is… there is no word for what must be endured. For the way they break you.”

“I thank you for your kindness,” Thor answered. “And I pray to the Norns for your Fate. You are loved, wanted, needed, and necessary here, may they guide you and the Man of Iron to your freedom.”

I will burn your world to the ground, Thunderer. Do not wish for my happiness, Loki thought bitterly, fighting down the spark of love in his heart. To learn Thor had noticed his madness, finally understood his isolation during their youth…

Loki banished the feelings. One conversation would not avert Asgard’s fate at Loki’s Jotunn hands. He needed revenge, and it would be wrought in blood. 

They fell into silence, and Loki finished off the blåbär, sucking the blue juice from his fingertips. He stretched as he finished, raising to his feet. No limp appeared as he walked and there was no jolt of pain as he moved his arms. 

“Are we finally allowed to join?” Stark’s voice called out as the elevator door slid open. 

“Pardon?” Loki asked, turning to see the six Avengers walking out, all looking degrees of amused and annoyed.

“JARVIS wouldn’t let us out,” Stark whined. “Said you two were having a conversation.”

“I apologize for trapping you in the steel box, though I do thank you, JARVIS,” Thor said.

“You didn’t… ask him to do that?” Stark asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, we did not,” Loki answered. 

“Body language and vital readings indicated Mr. Ingensbarn was calm and enjoying the conversation, there were likewise no errant readings from Mr. Odinson. The conversation seemed a good idea to allow without interruption, based on Mr. Ingensbarn’s previous reaction,” JARVIS said.

Loki worked carefully to keep his face blank. JARVIS had lied. Loki’s panic and heart rate had spiked several times, when he’d wondered if Thor had realized who he was. 

“You two good?” Bucky asked, eyes focused on Loki. It was a familiar gaze from the soldier now - analyzing him to make sure he was okay. 

“I am well,” Loki reassured. It was, surprisingly, the truth. Speaking to Thor… had been nice. “How is it decided what movie to watch?”

“Normally, the injured party picks,” Rogers said. Loki was amused to notice Rogers’s penchant for too-tight white shirts apparently held true for the night as well. “But since you don’t know any movies…”

“Actually, there is one I have heard of that sounded interesting,” Loki said. “If… no one has any complaints?”

“Watcha got?” Barton asked the same time Stark went, “Where did you hear about movies?”

Loki laughed. “It was in one of the books I read, on the history of animation in Western culture. It was called Avatar: The Last Airbender. The premise was absolutely fascinating - it seemed to be a political drama, by my understanding.”

“Never heard of it,” Banner said.

“JARVIS, you got it?” Stark asked.

“I do. Avatar: The Last Airbender is a children’s cartoon from the early 2000’s, and is hailed by many as one of the best shows to ever be made. It ran for three seasons, spanning 61 episodes. It was nominated for twenty awards, and won more than half. The full run time is just under twenty four and a half hours.”

“I did not realize it was so long,” Loki apologized. “The text I read did not indicate it to be a long-running show.”

“I’m down for some good ole cartoons,” Stark said with a shrug. “Even if we don’t finish it tonight. Anyone got any complaints?”

“A political drama for kids? I’ll admit, I’m curious,” Rogers admitted.

“I’m never one to turn down cartoons!” Barton added.

“It’s tradition the injured one gets to pick,” Romanoff said, shrugging.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing how cartoons have changed since I was a kid,” Bucky said with a grin. 

The others agreed as well, and JARVIS pulled the show onto the screen. The eight of them made themselves comfortable, some building chairs out of pillows, some laying down and stretching out.

“These stories are for children, are they not?” Thor asked, as the story opened with depictions of genocide and war.

Loki immediately regretted his choice. His own attempted genocide was ash in his throat, his planned Asgard slaughter ever present in his mind.

“I see the political drama of it already.” Rogers said.

“Fuck the Fire Nation,” Bucky declared as soon as the girl’s voiceover ended.

All of them found themselves lost as the episode played. It was fascinating, watching how it pressed against horrific topics in a way that was neither traumatic towards its intended young audience nor brushed aside the atrocities of what it depicted.

“Sokka’s my favorite,” Barton declared as soon as the second episode drew to a close.

“You have arrows, not a boomerang,” Romanoff pointed out.

“Still didn’t ask for all this flying and magic,” Barton answered. He looked over at Loki and grinned. “But I don’t mind it. Something tells me Sokka’s going to get used to it, too.”

“I wasn’t sure if I would like it, but… you picked a good one, Galinn,” Banner said. “Refusal to give up in the face of impossible odds, the only one of a kind… it’s relatable.”

Stark stayed quiet, studying the screen quietly as the next episode began.

After the sixth episode, it was agreed to be time to sleep (much to Barton’s protests). The television was turned off, and everyone settled in to rest. Thor stayed on the opposite side of the room, but worry creeped back in to Loki’s mind. 

Waking up was always the hardest part. Those first few moments of peace, where he would think he’s in his bed in Asgard’s palace, where his biggest worries were whatever insults will come from Sif’s mouth that day. And then he would remember, where he was, what had been done to him. The lies he has to keep up. The fear of the person in the bed beside him.

Still, he was good at hiding it all. So, stubbornly and determinedly, he allowed the soft breaths of everyone around him to lull him to sleep.

If he focused more on Thor’s snores, sounds of safety and home, then no one else needed to ever know.

~

Loki inched into unwilling consciousness as the sounds of conversation floated around him. He rolled over, well used to ignoring Fandral and Volstagg’s voices. The two of them were never able to sleep through the night, normally due to the amount of wine they’d consumed.

A moment passed and he heard Stark’s voice.

“Do you know who he was?” Stark whispered.

“Nay, I do not,” Thor whispered back. Thor was capable of keeping his voice soft, but only when he actively tried to do so. “He must have been sentenced several centuries ago. There was a rebellion in Asgard, many found themselves in slavery’s collar. I did not begin attending sentencings of that sort until shortly after. Father wanted L… my brother and I to begin joining at the same time, and was worried of us being too lenient.”

“You’ve always been a big forgiving lug, huh?” Stark asked.

“I was not the one he feared too lenient.”

“Oh,” Stark mumbled. ”Uh, anyway, I just needed to know more about the magic stuff. Like, if I die, what happens to him?”

“He dies, unless you have a successor appointed to you.”

“I‘ve got a will on Earth, but I doubt magical slave contracts care about Midgardian paperwork.”

“Aye, you are correct. A mage will need to embed your succesor’s name into the runes. I can fetch the book, if you would like.”

“Can I make him his own owner? Like, I kick the bucket, congrats, you’re free?”

“I do not believe so. He should be able to do the magic himself, however. It is not uncommon for strong mages sentenced to slavery to continue working magic at the behest of their owner.”

“So I can give him his magic, at least? Without having to order it in such drastic circumstances?”

“You should be able to, yes,” Thor answered. “A simple adjustment to your earlier order freeing him from his other runes should suffice. You may wish to ask him, he seems a talented mage.”

“Wait,” Rogers said, speaking up for the first time, quiet anger in his voice. “What do you mean ‘order that freed him’? I thought we were discussing it for if he joined us in a fight.”

“Thanks, Thor, I was tryna keep that under wraps,” Stark sighed. “C’mon, Cap, did you really expect me to let him suffer more than necessary? It doesn’t completely free him, okay? He can lie and disobey orders, he still can’t hurt anyone.”

“He’s dangerous!” Rogers insisted, still keeping his voice low.

“It was a risk I was willing to take,” Stark said, stubborn.

“You didn’t ask if it was one the rest of us were willing to take.”

“I, for one, am grateful Stark did that,” Barton said. Were all of them awake? “Do you think he would’ve bothered to save me if he was afraid of Tony?”

Stark sighed. “I know you’re just worried, Cap, but it was the right call. Morally and otherwise. Galinn had me take away his freedom and order him to save Clint. He colluded with JARVIS to make sure I listened. I like to think he trusted me enough to give his freedom back and not punish him for his magic. I’m not going to apologize.”

“And you’re not gonna say shit about it, punk,” Bucky piped up. “Galinn still couldn’t hurt us, unless we hurt him first.”

“You knew?” Rogers asked. Loki didn’t have to see his face to know it was covered in hurt. Bucky responded non-verbally, Loki surmised, when the captain responded with, “And you didn’t tell me?”

“You don’t exactly like Galinn, Steve,” Banner said.

“I like him,” Rogers protested.

“You like him leashed,” Romanoff pointed out. “You don’t trust him.”

“And what? He does one good thing, and you trust him now?”

“I trust him not to kill us,” she answered. “He’s pragmatic and thorough. He doesn’t take unnecessary risks. Saving Barton falls entirely under ‘unnecessary risk.’ He didn’t have to reveal his magic - that’s an upper hand I never would have let slip.”

“Y’know, it’s kinda creepy how much you learn by playing chess a couple of times,” Stark said. 

“Will you play a round with me if I promise not to tell anyone what I find out?” Romanoff asked.

“Not a chance in hell.”

“You should’ve told us, Tony,” Rogers muttered. “You can’t keep secrets from the team. None of us should, not about someone living with us, especially.”

“Fine,” Stark sighed. “Any more changes, I’ll let you know, okay?”

“In the future, if you wish to discuss me,” Loki finally piped up, pushing himself to his feet and taking a leisurely stretch, “do remember I have excellent hearing.”

Stark and Rogers both flushed red at being caught. Thor gave one of his achingly familiar high-voltage smiles. Bucky and Barton laughed, Romanoff rolled her eyes, and Banner smiled apologetically.

“Breakfast?” Bucky asked, already moving towards the kitchen, pulling Rogers behind him.

“That sounds wonderful,” Loki answered, the others making various sounds of agreement.

Soon the sounds of crackling grease and cracking eggs filled the room. Stark sat beside him.

“How much did you hear?” he asked without preamble.

“I awoke around the time you were trying to figure out my past,” Loki said.

Stark looked down in shame, studying his hands. “You’re stronger than I thought,” he admitted. “I need to make sure my team is safe. I need to make sure I’m not freeing you just to have you kill us all as revenge for keeping you as a slave.”

It is not you I intend to kill for my enslavement, he thought. Loki sighed, brushing the thought away. “In truth, this reaction is why I did not plan to tell you of my magic. Mages are neither trusted nor well-liked in many realms. I swear to you, Stark, on everything I am and ever was - I do not want to harm Midgard nor any of its denizens.”

“What do you want? When you get free, what’s next for Galinn Ingensbarn?”

Loki hummed, crossing his legs and leaning forward, elbows to his thighs. “I wish to find peace. At the end, I just want to be allowed to live without fear of another’s control.” Loki turned to Stark, catching his eyes. “I had lost hope I would ever get that again, freedom or peace. It is because of you, Anthony Stark, that I have faith my freedom is no mere unattainable dream. I swear to you, Midgard will feel no wrath from my hands.”

“Because you never wanted to hurt us, or because we’ve unintentionally convinced you not to?”

Loki was spared having to lie again by the soldiers’ calls of breakfast being ready. He stood, offering his hand to Stark. The inventor took it and allowed Loki to pull him easily to his feet. “You and yours are safe, Stark,” Loki muttered. “I promise you this.”

Stark said nothing, looking at his hand in Loki’s. It took a moment for him to pull away. Loki didn’t know why, but in that moment, all he wanted was to reach for Stark’s hand again. He shook the feeling away and headed to the table, where Bucky and Rogers were already setting plates. He didn’t think of the urge to reach for Stark again, the call of safety the other man’s hand held for him.

Loki slid into his seat, his plate already there. It was amusing, watching the two set the table. He didn’t think they even realized what they were doing.

The Avengers were largely creatures of habit. They kept to the same spots to eat at. Romanoff’s and Barton’s seats had the plates with the smallest amounts of food. Both ate regularly, the two only ever missed meals on missions. Stark had slightly more, because he had a tendency to forget to eat for days. When Rogers got the chance to feed him, the captain made sure he got in as many extra calories as possible. Banner, Rogers, and Bucky each had two plates, to accommodate the extra metabolic requirements of the various serums that had been used on them. Thor, unsurprisingly, had four plates of his own, which he dug into with enthusiasm. Loki was the only one who’s plate size had changed over time. In the beginning, recovering from his near-starvation, he’d ate less than the spies. Now, he had slowly worked his way up to three plates, with Banner’s careful observation and help.

Why did this table feel more like family than anything on Asgard ever had?

“How are you feeling, Galinn?” Banner asked as he began to meticulously cut into his pancakes. 

“I am well,” Loki answered. “Prince Odinson brought a fruit from our home world that healed the last of my lingering injuries.”

“Man, it is weird to hear Thor called Prince Odinson,” Stark mumbled before shoving a too-large piece of pancake into his mouth.

“Ingensbarn, you have leave to call me Thor,” he called.

Loki’s only response was to blink. What had happened to Thor since Loki’s fall? The man sitting in front of him was so different than the arrogant fool who’d nearly brought Asgard to war. “It would be an honor, Thor. Please, call me Galinn,” he finally managed.

“Can we go back to magical healing fruit?” Barton asked, pancake syrup in his hair. Considering he did not seem to have actually eaten any of his pancakes yet, Loki was at a loss as to how the man had managed that.

“Blåbär. It’s a fruit only found on Asgard. It is known for its healing capabilities, able to heal minor injuries, such as the bruises and fractures I was still facing,” Loki answered as he popped sausage into his mouth. He loved when the soldiers cooked - they were good at it.

“Do you -” Stark started, but Loki cut him off.

“I do not have any left, it cannot be grown on Midgard due to the lack of natural magic in this world, and it would kill any Midgardian.”

Stark blinked. “Am I that predictable?”

Even Thor joined in as the gathered team chorused a resounding yes.

The engineer’s ensuing pout had laughter flowing down the table.

Breakfast passed quickly after, idle conversations which held no import except the easy camaraderie it spoke of. Stark left first, as was his usual, once he’d scarfed down all the food on his plate after a pointed look from Rogers.

“Meet me in the lab when you’re done,” Stark said, after double checking Loki was still within the twelve hour window of freedom.

“I will be there shortly,” Loki agreed, still working on eating. While his appetite had increased, he still found himself needing to eat slow, otherwise he would overeat and make himself sick. Refeeding syndrome, Banner had called it, both of them surprised at Loki suffering such a human illness. Loki’s symptoms were lasting much longer than any humans - Banner suspected it was due to how long ‘Galinn’ had been starved.

The spies left next, Barton bemoaning the fact he was about to ‘get his ass wiped across the training room floor.’ Romanoff merely grinned and did not dispute the statement. Thor followed them, stating he loved watching the two fight, their styles were so far removed from what was known as Asgard. Banner excused himself shortly after, a project he’d been putting off while Loki healed was calling his name.

Loki made to leave next, going to wash his plate, only to find the other’s plates there too. Habit had him grabbing soap and turning on the water, scrubbing them intently.

“You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, you know,” Rogers said suddenly, fidgeting with what looked like his and Bucky’s plates. “We have a dishwasher.”

Loki paused, staring down at the plate he’d just washed, his reflection staring back at him. It had been his face for six years, but it still felt like someone else’s mask, sometimes. “I do not do well with idle hands,” Loki admitted. “Idleness is not permitted.”

“Was not,” Rogers corrected, setting the plates by Loki’s elbow. “You’re allowed to be idle, here. You’re allowed to rest.”

“But not to be trusted.”

Rogers sighed. “I don’t know anything about you, Galinn. You’re Aesir and strong, and now you’ve got magic that you’ve been hiding? Most of my team is only human. It isn’t that I hate you. It’s that I fear for them. If Tony’s wrong, if we’re wrong…” Rogers trailed off.

“I know my words mean little to you,” Loki said, snagging one of the plates Rogers had sat down, “but all I can do is my best to prove I care. And that’s something I can only prove of my own volition. Bucky and Stark have grown dear to me, the first…” Loki paused, remembering Banner’s words, “friends I’ve had in a very long time. The others, too, are growing on me. I understand if you are never able to see me as an ally or friend, not without knowing my past, but please believe I am no enemy.”

“Trusting people too much cost me nearly everything when SHIELD fell,” Rogers said, pulling the plate Loki had just finished washing from his hands and drying it off with a towel.

“Did it?” Loki asked, gesturing around them. “You are well-regarded and well-loved.”

Rogers said nothing, working his way through the damp dishes. “I don’t know how to trust anymore. Not as easily as I used to. Not like I did before the ice.”

Loki stopped, carefully placing the dirty dish he held in the sink. “You will never learn to trust me, either, if my actions are always due to my slave bindings. I can prove nothing in shackles, Captain, except my fear.”

“I know,” he said softly as he finished drying the damp dishes. “Here, let’s swap off.”

Loki took the towel from him and they swapped spots, Rogers picking up the soap and starting on the next dish. The silence was tense, but not entirely uncomfortable.

“If it had been my old masters, I would not have revealed my magic. I would not have saved the Hawk,” Loki admitted. “I would’ve cheered his death and fantasized about throwing ice upon his funeral pyre.”

“Is this supposed to help me trust you?” Rogers asked, though there was amusement in his voice.

“Of course,” Loki said as Rogers handed him the next plate. “With my old masters, I was beaten and starved, branded and tortured. I trusted them only to hurt me more. I do not think you can blame me for not being affected by the death of someone who saw me only as an object. When I saved Barton, I trusted Stark not to damn me or beat me. I trusted the team not to cast me out to new torturers. And I was able to do that because Stark had earned my trust. He’s never raised a hand against me, and I genuinely believe most days he’d strike his own hand from his body before he would ever harm me. Because he is a good man. His actions have proven it - let mine prove if I’m good or bad. All I ask is you do not condemn me for actions you don’t know the full story to.”

“Will we ever get the full story?”

“When I am free,” Loki promised. “When I am free, you will know everything.”

Rogers studied him, seemingly searching for the truth of Loki’s words on his face, since he no longer had the runes guaranteeing Loki’s honesty. He finally nodded and offered one of his hands to Loki. The fallen god gripped the human captain’s forearm with a smile. “New starts, then. Hello, I’m Steve Rogers. You may know me as Captain America.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Captain. I am Galin Ingensbarn.”

Their grip fell away and the Captain grinned. He gestured towards the elevator. “Go on, I’ll finish up here. Tony’s patience is renowned only in how it lacks.”

Loki laughed, placing the towel on the drying rack. “I believe there is a device called a dishwasher. You do not have to do them by hand if you don't want to, Captain.”

“Eh, I enjoy working with my hands. And call me Steve, please.”

“Farewell, Steve.” Loki was halfway to the elevator when he stopped, turning back to the man. “Oh, one more thing.”

“What?”

“The singular form of Aesir is Aes. I don’t know why, but I feel you did not know that.”

“I've known Thor for six years, how has he never told me that?” Steve griped. 

“All-Speak can be quite finicky.”

With Steve’s laughter in his ears, Loki made it to the elevator. JARVIS wordlessly took him to Stark's laboratory floor.

Music blared loud enough to make Loki cover his ears. How Stark thought through this racket was beyond Loki's understanding. It was quickly lowered to a decibel that did not seek to destroy Loki's hearing. In the lab, Loki found Stark leaned over his desk, chin resting on the back of the spinny chair.

“That does not look overly comfortable,” Loki commented.

“Feels good on my back,” Stark rebutted, swiping away the data littering his screen and adjusting to sit in the chair normally, pointing to a chair opposite him. “We’ve gotta talk.”

Instinct had Loki flinching and opening his mouth to apologize for whatever trespass he had made, but Stark hurried to add, “Nothing bad, I promise!”

“What is it?” Loki asked, slowly lowering himself into the seat. He fought to control his fear. Norns damn it, he knew he was safe with Stark! He’d said as much to Steve not five minutes ago!

“Two things. First, we’ve gotta figure out how to give you access to your magic, so you don’t need me to order you to do it. Before that, though, I need to know more about magic. So, uh, actually swap those. I need more info, and then we’re gonna get you your mojo. Well, there’s three things, but we don’t gotta talk about the last one today.”

“Your team wishes for me to join in the battles,” Loki said.

“Only if you want to,” Stark hurriedly explained. “You like to spar, and you’re strong, and honestly you could be a big help, but this is strictly your decision. No one will be angry or upset if you decline. The rest of us, we all chose to be here, in one way or another. You never had a choice.”

Loki paused, though he couldn’t deny the idea was a siren’s song. He was a warrior, no matter what Asgard thought. Besides, wouldn’t it suit him to ensure Stark’s safety? Thor had not been lying when he pointed out a slave’s life was tied to their master’s. “Are you going to designate a successor to your ownership of me?” he asked, not answering Stark’s question.

“Forgot you heard that,” Stark mumbled. “Uh, yeah, if Thor can find the book that says how to, and Strange isn’t back first, I plan to have you do the spell.”

“Do I get to decide my next master?”

“‘Course you do. I didn’t want to bring it up in case it wasn’t actually something we needed to do, y’know? Mortals thinking about their own mortality and all.”

“I want Bucky,” Loki decided. It was not a hard decision to make.

Stark laughed. “Yeah, I figured it would be either him or Banner. They both have the longevity without being Aesir, like Thor, or being a dick like Rogers.”

“I believe Steve may eventually find me tolerable. He and I had a nice chat.”

Stark’s eyebrows shot up. “Since when is he Steve?”

Loki shrugged. “We reached an understanding. However, Bucky is still my choice. Though, seeing as my preference would actually be for you to live, I would like to fight with you.”

“Aw, you like me, huh?” Stark laughed.

“I find myself rather fond of you, yes,” Loki answered with a mischievous smirk. “Also… I have missed it. Fighting, with real stakes. However, I will not fight when Thor is present.”

“Why?”

“He is the prince of Asgard. It would be poor form to disgrace him by having him fight alongside a slave,” Loki lied.

“Thor wouldn’t care,” Stark pointed out.

“But Asgard would. It is improper and I will not do it.”

“Sure, no arguments here. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t doing it because you were afraid of Thor getting mad.”

It is not his anger I fear. It is his recognition, Loki thought. Simply, Thor would recognize Loki’s magic. And Loki just… he wasn’t ready for that confrontation with Thor. Not while Loki still burned with the urge to devastate Asgard.

…not while Thor still ached with the grief of Loki’s death.

“So, what all can you do?” Stark asked.

“At my best, my abilities were limited to seiðr blasts, short-range skywalking, and telekinesis of small objects, along with the transference magic you are already aware of,” Loki lied.

“Say-thuh?”

“Say- ther,” Loki corrected. “It’s the branch of magic studied on Asgard, Vanaheim, and Alfheim.”

“Oh, so it’s an energy blast?”

“In simpler words, essentially.”

Stark groaned. “It’s time to play magical linguistic games again, isn’t it?”

“We’ve already got a good basis, it should not be too difficult. What all are we wanting to allow me to do?”

“Ugh, I need to start a list,” Stark grumbled, unearthing a Stark pad from one of the many piles of projects surrounding him. “Okay, so. Everything we want. You gotta be able to lie and ignore commands, to fight back for self defense, to fight during sparring sessions, fight during Avengers missions, and have access to your magic to use, at your own discretion, and without forcing you to go to the edge of death,” he said, shooting Loki a look at second part. 

Loki, unperturbed, shrugged. “I know my limits. Regardless, the runes will not allow me to go too far, you know this.”

To both of their reliefs, the order was not hard to modify. It remained the same, largely, the additional lines were simple. You are not compelled to fight, but you are invited to fight, at your discretion, against threats deemed worthy of Avengers-level intervention. You have access to your full range of seiðr abilities, to use at your own direction, including but not limited to: healing, offensive action, skywalking, and telekinesis.

“God, this is a mouthful,” Stark grumbled. 

“Slavery was never meant to be easy to circumvent,” Loki pointed out.

“Strange needs to get his cloaked ass back here already,” he whined, before turning to Loki, excitement barely masked on his face. “So, uh, now that you’ve got your magic…”

“You wish to see it?”

Stark nodded, an eager child in the face of something interesting and new. “Yes, please. My only experience with magic so far is from people trying to kill me. Thor said he isn’t really magic, just ‘blessed within his domain’ or some shit.”

Loki grinned and, impulsively, skywalked himself directly onto Stark’s lap, legs straddling the mortal and pinning him beneath Loki. Stark yelped in surprise and went to push Loki off, though Loki held steady. “Was that a good demonstration?”

“Are you trying to kill me?” Stark asked, clutching at his own chest.

“Not at current, no,” Loki laughed. “Fear not, Stark. I am quite fond of you. I protect what I hold dear.”

“And you hold me dear, huh?” Stark asked, hesitantly placing his hands on Loki’s hips.

Panic shot fire up Loki’s spine, but he refused to be moved by it. He was not broken, and flirting was fun, had always been one of Loki’s hobbies for anyone not of the Aesir. “It would seem so,” Loki purred, grinning.

Stark’s eyes flicked to Loki’s mouth. His interest was poorly hidden in, with the thin pajama bottoms both of them still wore. Loki was reasonably sure where this would end up, and convinced himself it was something he wanted, but Stark’s eyes suddenly lit up. “You can teleport!”

“Yes? We have already established that,” Loki pointed out. He was confused at Stark’s reaction, yet relief had replaced his panic, much to his chagrin. 

“I didn’t know skywalking was teleporting! I thought it meant you could fly! Can it be tracked? Or nullified?”

Loki skywalked away to the opposite end of the lab, arms across his chest. “If you don’t want me skywalking, all you have to do is change the order.” He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hurt. Why would Stark want to take away the magic he’d just been granted?

“No, no, no, not for you,” Stark said, unoffended by Loki’s abrupt departure as he stood and waved his hands, various holographic screens surrounding him. He pulled something up on one of them, and threw the screen towards Loki, bouncing on his heels. “One of the biggest problems we had in the last fight with Doom - the one where Clint got hurt - was the Doombots could now teleport, or skywalk, or whatever. If we can stop them from doing that, or track it, or just something, we won’t be sitting ducks next time!”

Loki’s posture relaxed and he watched the video playing on the screen. It was various shots of Doombots, disappearing and reappearing later. 

“Some of this is from my own helmet, but most is from nearby security footage. JARVIS tried to track the individual Doombots, to see how far they could go, using the damage visible on the surface of their armor, but some of it is still a crapshoot guess of which is which, especially at the beginning of the fight.”

Loki was silent as he watched the fight play out. Doombots were gradually assigned numbers as the fight progressed, each being given their own section of screen that showed only their location and their assigned number.

“JARVIS, reassign the 7.8 appearance of Doombot 4 to the 9.2 appearance of Doombot 14 and replay. All of it, from the beginning.”

The watcher obeyed, and Stark managed a surprisingly long period of silence as Loki completed his second watch through, making modifications whenever it was called for. He ignored the shot that showed Barton’s fall.

“As I thought,” Loki mumbled. “This is not teleportation.”

“Huh? They’re moving from one place to another! You just watched it happen fifty times.”

“Skywalking, or teleportation as you keep calling it, is instantaneous. JARVIS, can you bring up my two instances of skywalking, and play the first of each Doombots instances of their ‘teleportation’ as well?”

“Of course, Mr. Ingensbarn.”

Stark stroked his facial hair as he watched what Loki had put up. “Yours is instant, yeah. The Doombots all take at least four seconds, or up to ten seconds to reappear. What’s the difference?”

“Skywalking is a high-level skill that takes decades of practice. No mortal will ever be able to learn it, and a machine made by a mortal certainly wouldn’t. They’re doing low-level sorcery tricks, atom displacement. It takes time to do, and the further they go the longer it takes to complete. They’re having to move the molecules - oxygen, mainly - into the space they just vacated in order to create a void they can slide into without imploding.”

“Can you do atom displacement?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Can you find the square root of 121?”

Stark scrunched his nose up. “It’s that low level but nearly killed Clint and then you?”

“As I said,” Loki shrugged, “it is child’s play.”

“Can you show me? I’ve got an idea.”

Loki obeyed, the familiar nausea of temporarily losing his form pricking at the large breakfast he’d ate. When he reappeared, Stark’s face was glowing. 

“I can track it!” he exclaimed, immediately going for a screen, what looked like blueprints for his helmet displayed. Stark looked at him and his smile rivaled Thor’s. “You’re fucking brilliant, Galinn!”

Loki smiled at him and settled in to be bombarded with magic questions, entirely at ease.

Why, then, was there that miniscule ache in his chest, wishing Stark had said Loki?

Chapter Text

“You are truly a genius to be regarded by all realms, aren’t you?” Galinn mused, reading through the formulas and equations Tony had cobbled together as a rough draft of the not-teleporting-but-it’s-basically-teleporting-tracker (actual name still pending).

“Imagine if I knew magic, too,” Tony not-so-subtlety suggested.

“You could easily become a master seiðr wielder, I believe. You’d do poorly with the mystic arts of Midgard or the magic of the other realms.”

“There’s more than one type of magic? How many are there? Are they all different? What makes them not-the-same? Different magic words?” Tony rapid-fire questioned.

Galinn hummed, chewing the inside of his cheek, though he looked amused. “Yes and no, there are different types of magic. How to put this in a way you’ll understand… Ah. How many types of math are there?”

“I mean, math is just one thing, but there’s different branches of it.”

“Studies that begin with the same building block, but at a high enough level look entirely unrelated. Magic is much the same. And, because I already know it is your next question, yes, I can practice other types of magic, but due to my training being focused on Asgardian seiðr, it does not come as easily. The most common types of eðli, or magic, in the Nine are: seiðr, the nature magic of several realms; jǫkullr, the ice of the Jotnar; brennr, the fire of Muspelheim; and fjölkyngr, the astral sorcery your Dr. Strange likely uses.” 

“Teach me,” Tony said, eyes wide. “Any of it. All of it! Can I throw fire from my hands with brennr?”

Galinn laughed, but his smile was shallow. “I am not strong enough to teach anyone, not right now. And it is dishonorable for a warrior to learn magic after he is already regarded as a hero.”

“It’s ‘dishonorable,’” Tony said, air quoting around the word, “for me to learn magic because I’m already an established badass?”

“You say it in jest, but you are correct,” Galinn said with a shrug, crossing his arms over his chest. He focused on one of the equations, absentmindedly picking at the end of his sleeve. “It is one thing to learn to control and use magic you’re born with, to wrest control of the tempest drowning your soul. To be born with magic is to be marked by the Fates as being too weak to be a warrior. For you to seek out the storm after victory, as one not cursed with magic, is to admit yourself too weak to fight.”

“Doesn’t Asgard have magic healers, magic infrastructure, and a magic king?”

Galinn nodded. “Healers are women and the infrastructure is managed by men unable to fight. The All-Father needs to know all magic so he can fight it.”

“Man, I know Thor loves it there,” Tony sighed, “but Asgard is so fucking stupid to me.”

Galinn choked slightly on his own laughter. “Pardon?”

“Who cares, y’know?” Tony said. “Like, who gives a fuck about honor when it means I can save more people? When I can live to fight another day? Also, again, fire hands!”

“To be a warrior of Asgard is to wish to lay down your life for the good of the realm. It’s simply the way it is.”

“Asgard’s kinda bass-ackwards, isn’t it?”

Galinn sighed. “Translation, please.”

Sheepishly, Tony smiled. It wasn’t the first time Tony’s words had managed to stump the fancy language magic, and he doubted it would be the last. “Does ‘ass backwards’ translate well?”

“To be contrary to what is expected or otherwise logical, to have backwards thought?”

“Man, I wish I could learn All-Speak,” Tony lamented. “But, yeah, bass-ackwards is just a funny way to say it.”

Galinn shook his head, but the corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile. “Midgardians, so strange.“

“Excuse you, my brand of strangeness is unique to me and me alone, thank you very much.”

The Aes turned to study Tony, his expression soft. “You are a unique one, it is true.”

Tony felt the smile on his face turn sappy. Of course, this would not do, so he hurriedly turned away, fiddling with something on one of the screens, acutely aware of Galinn’s eyes on his back. “You’re pretty nifty yourself, too,” he said.

Galinn scoffed. “I am far more interesting than anyone you’ve ever met, Stark.” His grin turned mischievous. “Would you like to see some more magic?”

“The only time that answer will ever not be an enthusiastic yes is if I’m dead and unable to answer or someone’s trying to kill me.”

Faster than a blink, Galinn was in front of him, and Tony’s heart skipped a beat in something he wished was fear. “Would you like to skywalk?”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” 

“Turn around, I don’t want to drop you,” Galinn said. Tony obeyed and Galinn’s arms wrapped around him, secured around his waist. Sensation danced on his skin, raising the hair on his arms. “I’ve got you. Keep your eyes open.”

Cold static engulfed him as Galinn moved, Tony gripping at the mage’s arms. It took everything he had to not squeeze his eyes shut, and he was rewarded for his persistence in the next moment.

“Whoa,” he breathed softly.

“Welcome to Yggdrasil,” Galinn muttered, his mouth close to Tony’s ear.

Tony felt like he was underwater. Not in the way he had nightmares about, but in the way he had once loved to swim in his childhood. His hair waved slightly, gravity no longer holding him down. He gripped tighter onto Galinn, convinced he’d simply float away if he lost his foothold. Color and light danced around him, green rivers and blue mountains, brown sky and yellow branches. Nothing was solid, everything hazy around the edges, no ground beneath his feet yet he was undoubtedly standing on something solid.

“I must finish the spell, keep hold of me.”

Vertigo made Tony’s stomach lurch as he moved-without-moving, the image of limited infinity - because he couldn’t think of a better word to describe what he’d seen - being replaced by the off-white walls of his penthouse. Galinn stepped backwards, his grip loosening, but Tony’s grip on his arms tightened and he stumbled into Galinn’s chest as the Aes moved.

“Are you well?” Galinn asked. “I did not break you, did I?”

Tony finally released Galinn’s arms and turned to face him. Worry lined Galinn’s face as he reached out and gently cradled Tony’s head in both hands, moving it back and forth. “You do not appear to be suffering from Yggdrasil madness,” he mumbled.

“You are the most fascinating person I’ve ever met,” Tony said, wide eyed as he tried to break apart and categorize everything he’d seen, all the things that made no sense to him, all the things in his soul he knew he would never be able to make sense of, not in a mortal lifetime.

“I believe I told you that already,” Galinn teased, making to drop his hands. 

Tony’s own moved without his conscious thought before the Aes could, wrapping gently around either of Galinn’s wrists, making sure to keep his grip loose. He studied the other man’s face, the bemused smirk painted on his lips. 

Galinn was handsome, Tony couldn’t deny that. Green eyes that glinted like emeralds and shimmered with intelligence, a mouth that he wanted to do absolutely sinful things with, humor and mischief etched into the lines of his face. Tony took a step forward unconsciously, and Galinn’s gaze flicked down hesitantly to Tony’s lips. Emboldened, Tony slid his hands from Galinn’s wrist to elbow, pulling the taller man closer.

The raised texture of the slave runes brushed against Tony’s thumb and he jerked back, releasing Galinn. Confusion and relief spread across Galinn's face and he pulled away too. 

Tony looked out the window, amazed to see the waning moon making its way across the sky. “How long were we gone?” he asked, burying the awkwardness.

“Skywalking is instantaneous, remember?”

“But it’s night time!”

“Sir, you have been in the lab for over eleven hours, after having taken a late breakfast,” JARVIS said. “The time between your disappearance from the lab and reappearance here was less than a millisecond. The Magic Sucks protocol is set to go off in seventeen minutes.”

“Have we truly been down there that long?” Galinn asked, surprised.

“That is a short stint for Sir,” JARVIS pointed out, Galinn laughing at the absolute sass in the AI’s tone. “The renewal of your freedoms being on a set time is the primary reason Sir is finally on a somewhat acceptable routine.”

“Didn’t he stay in the lab for thirty consecutive hours a few days before my injury?” Galin asked, amused. “You had to let me into the lab three separate times, as I recall.”

Tony, however, was confused. “I don’t remember this.”

“You were working on the glitch where your left gauntlet was not properly routing to the built-in arc reactors of the Mark LXXIII, instead pulling from the auxiliary source of the one in your chest,” Galinn said.

“I told you about that?” Tony asked, entirely bewildered. He remembered working on it, yes - he did not remember Galinn having to seek him out so many times for his freedoms.

“Not in so many words, but I did glance at your blueprints. Did you ever figure out why the power was entering into a cycle failure?”

“Back up - a glance at my blueprints told you it was a cycling issue? When did you learn advanced mechanics?”

Galinn shrugged. “I have a lot of free time. There is only so much to do on the floors I have access to.”

Guilt colored Tony’s cheeks. He’d kind of forgotten Galinn was bound to the Tower. “Why don’t you go out with Natasha later this week? Get some fresh air.”

“I would like a brief reprieve from these walls,” Galinn admitted. “Why with the Spider, however?”

“I’m too recognizable,” Tony said ruefully. “It’s why I stay here so often. Leaving just ends with me being stalked by the paparazzi.”

Galinn opened his mouth but snapped it shut before whatever it was he wanted to say. A moment passed and then, “I would like to go out with her, yes.”

Tony nodded, though curiosity wriggled in his mind. What had Galinn been about to say? “I’ll let her know. She’s better at keeping a low profile. You haven’t been introduced as an Avenger yet, so you’ll have some reprieve before you start having to hide too.”

The Aes grinned and Tony’s heart twisted at the way it lit up his face. “I will look forward to it. For now, however, I do find myself growing weary. I am physically healed, yes, but there was a significant amount of healing my body had to go through.”

“Let me re-up the clock,” Tony said. Galinn merely nodded. This, too, was a familiar process by now. Tony did his best to make sure Galinn’s runes never bound him due to the clock running out. It had become something of a good night routine between the two of them, he supposed, as he canceled the order and re-instated it.

“Sleep well and be hale,” Galinn said, his normal nightly dismissal. He paused briefly, then turned around. “Thank you, for today. My magic missing has been an ache I could find no relief for.”

The stark disparity between the two of them slammed into Tony’s chest like a missile. Magic was as intrinsically a part of Galinn as Iron Man was to Tony - yet only one of them needed permission from the other to indulge in their joys. “No problem,” Tony said, flashing his best PR smile and hoping Galinn couldn’t see through it. “Maybe we could do that again sometime? I’d love to see more.”

Galinn tilted his head to the side, eyes searching Tony’s face. “Why?”

“Because it’s fascinating and I’m running out of interesting new things to learn from Earth,” he answered, confused. What other reason could he have?

That seemed to be the correct answer, as Galinn’s smile returned. “I would love to show you more another time, Stark. Good night.”

Tony waved as Galinn left, waiting until he was positive the man was out of earshot before sinking into one of his chairs, disgust prickling his skin uncomfortably. 

What the fuck had he nearly done? What was he thinking, coming onto Galinn like that?

Well, the second question he at least knew the answer to. He hadn’t been thinking with his head - just his dick. He buried his face into his hands, nails digging into his skin. The pain - sharp, clear, pure - helped him settle, but he couldn’t help the loathing broiling in his gut, even as the memory of Galinn’s arms around him tingled against his skin. He glanced at the clock, biting at his lip. It was barely nine and the sudden urge to go somewhere else, anywhere else, consumed him.

Fifteen minutes later, he’d taken a shower and gotten dressed, baseball cap and sunglasses firmly in place with a thick undershirt to dampen the arc’s glow. As soon as he made it to the garage, he hopped into one of his more understated cars. Well, ‘understated’ in that his last name wasn’t his license plate, at least.

“Where to, Sir?” JARVIS asked as the AI triggered the ignition.

“Madame Katherine’s,” he said, swapping the controls to manual and peeling out of the parking space, JARVIS having already lifted the blast doors that blocked his personal garage off from Stark Industries’ employee parking.

“I will let her know,” JARVIS said, and Tony tried to ignore the judgment he was fairly certain he heard in the AI’s tone. Part of him really wanted to check JARVIS’s code to see where, exactly, this personality was coming from, but most of him was simply excited. JARVIS was his best friend in a lot of ways and Tony was just happy his friend was growing.

The drive took an hour, thanks to the city that never sleeps having traffic at all hours, despite not being far away. In his suit, he could’ve been there in minutes, but Madame K’s was discreet. The Iron Man armor was the opposite of that. The hidden entrance doors slid open as his phone came in range and he drove into the underground bunker that made up the bar’s parking lot. Three layers of screening later, he found himself being greeted by the Madame herself, beautiful in a way that looked natural enough that Tony sometimes wondered who her plastic surgeon was.

“Mr. Stark,” she said, her bright red lips pulled into a playful frown. “You’re lucky I like you. We do normally require reservations. How many times must I tell you that?”

“At least once more,” he greeted, kissing her cheeks as she swatted at his chest.

“I swear, I’m not letting you in next time, Mr. Stark!” she scolded.

“Of course, I understand. I beg you your forgiveness,” Tony said with mock solemnity. He had not been here in a long time, yet the tension eased from his shoulders at the familiar banter, Katherine leading him to the dining area.

Madame Katherine’s was, legally, a high-end bar, serving only top-shelf liquor and expensive steaks. The wait staff who worked here, however, had more NDAs on file than half of SI’s director-level positions did, and clothing that made Hooters workers look modest. An invite-only club, it was the classiest sex den in New York, and where Tony had spent most of his time during the peak of his alcoholism. 

The club was as busy and bustling as ever - Tony had never seen the place below 75% occupancy - and Katherine led him to a table, her hips swaying gracefully as she weaved through the other guests, an elegance in her that had him thinking of the tailor from Alfheim. He flinched minutely, banishing the thought of that horrible place as he sat down, picking up the short menu and skimming it.

“What can I get you, Mr. Stark?” a waiter asked, his grin full of perfectly white teeth and his bare chest broad enough to give even Tony some self esteem issues.

“I’ll take the ‘48 Macallan,” Tony said, handing the man the menu. 

“Would you like one of the waitresses bring it to you?”

“Thank you, that would be great.”

The waiter smiled again and nodded, collecting the menu and making for the bar, leaning over to talk to the bartender, the only employee in the establishment in long black pants and a full-coverage shirt. He settled in to wait for his drink, pulling out his phone and trying to focus on the most recent financial reports Pepper had sent him. The urge to people watch ate at him, but in a place like this, he was more likely to run into a drug kingpin than a philanthropist, and he wasn't going to make a scene.

“1948 Macallan for Mr. Stark?” a female voice asked, pulling Tony from his half-assed attempts to care about the 0.73% reduction in profit in the first quarter of one of his smaller divisions.

Tony smiled at her in confirmation and she sat the drink on the table, but all he saw was the deep green of her eyes. She hovered there, waiting for him to make his decision. While she was certainly beautiful - thin and willowy - he couldn’t bring himself to look at her face. “Ah, perhaps an espresso?”

“Need an extra caffeine kick? We have some wonderful blonde options,” she said.

“Yes,” he answered instantly. 

She nodded politely and left. The whole conversation made Tony feel dirty, but it was the way Madame K’s worked. Different waiters and waitresses, semi-coded phrasing until a patron invited one of them to sit and talk, ultimately ending up in one of the hotel-like rooms in the back, a few un-ordered items added to the ticket to accommodate the waitress's time.

Tony picked up the Macallan, swirling it absently. Five years of sobriety yelling at him and multiple teammates clamoring in his head, however, had him sitting it back down. He wasn't that far gone.

“One blonde espresso?” came a new voice, a slight Southern twang to it.

“Right here,” he said, tapping the spot in front of him as he studied the waitress. Average height, olive skin, well-bleached blonde hair, and brown eyes, with a firmly American accent. Perfect. “Please, call me Tony,” he added, gesturing to the chair opposite him.

“Temperance,” she greeted as she sat. “It’s lovely to meet you, Tony.”

“The pleasure’s all mine. Can’t lie, though, I don’t normally associate this place with temperance or any other sort of restraint,” he joked.

She laughed, well used to the role she played here. “Well, sometimes when a friend thinks they need temperance, what they actually need is me, so it works out.”

“Is that so?” Tony asked, tossing back the espresso before it had a chance to go flat. 

“I ain’t had any complaints so far,” she answered with a playful smirk. “Is somethin’ wrong with your drink?” Temperance asked, pointing at his untouched scotch.

“It’s fine, I just changed my mind. The espresso was all I really need. Would you like to try it?”

“What is it?” she questioned as she picked it up, glancing down at it and then subtly up at one of the cameras. Tony had been here enough times to not be offended by that - he knew the bartender behind him was going to give her a thumbs up once she rewound the footage and made sure the drink wasn’t spiked. He was an Avenger, a superhero by all accounts, but he was still here, a place where good men did not tread.

“Scotch - 1948 Macallan,” he said. 

Temperance raised her eyebrow and took a small sip, humming appreciatively. “I must admit, it’s delicious. There’s not many vintages left here that I haven’t tried before, this was one of the few.”

“Macallan earned the price of their scotch and their reputation, that’s for damn sure,” Tony commented, grinning as she finished off the drink. He didn’t hide his glance at her breasts when he added, “Madame Katherine’s has earned its reputation, too.”

She smirked and leaned forward, her hand resting on his upper thigh. “Is that so?” she murmured, gently grazing her nails along the inner seam of his pants.

The slight sensation sent a small thrill to his spine and extra blood flow directly to his crotch. He was suddenly acutely aware the last time he’d fucked anyone had been before Ultron, and his body was ready to tango. “It is,” he said, brushing his hand across her shoulder and trailing down to her elbow. She shuddered slightly and her grin turned sinful. “I hear there’s even some rooms in the back? Where new friends can become… better acquainted?”

“You’ve heard correctly,” she agreed, standing and offering her hand to him. He politely ignored it, instead threading his elbow through hers as he stood. Temperance didn’t skip a beat, unfazed by Tony’s quirk as she accepted the change, instead resting her free hand in the crook of his elbow. “Would you like for me to show you the way?”

“After you.”

Her lips curled seductively and she pulled him along.

The back hallways were as clean and understated as the bar he’d left behind, and Temperance led him to one of the many unnumbered doors, locking it behind them. “So, Mr. Stark,” she said, turning and stretching her arms above her head, long limbed and beautiful. “What can I do for you?”

“Well,” he said, stepping forward to put his hands on her waist, thumbs sliding beneath the band of her skirt, “I was thinking your clothes would look lovely on the ground, and you’d look even better on that bed. Although, it might just be the comforter I like. Red is a particular favorite of mine.”

Temperance laughed, going for the buttons of Tony’s suit jacket. “Will your clothes be joining mine? I like red, but I think it suits you better than me.”

Tony grinned, making quick work of the lace tying the front of her shirt together. It slipped off her, white tulle pooling about her feet. “The undershirt stays on,” he muttered, stepping closer to her, her face his entire vision. “Other than that, your idea sounds splendid, Ms. Temperance.”

She undid the buttons, pushing the top from his shoulders. He shrugged it off and she glanced at the arc reactor, bulky under the tank top and shining through ever so slightly with blue, but - professional as she was - she looked away, quirking her lips up at him. “Please, call me Temperance.”

“Only if you call me Tony,” he answered, walking her backwards until she was pressed between him and the wall, his hands returned to her hips.

“I think I can manage that, Tony,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him closer. “I wonder if you can make me scream your name?” she whispered, kissing his neck.

Base desire ran through him. She was good at her craft, he had to give her that. He could almost believe she wanted him as he rose a hand to tangle into her hair, pulling her head back slightly and pressing his lips to hers.

She yielded to him, opening her mouth, the taste of scotch still heavy on her tongue. Temperance’s movements were quick as she disposed him of his belt and pants. Tony followed her lead, until she was bare to him and he only had his undershirt left on, their clothes scattered haphazardly as it was her turn to back him up, the backs of his calves hitting the bed and he plopped down. She followed, straddling his lap.

“You have quite a reputation here as well, you know,” Temperance said, hovering slightly above him, a tantalizing tease.

“I do?” he said, nipping softly at her neck. She moaned, leaning her head further back and urging him on. 

“Yes,” she gasped. “You make sure the staff enjoy our friendship as much as you do.”

“Well, I am a philanthropist,” he laughed. “What kind of man would I be if I left my friends unsatisfied?”

Her only response was a strangled gasp when he bit her pulse point with enough pressure to be just on this side of pleasurable. “Who would ever think you anything other than a good man, Tony Stark?” she asked, putting her full weight on his legs, though keeping the spot Tony wanted just out of reach. He gripped her hips, bucking up against her as he sucked a bruise into her neck. If she wanted him to stop, she would tell him.

Are you trying to kill me?

Not at current, no.

A heavier weight than Temperance on his lap. 

Tony twisted and spun them, until she rested on the bed beneath him, her grinning face bracketed between his arms, blonde hair splayed like a halo. He attacked her mouth with his own, placing himself comfortably between her thighs, spread in invitation.

“Fuck me, Tony,” she mumbled between kisses, her pupils blown wide with desire as she pressed a condom into his hand.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he teased, sliding the protection on.

He lost himself in her body, kissing at her neck and tweaking at her nipples, her legs wrapped around him. Tony was careful, he had been ever since the reactor - keeping most of his weight on his forearm, making sure the harsh metal embedded by his heart didn’t dig into his partner’s skin. He frequently found himself going back to kissing her, drawn by the lingering taste of scotch that was slowly fading.

It wasn’t breaking his sobriety if it came from her mouth, as far as he was concerned.

His age and accidental period of celibacy kept trying to catch up with him, however, having to pull himself from Temperance’s warmth, wanting this to last.

Wanted to be able to keep pretending he was wanted, too. Not his money or what he could do for others, not Tony Stark, just simply Tony. 

Her whines and gasps drove him on, and he found himself using his not-inconsiderable repertoire of experience (and the toys tucked into the bedside table) to bring her to messy orgasm.

Temperance was already well-satisfied by the time he found his own release, with her riding him hard enough her thighs shook with exertion, her hair damp with sweat. She dropped to his side, head propped in her palm as she grinned. “Looks like Madame Katherine’s isn’t the only one who earned their reputation, either.”

“I do try my best,” he grinned, pausing to catch his breath. He may do training with the Avengers weekly, but sex was an entirely different type of exercise, as far as he was concerned. Working the Iron Man suit didn’t require nearly that much hip action, for starters. He pointed to a second door in the room. “Bathroom?” 

Temperance nodded sleepily. She stretched and yawned as he stood up, gathering his clothes.

He disposed of the condom and stepped into the shower, the scent of sex and Temperance’s perfume coating his skin. He leaned his forehead against the shower wall, the woman’s earlier playful words haunting him as too-hot water scalded his back.

Who would ever think you anything other than a good man, Tony Stark?

Tony buried the thought, focusing on the shower head instead. It had taken a while for him to be okay with water again, but even now he needed it to be hot enough to hurt, nothing like the cold ice water that would turn more lukewarm every time his torturers ducked his head in. Nearly ten years since his kidnapping, and Tony still feared water.

He scrubbed the sweat from his body, using the provided washcloth to rub his skin red.

Tony breathed a sigh of relief when he got out after, dressed and no longer looking like he’d been fucking a very flexible prostitute for two hours. Temperance was asleep. Or pretending to be? He didn’t know and he didn’t care, as he pulled his shoes on and left. Their transaction was done, and Tony was satisfied without having to find some bimbo who’d call the newspapers before he’d even left the parking lot. He never spent the night with his partners, paid or unpaid, even before Afghanistan. Pepper had been the only exception. 

He waved farewell to Katherine as he left and she nodded to him, calling a good night! at his back.

“Home, Sir?” JARVIS asked as he slid into the car.

“Yeah, JARVIS. Please,” Tony mumbled. 

The AI said nothing as he took control of the car, driving Tony through the ever-packed streets. Tony watched out the window, forcing his mind to focus on the blueprints for the nanosuit he was wanting to develop, instead of focusing on Temperance’s words bouncing in his head. 

Tony followed JARVIS’s lead with his silence all the way into the Tower, pressing the elevator button for the common room floor. Autopilot took him to the couch, idly wondering who had cleaned the room. Probably Clint, if he thought about it. The archer may act like a child, but he was still a parent at heart.

The TV flicked on by itself (well, probably it was JARVIS), and Tony flinched when Christine Everhart’s face took up the screen, reporting another new tragedy.

She looked worn, compared to the woman Tony had taken to his bed a decade ago. She always covered the worst of humanity - war, mass murder, state-sanctioned hate crimes - and she had lost something of she’d used to have.

Her belief in humanity, Tony guessed. Ankle deep in the blood of innocents, trying to make the people on the other side of the screen care about undue slaughter, only to be met with weary apathy. But aliens were real, and humans only noticed the newest shiny thing to pour over. 

The elevator’s ding pulled Tony’s attention to it. Natasha stepped out, tossing something over to him without warning. It was more a testament to her aim than his reflexes when he caught it.

“Blow,” she ordered.

He looked down at the device in his hand, rolling his eyes when he saw the breathalyzer. “I’m not drunk, Romanoff.”

“Blow,” she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest. Even in pajamas, Natasha was terrifying, so Tony obeyed. She perched on the couch arm beside him, holding her hand out when he had blown long enough and the device had beeped, confirming it was reading his results.

“I just went out,“ he mumbled, handing it off to her. 

“To a brothel,” she responded, but she nodded in satisfaction when the results came back with a solid 0.00.

“JARVIS, since when do you rat me out like that?” Tony whined, leaning into the couch cushions, a headache beginning to bloom behind his eyes.

“Your protocols have always stated to alert someone you trust in times I deem you taking unnecessary risk,” JARVIS argued.

“Yeah, to tell Pepper when I’m too drunk or high to move!” Tony shouted. “Not Natasha that I stepped out for a quick fuck!”

“He was worried about you, Tony,” Natasha said, some of the sternness falling from her face. 

“It Is what you programmed me to do, Sir. Protect you,” JARVIS said, softer than Tony thought the AI capable of.

Tony lapsed into silence, eyes drawn back to the screen, where Christine Everhart condemned Hammer Industries for their careless chemical runoff, poisoning several small towns. “Am I a bad man?” Tony asked, Christine’s denouncement of Justin Hammer far more tired than her condemnation of Tony had been.

“Of course you are,” Natasha said bluntly. “You build weapons for us and you kill people. You plan traps and accidentally create murder bots. You don’t lose sleep from HYDRA’s ashes, and I’m pretty sure you just slept with a hooker.”

Tony full-body flinched, shame lining his throat.

“But,” Natasha continued, “which of us aren’t bad? Steve wanted the glory of death in war rather than actually being helpful here. I’m an expert poisoner and have killed children, and I’ve been able to make my peace with it. Clint is a sharpshooter with a sniping record he can’t admit to or he’d be tried by the UN for war crimes. Bruce’s disregard of safety measures led to his own mutation and thousands of deaths. Thor is from a realm of Viking warriors and has pillaged other Realms to keep them under Asgard’s rule. Even Barnes isn’t good. A good man wouldn’t be able to live with the atrocities he’s committed, but he’s learned to laugh again.”

“You make it sound like we’re supervillains,” Tony mumbled.

“No, I’m saying we’re all killers,” Natasha said with a shrug. “You can’t be a good man and be an Avenger. We’re great people. We’re not good men. There’s too much blood at our feet with too little regret.”

Tony snorted, his laugh bitter. “I made Iron Man to become a good man. To be more than the Merchant of Death.”

“No, you made it to get revenge on the Ten Rings, and rain death on those you decided deserved to die,” she said. He clenched his fists and stared at his lap. She poked his side with her toe and he looked back up at her. She was still perched on the couch arm, but she had leaned forward, feet on the couch and resting her body against her knees. “You also flew a nuclear warhead into a portal you didn’t know if you could come back through. You donate millions to relief efforts, and even more to reconstruction for damage the Avengers cause. You single-handedly fund Earth’s greatest defense ever since SHIELD fell. You let us all into your home and made us your family. You own up to your fuck-ups and make sure they don’t happen again.”

“You give weird pep talks,” Tony pointed out, but her words did calm him. 

“Sorry, ‘pepping’ up a teammate wasn’t taught in Black Widow school. Neither was having a teammate, now that I think about it.”

They lapsed into silence, the only sound for several minutes the movie JARVIS swapped the television to. 

“What brought this all up, anyway?” Natasha asked. “You had sex with a prostitute, so what?”

“Sex work is one of the oldest careers in the human world,” Tony pointed out. “I’m not going to feel bad for a consensual transaction.”

“So you did something that wasn’t consensual?”

“I need to stop talking to spies,” Tony muttered. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I just…”

“You like Galinn,” Natasha said, blunt as ever. “And you feel guilty about it.”

Tony clenched his teeth tight enough his jaw ached, shame blooming bright red across his face. He didn’t argue with her about it, though. Both his silence and his answer would confirm her suspicions.

“Have you asked him what he wants?”

“Have I… what?” he asked. He’d honestly expected Natasha to castrate him, considering her own past.

“Have you asked him? If he wants you?”

“Natasha, I own him,” Tony said, stressing his point even as it made anxiety ping in his chest. “His entire freedom is dependent on me remembering to renew a spell every twelve hours.”

Natasha shrugged. “I think he wants you. I think he’s scared and traumatized, but part of him sees you and wants to want you.”

“Okay, explain, because that makes no fucking sense.”

She pursed her lips, gaze far away. “It’s how I was with Clint, at first. The only sex I’d ever known was violent and coerced, was not my choice. It was my handler’s decision, was nothing more than an assignment and another way to use my body as a weapon. Then I met a man who wanted to kill me, but showed me kindness instead. He saw me as a woman, not a weapon. Clint was the first man I ever chose to lay with, to learn what sex without fear was.”

“You fucked Clint?” Tony said, ignoring her other words.

In return, she slapped the back of his head. “Not the point of the story, Stark. I was terrified to sleep with him, but I wanted to know my body as my own. It was mine and I deserved to learn what it could do - at a time that was my choice, with a person I trusted, and somewhere I felt safe to do so. Sure, I ended up not liking it much, but I learned that my way.”

“And what makes you think Galinn thinks the same way? That’s not exactly the typical response of sexual assault victims.”

“He looks at you the way I looked at Clint. Like he wants to want something, but doesn’t know how to anymore, without feeling fear too.”

“So what? You think I should just go give him a big ole smooch and ask if he wants to fuck me?”

Natasha laughed. “No. I’m saying let him lead. I’m saying don’t feel guilty when he seems to want you and fear you in equal measure. If he doesn’t push you away, let him make moves on you. He clearly knows you’re a safe person who won’t hurt him, but some reactions are more ingrained than instinctual.”

Even as she spoke, Tony was shaking his head. “It’s different, Nat. You’ve gotta see that. You were a free woman, if you wanted Clint to stop, you knew you could stop him if he tried to force you. I own Galinn. He is a slave and I’m a fucking slave owner. All I have to do is say one little sentence and he can’t tell me to stop or push me off.”

“So if you two went to bed, and he tried to stop, you’d order him to shut up and take your dick like a good little slave?”

“What the fuck, Natasha, of course not! What kind of monster do you think I am?”

“Whatever kind of monster you think you are, I suppose,” she mused. “You’re the one talking about how easy it would be for you to rape him.”

“Jesus Christ, Romanoff, there are other ways to prove your point.”

“The others I thought of all required more arguing to get you to the same point,” she pointed out and god damn it, he hated how well she read him sometimes. 

“Wait,” Tony said, scrunching his nose. “Your whole little speech was about how you’ve noticed Galinn coming on to me. How’d you know I liked him?”

“He looks like a male model, can probably match your intelligence, plus has magic. Also, you have a danger kink the size of Ohio, and he could snap your neck if he was free and wanted to. He’s your exact brand of poison.”

Tony laughed softly, unable to disagree with her. “He’s amazing, Natasha. I might be able to track the Doombot teleporting next time we see them because he told me how the magic they’re using works. He showed me some of his magic. Hell, he took me with him to see Yggdrasil! I’ve seen something no other human on Earth has. He’s amazing, but…” he trailed off. Natasha kept quiet, knowing when he needed to think instead of being talked to. “I want to free him. I will free him from the slave bindings. But if I fuck up… Natasha, what if I hurt him and he takes it out on Earth? On the team? I like him, Nat. I really, really like him. He’s agreed to be an Avenger while he’s here, but I can tell he’s holding back. I want him to like us enough to stay when it’s his choice. There’s something else out there, Natasha, I know there is. Armadas like that… they have a leader somewhere, and I don’t think it was Loki. I don’t think whoever it was was on that ship.”

“Tony, you’re an incredible man, but the Earth isn’t going to face an apocalypse if you fail to keep your dick in your pants. I believe Galinn means it when he says he doesn’t want to hurt us, and you know I don’t do that lightly.”

“Clint’s your blind spot, he always has been. Would you be trusting Galinn as much if it was Steve or Bruce?”

“No,” she answered. “Galinn’s been here long enough to know you, me, and Clint are the only normal humans on this team. There would be no reason to heal Bruce, Steve, or Barnes except to play us. I wouldn’t trust him more if it was you, either, considering his life is tied to yours. But Clint? We wouldn’t have blamed him if Clint died, because we wouldn’t have known he had the ability to heal.”

Tony hummed softly, acknowledging he’d heard her. 

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Like I said, I’m not saying go jump Galinn’s bones. I’m saying trust in his ability to say no, and your own ability to respect him. Okay?”

“I hate it when you make sense,” Tony grumbled. She raised her eyebrow at his non-answer, but didn’t push him. An earlier conversation floated into his mind and his guilt spiked again. “Oh, that reminds me, Galinn’s been kinda stuck here. Can you take him out tomorrow? Some fresh air. Or, well, what passes for fresh air in this city.”

“Why don’t you use one of the photostatic veils?”

“I haven’t gotten around to building another one yet. Didn’t seem like a priority. It’s still in parts in my lab.”

“I’ve got one,” she offered.

“And you’d loan it to me?” Tony said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. 

“I didn’t say I only had one,” she shrugged. “I’ll go grab it and then you are going to bed.”

She was gone before he could say another word or argue it would be better for her to go. Tony had no doubt the rapid departure was all a part of her evil plot. He hadn’t quite figured out the rest of her plot, but he was sure it was utterly dastardly. Like making him confront his feelings in a healthy way or something equally sinister.

Still, if she was going to loan him the veil…

“Is there anything fun going on in Central Park tomorrow, JARV?”

“There are several events tomorrow. There is a neoexpressionist art exhibit that’s nearing its end, a scavenger hunt, a concert put on by the New York Philharmonic, and Shakespeare in the Park. They will be performing Hamlet. Do any of these interest you?”

“I’ll ask Galinn in the morning,” Tony decided. “Though I really hope he doesn’t want the art exhibit. Those things are just so boring.”

“Didn’t you have the world’s largest single-owner collection of Jackson Pollock paintings and a multi-million dollar modern art collection at one point?” Natasha asked, apparently having convinced JARVIS to not ring the elevator’s arrival bell and colluding on an assassination attempt, delivered via heart attack.

“The Boy Scouts of America own that now, thank you.”

She rolled her eyes, setting the veil on the table. No one on the team tried to hand him anything, not after six years of his particular brand of weird. “Here’s the veil. Now go to bed and have fun at Central Park.”

“Goddamn, how long were you standing there?”

Natasha just gave a mysterious smile. 

“You’re creepy, sometimes, did you know that? Like, actual horror movie creepy.”

“I know,” she grinned in a way that made Tony’s hair stand on end. There was a reason she was still named after a venomous spider, he supposed. “Good night.”

“Natasha,” he called, and she paused beside the open elevator door, turning to face him with an eyebrow raised in question. “Thank you.”

She winked at him and stepped into the elevator, not sparing him another word as it closed and moved away. 

Tony scooped up the veil, studying it as he waited for the elevator to return and take him to the penthouse. He carefully pressed it to his face as he stepped in, studying some of the pre-sets Natasha already had set up in the mirrored walls. He had found one he didn’t mind - a mid-30s looking male with darker skin than his own - and was still fiddling with adjusting the fit when he stepped out onto the penthouse floor. 

He didn’t make it far into his living room before a body was pressed behind his, a large hand wrapped around his throat. “State your business,” Galinn hissed.

“Galinn!” Tony gasped, clawing at the Aes’s too-tight grip. “It’s me, Tony!”

“Stark?” he questioned, releasing Tony and hurrying back. “I do not…”

Tony gulped in air, turning and deactivating the veil. 

“What sorcery is this?” Galinn asked, studying the crumpled veil in Tony’s hand.

“Tech, not magic,” Tony said, holding it out for Galinn’s perusal. “It’s called a photostatic veil. Can make me look and sound like anyone else. I hadn’t played with the voice settings yet, thankfully, or something tells me this would’ve turned out poorly for us.”

Galinn grimaced, setting the mask on the table. “I am terribly sorry, Stark. You were not home, and I did not recognize the man in the elevator… I apologize.”

“JARVIS wouldn’t have let anyone unauthorized come up this far, don’t worry,” Tony dismissed. “Though I am glad to see the self-defense rule also applies without you having to get hit. Reasonable suspicion of injury and all.”

“Are you well, Stark?”

“I’m fine, why?”

“You were not home nor in your lab. You are always in the Tower.”

“I just went out for a few hours,” Tony said, waving away Galinn’s concern. He didn’t exactly want to admit to the man that Tony had been at a brothel.

“Alright,” Galinn said, frowning as he studied Tony’s face. “I am here if you require anything.”

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Tony thought ruefully. He wanted Galinn here, but he wanted it to be of his own choice. Tony made a mental note to harass Wong tomorrow to see if the wizard had heard anything from Strange. 

“Anyway, I asked Nat about you two going out tomorrow. If you’d prefer her, she’s available, of course, but…”

A grin split across Galinn’s face. “The veil. You and I could go?”

“Only if you want,” Tony said hurriedly. “Like I said, Nat’s still an option, or since we have the veil anyone else could really go, if you want, like Barnes, he’d just need a long sleeve shirt to cover his arm or someth-”

Tony’s rambling was cut off by Galinn pressing his hand over Tony’s mouth. “I will see you on the morrow,” Galinn said with a laugh, “and you can introduce me properly to New York.”

Tony grabbed at Galinn’s wrist, lowering it so the Aes could see his smile. “Tomorrow, then. You get to have your first real glimpse of New York City.”

Emotion flickered across Galinn’s face, though Tony couldn’t place what it was, before it settled back on a grin. “Good night, Stark. I will see you bright and early.”

“Good night, Galinn.”

~

Tony would like to say he woke up the next morning excited as a child on Christmas morning. Instead…

“I will drink your coffee myself if you do not get up,” Galinn said, laughing as he tugged the blankets from where Tony had tried to hide under them.

“Low blow,” he grumbled, finally acquiescing to consciousness.

“You are short, I fear going low is my only true option.”

“Now you’re just being mean,” Tony whined, grabbing the pillow from beneath his head and thwacking Galinn with it.

The Aes side-stepped the attack easily, catching the pillow and tugging it from Tony’s hands. “This is a poor weapon, Stark.”

“That's what you think,” he mumbled, reaching for another.

He was cut off from his attempts to arm himself by Galinn smacking the back of his head with the stolen pillow. It bounced off Tony harmlessly, though Tony was reasonably sure an Aes at full strength would've been able to decapitate him with the fluffy pillow.

“See? Poor weapon,” Galinn said, even as he rained down feathery hell on Tony, who cackled at the assault, finally grabbing another pillow and joining Galinn in their war.

Tony did a tactical roll off the bed, landing in a crouch and taking cover on the opposite side, clutching his pillow to his chest. 

“You dare flee from our glorious battle, son of Stark?” Galinn declared, sounding every bit a warrior god. “Face me in brutal combat, Midgardian, and meet my foes in Valhalla!”

Unfortunately, Tony had forgotten that having a California King bed between him and his assailant meant fuck all when said assailant was a goddamn wizard. He was quite rudely reminded when he went to peek over the bed, only to be given a sneak attack to the back of his head.

“Death blow!” Galinn said, his seriousness falling away to laughter. “I win.”

Tony conceded the fight, his hands raised in surrender as he stood. “You have bested me, oh great warrior,” he answered, putting on his best Thor impression.

“Oh, Norns, that simply sounded wrong,” Galinn said, shuddering theatrically.

“I think my Thor impression is good!”

“It is far too good. Never do that again or I fear I may have new nightmares,” he proclaimed with exaggerated seriousness.

“Alright, alright,” Tony laughed. “I yield! I’m awake.”

“Marvelous,” Galinn said, tossing the pillow back on Tony’s bed. “Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen, or I will leave without you.”

Galinn swept from the room and Tony hurried to change. It took longer than he expected to find a half-buried pair of sneakers, but he tossed them on, paired with a nice pair of jeans and a blue button-up, wrapping gauze over the reactor to keep it muted. Unsure if Galinn would actually keep his threat, Tony was in the kitchen within minutes, where Galinn wordlessly handed Tony a warm, pitch black cup of coffee. Galinn was prepping his own, drowning it in more creamer and milk than actual coffee. The abomination, honestly.

“I know we are going out today, but what is the plan?”

“I was thinking a scavenger hunt and then Shakespeare in the Park,” Tony answered when he finally came up for air from his glorious caffeine. (Bruce could complain all he wanted - Tony’s vice was either caffeine or alcohol, and always would be.)

Galinn choked on his drink mid-sip. “Pardon?”

“Do you know what a scavenger hunt is? It’s where -”

“I know what that is,” Galinn said, surprisingly firm. “The second. Shakespeare in the Park?”

“Oh, Shakespeare in the Park just means we’re going to watch a play written by an old dead guy. I think you’ll like it, you have that kind of ‘classy British dude’ thing going on.”

Galinn’s face scrunched briefly in confusion, but the tension seeped from his shoulders as he nodded. “Ah, an error of the All-Speak, then. My apologies.”

Something about that sentence bugged Tony, but he couldn’t place it. “You ready?” he asked instead, throwing back the last of his coffee.

“Whenever you are,” Galinn said, throwing a longing look out the window, where a warm summer day shone through. “Though we may wish to renew the runes. I do not know how long you are planning for us to be out.”

“Good idea. Let’s do this,” Tony said, quickly revoking and reapplying the slave order before picking up the veil and carefully sculpting it to his face, using the preset face and voice he’d chosen last night. “How do I look?” he asked. The mask wasn’t entirely comfortable, pulling slightly on his facial hair, but Tony could suffer a few hours of discomfort for being able to join Galinn outside.

“Like a stranger,” Galinn said, pulling a frown. “Your voice is different, too. I do not like it.”

“I’ve gotta keep looking like a stranger, but I suppose I could still sound like myself,” he said, messing with the nearly imperceptible buttons on the bottom edge of the mask. “That better?”

“Very much so,” Galinn said with a nod. “Let us go, Anthony.”

“Anthony?” he asked, following Galinn to the elevator.

“It is your name, is it not?” Galinn shrugged. “And I assume it is a name that would blend in better than Stark.”

“I guess, I’m just not used to people calling me Anthony, I’ve gone by Tony since I was a kid.”

Galinn snorted. “You are a famed warrior who brought ruin to an armada. You’ve more than grown into the name Anthony.”

Part of Tony wanted to argue, but honestly, he kind of liked Galinn calling him Anthony. It was different, unique to the Aes, and Tony didn’t mind the idea of Galinn having his own name for him. “You can call me Anthony on one condition,” he conceded.

“And what is that?”

“You stop calling me Stark going forward, even when we get back. Only people who don’t like me call me Stark, y’know.”

Galinn looked at him in utter bewilderment. “Your own team alternates between Tony and Stark.”

“Because they alternate between loving and hating me, duh. Most people do.”

Galinn just laughed as they slid into another of Tony’s cars and made their way to the street. Mercifully, it was a weekday, so Tony wasn’t having to fight as much traffic.

Galinn immediately began asking questions, wanting to know how the car worked. Tony answered as he drove, explaining the workings of combustion engines and fossil fuels.

“That seems downright ridiculous,” Galinn said as they finally found metered parking near the Park, only a few blocks away. “It’s a limited resource, using the blood of the dead, and poisons your atmosphere? Midgardians realize they need their atmosphere intact in order to keep breathing, do they not?”

Tony just shrugged, leading Galinn towards the Park entrance. “We don’t have magic here, and our solar panels aren’t as efficient as we need them to be for the demands of a population our size. Small, self-sustaining communes can sometimes manage, but it’s still an expensive investment.”

“It is more expensive to be kind to your planet?” Galinn asked, seeming to be utterly and genuinely befuddled at the concept. 

“Capitalism, baby,“ Tony said. “Makes the world turn.”

“Midgardians,” Galinn said, and Tony didn’t even need to see his face to know how hard he’d just rolled his eyes.

Tony said nothing, pulling up the website on his Starkphone and logging into the scavenger hunt tour. “I know you said you know how scavenger hunts work, but I doubt you’ve ever done one with a smartphone,” Tony said, leaning into Galinn and holding his phone out so Galinn could follow. 

“Even your outdoor adventures are consumed by technology,” Galinn said with an exasperated sigh, but he tilted forward to see Tony’s phone better.

“I’m not justifying that with a response,” Tony said as he clicked the big blue BEGIN ADVENTURE button. “So, we’re going to get a clue for what landmark to go to. Once we think we’re there, we click this button, and it’ll ask us a question, that we can only answer if we’re at the right spot. This screen,” he swapped to another page, “gives us a map with the names of all the notable landmarks.”

“What’s the first clue?”

“It’s ‘we’re all mad here,’” Tony answered.

“Is there a memorial to great anger within the Park?” Galinn asked, reaching across Tony and swiping to the map screen.

“No, it's a quote from a popular book,” Tony said, pointing to the Alice in Wonderland statue marker. “It's here.”

“I fear I may not be much help in winning this endeavor, if Midgardian knowledge is a prerequisite,” Galinn said with a laugh.

“Well, good thing it's not a win/lose scenario,” Tony pointed out, pocketing his phone after double checking they were on the right path. “The only goal is to have fun. And get some exercise in.”

Galinn nodded, seeming to hesitate, glancing down. He took a deep breath and then grabbed Tony’s hand. “I am following you, then, Anthony,” he said, though it almost came out like a question, like he was asking permission.

Tony’s traitor heart skipped a beat and he tightened his grip on Galinn’s hand, smiling as he entwined their fingers. Galinn fell into step beside him, the two of them close enough their hips sometimes bumped into each other. Tony did his best to keep the sappiness from his smile, but he couldn’t deny this felt nice.

He couldn’t quite feel the air on his face, but he could feel it tousling his hair, and Galinn’s hand was warm in his. There were no paparazzi hounding him, no talks of magic or slavery, no impending fight, it was just two dudes in a park, holding hands.

Somehow, that was more terrifying than sparring with Natasha ever had been.

They made their way leisurely to the statue, and Tony smiled at the children crawling over it. Very few statues in the Park were encouraged to be touched, but Alice was one of the exceptions. Several moms were nearby, fanny packs on their hips and I <3 NY emblazoned across their chest, taking pictures and laughing at their little one’s shenanigans. Eventually, one of the moms called to her child, and the group slowly began to disperse, as Tony had a fantastic idea.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, getting the attention of the closest tourist. She turned to him, caution written across her face.

Wow, it was genuinely off-putting to be unrecognized.

“Yes?” she asked.

Tony held out his phone. “Could you get a picture of me and my friend? It’s our first time in Central Park.”

“Oh,” she said, the apprehension wiping from her face as Tony did his best to appear like any other photo-obsessed tourist. “Of course!”

Tony hit a key on the side of his phone, putting it in secure mode, and pulled the camera up. She accepted the phone, gesturing to the two of them. “Go on, climb on the mushroom!”

Galinn looked at Tony in confusion, but followed when he was pulled to sit in Alice’s lap while Tony balanced on her knee. If Tony leaned in a little more against Galinn’s shoulder than was strictly necessary, well, he could always claim it was an accident. The handholding was entirely intentional, however.

“Say jaberwocky!” the woman called.

“Smile,” Tony whispered, letting a genuine grin spread across his face.

The woman clicked the button a few times, the simulated sound of a camera shutter barely audible in the busy park. She looked down at the screen and nodded, coming over to them, her free hand wrapped around her daughter’s. “These look good?” she asked, handing Tony’s phone up to him. He hesitated, and was grateful when Galinn reached down instead, holding it at an angle they could both see.

Galinn swiped through the handful of pictures the woman had taken and nodded. Tony had him go back to his favorite. “They’re perfect,” Tony said, smiling at her. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” she said, waving goodbye, her six-year-old mimicking her motion, to which both Tony and Galinn waved back.

Galinn sat the phone on his knee and Tony picked it up. “I really like this one,” he said, tilting it to show Galinn, who just laughed.

“Anthony, they all look the same.”

“No, no, look,” he said, zooming in on it. “This one obviously has the best composition.”

“I will have to take your word for it,” he mused, though he wasn’t looking away from the picture either. “I just wish…” he trailed off.

“That my face was right?” Tony prompted.

Galinn hesitated, but ultimately nodded. “I… have an idea, if you would allow me?”

“Sure,” he said. “Just try to avoid blowing it up, wouldn’t help with us trying to stay on downlow here.”

“You are the one here with a penchant for accidental explosions,” Galinn pointed out. He reached his hand over the phone, where the photo still displayed. Galinn glanced around once before his hand began to glow with a faint purple, but only for just a second. Tony was watching him the entire time, and he nearly missed it. 

“Look now.”

Tony glanced back down and grinned. “How did you do that?”

The picture now showed Tony - actual Tony, with his own face - and Galinn smiling out of it, shoulder to shoulder and hand in hand.

“I enchanted it,” Galinn answered. “Even if it is printed or transferred to a new storage medium, what I cast is a spell that will always show what we believe the other’s true face to be.”

“It’s wonderful,” Tony grinned. “I’ve never really got to do silly tourist things before, y’know?”

“Too famous to blend in?”

“Even before the Av… uh, the team, yeah. Joys of being my father’s son.”

“Well,” Galinn said, leaning forward. “Today, you and I, all we are is silly little tourists, doing silly little tourist things. For a little while, we can pretend our pasts are not our own.”

“I like the sound of that,” Tony grinned. Galinn smiled and Tony was suddenly acutely aware of how close the other man was. He pulled back slightly, pretending to remember the scavenger hunt. “We had a question to answer!”

“What’s the question?” Galinn asked.

“‘They told me you had been to her and mentioned me to him. She gave me a good character, but said I could not blank .’ We’ve gotta fill in the blank.”

Galinn’s eyebrows pulled in thought as he looked around. “There, the plaques on the ground,” he pointed. “Do you think it’s quoting one of them?”

“Probably. Let’s go check ‘em out!”

Galinn slid off of the statue and Tony followed behind, Galinn catching him when he lost his footing on the drop. He said nothing about it, merely taking Tony’s hand in his again as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and led the way to the first plaque.

They found the answer quickly enough - the quote an exact copy from one of the plaques, merely missing the word swim - and then they were off to the next clue.

Hours were spent like that, taking their leisurely time as they traipsed the park, having random civilians take their photos, which Galinn would then enchant to show Tony’s face.

All in all, it was the most fun Tony had had in years.

“Aw, we’re on the last one,” Tony pouted as the final clue popped up.

“Is it? There are still statues and buildings we have not been to.”

 “The scavenger hunt randomizes which ones it shows, along with the clues and questions,” Tony explained. “There’s too many to actually see everything Central Park has to offer.”

“And what is the clue to our final adventure?”

Tony looked down and couldn’t help but groan. “It would be that one, wouldn’t it?”

“I fear telepathy is not in my repertoire,” Galinn pointed out. “What is it?”

“The clue is ‘we’re not alone.’”

“And you know which statue this is?”

“Yeah. It’s a memorial called The Lost. We’re actually not far from it.”

Galinn studied his face, frowning. “Are you well?”

“It’s…” Tony sighed. “Follow me. You’ll see.”

Neither said anything as Tony led them, the early afternoon settling in around them. Families shrieked around him while bored locals rested on benches, enjoying what small amount of nature New York could offer. He sometimes wondered what it would be like, to live someone else’s life. One without weapons or aliens, without slaves and magic. He usually still preferred living his own life, though.

Usually.

“Here we are,” Tony said, pulling Galinn to a stop in front of the podium. The memorial consisted of nearly a dozen people who were cast in bronze, their faces blank and shiny enough to look into like a mirror. At least, they had been, when the memorial was first installed three years prior. The elements had dirtied the faces enough by now it was just eerie blankness, the only differences the career outfits they wore and the varying heights and genders.

“What is this?” Galinn asked, forgoing reading the plaque and looking to Tony instead.

“It’s a memorial. To those who fought and fell in the Chitauri’s invasion.” Tony answered, looking away. 

Galinn tensed, dropping Tony’s hand and taking a closer look. “The Avengers should be here then, should they not?”

“That was what they wanted, originally,” Tony admitted. “This final result was the team’s idea. A memorial to the everyday heroes who tried, despite being only human, both during the invasion and after.” He began listing them off, pointing to each relevant statue. “Doctors, nurses, firemen, police, ambulance workers, national guard. Construction crew, social services.” He stopped on the last one, the figure cast in a plain t-shirt and jeans. “The civilian. People who fought or helped, either during the attack or in the aftermath.”

Galinn’s eyes dropped to the plaque finally, and his eyes grew sad. “This would be inconceivable on Asgard. The first fight your world has ever had with another, and then to choose not to engrave your name in the stone?”

Tony just shrugged. “My name’s already on the big ass Tower that was the epicenter of the fight. I didn’t need to add more of my marks anywhere else.”

“This poem, it is not what I expected,” Galinn said.

“Because it’s from no one famous. No great wordsmith.”

“How did it come to be, then?”

“A child,” Tony answered. “It was from a creative writing event one of the schools did. An orphan wrote it, a kid who’d lost his whole family in one of the buildings that collapsed. His teacher was friends with the mayor, and, well… it’s a good message, y’know? Simple, and still innocent. Still hopeful.”

“A child?” Galinn muttered, pressing his hand to the engraving. Tony didn’t have to look to know the words, he’d long since memorized them.

The sky split open,

The roads set alight,

Yet still our humanity

Shone through so bright.

With the kindness of our souls,

We won the fight.

Galinn took a deep breath and stood. “I am glad your team was able to stop the bloodshed, before it reached further. Too much loss in too short a time.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighed, his mood thoroughly dampened. 

“The question?” Galinn asked.

“Huh?”

“Our final question. What is it?”

“Oh, uh,” Tony muttered, hurriedly pulling the webpage back up. “It’s ’how many died?’”

Galinn frowned, glancing at the plaque. “It doesn’t say,” he said hesitantly.

“C’mere,” Tony said, pulling Galinn to the back of the memorial. “It’s here.”

Galinn glanced down at it and his face pinched. “‘In remembrance of the events of May 4, 2012,’” he read, “‘of the 9,000 dead and lost, and all the heroes who stepped up when the odds were against them.’”

The Aes looked up at Tony, a broken look in his eyes. “Nine thousand?”

Tony nodded. “It’s a rough estimate. Might be less, might be more. Too many bodies were never found.”

“That’s… the population of Asgard is barely above ten thousand.”

“And New York City has a population of 8.2 million. At the end of the day, this barely affected the city’s population.”

Galinn eyed the statue again, then turned away, coming back to Tony. “Anthony, I fear I may have overdone myself today. Could we go home? We can watch Shakespeare another time.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, closing out of the scavenger hunt without inputting the final answer. “I think home sounds good.”

Galinn was quiet on the way to the car, his hands shoved in his pockets as he appeared deep in thought. Tony pulled the mask off as soon as they got in, itching vigorously at his face. He’d worn makeup less irritating than that mask before. Mentally, he pushed the photostatic veil project up on his to-do list. Going outside without being swarmed was pleasant, but that mask got irritating after a while.

“Sta-Anthony,” Galinn said after Tony pulled out of the parking space and into traffic.

“Yeah?”

“I am glad you survived the Hel that Loki put you through. And I say that not as someone who’s benefited from your life, but as someone who has been to many realms and seen the worst of various species.” Galinn turned to face Tony, his eyes searching for something. “The realms need more good men, and I am grateful the Fates put me in your path. Good men are rare, Anthony Stark. Do not change.”

Tony drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, remembering the prior night’s conversation with Natasha, about how there were no good men among them. “Thank you,” he eventually decided on, unwilling to try to argue his own demons. “I wish you and I could have met under different circumstances. Better ones. Kinder ones.”

A sad smile grew on Galinn’s face. “As do I. I also wish that you had met my people on a better playing field. I’m sorry your first introduction to Asgard was war. We’re… they’re not all like that. Warriors, yes, but they only ever fight those who deserve it.”

“More like only what the All-Daddy says is a worthy fight,” Tony said with an eye roll. “Thor’s told us some of the wars Odin has sent him to do, and I think he’s finally realizing none of them deserved the bloodshed, just for wanting freedom from Odin’s rule.”

“The Odinson is very different from what I remember him being, before my sentencing,” Galinn said absently, watching the people on the nearby sidewalks.

“Did you… know him, before?”

“Not well,” Galinn admitted. “But… he had a reputation for being a very good son. Good sons on Asgard are obedient and do not question their fathers.”

“Honestly, I think that’s why he hangs out on Earth so much. He prefers Jane and the team to Asgard,” Tony said. “Don’t tell him I said that, I don’t think he’s let himself realize just yet just how disillusioned he’s become with his parents.”

“He will make a good king, when the time is right.”

“So what you’re saying is I should start praying for Odin to hurry up and die? Hey, do you think Thor could free you, if Odin kicked the bucket?”

“Mind your words, Anthony,” Galinn scolded, but laughter colored his tone. “Even in jest, what you say is blasphemy.”

Tony just shrugged, waiting to turn into the SI parking decks. “He’s not my king, nor my god.”

“No gods or kings beyond yourself, then?”

“The two closest entities I’ll hail as gods are Pepper Potts and James Rhodes. And I am the king, of this Tower, at least.”

“I’ve met Pepper, but I have not met this Rhodes, have I?”

“Nah,” Tony said, finally turning into the lots and making his leisurely way to his own parking area. “Rhodey Bear stays busy. He’s Air Force - one of the military branches of this country - and a high-ranking member, at that, on top of being the War Machine.”

“You do collect powerful friends,” Galinn mused.

Tony just laughed. “In Rhodey’s defense, he kind of collected me.”

“Oh?” Galinn asked, the two of them stepping into the elevator and going up to their floor.

“Poor guy met me when I was 15 and he was 20. We were at MIT dorms, and he got assigned some bitch ass, genius teen nepo-baby as a roommate. I was such a prick to him! He had younger siblings, including one around my age, though, and he saw straight through my façade. Figured out I was fucking terrified. As adults, he was the only person I trusted to be the SI-military liaison. Plus, I may have prayed to him once or twice, y’know.”

Galinn let out a laugh at that. “You prayed to a mortal?”

“I had more faith in him than a god I’d never met, y’know?”

“Oh?”

Tony hummed, plopping down into a chair and tapping his fingers against the reactor, still hidden beneath the gauze he’d wrapped under his shirt. “I haven’t told you about how I got this, have I?”

Galinn took the seat opposite him. “You have not. I know you do not wish it touched, it powers your armor, and it protected you from the Mind Stone’s invasion. I know not else.”

“Got kidnapped a few years back. One of my own missiles blew up and embedded shrapnel in my chest. This keeps the shards from reaching my heart. I prayed to Rhodey while I was captive. When I built the Mark I Iron Man suit and made my escape, it was Rhodey who found me, lost and wandering in the Afghan desert.” Tony explained. 

Galinn frowned. “Why do you not remove the shrapnel?”

“Too hard to remove,” Tony lied with a shrug. Well, it was only a partial lie, he supposed. There were days where some part of him felt like he deserved it - the missile had been his design, the shrapnel his design, the death and terror his design. He’d thought it justified, back then, when it was as black-and-white to him as ‘they’re the bad guys,’ only to learn civilians died more often than enemy combatants.

And no one, enemy combatant or not, deserved to feel the shrapnel tearing through their body, except the man who created it.

Galinn held out his hand. “May I see?”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Are you going to try to heal me?”

“Oh Norns, no,” Galinn reassured. “I admit, I am simply curious.”

Tony waved his consent and Galinn perched on the arm of the chair, pressing his fingertips to Tony’s neck. Warmth melted into his skin, comforting as it shot through his veins.

“My, you have survived much,” Galinn muttered, pulling away moments later. “I never realized how deep your chest piece went. Does it not ache?”

“Sometimes, particularly if someone gets a good hit on it,” Tony admitted.

“What makes it difficult to remove? The quantity?”

“That’s the problem with the shrapnel. The issue with the arc reactor is it’s a big ass hole in my chest. We don’t know how to patch that up safely, other than shoving another bit of metal in. Otherwise, there’s concern about my rib cage collapsing or leaving a too-accessible route to my heart.”

“Is that why you wanted to fix this Extremis you spoke of before?”

“It’s a background reason, sure. My primary concern with it is genuinely all the others it could help.” 

Galinn made a noise of acknowledgement before he stood, stretching. “Today was wonderful, Stark. I thank you for the chance to leave this Tower. However, I hear a warm shower calling my name. It is far more humid here than Asgard or Alfheim.”

“Hey, none of that Stark shit, remember? It’s Tony. Or Anthony.”

Galinn grinned. “Apologies, Anthony. My statement stands.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ve got some work in the lab to do anyway. See you at dinner?”

“I will see you then.”

The two split, Galinn heading for his room and Tony departing for the elevator.

“To the lab, Sir?” JARVIS asked.

“First, where’s Barnes?”

“He is in the gym.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, Sir. Would you like me to see if he is welcome to company?”

“Please. I’ve just gotta ask him something and then I’ll get out of his hair.”

A pause then, “Sergeant Barnes is awaiting you.”

Tony was let off at the gym floor a few moments later, Barnes already sat at one of the nearby benches, wiping sweat from his face.

“You got a sec, Barnes?”

“Considering this is the first time you’ve ever sought me out? Sure, so long as you’re not planning on stabbing me.”

“What? There’s no way this is the first time I’ve ever asked to see you!”

“Sergeant Barnes is correct, Sir, excepting calls to aid Mr. Ingensbarn,” JARVIS piped up unhelpfully.

Guilt colored Tony’s face. “Ah. Sorry about that, Barnes.”

Barnes just shrugged. “There’s not many men who’d let their parent’s murderer stay on their team and in their home.”

Tony sighed and sat down next to the soldier. “It wasn’t you, I know that intellectually, but…”

They lapsed into silence, Tony remembering the video. He’d seen it when HYDRA’s data got flushed during the Insight fiasco. He remembered his father’s pleas to help his mother, the moment he’d recognized Barnes as his assailant. The audio was staticky, but it had been good enough to etch pain into Tony’s iron heart.

“Anyway, I did come down here for a reason,” Tony said, banishing the thoughts that weighed on his heart.

“What can I do for ya, chief?”

“First, never call me that again,” Tony said with a faux shudder. “Second, it’s about Galinn. He’s requested that, if something happens to me, ownership of him should transfer to you.”

“You two would trust me with that?” Barnes asked, genuine surprise on his face.

“You’ve defended him the entire time,” Tony pointed out. “Made sure none of us tried to abuse his status. You’re safe, to him. I believe if I died, you’d fight Odin himself to get Galinn free.”

Barnes was silent for a moment, running his flesh hand over the curves of the metal one, brushing against the red star on his shoulder. “What if HYDRA gets me again?” he asked softly. “What if the trigger words aren’t as gone as we thought? If they got ahold of me and Galinn…”

“The words are gone, Barnes,” Tony said gently. “We’ve all tested you. Natasha tested them. Wanda checked your mind. They’re gone. You’ve got the memories of them, but they can never control you again.”

Barnes took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “What do I have to do? To agree to… to owning another person?”

“It’s only for if I die,” Tony reminded him. “I’m a hard bastard to kill, Barnes, don’t forget that. I’m just not conceited enough to think myself unkillable, and I’m not willing to risk Galinn’s life. And we don’t know yet. Thor should be back soon with the books from Asgard, he left this morning for them.”

Barnes clenched his fist tight, doubt written across his face. “Okay,” he agreed, tense.

“Just… promise it to me, please?”

“What?”

“That you’ll free him. If something happens to me, free him, no matter what Steve or anyone else says.”

“You have my word,” Barnes said, solemn, rubbing where his arm attached to his shoulder.

“Does it hurt?” Tony blurted, desperate to get away from the emotional conversation.

“My comfort wasn’t exactly the priority of mad Nazi scientists,” Barnes pointed out.

“If you’re, uh, comfortable with it, maybe I could take a look sometime? The fleshy sciences are more Bruce’s thing, but between me and him… maybe we can make something better?”

Barnes shrugged. “I’m not doing anything right now.”

“To my lab, then?”

“After you,” he said, tossing the towel into the hamper (on the opposite end of the very large room, with unerring accuracy.)

Tony and Barnes spent the rest of the day until dinner running diagnostics and tests on his arm. Tony had nearly vomited when he’d seen the port where the arm connected. He’d been expecting it to be a solid metal plate, but instead was a crude fusion of technology and human nerve endings. That had to hurt, and Tony was determined to make something far less painful for him.

“Captain Rogers is calling for dinner,” JARVIS informed, right as the Tower shook. “Prince Odinson has also just returned, it seems.”

Barnes grabbed his arm, re-attaching it with ease, and Tony had to admit himself impressed when no pain flashed across the other man’s face. They were halfway to the elevator when Barnes stopped, hesitance on his face.

“You good, Barnes?”

“Yeah, I just… Thanks, Stark. You could’ve convinced Galinn I was a bad idea, and you don’t have to help with my arm, but…”

Tony just shrugged, forever uncomfortable with getting any type of compliment. “You’re an Avenger now, Barnes, and have been for a while. Only the best for the superheroes in my Tower, okay?”

“You take gratitude as poorly as Steve does,” Barnes said, amused.

“Shut up,” Tony laughed. “C’mon, before Thor eats everything.”

Barnes followed Tony into the elevator and, for the first time, Tony realized he had no anxiety around the Winter Soldier. Because this wasn’t the Winter Soldier, he had been killed when they’d pulled the programming out of Barnes’s head.

The man standing beside him wasn’t the one who killed his parents and, finally, Tony made peace with that.

Chapter Text

Nine thousand.

Lukewarm water splashed against Loki’s back, his forehead pressed against the shower tile.

Might be less, might be more.

Loki’s hands clenched into fists, centuries of hard-fought for self-control the only thing sparing the wall from his rage.

Too many bodies were never found.

Loki wasn’t a fool, he knew he’d brought death on Midgard’s head, but he’d thought he’d mitigated it better. His death sentence had been for ‘thousands of deaths,’ between his attempted destruction of Jotunheim and his invasion of Midgard, but…

He’d thought maybe two or three thousand, at most, between both.

Loki stared at his hand, pressing his palm to the wall, and imagined he could see the blood of nine thousand innocents dripping from it. He had been so careful, made up lies he could trick himself (and therefore the Other) into believing while he tried to negate a war he had no desire for. Manipulating Selvig into building a fail-safe and making the scientist think it was his own idea, the limiters Loki’d claimed necessary when all they did was make the portal a choke point.

Loki had never wanted to be a monster. He hadn’t wanted to subjugate the humans - he’d always been fond of them, short-lived and chaotic as they were. Yet, he had decided his way was the most acceptable of them all, that he was limiting the bloodshed with his cleverness. Had he done any good? Had he really spared any lives, when nine thousand lay dead at his feet?

He’d never cared how many he killed upon Jotunheim, monsters they were, but he did mourn the humans he ravaged. He’d considered it an accomplishment, when none of the handful of men under the sceptre’s control had died, but was any of this actually something he could hail as such? 

Loki slipped to his knees, pressing his eyes shut as water continued its smoothing massage along his back. He thought back over everything he could remember of the invasion, trudging through blue-washed agony to figure out where he could have done better. If he was as clever as he claimed, he should’ve been able to keep the casualty list low. It was a slight to his intelligence, his abilities, and his claims to not be a monster that he’d allowed so many to die.

Time washed the grime of the day away, but it could do nothing for the blood dirtying his soul, and he didn’t want the watcher to think something amiss if he spent too long in the shower. He stepped from the shower, wrapping a fluffy towel around his waist, and inelegantly plopped onto the bed, after asking JARVIS to suspend visual recordings while he was undressed.

JARVIS happily complied, and Loki wondered how different his life would’ve been if Heimdall had been more like the AI. To be given grace instead of immediate suspicion. Then again, he had no doubt once his true nature came out here on Midgard, JARVIS would become another Heimdall. Loki sighed, leaning forward and pressing his palms against his eyes, soothing the budding ache.

You’ll be my perfect monster, princeling.

Loki jerked back, the words a memory he wished he didn’t have. He wished he could scrub the four years aboard Sanctuary out, but those scars, mental as there were, went deeper than any of the physical torture. In the Void, time moved differently, and the Titan had ensured Loki’s obedience through pain.

All to lead to this - a monster masquerading as an Avenger, a god owned by a mortal.

“Mr. Ingensbarn, are you well?” JARVIS asked, after Loki had been silent and still too long.

“I am well,” Loki lied. “Simply a long day and a lot to process.”

“I can understand. Becoming an Avenger is no minor decision, though I imagine it will aid your asylum request.”

“Ah, yes, my hearing is coming up soon, is it not?” In all honesty, Loki had forgotten. Midgardian asylum requests took so long.

“In two months, on August 17th,” JARVIS confirmed. “Your work visa has thus far allowed you to stay in the States, and I believe you will have no issue convincing the USCIS asylum officer that you have a credible fear of persecution and/or torture should you return to Alfheim.”

Loki shuddered at the thought. He’d found some semblance of false peace here, and he couldn’t imagine returning to Alfheim’s royal halls.

Desperate to move to happier thoughts, he thought of the day he had spent at Stark - at Anthony’s - side. It had been nice, simple. Freeing, until the final monument.

“JARVIS?” Loki asked.

“Yes, Mr. Ingensbarn?”

“Are you familiar with a story called Alice in Wonderland?”

“Of course. First published in 1865 by Lewis Carroll under the name Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, it is now one of the best-known works from Victorian literature, and has been adapted to every type of media since then with various retellings, though typically retaining its core theme of children’s literary nonsense.”

“Would you happen to have a copy?”

“Certainly - the original work is in the public domain. I will download it to your Starkpad.”

“My thanks,” Loki said, grabbing the device from his bedside table. While he missed the feel of paper beneath his fingers, he had to admit this instant access made up for it. Conjuring it would require him to know the location of a physical copy. He settled in, content to read, with JARVIS’s presence always there, but inoffensive in a way Heimdall had never managed.

Since his move here, JARVIS had been privy to many of Loki’s panicked nightmares, had soothed him when Loki awoke pleading for mercy that had not come, and Loki welcomed this watcher’s gentle gaze. Not for the first time, Loki wondered if this was what home was supposed to feel like, and how much it would hurt when it all came crashing on his head, splintered into a million pieces by the weight of his lies and his crimes.

Loki was well-engrossed into the tale of a young girl lost in an insane realm when the Tower shuddered, the cackle of the Bifröst causing the hairs on Loki’s arm to stand on end.

“Prince Odinson has returned from Asgard,” JARVIS informed unnecessarily, Loki turning off the screen. “Just in time as well, Captain Rogers has called to assemble for dinner.” 

Loki tossed the device to the bed and made for the closet, only to pause. His magic was back, and Anthony had given him free use of it. He closed his eyes, picturing the outfit he sought - black sweatpants that he hated to admit were heavenly in their comfort, a blue silk sleeping tunic. He grinned as he felt the fabric appear on his body, a simple spell that had grown harder through disuse. Skywalking had returned to him like a breath of fresh air, but some older spells were dusty and uncomfortable, the full expanses of his seiðr still locked within his heart.

He left his room, idly noting Anthony’s open bedroom door and wondering what creations the mortal had likely spent the last several hours neck-deep in. JARVIS already had the elevator open for him and Loki slid in.

As was usual, chaos was alive and well when he got off on the common room floor. Laughter and jokes, easy merrymaking. He cast a single glance at Thor, the ever-present ache in his chest growing. Thoughts of family and belonging had been assaulting Loki’s mind since they’d first arrived at the Park, an unwelcome reminder of what he did not truly have and desperately longed for.

“Galinn!” Anthony called, waving his arms above his head, as though Loki wouldn’t be able to tell who called his name. Loki smothered a smile and went to the mortal’s side, eyebrow raised in question. “Barnes agreed!”

“And Thor has the book of fucked-up magic in his hands,” Bucky added, scowling at the small, worn brown tome, engulfed in Thor’s large hands. 

“I shall study it, ensure it is a spell I can cast. We shall reconvene on the morrow to do the necessary spellwork?”

“It’s a plan,” Anthony agreed, waving Thor over.

“Galinn!” Thor called, his large voice too loud in the enclosed room. Loki nodded his head politely as Thor made his way to the mage.  “Here, I was able to procure this from the Palace’s library,” he said, dropping the aged text in Loki’s waiting hands. “Just, ah, do be careful? I must return it before they realize it is no longer there.”

Loki’s eyes widened and he looked at the book in his hands. “Thor,” he said slowly, “did you steal this?”

“I am of the royal family!” Thor declared. “It should not be stealing, but the All-Father has limited who is to have access to this dark magic.” His gaze turned to Loki, the righteousness of his voice turning to sheepishness and a small shrug. “I may have stolen it, yes.”

Loki couldn’t help it - he laughed. “I should have it returned to you by nightfall tomorrow, if all goes as expected.”

“I looked for any others, but this was the only one I found which included the spell to allow the transfer of ownership upon death. I could find none that held the spell to free you. I am sorry,” Thor admitted, his head drooping slightly with defeat.

Hundreds of years of comforting his brother had Loki reaching out, grasping Thor’s shoulder. “You would not have found it,” Loki explained. “Slave magic must be burned out by an appropriately powerful mage. There is no spell, just pure seiðr.”

Thor’s expression perked right up and he nodded his appreciation.

“Grub time!” Barton called, knife in one hand and fork in the other, a napkin tucked into his collar. “It’s spaghetti night!”

Rogers - ah, Steve - rolled his eyes, good humor on his face as he placed the Avengers-sized serving of spaghetti down. “Before we start, I believe there’s an announcement?” Steve asked, nodding towards Anthony, who moved to stand.

The engineer glanced at Loki, confirming their previous day’s talk. Anthony had insisted Loki think it over, to be sure this was something ‘Galinn’ wanted and didn’t feel forced into. Loki inclined his head, acquiescing his permission for Anthony to deliver the news.

“Welcome our newest official Avenger!” Anthony proclaimed, gesturing to Loki, his voice full of overexaggerated grandeur. “Galinn Ingensbarn has agreed to join our little band of misfits!”

“With condition,” Loki hurriedly interjected, seeing Thor’s face grow too excited.

“With condition,” Anthony parroted. “Galinn will not be joining us when Thor is on the field.”

Thor's face fell and that little vindictive part of Loki thrilled. Still, Loki couldn’t help but try to soothe the frown from his once-brother’s face. “It is an intricacy with the runework,” Loki lied, using the story he and Anthony had agreed on, which would stay between the two of them. “There are spells about not outshowing my betters. The Midgardians don't trigger the clause, but the Prince of Asgard…”

“So it's nothing against you, big guy,” Anthony said. “Just the bullshit runes.”

Thor nodded, solemn. “I understand. I hope, one day, we shall be able to meet on the field of battle as allies. I have missed having a mage at my back.”

Loki raised his eyebrows in shock and Thor’s face turned sheepish again. The other Avengers’ faces - save Bucky‘s, as he had no part in the invasion, and the Spider’s, who had excellent control over her reactions - turned into various degrees of shock, hatred, or disbelief at the inadvertent mention of Loki.

Loki, from where he sat beside them and joining their ranks, tried to ignore the twinge of hurt.

“Anyway,” Anthony said, quickly steering the conversation back away, “this means Galinn needs to be folded into our current training schedule. I will get him fitted with a comm and some gear.”

“I have a question,” Barton said, glaring at Loki with a more serious face than he’d ever seen from the archer before.

“Yes?” Loki asked.

“This is really important. This question will make or break you being an Avenger. Do you understand me?”

The rest of the team were focused on Barton, curiosity on their faces, as Loki nodded solemnly.

“What’s your superhero name?”

Laughter filled the room, Loki’s included, as Barton’s serious face dropped into silliness.

“I believe my actual name shall suffice,” Loki said.

“Or whatever name the media decides to slap on you,” Anthony added, gesturing to himself and Banner. “My suit’s not even iron! It’s -”

“A gold-titanium alloy,” the rest of the original team intoned together, even Thor, suggesting Anthony had said this many, many times. A fact which was further confirmed when the engineer’s face pulled into a pout.

“Did the others pick their own names?” Loki asked as he loaded food onto his plate.

“Nah,” Barton said, shoveling food into his mouth. “Mine came from the circus.”

“United States government,” Steve said.

“Russian government,” Romanoff said. 

“Secret Nazi organization,” Bucky added.

“My parents?” Thor said, though he phrased it as a question. “Do I not have a superhero name?”

“You're a Viking god,” Anthony answered. “Your name is already kinda one for a superhero.”

Predictably, Thor beamed.

The rest of the meal was full of conversation, largely on how best to announce ‘Galinn’ to the world. Eventually, it was decided to simply let him fight in whatever the next Avengers-level threat was, rationalizing that people may panic if they thought the team was recruiting, and wanting to keep his slave status a continued secret.

When Steve asked if he would be staying on after his sentence ended - what a polite way to describe a lifetime of slavery - Loki had only said, “We will see,” though he knew he would be cast out the second the binding runes were removed.

As much as he was growing to like these damnable mortals, he didn't want to keep Odin’s glamour longer than he had to.

He ignored the fact he'd be returning to a different glamour of Odin's - at least the original he'd had for 1700 years, it was familiar. He could pretend to claim it as his own, in a way he never would the monstrous blue of his true form.

When dinner ended, Loki took the slave book with him to his room on Anthony’s floor and began pouring over it. Reading it was harder than he expected.

The matter of fact way the book discussed ripping away free will, hope, joy… it was, to use a Midgardian term, dehumanizing. 

Still, knowledge was power, and Loki had always collected power in any way he could, especially when it directly affected him. Sadly, the tome revealed no true new information, other than the necessary steps to designate Bucky as Anthony’s next-of-kin, along with a few of the more mechanical steps of the spellwork - how his seiðr was bound, how the compulsion to obey worked.

The next day, Loki was - for the first time - glad to hand the book back off to Thor after casting the spell, adding Bucky’s name in a rough translation to runic form and embedding it under Anthony’s.

He elected not to mention to Bucky that he’d just essentially branded the soldier’s name into his body, the man had looked haunted enough at the prospect of owning another person. (To which Anthony pointed out, seemingly not for the first time, that he is “really stubborn about not dying” and then thumped the reactor.)

Despite the awkwardness of that, the next weeks went smoothly. Thor returned to Asgard a few days after the casting, though he insisted on another ‘sleepover and movie’ before he left. Barton picked the movie, and Loki found himself grateful for Asgardian schooling as he watched teenagers dance and sing around a high school. At least until it was pointed out (to Thor) that High School Musical was, in fact, fiction, and schools did not have that much singing. Usually. Barton tried to explain something called gleeks after that, but Romanoff shut him up (with minimal violence).

Loki met frequently with Anthony and found himself further amazed by the mortal’s brilliance, and what a shame it was that he was a roaring sun that would burn out so soon. Loki declined plate armor, requesting simple leather armor, which had caused Anthony to outright pout, since that was a build he couldn’t do himself. Instead, he threw himself into making Loki weapons, after asking what Loki would prefer.

While Loki longed for his familiar daggers, now was not a good time for it. He was competent with swords and staffs as well, so that was what he had Anthony build for him.

He sparred with the team, and had to admit he was impressed with how often Romanoff managed to get him on his back. Anthony was still his favorite to fight with, however.

It was three weeks after Loki had risen to the ranks of Avenger that a battle summoned them. He’d been given the details of the most common threats the Avengers faced, so he was readily prepared when Hydra launched an attack in Belgium. Only the Tower Avengers, sans Bucky, were summoned - the Compound Avengers were kept in reserve.

“Ready to kick some ass?” Anthony asked, his armor assembling around him on the Quinjet. 

Loki grinned, sharp and lethal, purple magic clouded around his hands. He knew his magic would be weaker, due to the amount of effort he was putting in to mask anything that would identify him as Loki, but he was still more than prepared to handle this skirmish, once he got confirmation of if this was a capture or kill mission.

The battle - short as it ended up being - was still everything Loki had hoped. He channeled seiðr blasts through the staff Anthony created, skywalked into enemy blind spots just to bury his sword in their spines, and listened to the genuine hilarity that was the Avengers’ communication channel. It was mostly quips and puns from Anthony, exasperated sighs from Steve, the occasional helpful advice from Barton and Romanoff, and the Hulk proclaiming his desire to smash (Loki kept very, very far away from the beast.)

Once it was all handled, they gathered back in the Quinjet and the normal humans collapsed into chairs, armor and all. It was barely half an hour later when JARVIS spoke.

“Sir, Galinn’s presence at the most recent fight has been noted by several media sources. Shall I schedule a press conference for tomorrow, or would you like to release a statement?”

Anthony sighed and went to rub his face, only stopping when the now human Banner placed a hand on his elbow to keep the man from striking himself with a metal gauntlet. Anthony turned to Galinn. “Your choice, Linn.”

“To clarify, a press conference will include live questions, and a statement is merely something pre-written and sent out?” Loki confirmed. When Anthony nodded, Loki followed up with, “What do you recommend?”

Anthony paused, his nose scrunching slightly in a way Loki had learned meant he was in deep thought.  “Press conferences tend to be better received, and look less like we’re hiding something.”

“And considering we are hiding a rather big thing…” Barton added, gesturing to Loki’s arm, where the runes were hidden beneath armor. 

“Press conference, then,” Loki nodded. “What lies are we weaving this time?”

Many of the team frowned, but none of them outright disagreed with him. And that was how, once they landed, the entire team spent the next several hours with Pepper Potts (apparently the unofficial Avenger PR coordinator, despite all her other work), making sure they had a believable story and that everyone - Pepper had glared at Anthony here - was going to remember it.

When Loki strolled into the press conference the next day with the Avengers at his side, it was not what he was expecting. Flashing lights of cameras and loud chatter assaulted his senses, nothing like the oppressive quiet of the gathered citizens whenever Odin made his announcements.

Anthony and Steve - unofficially the two leaders of the Avengers - took the middle seats, Loki at Anthony’s other side. The other Midgardian Avengers, including Bucky, took their seats at the table. Each of them were dressed in Midgardian-appropriate suits, which was unreasonably stiff, in Loki’s opinion.

“Alright!” Anthony called, clapping his hands and flashing a convincing smile, but Loki had learned early on that the Iron Man hated the press. “I’ve got things to blow up, you’ve got questions, let’s get started.”

The audience laughed but obediently quietened. 

“As all of you presumably already know, we had a new member joining us on the field in yesterday’s Hydra strike,” Steve said, easily sliding into what Anthony dubbed ‘Captain America mode.’ “We have welcomed a new member to our ranks, and we ask that you welcome him warmly to this team, as well as this world. Please allow me to introduce Galinn Ingensbarn.”

“He’s an alien?!” a young man blurted out, and Loki buried his urge to laugh, keeping the appropriately mild look on his face, as Pepper had instructed. In the end, they had decided to keep relatively near to the truth.

“He is Aesir, from Asgard,” Anthony answered.

“Like Thor?” another shouted, others scribbling hurriedly into notepads on their laps. Loki hid his clenched fists under the table, secure in his lap. Even when no one knew who his family was, that was still the comparison Loki faced.

Anthony tapped on his knee under the table and Loki leaned forward to speak into the microphone, as planned. “Yes, though I fear I lack Prince Odinson’s impressive biceps,” Loki joked, one of the Pepper-pre-screened segues, pretending like that sentence didn’t stab at deep-seated insecurities. Loki had no insecurities like that, obviously, so nothing to stab. Loki let the fake smile fall, situating his face into something more fitting to the sad story he was about to weave.

“I am sure many of you have questions of how I came to be on Midgard, and I will endeavor to answer your inquiries to the best of my abilities,” Loki began, easing into the lie. Lying had always been easy to him. “As I understand you are already aware, Mr. Stark and Prince Odinson recently began investigating the possibility of inter-realm trade. I was a servant in the palaces of Alfheim, one of the worlds Mr. Stark visited, and was assigned to him as his translator. Being as very few of the light elves -” there was a squeak as someone went elves?!, which Loki ignored, “- spoke English, I was with Mr. Stark fairly consistently. Simply, we got along, and I had mentioned my desire to leave Alfheim, but that I lacked the ability to do so.”

Loki feigned a deep breath and pressed his eyes closed, the perfect picture of someone collecting his thoughts. “Near the end of our stay there, Mr. Stark observed me enduring a punishment from one of the servant handlers for knocking over a drink. Servants, especially ones of Aesir blood, are… ah, I feel sub-human is likely the best descriptor? I was inherently lesser for my birth, in the eyes of Alfheim. As the only Aes servant, many people’s anger fell to me, but it was not a job I could leave, due to restrictions on the work Aesir are permitted to do on Alfheim.”

The collected crowd began muttering, their scribbles increasing. Anthony picked up from there.

“Galinn had become my friend in the time I spent there,” Anthony said. “I admit, I reacted impulsively, but I couldn’t just leave him there. I asked if he would like to come to Earth and join on at Stark Industries as my translator. Due to a lack of available options on Earth - as there is no human who knows the languages of other worlds - I decided this was the best avenue. Galinn quit as a servant and signed on with SI. The government was notified and a work visa obtained before Galinn and I returned, so he did join me legally.”

“You returned from Alfheim months ago,” another said. “Why are we just now learning about him?”

“Ah, because the original plan for me was not to join the Avengers,” Loki spoke up. “I was content to simply help Mr. Stark, and my particular abilities are frowned upon on other Realms, as I am a mage. I did not know the hatred of magic users was not found here, I thought Mr. Stark simply overly tolerant, and I did not wish to mention my magic and be removed from Stark Industries. However…”

Barton spoke up at his cue. “However, I was injured in the fight last month.”

“With the Doombots?” a reporter clarified.

“Yes,” Barton nodded. “I sustained several injuries to my bow arm. Galinn offered to heal me, when my prognosis was less than great.” Loki nodded along to the lie - they’d decided releasing the full extent of Barton’s injuries would be too much for the general public. “Though it is a limited ability and one he cannot do often, on top of being draining, and despite the culturally ingrained bullshit about it being bad to be magical, he still offered. I, obviously, accepted.”

“It was at this time I realized my abilities, my birth, would not be frowned upon here,” Loki said. “I could help, in ways I’d always been denied before. Much thought went into it, but I had grown to care for my friends, and this Realm of remarkable tolerance.” More than one person in the audience snorted in disbelief, and Loki quietly agreed. That particular wording had been decided on for exactly that reason. “I asked if they would like another Aes in their ranks, and was welcomed as warmly to the Avengers as I was to Stark Industries. This most recent battle was the first since my induction, and I cannot do enough to express my thanks, both to the team and this world, for having me here, and letting me protect what I’ve begun to love.”

“You and Thor alone could decimate a small city,” a reporter said, his eyes narrowed. “Do we need the Avengers if we’ve got two so-called gods protecting us? And how do we know you’ll continue fighting for us?”

Steve answered. “Galinn and Thor are not permitted to fight together, due to the rules of Asgard. When Thor is present, Galinn will be sidelined, which has been agreed to by both parties. As far as your second question…” Steve shrugged. “Faith and the consistent proof we fight for Earth. The same as any of the rest of the Avengers. Any other questions?”

There were, of course, an inordinate amount of questions. Each Avenger was bombarded, and Loki dug into the story they’d prepped. By the time they finished, Loki was well and truly exhausted. He’d attended zoning disputes that were less tedious. As soon as they left, Loki was rubbing his temples, using his magic to change out of the uncomfortable suit and into something more suited to relaxation - he didn’t realize until after that he’d pulled one of the Alfheim garments to his body, but he kept it. The leather was… familiar and calming.

“I am never doing one of those again,” Loki groaned, collapsing onto a couch in the common room, most of the team following his lead with varying levels of grace.

“You get used to it,” Anthony said, the only one largely unaffected. He was passing out water and ‘Advil’ to Romanoff and Barton. “This was fairly tame, to be honest.”

“If they were tame, I loathe to learn what Midgardians consider feral.”

Anthony laughed, handing Loki a water, which Loki gratefully accepted. The headache reliever would aid him none, much like the soldiers and Banner. The mortal dropped to the couch at Loki’s side, his hand squeezing Loki’s knee. “You did great, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Loki said, smiling softly and relaxing into the gentle touch. 

Eventually, it was decided that no one felt like cooking, and since Anthony had ‘more money than god’ - Loki was quite curious what Anthony’s coffers looked like compared to Odin’s - they could just order in. They ordered Japanese, which Loki had not yet eaten, and he was elated when he found a new favorite food.

Sushi was a truly remarkable thing, and some of the sounds Loki let out had been downright obscene, based on the red tinges in Anthony’s and Steve’s faces, and the laughter from the others.

They spent hours like that, eating and watching TV until Barton finished his meal, as he then declared it time for something called Mario Kart. Loki had been happy to just watch the impromptu competition, Anthony at his side and explaining the mechanics of the game. When a particularly loud yawn followed a series of smaller ones, Loki glanced at the mortal, seeing the exhaustion on his face. 

“Did you sleep after yesterday’s battle?” Loki inquired softly, making sure not to interrupt the others.

“I don’t ever really sleep after fights,” Anthony admitted.

“Come, to bed with you,” Loki said, poking him in his side. Anthony opened his mouth to argue, but Loki interrupted. “I will drag you.”

Anthony, wisely, snapped his mouth shut. He knew Loki’s threat was valid - it wouldn’t be the first time, after all. JARVIS had suggested it first, and none of them could deny it was effective.

“Fine,” Anthony said, seeming every bit a petulant, tired toddler. Louder he said, “I’m headed to bed.”

“Galinn threatened to pick you up again, didn’t he?” Barton asked, followed by an outraged cry when a blue shell exploded his virtual vehicle.

“Shut up,” was Anthony’s ever so eloquent reply.

“I grow tired as well,” Loki said, stretching as he stood. “Sleep well.”

Anthony followed him to the elevator, shouts of ‘good night!’ following them. 

“Oh, I’ve got something for you, actually,” the mortal said as they stepped out on the penthouse floor. 

“Anthony…” Loki sighed.

“Just gotta give it to you and then I’m headed to bed, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Anthony said, grabbing a thin box from one of the nearby tables. “Here. It’s nothing special, but…” he shrugged.

Loki accepted the gift, shooting the mortal a confused glance. He pulled the lid off and a smile grew on his face. 

“You said the enchantments would hold no matter what, so…” Anthony shrugged again. It was another thing Loki had noticed about the man - anything he gave, he always was slightly distant about it, as though he expected to be reprimanded for it not being good enough.

Loki gave Anthony a one-armed hug. “Thank you, I love it.”

It was a printed picture from their Central Park trip, in a simple frame. The two of them sat atop Alice, hands held, and Loki’s smile almost faltered as he studied it, but he forced his face to show none of his apprehension, especially when Anthony’s face lit up. It truly took very little to make the mortal happy.

They did their little nightly ritual, resetting the clock on the runes, and Loki made his way to his room, refusing to look at the picture. It was only once he sat down on his bed that he held the picture in both hands, staring down at it.

It was his and Tony’s smiling faces that looked back up at him. Not Galinn’s face - Loki’s, the Aesir disguise he’d worn most of his life. He rubbed the smooth glass, lost in thought, all the lies he was burying himself under, the day’s press conference included. 

Eventually, Anthony would look at these pictures, and he’d see Loki too, not Galinn. How would disgust and betrayal warp Anthony’s face? Would he burn the pictures? Would his skin crawl as he realized how close he had been to a monster? Even worse, would he blame himself for being tricked? Would Anthony think Asgard’s inevitable sacking at Loki’s hands was his own fault? 

A shuddering breath escaped Loki as he sat the frame on his bedside table, anxiety for the future gripping his heart. Lies, lies, lies, Loki was always surrounded by lies. It was his domain, it was meant to be something that gave him strength, but all it did was haunt every corner of his life, every thing that could have been good if he weren’t a monster.

Not for the first time, he wished the Norns had set him on a different path.

Preferably one where he got to see Anthony’s bright smile more often, and never have it be tainted with the knowledge that it, like everything else good in his life, was only temporary.

Chapter Text

“You really ought to be more careful.”

Galinn’s voice was amused as Tony pushed up on the mat, flopping over onto his back and signaling a time-out to Natasha. She was teaching him some new moves - which, as always, meant he ended up on his face or his ass for half the time. Tony made no move to get up as he sprawled on the mats, his body sore and drenched in sweat.

“She was very clearly feigning to your left side,” Galinn continued, kicking off his shoes before he stepped onto the mats, squatting beside Tony, who was fairly certain he was about to die.

“How in the hell do you figure that?” Tony groaned. This was it, this was the great Iron Man died. Beaten up by his friends and left to rot on the cold mats.

“Her weight distribution,” Galinn answered, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Good eye,” Natasha said. “Most people can’t read small cues like that, though.”

Galinn stood, offering his hand to Tony. “Anthony is not most people from my understanding.”

Tony accepted the hand, letting Galinn pull him to his feet with ease. Tony may as well weigh nothing to the other man. “Damn straight, I’m one of a kind.”

“Agent Romanoff, care to help me enlighten our dear Man of Iron?”

Natasha said nothing, merely resuming a loose stance and giving a one-handed bring it signal. Galinn grinned and rolled his shoulders, the now-familiar puff of purple magic rolled over him, changing his clothes into something more suitable for a spar.

Tony stumbled his bruised and aching ass to a nearby chair, collapsing into it with the grace of a newborn duck.

There was no start signal that Tony could see, the two just launched at each other in sync. Galinn, to Tony’s unsurprise, countered Natasha easily, sidestepping her feints as simply as her more head-on strikes.

Honestly, the longer the two sparred, the more Tony forgot he was supposed to be studying their moves. It was a deadly dance, a beautiful ballet, a murderous mambo, as they twirled around each other. They all knew Natasha wouldn’t actually stand a chance against Galinn, he had too much strength, and the sheer restraint the Aes showed, striking Natasha hard enough she felt it but not hard enough to actually harm her, was impressive. Tony still couldn’t spar in the suit against her or Clint, gauging the strength of his hits was something he didn’t think he’d ever be confident enough in. He’d never risk actually hurting his team.

Their fight continued, and Tony was impressed when he was able to spot Galinn’s feint before he actually did it. The Aes went for her right side, swapping to her left when she went to protect from his false attack. Galinn managed to grab her wrist and force it away from her body, using their momentum to end up behind her, twisting her wrist in a way that couldn’t be pleasant. His hand wrapped around her neck and he clutched her against him, her back to his chest.

“Do you yield, Widow?” Galinn said with a smirk.

Tony very carefully shifted in his seat, working hard to make sure Nat didn’t see. Of course, damn spy she was, she noticed, and smirked. Danger kink, she mouthed to him.

She didn’t spare Tony a second thought, trying to knock Galinn’s feet out from under him and when that failed, attempted to use his own weight to flip him over her, but he held firm, hand ‘round her neck. Natasha sighed and then used her free hand to double tap on Galinn’s hip, the easiest thing she could reach.

Galinn immediately released her and stepped back, his smile lacking the smugness he normally had whenever he kicked Tony’s armored ass. “An invigorating spar, Agent Romanoff.”

“You’ve got one hell of a grip,” Natasha said, rubbing at her neck.

“Did I harm you?” Galinn asked, levity falling away to seriousness, but Natasha waved it away.

“I’ve had worse,” she answered, testing her wrist, which she nodded at. “I’m good. You can kick Tony’s ass for a little while, I’m hitting the showers.”

She left without another word and Galinn’s gaze turned to Tony, the humor returning to his face. “Care to spar?”

“I’m not in my suit,” Tony pointed out, though part of his overactive imagination did wonder if he could get pinned to Galinn like Natasha had. That was a normal desire, right? Sure, he’d gotten grabbed that night with the veil, but…

“I understand,” Galinn said, but the smirk growing across his face suggested otherwise. “I can see why you may be afraid.”

“Hey!” Tony said, shooting to his feet. “I don’t do afraid.”

“Of course you do not,” Galinn said soothingly, mischief dancing in his eyes.

That was all it took to get Tony back on the mats, very aware of his mortality as he stared down a god. “Bring it on, Merlin.”

As it turned out, Tony couldn’t win in unarmored hand-to-hand combat with a Norse deity, anymore than he could when he was armored. Well, at least he was used to ending up on his back in his usual sparring sessions too. Tony groaned as Galinn straddled his stomach, hands crossed over his chest and a smug smirk painted on his face.

It was a testament to his physical exhaustion and not-pleasurable aches when his body didn’t react. “You win,” Tony grumbled.

Galinn said nothing, though settled more comfortably atop Tony. The Aes had put on significant weight since his move to Earth, finally filling out his frame, but it didn’t hurt as he sat down, lording his victory over Tony.

“Gonna let me up, Magic Mike?” Tony asked, poking Galinn in his sternum.

“You have yet to yield,” Galinn answered.

“Since when do you care about me yielding?”

“Steve and Bucky have informed me if you do not yield properly - by tapping against the mat or my person twice - then I do not, in fact, win.”

Tony, in a bout of stubbornness, merely pursed his lips and attempted to buck Galinn off of him. Galinn, annoyingly, was only phased for a moment. Tony successfully threw off his balance for a second but Galinn ultimately did not move.

“Yield.” 

“Make me,” Tony retorted, planting his feet firmly on the mat and attempting to dislodge the man again.

Galinn was prepared for Tony’s nonsense this time, proven when he didn’t wobble at all. Instead, Galinn leaned forward, pressing his hands to Tony’s shoulders and more effectively pinning him to the mat. “And how should I make you yield?”

Tony’s heart skipped a beat as Galinn came closer, his face simultaneously far too close and not close enough to Tony’s. “I can think of a few ways,” slipped from his mouth before he thought it through.

Galinn’s eyebrows shot up, but he stayed where he was. A beat passed and then his smirk turned seductive as he leaned in closer. “I have an idea,” he purred, his hands sliding down to Tony’s sides, while Tony’s heart did its own murderous mambo in his chest.

“I think I like your idea,” Tony mumbled, leaning up towards Galinn.

Galinn said nothing, letting near-silence wrap around them, the only sounds their labored breathing.

Tony didn’t see the mischief in the other man‘s eyes until too late. He shrieked as Galinn’s fingers dug into his side, tickling him mercilessly. Tony scrabbled, grabbing at Galinn’s wrists.

“Yield,” Galinn demanded.

Tony quickly tapped against the mat, breathless from his laughter. Galinn grinned and rolled off Tony as soon as he yielded, sprawling out beside him. “Do you still like my idea?” he said, smug.

With a groan, Tony rolled onto his side, propping his head in his palm. “You are such a cheat,” he accused, still gasping for air and slapping at Galinn’s shoulder. 

Galinn painted his face with overexaggerated innocence as he turned to face Tony. “You’re the one who said you would like it!”

Tony was spared from having to answer when the Tower shook and the lights warbled. “Prince Odinson has arrived on the roof,” JARVIS announced unnecessarily.

“If Thor broke my windows again, I swear to Odin himself, I’m making Asgard foot that bill,” Tony grumbled.

Galinn laughed and elegantly rose to his feet while Tony clambered to his. Moments later, they were arriving on the common room floor, right as Thor flew in a window that JARVIS had graciously opened. “Tony! Galinn!” Thor boomed, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hey, Point Break,” Tony said, collapsing on the couch. Fuck, everything hurt. He had to stop sparring with would-be gods and assassins.

“Your Highness,” Galinn greeted, nodding his head towards Thor.

“None of that!” Thor announced, pulling Tony into a bone-crushing hug and giving him a few new bruises. “We are allied equals on Midgard!” Thor released Tony and turned to Galinn, appearing to be about to hug the other Aes, but hesitating with his arms outstretched. Galinn paused, some flicker of emotion passing over his face, but it certainly wasn’t fear. Longing? Desire? Nostalgia? Tony couldn’t place it before the expression disappeared from his face.

Galinn rolled his eyes theatrically and held his arms open, inviting Thor in for a hug. Thor beamed and crushed Galinn to his chest.

“Congrats, Galinn, you’re officially part of the team,” Clint said, he and Nat stepping off the elevator. “It’s the final test of being an Avenger: getting a bear hug from a thunder god.”

“Because that is how warriors show camaraderie on Asgard,” Galinn said, extricating himself from Thor’s grip.

“Wait, really?” Clint asked, draping himself over an armchair.

Galinn sighed. “Did you think he was just fond of hugs?”

At a nod from the humans and a sheepish grin from Thor, Galinn rolled his eyes. “In the context of warriors, a hug is to mean ‘I’ve got your back,’ essentially. It is a public declaration of who your allies and shieldbrothers are.”

“I thought he was just excited to see us,” Natasha deadpanned.

“I am always thrilled to see my Midgardian comrades!” Thor said.

“How’s Asgard?” Tony asked, immediately regretting it when Thor’s face fell.

“Father prepares for the Odinsleep,” Thor said, finally taking a seat on the couch next to Natasha. She leaned against him, resting her head on him. Thor relaxed at the touch. Tony plopped down on the thunder god’s opposite side, mimicking Natasha’s position. They’d learned early on that Thor was a very tactile person and enjoyed platonic cuddles.

To Tony’s surprise, it was Galinn who spoke next, his face a blank mask. “Did he not have one within the past decade?”

Thor nodded, morose. “He grows tired already.”

“Earthlings in the room,” Clint pointed out. “Wanna loop us in?”

Thor opened his mouth and all that came out was a strangled sort of sound. Galinn sighed, answering Clint. “Asgard is a heavily magical world. Long ago, it was a round planet, much like Earth and the ones in this solar system. Eons ago, tragedy struck, and Asgard splintered. Many died in the cataclysm, and Asgard was left as nothing more than a large rock, floating in space.” It took everything Tony had to not interrupt and ask for clarification on that particular detail. 

Galinn continued. “The king of that era, an ancient sorcerer who’s name is lost to time and a distant relative of Thor, used his seiðr to stitch back Asgard’s atmosphere and ecosystem, saving the Aesir who survived the initial destruction. He sacrificed his life, imbuing the very soil with the entirety of his magic and life force. The King of Asgard is a conduit for that magic, named after the current king. Currently, it is the Odinforce. In Bor’s reign, it was the Borforce. As you may imagine, this does grow exhausting, to cycle that much magic through his body. Every hundred or so years, Od-the Allfather enters into a comatose-like state for a few days. However, as he grows older, rumor has it that he's sleeping for longer and staying awake for shorter periods.”

“He only slept three days when he last entered the Odinsleep, seven years ago. I am sure he is fine,” Thor said, though even he did not seem convinced by his words.

“Why did he only sleep three days?” Natasha asked.

Thor hesitated, seeming to swallow his own words.

“Something drastic must have happened,” Galinn said. “A ripple in Asgard that would've forced him awake. It could be any number of things.”

“My brother,” Thor whispered. “He awoke to save me and Loki.”

“The Jotunheim incident,” Tony realized, remembering a half-drunk exchange from several years ago. “Loki's attempted genocide and fall.”

Thor merely nodded.

“That's one hell of a wake up call,” Clint muttered. Natasha looked thoughtful.

Galinn just looked blank, for some reason. Tony wasn't used to that lack of expression on his face anymore.

“I wish to end this conversation,” Thor mumbled.

“Shall I regale you with the details of my first battle with the Avengers?” Galinn asked when the others just looked lost on what to say.

Thor smiled, though it lacked his normal exuberance. “The brave Galinn Ingensbarn has finally joined the Avengers in a fight? Do tell me more, my friend!”

Galinn launched into a story that could only be called an epic tale. The other Avengers slowly trickled in to tell Thor hello, but all of them ended up seated and captivated by Galinn, as he wove a story that was fantastical even to those who had been in the fight, clearly embellished but still truthful. Thor whooped and cheered, his good mood rising. 

The team clapped as Galinn's tale came to a close, and he bowed at them with a flourish of his hands.

Tony grinned at Galinn and shot him a thumbs up. Galinn's returning smile was, for some reason, sad.

~

Dinner that night was a simple affair - pizza (ordered from three different restaurants, because apparently minimum wage restaurant workers do not, in fact, like orders for twenty five pizzas of varying toppings).

They didn't speak again of Asgard nor Odin's upcoming sleep during the meal. Natasha and Clint took turns poking at Tony's more purple bruises, Natasha loudly declaring which ones were from her and which were Galinn's works of art while Bruce tried his hardest not to laugh at Tony’s predicament. Steve and Thor planned a sparring session the next day. Barnes and Galinn debated which sub-machine gun was easiest to dismantle. (Tony refused to purchase a rocket launcher when Barnes asked, though Galinn's pout had Tony quietly adding it to their Christmas lists.)

“My friends, there is a Midgardian tradition I wish to try,” Thor announced as the food steadily disappeared.

“What’s on your mind, big guy?” Clint asked.

“The last time I was here, we watched a saga related to the art of singing along. I wish to try my hand at this new challenge!”

“Thor… are you asking to do karaoke?” Bruce said, amused.

“Aye! A warrior takes on all challenges, whether it be of wit or will!”

“Oh Norns,” Galinn muttered lowly.

“JARVIS, how quickly can we get a karaoke machine here?” Tony asked.

A moment passed while JARVIS searched. “The closest electronics store that offers delivery says they can have it delivered to us within the hour. It comes with fifteen pre-loaded songs, or I can upload any song once it’s here.”

“Place the order, J-man!” Clint called before anyone could protest and, judging by Steve’s and Barnes’s faces, they were about to do so. “Gotta keep our friendly neighborhood god happy!”

“We should record it and send it to Darcy,” Tony said decisively. “This is perfect Twitter material.”

“Now, Tony, is it really wise to -” Steve started.

“You scared, punk?” Barnes asked, seeming to accept this was going to happen, and enjoying the chance to throw a cheap shot at his friend.

“No. No!” Steve said, his tone indicating the opposite. “I just… am not a good singer.”

“That’s half the point of karaoke,” Natasha said, smirking.

“Wait, have you done karaoke before, Nat?” Bruce asked.

She just shrugged. “One of my assignments from the Red Room required a week of karaoke.”

“I can’t tell if you’re messing with us or not,” Tony said.

Natasha grinned in a way that showed too many teeth and zero humor, sending chills up Tony’s back.

“Ice cream?” Tony suggested after the ensuing moment of silence. Mumbled agreements were buried under enthusiastic bellows of desire, shouting which flavors they wanted. “Uh. JARVIS, you got all that?” he asked, collecting the paper plates from the team as he headed towards the kitchen, dumping them in the trash can.

“Of course I do,” JARVIS answered.

Two trips to the kitchen later, everyone was laden with their preferred ice cream.

“None for you, Linn?” Tony asked, plopping back into his seat.

“I do not know what flavor I would like, and I would hate to waste anything,” Galinn shrugged.

“It’s not a waste to try new things,” Bruce said, handing over his carton. “Try mine. It’s rocky road.”

Galinn accepted the carton and Tony handed over his spoon, unwilling to get back up unless he had to. He ignored the raised eyebrow Natasha sent his way.

He took a bite and made a face. “No, not quite my thing, thank you,” he said, handing the ice cream back to Bruce, who shrugged and dug back in.

“Mine next,” Tony said, handing over his coffee ice cream.

“Better,” Galinn said. “Still not quite my thing.”

Thor’s birthday cake ice cream came next, followed by Natasha’s strawberry and Barnes’s caramel cone, with Steve mumbling something about “the classics” when Galinn ended up not being fond of the plain vanilla. Clint’s mint chocolate chip was last, and Galinn’s face lit up in delight.

“I think we’ve got a winner, guys,” Tony laughed.

“Do we have more of that flavor?” Galinn asked, reluctantly returning the carton to Clint, who was making grabby hands.

“We do,” JARVIS confirmed.

Tony was up and in the kitchen without being asked, grabbing another cartoon of the mint and spoon. Galinn accepted them with glee and Tony swiped his own spoon back.

They gorged on frozen goodness until the karaoke machine arrived, Tony and Clint throwing jealous glares at the two Aesir who were able to consume ice cream rapidly without brain freeze. The two delivery men made sure Tony could set the machine up by himself - to which Tony managed not to answer sarcastically - before they left. Tony rolled the machine to the multimedia floor, plugging it in and getting it connected to JARVIS while the team cleaned up their pizza and ice cream. He had finished getting it set up when everyone arrived, varying levels of wariness on their face.

“JARVIS, you recording?” Tony asked, waving the team closer and pointing at the couches.

“I am recording as we speak. I also have a livestream going to Ms. Lewis and Ms. Foster. They have assured me they will not be sharing the livestream with anyone else.”

“When you say they…?” Steve asked.

“Jane Foster is the one who confirmed it.”

Steve nodded his assent while Thor laughed. All of them had met Jane and Darcy by now and well… Jane was certainly the more trustworthy of the two women.

“So how does this work?” Barnes asked, eyeing the machine.

“We all pick a song and the lyrics will pop up here,” Tony said, pointing to the large flat screen on top of the surprisingly high end machine, “and we sing along into the microphone. If the song exists on Earth currently, we can use it.”

“Who’s first?” Clint asked with a wicked grin that had Tony concerned and remembering several pranks the archer had launched on them.

“Let’s make it random. JARV?”

“Wheel of names set up and probability set to randomize,” JARVIS said, tossing the wheel onto the TV screen above the karaoke machine.

“Spin it!”

The team held their breath as the wheel spun, complete with the taka-taka-taka sound effects. Bruce groaned when the needle stopped on his name, fireworks lighting the screen.

“What’s it gonna be, Big Green?” Tony asked, handing the mic to him.

“I hate all of you and I’m resigning first thing in the morning,” Bruce grumbled, reluctantly accepting the item.

“I am unfamiliar with that song and having difficulty locating it, Dr. Banner,” JARVIS said, sending half the team into laughter. “Do you have the artist's name?”

Bruce sighed deeply as he pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up slightly. “Give me Hey There Delilah by Plain White T’s, JARVIS.”

JARVIS obediently queued it up and Bruce moved behind the machine, presumably to study the lyrics. Bruce made a roll it motion with his free hand and the sound of somber guitar strums filled the air. Bruce tapped along with the beat, hand to his thigh. Tony grinned as he watched Bruce visibly relax, bobbing his head along to the beat. “Hey there Delilah, what’s it like in New York City? I’m a thousand miles away but girl, tonight you look so pretty, yes you do. Times Square can’t shine as bright as you, I swear it's true.”

Bruce’s voice shook with slight anxiety and Tony began clapping along with the beat. Bruce rolled his eyes as the others joined in, Natasha pulling a lighter out from somewhere and waving it in the air. His laughter broke up his song and he began to sway his hips, finally getting into it.

“Hey there Delilah, you be good and don’t you miss me. Two more years and you’ll be done with school, and I’ll be making history, like I do.”

Bruce’s head bobbed as he wrapped up the song. The team clapped, raising to a standing ovation, Tony letting out a whistle.

“Shut up,” Bruce grumbled, but the smile on his face and the exaggerated bow he gave after took the bite out of his words. He sat the microphone down on the machine and hurried to his seat, his face burning red with embarrassment.

Natasha leaned over and muttered something too low for Tony to hear but Bruce laughed and Tony grinned.

Despite how they started, this team felt like his family now, and it was happy little moments like this that reminded him what he was fighting for.

JARVIS removed Bruce's name and spun the wheel again of his own accord. Tony let out a playful groan when his name came up next. Galinn, beside him on the loveseat, began poking Tony's sides when Tony failed to get up fast enough. He yelped and stood, batting away Galinn's hands, his friends’ amused laughter behind him.

Tony took a moment to gain his composure, intertwining his fingers, stretching his arms in front of him and cracking his knuckles.

“Ohhh, can I pick your song?” Clint asked, seeming to bounce in his seat.

“What? Bruce got to pick his own!” Tony definitely didn’t whine.

 Clint sighed theatrically. “Fine, if you’re too chicken to do anything other than the Shoot to Thrill by AC/DC I know you’re about to choose…”

Internally, Tony wondered if he really was getting that predictable, as Clint was both correct on the song and that taunting Tony was the way to get his way. “Nah, I can do it. What ya got, Katniss?”

The evil grin that slid along Clint’s face at that looked like it should be on one of their enemies, not in a friendly karaoke night. “JARVIS, give us Gasoline by Halsey.”

“Objection!” Tony said. “I don’t actually know that song.”

“The lyrics and beat are on the screen,” JARVIS reminded and Tony really need to check his code to see where this sass came from. “There are also headphones in the entertainment center if you need to listen to it first.”

Tony didn’t even have to look at Clint’s face to know he’d be all but admitting defeat if he didn’t rawdog it. He scooped up the mic and threw Clint a one fingered salute. “Start the track.”

The soft melody started and Tony snapped along with the beat, trying to get a feel for the pattern and watching the visualization of the tempo on the machine’s display. “Are you insane like me? Been in pain like me? Bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me? Just to pour that motherfucker down the drain like me?”

Tony’s voice was far too deep for this song, but no way in hell was he going to give Clint the satisfaction of seeing Tony not put his all into something. He tapped his foot with the beat, continuing to keep time with snaps. “Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me? Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me? Do the people whisper ‘bout you on the train like me?”

Not to be outdone by Bruce, Tony let himself begin to sway with the song as he settled into it. “And all the people say ‘you can’t wake up, this is not a dream. You’re part of a machine, you are not a human being, with your face all made up, living on a screen. Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline.’ Oh, I think there’s a flaw in my code - hey wait a minute!” Tony sang, cutting himself off to glare at Clint. “There are no flaws in my code!” And I run on arc reactor, not gasoline, he thought, JARVIS cutting the music as Tony stopped singing along.

Natasha, Clint, Steve, Thor, and Galinn said, “Ultron,” unanimously. Tony just flipped them off - he knew JARVIS would amend the recording to say something else that didn’t implicate Tony in the deaths of nearly two hundred people in Sokovia.

Tony grumbled and waved at JARVIS to continue. “These voices won’t leave me alone. Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold. Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me?”

Getting back into the song was easy - it wasn’t exactly his preferred type of music (not nearly enough heavy guitars or drum beats), but it was catchy enough that he could manage.

It finally wrapped up a few verses later and Tony threw his arms out to the side, ever the showman as he bowed to his clapping audience. He sat the mic down and went back to his seat, though stopped when he passed Clint.

“I know where you sleep,” Tony hissed. Clint, damn him, didn’t even have the courtesy to look chastised as he broke into laughter.

Tony took his seat next to Galinn. “I think you did fantastic, Anthony.”

“Thank you!”

“I do have one critique, however,” he said as the wheel of names spun again.

Tony raised an eyebrow, motioning for Galinn to continue. He leaned over, pointing at the reactor. “Your heart isn’t gold. It’s seiðr.”

“Huh?” Tony asked, but was cut off when Steve’s name appeared. “We’re finishing this conversation,” he whispered as a surprisingly timid Captain America picked up the mic.

“Do you want to pick or do you want to leave your fate in my hands?” Clint asked.

Steve rolled his shoulders back, sliding into the same persona he held on the battlefield. “Alright, Clint. Hit me with your best shot.”

The sound that escaped Clint then could only be called an evil cackle. “That’s perfect! JARVIS! Pat Benatar’s Hit Me With Your Best Shot!”

“Oh thank God, I know that one,” Steve said, relief splashed across his face.

Tony grumbled under his breath about teammates being unfair, but Galinn nudged him and then held a finger to his own lips, effectively shushing Tony. Tony, who was definitely an adult, just stuck his tongue out.

The song began and Steve bobbed his head, effectively doing a chicken dance, though none of them dared to say that. Steve mumbled the first few lines until Thor called out, “Louder, my friend!”

Looking like he very much wanted an urgent Hydra call out at that moment, Steve obeyed. “Put up your dukes, let’s get down to it! Hit me with your best shot! Why don’t you hit me with your best shot?”

Tony was unsurprised and only slightly annoyed to find out Steve sang well once he got over the shyness. He idly wondered if that was a side-effect of the serum, or if Steve just had always had a nice voice. “You come on with it, come on, you don’t fight fair. That’s okay, see if I care! Knock me down, it’s all in vain - I get right back on my feet again!”

Galinn tapped Tony’s side gently and then pointed over at Thor. Tony covered his mouth to keep from cackling at the sight of their resident prince of the gods standing up and dancing in a way that was definitely going to get ‘white boy dancing’ jokes on the Internet. 

A round of applause echoed around the room as Steve wrapped up his turn, very eager to get out of the spotlight as he hurried back to his chair. JARVIS dutifully spun the wheel and Clint yelped with joy when it landed on him. “Give me five minutes, I’ve got to go change!”

None of them got a word in as Clint launched himself at the elevator. “Y’know, the more time I spend around Barton, the less he surprises me,” Barnes said, half smiling. “Despite the fact he’s always doing something weirder.”

“That’s Clint for you,” Natasha sighed, though she didn’t hide the undercurrent of fondness in her tone.

The team chatted idly and Tony turned back to Galinn. “My heart is made of seiðr?”

Galinn nodded. “I did not notice it until I examined the shrapnel the other night,” he explained, “but there is strong magic within your breast, Anthony Stark.”

“The arc reactor isn’t magic, it’s science,” Tony insisted.

“Some part of it is science so advanced to appear as magic, then,” he shrugged. “But it is seiðr.”

“That doesn’t - oh, fuck.” The realization hit Tony all at once. He’d used his dad’s research to create the badassium that powered his arc reactor.

The research from the fucking Tesseract.

“You have realized something important,” Galinn said, amused.

Tony rubbed his temple tiredly, Clint choosing that moment to reappear. “We’ll talk about it after karaoke night is done,” he said before blinking in confusion. “Clint, why are you in a tuxedo?”

“Unimportant, I have a more pressing question,” Clint said.

“Oh God,” Natasha said, well used to Clint’s… Clint-ness.

“What?” Tony asked cautiously.

“Is there a stripper pole in here?”

“Who the hell do you think I am?” Tony asked. A beat of silence passed and he snapped his fingers twice, the pole unfolding from the floor. “Of course I’ve got a stripper pole.”

“Tony,” Steve said, his voice strained. “Why is that in our multimedia room?”

“It was here before you, Capsicle.”

“And you never removed it?” he asked, his voice peaking slightly with hysteria.

Tony just shrugged. “I am who I am.”

“JARVIS, if you would please,” Clint said, leaning one shoulder against the pole, one hand gripping the pole above his head, the other holding the mic. “Time for me to go viral on the internet again.”

“As you wish, Agent Barton,” JARVIS sighed.

An upbeat, synth song started playing and Clint winked at Bruce, who buried his face in his hands. “I’m bringing sexy back,” Clint began, Tony and Natasha both groaning in dismay immediately. “Them other boys don’t know how to act.”

Clint pressed his back against the pole, sliding until he was sitting on air, legs spread. Tony briefly wondered which website, exactly, Clint was planning to go viral on. He glanced at Galinn during the opening verses to make sure he was okay, only to see Galinn looking absolutely enamored, which did not at all make Tony jealous of the younger Avenger.

He made the mistake of trying to take a sip of his water when Clint sang, “Take ‘em to the chorus!” and ripped his own shirt off. It tore away easily and Tony realized the full level of Clint’s insanity as Galinn gently patted him on the back while he choked.

Very carefully, he sat the drink down on the side table, deciding it wise not to try to drink anything again until Clint’s impromptu borderline strip tease was done. When Clint ripped off his pants at “Drinks on me,” Tony couldn’t help but make a strangled noise at the purple sequined speedo Clint had on.

The archer spun around and shook his ass in a way that had Tony attempting to subtly adjust in his seat. “Let me see what you’re twerking with, look at those hips!”

Galinn wordlessly handed one of the couch pillows to Tony, the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips indicating he knew exactly the kind of predicament Tony was in. Tony briefly considered refusing the pillow out of spite, but then Clint did some kind of flip and ended up hanging upside down, his thighs wrapped around the pole the only point of leverage to be found. He accepted the pillow wordlessly, settling it in his lap and propping his elbows up on it in a way he prayed looked natural. 

Clint continued performing feats of athleticism and flexibility, never once wavering on his song. By the time the song was finished, Tony was convinced he’d need a cold shower when he returned to his floor, and Clint was throwing shit-eating grins at his stunned-into-silence teammates.

He theatrically dropped into his seat as everyone finally clapped, Natasha tossing him a blanket.

“Well done, friend Hawk! I have never seen such moves as those!” Thor said, beaming. “Would you be able to teach me?”

“Why do you even know how to do that?” Steve muttered.

“Assassinations,” Clint answered bluntly, Natasha and Barnes nodding along with his answer.

“I miss the Great Depression,” Steve sighed, rubbing wearily at his eyes.

“And, Thor, teaching you to pole dance would be one of the highlights of my life,” Clint said, his eyes glittering dangerously.

Tony very barely managed not to groan at the mental image of Thor - buff, tall, blonde Thor - twirling around a pole. Deciding it was finally safe enough to take a drink again, he grabbed his water.

“Wonderful! I cannot wait to learn and then regale Asgard’s court with this new style of dance!” Thor said.

It wasn’t often Tony was wrong, but as Galinn again had to rescue him from almost choking to death, Tony had to admit he was wrong and it had not, in fact, been safe.

Bruce opened his mouth - likely to explain this was a sexually charged dance most of the time - but Galinn spoke first. “A wonderful idea, Thor,” he said, face entirely serious. “I believe Asgard’s nobles would greatly enjoy a new dance.”

Not for the first time, Tony wondered how this was his life - two people from a land of gods discussing pole dancing, that the three assassins present all knew due to their aforementioned status as assassins.

…also not for the first time, he wondered how he was so lucky to be surrounded by people he cared so deeply for.

Bruce just sighed. “JARVIS, who’s up next?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose, clearly done with this conversation.

“One moment,” the AI said, spinning the wheel again. “Sergeant Barnes, it appears it is your turn.”

Barnes groaned, but dutifully made his way to the karaoke machine, grabbing the mic. “I don’t think I want to follow up Barton’s little escapade, but fine. You goin’ to pick a song for me too, brat?”

“Oh, I know the perfect song to follow me up,” Clint said. “If you’re brave enough, of course.”

Barnes threw a look at Clint that would’ve had Tony terrified if it was aimed at him, especially unarmored. “Try me.”

“My good JARVIS, please queue up Barbie Girl by Aqua.”

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Tony mumbled, swallowing down his laugh.

Barnes looked at the lyrics, his face morphing into one of intense regret. “I think I also miss the Great Depression.” A pause and then, “I am not pole dancing. Start the song.”

The soldier focused on the screen with the lyrics. “Hiya Barbie,” he began. He raised his pitch for the next line, “Hi, Ken!”

He continued singing, alternating between the lower pitched male voice and the higher female’s, untroubled singing both parts of the song. The mental image of Barnes, in black pajamas, with a serious-as-death look on his face, singing “I’m a Barbie girl, in the Barbie world,” was going to become a treasured memory. And a hit on the Internet, which was even better.

Steve, surprisingly, was the first one to break into hysterical laughter, though, unable to hold it in after Barnes sang, with feeling, “I’m a blonde bimbo girl in a fantasy world.” 

Despite the upbeat tempo, Barnes never once swayed, and he dropped the mic like a spider as soon as he finished the song. “I hate all of you,” he declared as he plopped down next to Steve. Steve laughed again, nudging Barnes’s shoulder while the others clapped. “JARVIS, next person. Now.”

Moments later, Tony was cackling and poking at Galinn, while the Aes grinned. “Your turn!”

“Barton is not allowed to choose my song,” he said as he stood, reluctantly grabbing the mic. Clint whined wordlessly but didn’t push.  

“What song would you like, Mr. Ingensbarn?” JARVIS asked.

“I had not thought that far ahead,” Galinn muttered, running his hand across his face. 

“I may have a suggestion, if you would like. I can choose a song from the Spotify playlist that you’ve seemed to enjoy and are likely to know the general beat, if not the lyrics.”

 “That sounds agreeable,” Galinn agreed. He studied the screen, Tony assumed JARVIS had put some songs up. That theory was confirmed when Galinn started laughing uncontrollably. “Option five, please,” he said once he got his laughter under control. 

A sound like silverware scraping together sounded, going into a low tempo. “Bite my tongue, bide my time, wearing a warning sign. Wait ‘til the world is mine,” Galinn began, Tony struggling to place the song. He recognized it, but it wasn’t one of his preferred ones, so he couldn’t remember the name of it, at least until Galinn got to the chorus.

“You should see me in a crown,” he sang, and Tony could listen to the sound of Galinn’s voice all day, to be honest. Even if he was singing you should see me in a crown by Billie Eilish. “I’m gonna run this nothing town. Watch me make ‘em bow.”

He continued the song, and Tony’s heart leapt when Galinn locked eyes with him at, “If you think I’m pretty, you should see me in a crown.”

Tony wasn’t entirely sure why the song option had sent Galinn into a fit of laughter, but it was nice to watch the mage get into it, swaying and doing a little almost-dancing footwork. He laughed again once he finished the song, bowing to the team as they clapped. Tony put his pinkies in his mouth and whistled loudly, adoring the joy in Galinn’s smile as he returned to his seat beside Tony.

“Well, if this Avenger thing doesn’t work out, I think you may have a future in music,” Natasha said, Clint nodding beside her. She wasn’t wrong - Galinn had outdone them all when it came to talent.

Galinn’s hand enveloped Tony’s from where it sat on the couch between them, a fleetingly sad smile on his face. “Let us hope this ‘Avenger thing’, as you call it, works out. Being a pop star sounds too dull for my tastes.”

Tony didn’t even think as he began rubbing circles in the back of Galinn’s hand. Since the day in the park, Galinn had reached for his hand more often and given him hesitant hugs. Tony hadn’t thus far dissuaded him any time Galinn did so - and he had exactly zero ideas of even dissuading him.

“Who’s up next, JARV?” Tony asked. The wheel appeared again, only Natasha’s and Thor’s name listed.

Natasha stood as her name appeared. She pointed at Clint, went “No,” sternly, and then grabbed the mic. “JARVIS, give me Redemption by Three Days Grace, please.”

Guitars began strumming and Tony raised an eyebrow at her song choice. “I know sorry is not enough to erase all the pain from when I messed up. I’m not here to overturn my conviction. These eyes are on the road, the road to redemption,” she sang, the drums kicking in. “Well, it’s only until you lose - everything that you love that you’re forced to choose. And there’s nothing like a crash to get your attention.”

Tony bobbed his head to the beat, finally a band he actually enjoyed. He stopped when Galinn leaned against him, head on his shoulder. He didn’t seem to really notice he’d done so - not tensing up, not hesitantly asking permission for this, not looking like he was second guessing if his touch was welcome - and Tony smiled, Galinn utterly enthralled by Natasha’s song. Thor had said a slavery sentence was meant to be redemption through pain - a stupid fucking idea, if Tony was truthful - but he again wondered what, exactly, the fun-loving, intelligent man beside him had done, what had driven him to what Tony knew was slaughter.

“In the end, you never left when I needed your forgiveness. It’s a long way down from the fall. And the terrible truth, yeah, I own them all. And I had to hit the bottom to change my direction, to find my way back, back to redemption.”

As far as Tony was concerned, whatever Galinn had done, he’d earned his redemption. Whenever the truth came out, once his runes were lifted, Tony swore to himself that his first words would be to forgive Galinn, to tell him that he was an Avenger now and whatever new information was revealed would never change that.

Natasha turned to Clint as she continued to sing, the trust in her voice and her eyes, the utter and complete faith that Clint would always be at her side, her friend. “When everyone left me for dead, you never gave up, you never quit. I remember the words you said - we can still be good again. Now I’m looking you in the eyes, my soul on my sleeve, nothing more to hide, and I’m never going back to that condition. You showed me the way to redemption.”

Clint gave her a small, serious smile - one of the few Tony had ever seen on the archer’s face, and not at all diminished by the fact Tony knew he was naked except for the speedo under the blanket. Tony glanced at Galinn and wondered - if Natasha could grow to trust and care that deeply for Clint, a man sent to kill her, could Galinn ever grow to trust and care for Tony, especially once he was free of the slave bindings.

Tony genuinely couldn’t imagine anything Galinn could’ve done that would stop the budding lo- uh, growing lust-infused friendship he felt for the man. Natasha wrapped up her song and handed the mic to Thor. “Guess we saved the best for last,” she said, grinning.

Thor took the mic with a laugh. “I am the newest to this tradition, I appreciate seeing the styles of the other Avengers for this challenge! And I know just the song!” He moved to stand behind the karaoke machine, gently gripping the mic to keep from shattering it with his strength. “Lord JARVIS, Hello Brother by the esteemed artist Avicii, if you would be so kind!”

“Of course, Prince Odinson,” JARVIS said.

Another song that began with plucking strings came through the speakers, Tony struggling to remember what song went with that name. “Hey brother, there’s an endless road to rediscover. Hey sister, know that water’s sweet, but blood is thicker. Oh, if the sky comes falling down for you, there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do,” Thor sang. Tony felt his eyebrows skyrocket into his hairline and he had no doubt the other had similar expressions. Even Galinn’s hand tightened around Tony.

  “Hey brother, do you still believe in one another? Hey sister, do you still believe in love, I wonder?” Thor continued, his voice off-pitch as he did little wiggles that might have been dancing. “What if I’m far from home? Oh, brother, I will hear you call. What if I lose it all? Oh sister, I will help you out.”

Thor continued the song, either oblivious or uncaring of the team’s reaction. Tony suspected it was the latter - Thor was more observant than most people gave him credit for. No one said anything negative, though, as he wrapped up his song, still clapping for him. Tony had to clap his free hand against his leg, still unwilling to release his hold on Galinn’s hand. 

“Thank you, my friends!” Thor called, returning to his seat. “This was a most fun endeavor and I thank you for indulging me!”

“Ohhh, I’ve got an idea!” Clint said, jumping up, blanket around his shoulders like a billowing cap, front still bare. “One more song!”

“But all of us have already gone?” Galinn asked. He tensed slightly after he spoke, likely just now realizing he was leaned against Tony, but Tony just resumed making the little circular motions and Galinn relaxed again.

“Group sing a long!” Clint declared, cackling evilly again.

“We only have one mic,” Tony argued, but he knew this argument was lost the moment the idea popped into Clint’s head.

“I believe that is a fantastic idea!” Thor said, and Tony gave up when he saw Thor’s excited puppy dog eyes.

“Let me guess,” Steve sighed. “You already have a song picked out.”

“Correct!”

“And you’re not gonna put pants on?” Barnes added.

“Also correct!”

Natasha sighed. “What’s the song?”

“JARVIS, can you put the lyrics for Live to Rise by Soundgarden on the big TV? Not the machine?” Clint asked.

“Of course I can, Agent Barton,” JARVIS answered - though Tony could almost swear it was more of a scoff - and the song appeared on the screen.

“At least I know this one,” Tony said as Clint motioned for them all to stand. He reluctantly obeyed when Galinn stood, unclasping their hands.

Clint grabbed the mic, holding it out to Galinn. “It’s symbolic and you’re the best singer here,” was the only explanation he gave as Galinn took it.

Galinn looked genuinely confused at that, but accepted it nonetheless. Electric guitar chords played, and the team all looked at each other in varying degrees of resigned acceptance, only Clint and Thor truly seemed excited. 

“What if all you understand, could fit into the center of our hand?” the team began, half of them singing the words at the wrong time, and Tony would never admit he was one of the ones doing so. “Then you found it wasn’t you who held the sum of everything you knew. We’re insane but not alone, we hold on, and let go. Like the sun, we will live to rise. Like the sun, we will live and die, and then ignite again.”

Clint grabbed Steve, pulling him into a dance as they sang. Steve merely laughed, interrupting his song, and obeyed. Seemingly setting something off, Natasha grabbed Bruce while Barnes grabbed Thor.

Tony turned to Galinn and grinned, holding out his hand. Galinn accepted it. It wasn’t a proper dance for any of them, mostly swaying and spinning and laughing. “What if the one thing that I missed was everything I need to pass the test? And if I fail what happens then? Can I still count on you as a friend?”

Galinn stepped away and dropped one hand, raising his other. Tony recognized the move and spun under his outstretched arm, coming to a stop with his chest pressed to Galinn’s, whose free hand returned to Tony’s hip. Tony’s went to his shoulder. The song continued, Tony held against Galinn firmly, and they swayed together. The song was ill-suited to dancing, especially this kind of close kind, but Tony couldn’t care less. Galinn’s hands were on him, with no hesitance or fear in his eyes. When it came to an end, the two of them hesitated where they were, Galinn’s gaze dropping to Tony’s mouth.

His breath caught in his throat as Galinn began to lean down. He was about to go up to his tiptoes - damn the Aesir for all being so goddamn tall - but Thor’s booming laugh interrupted them.

Startled out of their brief moment, Tony pulled away. For the first time, when he did that, he didn’t see relief in Galinn’s eyes. Tony grinned at him, but the moment had passed. They turned to the team, none of them (save Natasha, of course, based on her smirk) had noticed Tony and Galinn, too enthralled with whatever joke Clint had made to make Thor laugh like that. 

Tony eyed Natasha and - making sure she was watching - reached for Galinn’s hand and then leaned his head against Galinn’s shoulder. His touch was accepted, the Aes weaving their fingers together and resting his head on top of Tony’s.

Natasha just rolled her eyes, sending him a look that clearly said I told you everything would work out.

And - at least for that moment - Tony believed her.

Chapter Text

Loki was unsure if karaoke was one of his favorite or most hated things by the time the event wrapped up. He had laughed ‘til his sides hurt and there was a clever mortal pressed against him when they sat back down.

When the team laughed, it didn't feel like the Idiots Four’s laughter - the thinly veiled mockery, the subtle way they would other him. This laughter was high and unrestrained mirth, it was companionship and belonging and hope.

That almost made the karaoke a personal Hel, however. The torture of happiness borne from lies.

It was at least a pleasant torture, though it caused no less of an ache in his breast.

The TV screen began to ring shortly after they returned to their seats. “Misses Foster and Lewis would like to speak with the team,” JARVIS announced.

The watcher didn't wait for a response from the team before he accepted the transmission, and faces Loki had only ever seen from the Hliðskjálf appeared, aged by nearly a decade, red with laughter.

“Clint, what the fuck?” the younger woman - Lewis - choked out, tears lining her eyes. “I've watched your clip like three times already, what the fuck?”

Barton grinned, still clad in only a blanket-turned-cape and some sort of sparkly, skimpy underwear. “I'm giving the people what they want!” he declared.

“You're still salty about coming second to last in the Assvengers poll, aren't you?” Foster asked, wiping tears from her eyes.

Barton raised his middle finger at her wordlessly, sending both women into further hysterics.

“You certainly won the karaoke competition, Legolas,” Anthony said, laugh lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes. A yawn slipped from his mouth and Steve laughed.

“Alright, everyone, I think that's enough for today. Time to hit the hay,” the captain said.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Lewis interrupted, waving her hands to get their attention. She waited until they had all turned to her (well, the camera) and said, with all seriousness, “Were you serious about teaching Thor pole dancing?”

Foster’s face turned as red as an Iron Man suit and even Romanoff couldn’t help but laugh.

Thor’s eyes were bright as he proclaimed, “I do truly wish to learn and share this new dance with all of Asgard!” Barton merely nodded his head, his smile wicked.

Lewis turned to Foster. “I am begging you to let me watch him dance at least once. You know you’re going to get private ones!”

All of them laughed again as Foster gave a wordless shriek, trying to push Lewis out of the frame, stammering something incoherent.

“Alright, alright, I won’t bring it back up!” Lewis eventually said, muffled and off screen, all they could see was the couch pillow Foster had taken up to thwack her friend with.

“You better not,” Foster mumbled. Lewis reentered the screen and Foster kept her weapon clutched to her chest, eyes narrowed.

“Besides, we gotta make sure they're all ready for all the super important superhero'ing stuff you do. Like karaoke,” Lewis said, smirking. “First, though - Stark, when are you gonna invite us up again? Jane discovered some fancy new math thing and wants to play with your AI. And I want to meet the new god on the team.”

“Darcy!” Foster squeaked, smacking her with the pillow again.

Anthony laughed, sitting up and pulling away from Galinn. “You know all of you have an open invite and a direct line to JARVIS. He can send a QuinJet whenever you want.”

“We know,” Foster said with a laugh. “Erik just… has been having a bad few weeks.”

The room sombered slightly, and it took Loki a moment to place the name, grimacing when he finally did.

“My offer still stands,” Anthony said softly. “Best mental health care facility, all expenses paid. Selvig's the only reason we were able to close the portal. He deserves the best.”

“I know,” Foster said, her smile sad. Darcy wrapped an arm around the older woman, rubbing her shoulder soothingly. “He’s like my dad, you know? I just wish there was more I could do for him. Sometimes it’s like old times, but…”

Loki distracted himself grabbing a water from the nearby kitchen, unwilling to hear more of the conversation. Selvig had taken the brunt of Loki’s focus, making him build a portal but having to make an off switch that Loki couldn’t know the details of, all while keeping it away from the Other’s attention. Loki’s mind had barely survived the strain. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised Selvig’s had collapsed under it.

He returned to the room shortly after, careful not to make his disappearance anything other than a water run. The conversation had, mercifully, moved on, Anthony and Jane now discussing something that might have been science-adjacent math. Based on the reactions around him, only Banner seemed to be following along. 

Soon, however, Darcy was reminding them again that it was late in New York and ‘superheroes had bedtimes too’. It was amusing to watch her strong arm a god, a few geniuses, a couple of assassins, and an exceedingly righteous super soldier into going to bed from nearly two thousand miles away. 

“I swear, she’s been taking lessons from Pepper,” Anthony mumbled as they retired to the penthouse. “There’s no other explanation for how scary she is.”

“It was amusing watching her handle Earth’s Mightiest like sleepy babes,” Loki smirked. Anthony grumbled wordlessly under his breath, drawing further laughter from Loki. “Regardless,” he continued, “I would very much like to discuss whatever revelation it was you had about the seiðr in your heart, on tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Anthony agreed, stretching, his joints popping. “You’re also going to explain that whole Asgard-isn’t-a-round-planet thing. Tit for tat.”

Loki couldn’t stifle his laugh when the All-Speak struggled over the term, initially interpreting it as ‘breast for tattoo’ until it finally settled on ‘equivalent exchange.’ When he informed Anthony of this, the mortal cackled, arms around his chest as he laughed too hard to breathe. “God, I wish I could have All-Speak,” he eventually lamented.

Their normal nighttime tradition followed, restarting Loki’s twelve hours of relative freedom. He’d just started to his room when Anthony called, “Galinn.”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for calming Thor,” Anthony said. “None of us had any idea what to do, and you handled pouty thunder god like a pro.”

Because I have been a professional at handling my brother’s mood swings for a millennia and a half, Loki thought, surprising himself slightly at the easy way Thor had returned to ‘brother’ in his own mind. Regardless, he shrugged Anthony’s thanks off. “Tales of great victory are common amongst the Aesir. It was no trial to guess what would elevate Thor’s mood.”

“But it’s bad, isn’t it? That Odin is already falling back asleep?”

“It… does not bode well for his health, no,” Loki admitted.

Anthony was quiet for a moment before speaking again. “How horrible does it make me that my first thought was to hope Odin died, so it would be easier to free you? So Thor or Frigga could have the ability to do that? I know it would hurt Thor, but…”

Loki’s heart skipped a beat in his chest. Some small side of him, the part that had spent 1700 years begging Odin to love him like he loved Thor, rebelled at the idea of Odin dying. But mostly, his heart sang at the prospect of someone wanting to help him, even if it hurt Thor.

Had anyone ever said something like that to him?

“I do not think it makes you horrible,” Loki said, hesitantly. “But I am not a person to consult on morality.”

Anthony just laughed at that. “Yeah, guess neither of us really are. Night, Merlin.”

The two separated for their rooms at that point. If Loki’s heart continued that pleasant warmth, and the memory of Anthony’s face so close to his own echoed well into his sleep…

Well, then that was no one else’s business.

~

The next morning found an impromptu team breakfast occurring, Steve making more eggs and pancakes as the various Avengers stumbled their sleepy way to the common room table. It was shortly after the whole team had gathered - all eight of them - that JARVIS spoke up.

“I feel you would like to know last night’s video has gone viral,” he said, the construct sounding tired but undoubtedly amused.

Barton’s head shot right up. “Memes? Are there memes?”

“There are many, many memes, Agent Barton.” Could AI sigh? Loki still didn’t fully understand the complexities of AI, but he was fairly certain JARVIS had sighed.

Barton made a noise of unmitigated glee and dug his phone out of his pajama pockets. “Take that, Assvengers poll!”

“Clint, finish your breakfast,” Steve said, one hand on his hip, the other gesturing with the spatula. “We can look at the memes in the common room once everyone’s done eating.”

Anthony snorted a laugh at that, Bucky responding only with, “Yeah, better listen to Momma Stevie. Don’t want to get a spanking.”

Barton only narrowed his eyes at them, before allowing his face to drop into something overly seductive. “And who says I don’t want Captain America to spank me and make me call him mommy?”

Thor spit out his coffee while Anthony choked on his, Banner groaned in defeat, Romanoff and Bucky laughed so hard tears came to their eyes. Steve stammered wordlessly, his face redder than a Jotunn’s eyes and Loki struggled to get his breathing back under control from his own laughter.

He hadn’t been wrong when he’d said the archer had heart.

“Am I old enough to retire? I can retire, right?” Steve lamented, pulling the last pancake off the skillet. He plopped it onto his plate, turning the stove off and joining them at the table. 

“Nope, you get extended life with the whole super serum thing, your age eligible for retirement changes as well. Ask again in a hundred years,” Anthony said.

“Everyone shut up and eat, I want to see the memes,” Barton ordered, shoveling eggs into his mouth in a way that could rival even Volstagg.

“Why don’t you just look at them on your phone?” Romanoff asked.

Barton mumbled something, passing his phone to the spider, who cackled again. “JARVIS locked his phone. His background just says ‘Eat your breakfast’,” she said, holding up the phone. Barton threw a glare at Anthony, who simply winked at him before taking an innocent sip of his coffee.

Still, the team quieted, no one wanting to risk Barton’s wrath (the archer was a rather magnificent prankster, according to Anthony.) Banner volunteered to gather the dishes once they finished and the rest made their way down to the multimedia room, to “better view the internet’s insanity in 360 surround sound 4k high def,” as Barton claimed. (Thor and Loki had looked at each other in confusion at that, the All-Speak giving up on both of them).

“Give me the goods, J-man,” Barton said as he collapsed on one of the couches, rubbing his hands together with glee.

“As you wish,” the AI yielded and the website Loki had learned was Twitter, a ‘blogging’ site for anything and everything a Midgardian could find amusing, appeared on the large screen.

“Damn right,” Barton said, eyeing how many of the posts seemed to be about him. He threw a glance at the two non-Midgardians in the room. “Do I need to explain what memes are?”

Loki tilted his head to the side, pursing his lips. “A meme is a unit of cultural information, largely spread by imitation. It is often in the form of a picture with text on it, to display something humorous. Yes?” Thor nodded as Loki spoke.

Anthony laughed and Barton snorted. “You sound like a dictionary but yeah, basically.”

They scrolled through, and even Loki had to laugh at some of the ones that popped up, basking in the insanity that the internet posed.

Bre @lesbianistheneworange

Thanks for the mid-30s crisis, Mr. Hawkeye 😭

Rae @yesiwouldhulksmash

Bruce is so fucking precious, omg, shy bb

That one had a reply, from Oliver @prez_thornation , stating, bro did u just call the hulk a precious baby, sobbing rn

Anthony and Loki alternated between explaining various terminology to Thor, Loki looking to the engineer for the more incomprehensible abbreviations. In all his travels, he’d never found a language - spoken nor written - that caused the All-Speak this much trouble. Midgard was, truly, unrivaled in its ability to cause chaos. Not all of the posts had pictures attached, however, some of them were just flat out hilarious.

Katie Girl @katiep_07917

PLEASE i am on my hands and knees begging PLEASE let us see thor learning how to pole dance

Jayce @wikihowtohero

my brother in christ are these people a family or are they all fucking i legit cannot tell anymore??????? anyway now taking applications for someone to look at me the way tony stark looks at the new guy

Loki and Anthony had pointedly avoided looking at anyone else, especially Natasha, for that one.

Some Barton found funny enough to bring up more than once, instructing JARVIS to download them directly to his phone.

Stella @st3llab3lla

the way the black widow shot down hawkeye immediately 😭😭 bro didn’t even have time to OFFER

Just Here @thatusernameistaken745

Am I tripping or did tony stark give clitn baron “watch ur back” eyes

Dat HoeTM @avengeringblob

i definitely do not have the portion where Hawkeye pole dances playing on repeat in my head for the past six hours no siree definitely not me i am so definitely not lying and i do not have the image of that speedo stuck in my head definitely not nope no

A Bow And @ANArrow

man has no chill. runs around with superhumans when he’s only got a gotdamn bow and arrow, and now pulls this shit. an icon.

#1 Fan @capassmerica

Hey @AvengersOfficial, if I send this to Steve Rogers, do you think his American Military genes will reawaken and he’ll be forced to obey god-king uncle sam?

Darcy Lewis had, unsurprisingly from what Loki knew of the woman, responded to that one.

The Avengers @AvengersOfficial

Bro I hope so. @TonyStarkOfficial can you PLEASE show this to Cap??? 

Anthony, upon seeing that, had pulled out his own phone, and responded with Darcy, this account is for official updates only. So, officially, on the record: Steve sadly had no reaction. (Is this the truth? The world may never know.)

“You are not helping, Tony,” Steve groaned, though even he couldn't help his laughter at that one. 

There were many, many reactions, wanting various other Avengers to dance in the provocative way Barton had (including several posts encouraging them to take all of their clothes off.)

It was… genuinely delightful. If there were any cruel jokes or hate, JARVIS filtered it out well, and that still left thousands of posts, a not insignificant number which simply praised his singing.

Evan @elucas13

okay but real talk, I know Clint Barton's performance was amazing, but can we genuinely talk about Galinn Ingensbarn's singing? Even with the show Barton put on, Ingensbarn's song was legit my favorite part.

Loki had smiled at that when he first saw it, the stubborn warmth in his chest growing. His singing had never been appreciated on Asgard, his voice too high for a man and therefore too feminine. Even Thor hadn't heard him sing since their childhood, and Loki hadn't known what he would sound like with this new voice. Anthony had nudged him when he saw the smile on the mage's face, sending one of his own Loki's way. 

Loki couldn't admit, even to himself, how it made him feel, to see that smile on Anthony's face. His hand sought Anthony's, almost without his permission, but the mortal didn't seem to mind, as he threaded his fingers in with Loki's.

Laughter surrounded them, from Thor's boisterous tones to Bucky's near-silent chuckles, from Barton's hyena-like cackles to Romanoff's soft snickers, and for the first time, Loki understood peace.

Anthony tucked his head onto Loki's shoulder, relaxing when Loki didn't tense. So, at least for that moment, he decided to believe in the possibility of home and peace and something that might've been care.

Loki was the God of Lies - and that included, sometimes, lying to himself. 

~

It was a few hours before the team began to separate, each person satiated with the kind of happiness a long time with good friends could reach. Anthony and Loki made their way to the lab shortly after, the inventor proclaiming the need to get into the right headspace for them to ‘play with magic and tech like toddlers with Legos.’

“Tony, you know you should never give a Lego to a toddler, right? Right?” Barton had asked at their retreating backs, and which Anthony had ignored.

“So, space rock planet or mortal magic?” Anthony asked as they arrived, dropping into his favorite spinny chair, chin resting on the backrest. He had an odd quirk against sitting proper, Loki had noticed, but it was far from the man's only oddity.

Loki laughed and pulled on his magic, masking his signature despite his distance from Thor, and Asgard appeared over one of the work tables, tinged through with purple. The lights lowered slightly - JARVIS’s doing, Loki guessed.

“Holy fuck,” Anthony breathed as he stood, reaching to touch the half-translucent illusion, something like awe on his face. “How… the water is falling off the planet?”

“Calling it a planetoid would likely be a better term,” Loki explained, flicking his fingers and setting the image spinning. “It is essentially an asteroid with artificial gravity and recycled biomass, fueled by magic and the ruler's life.”

“How big is it? I can't exactly tell the scale,” Anthony asked, attempting the same move Loki had just done, but without effect.

“Not much larger than New York City, by my estimation.”

“Including or excluding the area that's just water?”

“Ah… JARVIS, could you please give me the exact numbers?”

“Wait, does All-Speak also do conversions with units of measurement?” Anthony asked before the AI could answer.

“Of course it does. JARVIS?”

“Not a problem, Mr. Ingensbarn. New York City is roughly 472 square miles, of which 300 is land mass and 172 is water.”

Loki tilted his head to the side, waiting patiently for the All-Speak to do the necessary math. “Ah, Asgard is slightly larger, then. It's just over 500 square miles.”

Anthony blinked in quiet shock, returning to the illusion. “I expected it to be smaller. How many people live there?”

“About ten thousand, I believe? Look,” Loki answered, ‘grabbing’ the illusion and magnifying the image, purple magic dancing around his fingertips. The gesture was unnecessary - illusion magic was more mental than physical by definition, after all - but Anthony’s face lit up when he got to see Loki’s - Galinn’s? - magic. (Loki would return to Asgard’s dungeons before he admitted the fullness he felt behind his breast bone at that look on Anthony’s face). 

“This is the city of Valaskjalf,” Loki explained, bringing up the city and its market, looming like a threat over the commoners. “It is the capitol of Asgard, if you could not guess by the golden palace.”

Anthony snorted. “Damn, All-Daddy needs that much overcompensation?”

Loki grinned, that same warmth he kept trying to refuse reappearing. None on Asgard would speak of Odin this way, most would never even think critically of him. “The palace is older than him, admittedly. Valaskjalf is on the edge of the planet - you can see the Rainbow Bridge leading to Himinbjörg. This is where the Bifröst and the Golden Realm’s watcher, Heimdall, are housed. While a very well-off city, it is mainly inhabited by commoners, as owning swaths of land or ruling over cities is a tenant of nobility. Here,” he pointed to the west end of the city, “is where the primary trade routes are. Valaskjalf is bordered by mountains to the east and the royal forest to the south, so most on-realm trade to the capitol is from the west.”

He pulled out of the image, adjusting it so Asgard sat there in all its glory. He showed other cities, shared fun histories, showed how much land was dedicated to farming. He hesitated at that one, a pit in his stomach.

“It’s weird to imagine you or Thor as farmers,” Anthony mused. “You two are the only Aesir I’ve ever actually met. I know you’ve said not all Aesir are gods, but…”

The only Aes you know is Thor, Loki thought, biting down a scowl. He hid it with a laugh. “Even gods need to eat. It is thanks to Bor’s father, Búri, that so much land is still dedicated to farming, actually. Even with the Bifröst built - a relatively new construction in Búri’s childhood - he wanted to ensure Asgard never relied too heavily on it. It’s long been touted as being indestructible, but he was wary to put too much faith in more magic, when Asgard was already so reliant on the then-named Búrforce. He mandated a not insignificant portion of the land to be for food bearing, and tasked the crown with the responsibility to ensure the livelihoods of the farmers when harvests were poor. Bor thought the law foolish, but… it is nearly impossible to unwrite a decision made by a prior king.” Loki clenched his fists, remembering the pain of the Odinforce trying to burn through him when he had so much as considered overturning Thor’s banishment, thinking to hand over the reins and flee. He had no doubt it burned him worse due to the Jotun filth in his blood.

Anthony frowned. “Odin sentenced you, didn’t he? So Thor wouldn’t be able to overturn the slavery?”

Loki shrugged, pushing away the thoughts of his short, awful stay upon Hliðskjálf, though he held his tension in his shoulders. “If it were, for some reason, necessary for Odinson to overturn my sentence, he would be able to. I was sentenced by the law and bound to slavery by normal magery. The Odinforce was not a driving factor in my sentencing. Thor would not be the one freeing me, he would simply be the one giving permission for a court mage to do the spellwork.”

“Well, good thing we’ve already got a plan to get you free without the All-Asshole’s interference,” Anthony said.

Loki actually choked for a moment at the mortal’s words. “Do be mindful of your words, Anthony. Many Aesir, Thor included, would strike you down for this.”

“Thor’s heard me say worse. Though I think I nearly gave him a stroke - can Aesir have strokes? - when I called Odin the All-Fucker.”

“Anthony!” Loki reprimanded, trying to resist his laughter, but the snarky grin Anthony threw his way broke him. He laughed until he was gasping for air, hands on his knees. Norns, he adored mortals and their inherent chaos. By the time he recovered, Anthony’s grin had softened into something approaching to fondness. 

A beat of silence passed as they smiled at each other and Anthony cleared his throat, taking a step back, despite them not being close to begin with. “So what does the end of it look like?”

“Pardon?”

“The world’s flat, I saw the waterfalls. But what does it look like to look over the edge?”

“It is surrounded by the yawning void, ginnungagap.”

“Ginooga-huh?”

“Ginnungagap. The gaping abyss from which all life was birthed. It’s… a cacophony. Of light and dying universes, of darkness and the births of suns.”

“Like what I saw when you took me to Yggdrasil?”

“Oh, no. Yggdrasil and her branches are metaphysical, not physical. She is the roots of this universe, but not tangible to it. She runs parallel to our reality, I suppose you could say? Ginnungagap is… actually, JARVIS, can you turn the lights off?”

JARVIS did not respond, merely obeying, the only light remaining the soft red emergency lights along the floor. Loki offered his hand out. “I can not and will not take you to the void, but I can show you. Do you trust me?”

“You gonna show me a whole new world, Aladdin? Wait, does that mean I’m the princess here?” he said, but took the hand with no hesitation. At Loki’s confused glance, he added, “It’s a pop culture reference. God, have we not gotten around to Disney? It’s a classic. Admittedly, I mainly watched it while stoned out of my mind in the 90s, but…”

Loki merely rolled his eyes, tugging the human to him. He pressed Anthony’s back to his chest, holding his hands and pressing them gently against the mortal’s front, careful to avoid his magical heart. “I am going to share a memory with you, but it is still an illusion. You’re going to see as though through my eyes. Are you ready?”

“Bring it on, Houdini,” Anthony answered, relaxing against Loki’s body.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured, mouth close to Anthony’s ear, before straightening up. “Do not let go of me - you won’t be harmed, but the backlash from interrupting magic is exhausting.”

“I think I’ll survive being held by you,” Anthony answered cheekily.

To Loki’s surprise, he didn’t mind the closeness, how tightly their bodies were pressed together. For the first time in a very long time, he… didn’t want the contact to end. The thought was chased away as he remembered how Anthony nearly had not survived being held by Loki, their initial confrontation ending with the hero’s hundred-and-six story freefall.

Loki turned his attention back to the spell, throwing the illusion against the walls of the room, warping light to give the room far more depth than it truly had. When he was satisfied, he whispered, “Open.”

The gasp Anthony made sent a pleasant tingle down Loki’s back, but he waved the thoughts away before they could grow. His magic was not what it once was, and even this once-small trick now took a lot of focus.

The Rainbow Bridge ran beneath their feet, water rushing into nothingness on the horizon. Himinbjorg glittered in its golden glory. Nebulae made their lazy way across the sky, the sun at their back casting Loki’s shadow on the ground despite the darkness of space beyond the edge of the world. “Look, over there,” Loki muttered, dragging Anthony’s hand with him as he pointed. “Do you recognize it?”

Anthony was quiet, studying the small, multicolored swirl that was roughly the size of his palm at this distance. “Is that… home?”

Loki nodded. “That is what you call the Milky Way galaxy. Andromeda is just there,” he added, pointing slightly to the side, another distinctive swirl, light years away in truth but appearing no further than an inch from here.

“That is… not how space is supposed to work.”

“According to your physics, at least,” Loki answered, mildly smug.

Anthony made a small sound that may have been a whine and Loki snickered. “They’re supposed to be universal laws, Galinn! Universal! Asgard is breaking them and this view is… it’s terrifying and is making fun of half the laws of fucking science, but it’s stunning. Can I turn around? And see more?”

“Of course, just move with me.”

Loki carefully turned them, allowing Anthony a ground-level view of what walking into Asgard’s capitol could look like. The city ran all the way to the shore, the palace casting its far-reaching shadow. Loki adjusted the illusion, pulling from another memory. The sun moved, now high overhead and no longer positioned to hide the city in the palace’s darkness. Children and their families also appeared on the beaches, still and silent. They were too far away to see much detail, but even in a memory there was an aura to the air, that they were witnessing joy and life and freedom and the innocence of childhood.

“Is it safe? For them to swim in… this?” Anthony asked.

“Yes. There are physical and magical barriers,” Loki answered, amused. No matter what the man said, he truly was a hero at heart - questions of other’s safety the first from his tongue as he looked at the home of gods.

“It’s so weird to imagine Thor growing up there,” Anthony said, moving one set of their clasped hands to point to the palace. “He’s fairly down to Earth, y’know? Wait. Down to Asgard? Down to dirt? Ugh, our language was not built with E.T.s in mind.”

“The phrase ‘down to Earth’ is fine. The All-Speak translates its meaning well enough,” Loki explained, looking at the palace - exuberant and loud and bright and so, so excessive - that had been his home for most of his life. It caused a hollow ache in his chest, filled with longing and a desire to change the past, to set right old wrongs. Even were he returned of all his power, though, he would never be able to reclaim and repair what he had lost. It would never be home again, damned first by Odin‘s and Frigga’s lies, damned second by Thor’s oblivious crassness, and then damned lastly by Loki’s hatred and madness. “Are you ready for me to end the illusion?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Anthony said, his voice soft.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why? I’m doing it, but why?”

“I am creating and warping light and then crafting an image. Watching that be built or unbuilt is often nauseating, unless one is trained and experienced in it,” Loki answered, dismantling the memory, careful not to look at the palace again.

“I fight crime in a metal suit that I fly in. Do you really think my stomach can’t handle it?”

“Open your eyes,” Loki laughed, pulling away from Anthony. “I think you would get used to it sooner than most, yes. But there is a reason mages tend to first learn to handle light-warping while crafting unpleasant scenes so as to not poison good memories or fun times.”

“Speaking of mages learning…” Anthony said, the lights coming back on with a wave of his hand. His smile was on the feral side of excited when he turned, the familiar look of someone brimming with the desire to learn new things. “You said there’s magic in the arc reactor?” He drummed his fingers on the glass casings for emphasis, its blue light emanating slightly through his shirt.

“I did,” Loki confirmed with a smile. “It is not very powerful but it is definitely seiðr. And you said you created this? On your own?”

“Well, yeah, kinda. The original idea came from my dad and I built on it. I didn’t know it, but I was looking at his studies on the Te-”

Anthony’s words were cut off as golden sparkles began to appear, rapidly growing into a wide circle. Hundreds of years of ambushes had him pushing Anthony behind him, summoning the staff Anthony had made him from the pocket dimension he stored it in. He raised it as someone stepped through, but Anthony placed a hand on his arm. “Easy there, Gandalf. He’s a friend.”

“I am no friend of yours, Stark,” a man said as he appeared fully, the portal falling apart behind him, red cloak billowing without wind. “Though Wong says you’ve been harassing him?”

Anthony had a bounce in his step as he moved between the two of them. “The fuck took so long?”

“Time does not move the same on all planets,” the stranger said, rolling his eyes. “I was only gone a week, I thought, until I got back. Of course, no one told me a week there was months here,” he grumbled. “Wong said you had something urgent, however?”

“Yeah, I do. Dr. Stephen Strange, please meet Galinn Ingensbarn,” Anthony said, gesturing to Loki. Strange raised an eyebrow at the introduction and Loki got the distinct impression Anthony had made a point of not using his title in the past. “Galinn Ingensbarn, please meet Dr. Stephen Strange, Earth’s very own Sorcerer Supreme.”

Loki’s heart leaped in his chest, hope setting his heart ablaze. Was this really it? Was he finally about to be unbound from his slavery?

…was he already about to lose what he had found here?

Strange just sighed. “What do you want, Stark? You’re not being a dick. You’re always a dick.”

“So, you know about how Stark Industries made a new subsidiary, Stark Interstellar, and I went for trade agreements on Alfheim?”

“I am aware,” Strange said, throwing a curious glance at Loki. There was no hostility in his eyes, which abated Loki’s worry that this sorcerer would be able to figure out who he was. “Get to the point.”

“Went to Alfheim. Alfheim has slaves. They gifted me one,” Anthony gestured to Loki, “and it was take him or he’d die. He’s bound to his slavery with magic runes and we need to - uh, I think you said ‘have it burned out by adequately powerful sether‘?” he aimed at Loki, who managed not to cringe at his pronunciation. Loki nodded, his mouth dry and his tongue heavy. Anticipation crawled up his skin like fire ants and like soothing water.

Despite the shortness of the explanation, Strange’s face managed to make quite a number of expressions, from amusement to bafflement to pity to regret.

That last one was what made Loki’s chest burn.

“May I see the runework?” Strange asked.

Loki unbuttoned his shirt, the sleeves too long and too tight to roll up well, and shrugged it off his left shoulder. Strange held his hands up, glancing at Loki for permission. Loki nodded and Strange gently took hold of his arm, turning it and studying it, his hands quick despite their slight shake and the heavily scarred injuries. Gold swirled around Strange’s hand and brushed softly against the rune on Loki’ wrist.

Loki shouted as it began to burn his skin, himself and Strange jerking away from each other. He could see where the magical backlash had struck the sorcerer as well, a bleeding cut on his cheek. There was silence as they looked at each other, Anthony’s head bobbing back and forth between them out of the corner of Loki’s vision.

“What the fuck just happened?” Anthony asked.

Strange opened his mouth but no words came out, and he just shook his head.

It was Loki who had to answer. “He cannot remove the runework.”

“What? He’s the most powerful sorcerer on Earth!”

“But I don’t have powerful seiðr. My magic is a different kind,” Strange finally answered. “Some people here and there have a hint of seiðr in their veins, but none of them are powerful enough for this.”

Silence smothered the three of them, oppressive and hateful.

“There is no one on Midgard who can free me,” Loki said, feeling himself go weak in the knees. Of course there wouldn’t be. The Norns enjoyed weaving his torment into their tapestry, their story of the universe. Monsters didn’t get happy endings, why should he have expected to be an exception to that?

“Galinn…” Anthony said, his eyes wide and pleading as he reached for Loki. “C’mon, we’ll figure something else out, I promi-”

Loki jerked away with a snarl and Anthony flinched back. Loki didn’t know if it was in fear or in apology and, to be honest, at that moment he didn’t care. “Do not promise me what we cannot guarantee,” he spat out.

“There has to be -” Anthony began, but Loki cut him off, Strange a silent observer in the background.

Rage, hopelessness, exhaustion - it all warred within him and Loki needed to get away before he did something he regretted. “I will be in Central Park,” he ground out. “Leave me be. I will return by dawn. JARVIS will tell you if I murder an innocent, I’m sure.”

“Galinn, no, it’s not a good idea to be alo-”

His words were cut off as Loki skywalked to the Park, reveling in the feeling of breaking one of Stark’s rules. The moon hung high in the sky, the stars barely visible due to the light pollution and Loki studied his surroundings. Blindly skywalking wasn’t wise, but the Park was large enough he knew he didn’t have to be exact with his final location. Trees had enough natural energy to gently push a skywalker away from landing in them.

When he turned around, however, he laughed, dark and angry. “Damn you too,” he mumbled to the Norns.

The statue The Lost stood not even a foot behind where he’d arrived, mocking him with its innocent words, its death tally, its faceless citizens. The monument to the humans Loki had slaughtered. Weariness consumed him and he fell to his knees, pressing one palm to the child’s poem, leaning his forehead against the base. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

The Park’s answering wind did not feel like forgiveness as he sobbed into the bronze.

Chapter Text

“Galinn, no, it’s not a good idea to be alone right now!” Tony protested, but Galinn was gone before the words finished leaving Tony’s mouth.

Strange sighed. “I know you and I do not get along, but I am sorry I couldn’t help.”

“How can there be no one on Earth who can do it? We have eight billion people on this planet!” Tony demanded, rounding on Strange, though he knew it wasn’t the sorcerer he was blaming. Galinn had spoken early on of how hope was the most dangerous thing a slave could have, and Tony had forced it on him with promises he hadn’t known were empty.

“Because they were killed,” Strange answered simply. “Had this been even three years ago, we would’ve been able to find someone within my order to do it, but…” he trailed off, pain and regret aging his not-unattractive face. 

“What?”

Strange sat down on one of the lab chairs scattered about and Tony noticed the exhaustion in his shoulders weighing him down as he rubbed his forehead. “There was a member of my order a few years back named Kaecilius. I won’t bore you with all the details, but he amassed great quantities of power, and in part, did so by draining both the magic and the life out of everyone on Earth with ample seiðr. Few have some seiðr in them, but even less had the kind of magic it would take to release those bonds, and none are still alive who do. Well, it’s possible some may have been born with it since Kaecilius’s slaughter, but they would at most be toddlers.”

“I thought anyone could learn seiðr,” Tony protested.

“Learn to wield, yes, by drawing on the world’s naturally occurring seiðr,” Strange said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, scarred hands hanging limply. “Can learn to be a master wielder even, yes. But to have the raw energy to burn out that curse? No.”

Tony sank down onto the ratty couch along one wall, head in his hands. “Fuck,” he breathed.

“Your best bet is going to be someone off-world. Vanir, perhaps. They are the foremost experts of that brand of magic in this corner of the galaxy,” Strange suggested, but Tony was already shaking his head.

“Galinn said he has to be released on Earth,” Tony said, remembering one of the many conversations they’d had back on Alfheim, all those months ago (had it really been months already?). “The other major players in this area all have laws that bind newly-released slaves to become citizens of the world they’re released on, even Vanaheim. He’d have nothing, my money’s no good on an alien planet.”

“And there’s still a no-travel to Earth order from Asgard, isn’t there?” Strange groaned.

“Yep,” Tony sighed. “Thor is the only one with an exception. Odin claims we’re not ready for the intergalactic stage yet. It’s one reason I’m giving him a massive middle finger and trying to open trade.”

“I am sorry, Stark,” Strange repeated. “There is nothing I can do.” He stood, stumbling slightly, and Tony could swear the cloak around his neck was the only reason he didn’t fall over.

“Have you rested since coming back from the conference thingy?”

“No. Wong was quite insistent I come here immediately, even though he didn’t know why. You are, and I quote, ‘the single most persistently irritating man Wong has ever had the misfortune to speak with’, it seems.”

Tony shrugged. Wong wasn’t exactly wrong. Tony excelled in being an annoying shit, after all. “Go home, Strange,” he said, sounding more defeated than he’d like.

The sorcerer nodded, doing his magical sparkle routine until another portal opened. He hesitated right before stepping through. “Maybe being persistent and irritating is a good thing, right now.”

“Oh?”

“I will never say this again, but if anyone on this planet could figure out how to trick those runes with technology instead of magic, it would be you,” Strange said, making a face like he’d smelled something rotten. It was a face Tony was familiar with - many people made it when they had to begrudgingly admit Tony was, in fact, highly competent. The sorcerer stepped through the portal a moment later without any further good-bye.

Tony leaned back, eyes closed as he rested his head on the firm couch. “J, how much longer on the Magic Sucks Protocol?”

“There are three hours and seventeen minutes before the order will wear off, Sir,” JARVIS answered, and it warmed Tony’s heart to hear the concern in the AI’s voice. Yeah, he’d definitely come a long way since being a glorified PDA, able to care for the Avengers like family.

“Notify me as soon as he appears, okay?” Tony ordered.

“Was already planning to, Sir.”

“Is Hammertime busy right now?”

“No, Sir. Mr. Odinson is on the multimedia floor, watching Agent Barton and Sergeant Barnes play Mario Kart.”

“And he isn’t playing with them?” he asked, pushing himself to his feet and making his way to the elevator.

“He was earlier,” JARVIS said, sliding the doors closed. “However, he was the victim of a blue shell and broke the third controller. And then slipped on a banana and fried a fourth controller. He is now forbidden to play until new controllers arrive.”

Tony couldn’t stop his weak grin at the idea of the God of Thunder being in time-out, despite all the drama of the morning, but it wasn’t as funny as it normally would be. Still, when the elevator opened onto the multimedia floor, Tony detoured to the kitchen and snatched up a pack of the banana bread flavored Pop-Tarts the Thunderer favored. 

Plopping onto the couch seat next to Thor, Tony wordlessly offered the sweet treat. The god accepted it and immediately ripped into the packaging.

“I need a favor,” Tony said once Thor had shoved half the first Pop-Tart into his mouth.

Thor shot him a curious look as he chewed. “What can I do for you, my friend?”

“I need all the books you can find on the magic in Galinn’s slave runes.”

That got both Clint’s and Barnes’s attention, the game paused as the two turned to look at him.

“Why?” Clint asked.

“Strange just showed up,” Tony admitted, running a hand through already messy hair. “He can’t free Galinn. Time to figure out a new plan.”

All three faces fell at Tony’s words, Barnes standing up. “Where is Galinn?”

“Central Park, I think. He skywalked out of here when we got the news.”

“I thought he was forbidden from leaving the Tower?” Clint asked.

“He just got some of the worst news possible,” Tony snapped. “I had no way to stop him and he’ll be back by dawn, because the fucking slave runes still have him bound to me!”

“I shall see what I can find, friend Tony, though I did not find much last time I searched,” Thor said, voice soft and sad. “And you will need Galinn to enchant them so you can read them.”

Tony said nothing else, leaving the room with the news bombshell he’d just dropped. He knew he needed to brief the rest of the Avengers of the update, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It just… felt too personal? Between Thor, Clint, and Barnes, the rest of the team would know by morning regardless. He returned to the lab, hands itching to do something productive after he’d failed so spectacularly.

He wished he could reach out to Galinn, just to make sure the man was okay. Tony tilted his head to the side, holding the idle thought with some intrigue.

Decision made, he motioned for JARVIS to crank up the tunes and went straight into construction mode.

~

“Have you left this room?” asked an amused voice some indeterminate time later.

“Uh,” Tony answered eloquently, looking up at the Aes mage. “Yes?”

Galinn just shot him a look, then raised his eyes to the ceiling expectantly. “Sir has left the room once for approximately fifteen minutes eight hours ago, Mr. Ingensbarn.”

“Traitor,” Tony mumbled halfheartedly.

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Galinn said politely, coming to Tony’s side and studying what he was working on. Tony tensed at the closeness, half worried the proximity would set Galinn off despite him being the one to initiate it. “What are you working on?”

Picking up the phone he’d built, he handed it off to Galinn. “It’s a phone,” Tony said, stepping away to grab something else off another table. “And I thought you may like one of these as well,” he added, offering one of the photostatic veils he’d finished playing with a few days prior.

Galinn looked at the two items, one in each hand, seemingly bewildered. “Why?”

Tony shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his hip against a work table. “You deserve to be able to leave, but I wanted to make sure you had a way to reach me or JARVIS or Barnes or whoever.”

“Anthony…” Galinn said, shock and understanding crossing over his face.

“Apologies, sirs,” JARVIS interjected when Galinn trailed off. “The Magic Sucks Protocol has been expired for several hours. Mr. Stark, please restore Mr. Ingensbarn’s freedoms.”

“Oh, shit, thanks J,” Tony answered.

“You are… not angry?” Galinn asked before Tony had the chance to give the order. “I disobeyed you. I stayed away as long as I could before the runes forced me back. I left.”

Tony waved it off. “You needed space, Galinn. I’m not going to punish you for reacting poorly to fucking awful news, y’know? Short of hurting anyone, I’m not going to punish you at all, okay?”

Galinn’s shoulders visibly relaxed and his smile eased into something more genuine. “Thank you.”

“Don’t -” Tony started, but a loud beep from JARVIS cut him off. “Right. You don’t have to thank me for not being a monster, Linn.”

That made Galinn chuckle for some reason. “You are quite far from a monster, Anthony. Trust me, I’ve seen my fair share.”

Tony grinned at him, though his heart was still heavy. He’d expected more anger from Galinn, but this just seemed like… giving up. The Aes should be shouting and throwing things and possibly causing explosions, not calmly smiling at Tony, at the man who owned his life. Tony’s grin faltered, and he sighed. “I’m not going to promise you anything, but I am going to keep trying, Galinn.”

“I suppose the concept of giving up is not exactly in your vocabulary, is it?” Galinn asked softly, looking down and turning the phone over in his hand, not meeting Tony’s eyes.

“I’ve never met a problem I backed down from, no,” Tony said. Galinn didn’t say anything, just continuing to idly flip the phone over and over in his palm. Taking advantage of the lull, Tony gave the order restoring Galinn’s miniscule freedoms. The Aes gave a shaky exhale as the order settled, but allowed the two of them to lapse into silence.

It wasn’t exactly a comfortable quiet, but neither was it uncomfortable, so Tony considered it a win. They needed some of those right now.

“How do I use these?” Galinn asked, still fidgeting with the phone.

Tony stepped forward, holding out his hand for the phone, but Galinn just looked at him in confusion. “What?” Tony asked, as Galinn handed it to him.

With a smirk, Galinn just glanced at the phone, now in Tony’s hand, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” Tony asked again, before it finally dawned on him.

Galinn laughed as realization hit Tony. “Should I be proud?”

Tony just held up one finger, blinking his shock away. There were three people Tony let hand him things - Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy - and even then, Pepper was the only one able to do it consistently. But accepting something from Galinn had been so easy, hadn’t set off anxiety in Tony’s stomach nor blinded him with panic. It was an asinine fear, he was well aware, and was a quirk he hadn’t developed until months after his escape from Afghanistan. (He was sure a therapist would have a blast trying to figure out everything that had him fucked up, but he wasn’t quite ready for all the introspection, despite Sam Wilson’s claims it would do him good.) 

Still reeling, but deciding he did not want to do any kind of introspection whatsoever, Tony looked back at the phone. “So, this is a touchscreen,” he said, setting the anxiety aside and ignoring it, which he was sure wasn’t exactly healthy, but that was Future Tony’s problem.

Galinn just grinned and moved closer to Tony, looking over the engineer’s shoulder as he walked through how to unlock and lock the phone, how to place a call, and what a text message was. “I’ve already put in all of our numbers, for the Avengers currently living in the Tower. Pepper’s in here, too, but she is the absolute last resort, emergency of all emergencies, the sky is fucking falling, emergency contact. Capiche?”

“Understood. Call the superpowered superheroes for help before the overworked CEO,” Galinn said, and Tony didn’t even need to see the man to know he was smirking, it was audible in his damn voice. 

Tony just rolled his eyes, trying very hard to be less aware of how close Galinn was to him - he could feel the rise and fall of the other man’s chest against his back as the mage breathed - and now was absolutely not the time for that.

There was actually never any time for that, now that Tony thought about it. Definitely not.

“And that’s the basics of it,” he said, turning to hand the phone back to Galinn, his breath catching as he came face-to-neck with the taller man. Despite the proximity, Galinn didn’t step back, and Tony was effectively pinned between him and the work table.

“Thank you,” Galinn said, plucking the phone from Tony’s hand and tucking it into his pants pocket. “Could you show me how to use this as well?”

“Uh, yeah,” Tony said, glancing down at the veil in Galinn’s hand. “Could you, uh,” he said, gesturing to the table behind him.

“Of course,” Galinn said, reaching past Tony and carefully setting the veil down.

Tony just gave a grateful nod, reaching behind him and picking it back up. “So, since you’ve been announced as an Avenger, and kind of stick out, I would recommend wearing this whenever you go out. Unless you like being swarmed by fans, of course.”

“I stick out?” Galinn asked. “How so?”

Tony blinked, his normally quick wit failing him. “What’s a way to say you’re stupid hot without sounding like I’m being a creep?”

Galinn frowned, however. “I am running an unintelligent fever?” he asked.

“No, that’s not, I mean, not like, that kind of hot,” Tony hurried to explain, tripping over his words, until he noticed the mischief in Galinn’s grin. Tony just groaned. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

“You do make it dreadfully easy to do so,” Galinn laughed.

“Dick,” Tony grumbled good-naturedly. “Can I show you now, or do you have more jokes to crack at the mortal’s expense?”

“I am sufficiently joked out for now, I believe,” Galinn said, and Tony did not believe him at all.

Still, he’d take what he could get, even if his body was trying very, very hard to be allowed to react to the attractive man in Tony’s personal space, in a desire to have him in even more personal spaces.

No, bad Tony. Bad Tony!

Putting half of his mind to the task of thinking of something extremely unsexy - like cybertrucks and their godawful engineering, that could work -, Tony allowed the other half to refocus on the veil. He spread it out in one hand and pointed to the edge, near the right side of the mouth. “You see this little ridge here?”

“I am surprised you can,” Galinn said, shooting him a cocky smirk before leaning his head to the side. “But, yes, I do.”

“I engineered it, I don’t need to be able to see it,” Tony shot back. “That’s the on button. It’s what allows you to attach it to your face - it’ll just fall off otherwise. Here,” Tony said, motioning for Galinn to hold out his hands. The mage obeyed and Tony sat the veil on his waiting palms. He went to cup Galinn’s hands with his own, the mage tensing as he did so. Tony lowered his hands slightly, giving Galinn an apologetic glance. “It’ll be easier if I guide you. Can I touch you?”

“Can you?” Galinn asked, but the playfulness was a little too forced.

Regardless, Tony played along, giving Galinn the time to relax. “Are you seriously doing the old English teacher shtick? Where did you even learn that joke?”

“I have a lot of free time, and Midgard has both books and television in abundance.”

“Ugh, fine, Mr. Speaks-All-Languages. May I touch you?”

Galinn hesitated only a moment further, but he lowered his hands, placing the backs of his hands into Tony’s waiting palms. Tony made a mental note of that - Galinn seemed okay with touch, so long as he was the one initiating it. Still, Tony gave him a gentle smile as he walked the mage through how the veil worked - helping him press it to his face and engage the adhesion, guiding his fingers to the other small buttons along the outer edges. “There’s some preset ones in here already,” Tony explained as he pulled away, letting Galinn play with the buttons himself. “It can’t affect eye color and you’d need a wig if you wanted to change your hair, but if you ever want to create a specific face, the veil can wirelessly interact with JARVIS, who can build a face from scratch to your specifications. Though, of course, there’s limitations to affecting skin color as well, ‘least until I get around to making gloves and some kind of scarf.”

“And you made this?” Galinn asked, his voice tinged with a Midwestern American accent instead of his normally quasi-British one. He looked down at Tony, his face more round, with the early beginnings of a beard and a minor scar over his left eyebrow.

“I made it more comfortable and expanded its on-board memory, but I do have to admit the technology originally came from SHIELD. You wouldn’t know it, but wearing this when you have facial hair is hell.”

Galinn tilted his head to the side, running his finger along both face and voice buttons. His visage shifted, his skin darkening to a tan, the beard disappearing, and his lips plumpening. “Our trip to Central Park, you wore one of these for hours,” he said, voice now solidly accented German.

Tony shifted his feet. “I got used to it, don’t worry.”

“But if it was as unpleasant as you said…”

Shrugging, Tony held his hands back up. “Ready for me to show you how to remove it?”

Galinn nodded and placed his hands back in Tony’s palms, Tony guiding the two of them to the veil and the small off button near the right temple. “This small bump here will disable it,” Tony said and Galinn pressed on it; the veil turned back into its default sheer, shimmery state, revealing Galinn’s normal face. Galinn lowered the mask, hands still in Tony’s palms. Tony smiled slightly, then dropped his eyes to the veil, pretending to inspect it. “I didn’t say anything because it was worth it,” he admitted quietly.

Galinn adjusted the veil so it was in one hand, turning the now free one and rubbing his thumb against Tony’s wrist. “Thank you,” he said, and something in his voice told Tony that Galinn wasn’t thanking him for the mask right then.

“Anyway,” Tony continued, his emotions a confused knot in his stomach, “you’re free to come and go as you please. I know you have to stay here with me, but… you have as much choice in it as possible.”

Galinn merely nodded in appreciation, phone tucked into his pocket and the veil disappearing in a flash of purple. “Now go eat something before the Avengers stage an intervention,” he ordered, lightly swatting Tony on the shoulder.

“Wait, where did -”

“Eat or I will not tell you.”

“Dick.”

~

Days passed, and Tony waited the whole time for Galinn to finally snap, to allow himself to rage, but he didn’t. Galinn continued on as normal - sparring, dismantling weapons, playing chess. No one said anything about Strange’s inability to free the Aes slave, but it was clear everyone knew. 

Thor brought the books Tony asked for, saying he hadn’t focused on only finding the ones to free one from slave magic like he had prior, but anything that he could get his hands on that even spoke of the runes. Tony thanked Thor and Galinn enchanted the books, though the sad look on his face spoke to his low confidence in Tony’s ability to do anything.

Which just made Tony Stark even more determined.

~

Eventually, it was a week before Galinn’s asylum hearing, and Pepper had scheduled a meeting to go over some final items from their lawyers. The Avengers (sans Thor, who was with Jane) had all gathered on the common floor, Bruce whipping up some curry in the kitchen as the elevator let out. Pepper walked in, looking every bit like a multinational CEO, even with the baby resting on her hip.

“Good morning, everyone,” Pepper said, carefully pulling off her shoulder bag that Tony had no doubt contained millions of dollars in corporate secrets, the keys to Galinn’s freedom, and several diaper changes, and dropping it on the table.

“Is that Morgan I see?” Clint asked, shooting up out of his chair and making grabby hands for the baby girl.

“No, it’s the other child I gave birth to ten months ago,” Pepper laughed. “Do you want to see Uncle Clint?” she asked the baby in a tone that wouldn’t have been misplaced in a boardroom, and Morgan gurgled excitedly while mirroring Clint’s movements. She gently handed the child over to Clint, who began chatting in baby-talk. “Sorry, the babysitter cancelled, and Happy is still in Malibu, overseeing the upgrade of that location’s security systems.”

“You know I never mind seeing my god-daughter!” Tony said as Natasha began to bully Clint for her chance to hold Morgan. 

“I did not know you were a mother, Miss Potts,” Galinn said, waggling his fingers at the baby from behind Natasha. “You also run Stark Industries and public relations for the Avengers, correct?”

“I do.”

“However do you manage all of that?” Galinn asked. “After I gave birth, all I wished to do was lay down for the next several years.”

“After you - what?” Steve asked, mirrored sounds of confusion echoing from everyone, including Tony and Pepper.

“You have children?” Tony asked.

Galinn hesitated to answer and was talked over when Morgan began to babble loudly, thwacking her tiny fist against Bruce’s chest. She’d been handed over to him at some point, Barnes keeping watch on the food.

“I was more confused on the part where he said he gave birth to them,” Steve confessed as Bruce passed Morgan into his arms so he could get his hugs as well.

“It is not uncommon for mages to be able to both sire and bear children,” Galinn finally admitted. “And, technically, no, I do not have children. I lost my rights to claim them upon my sentencing.”

“Do you… know what happened to them?” Pepper asked, gently pulling Morgan back to her, the look on her face haunted. “I couldn’t imagine…”

“They are safe,” Galinn answered, his smile small and sad. “It has been a very long time, Miss Potts. My children are adults by now.”

“How many do you have?” Natasha asked.

“I apologize, I do not wish to speak of this further,” Galinn said,shuffling his feet uncomfortably. “You were here to discuss my asylum request, yes?”

“Of course,” Pepper said, seemingly reluctant as she returned Morgan to Clint. Unsurprisingly, once she’d found out Clint had three children of his own, he was the one most trusted to not drop her child. “So, as you’re aware by now, we’re submitting the asylum request on the basis of credible fear of torture were you to be returned to Alfheim.”

“What happens to me if… if my request is denied?”

“That’s unlikely to happen,” Bruce reassured, him and Barnes appearing from the kitchen with their arms loaded with bowls full of curry. 

“If it does, then we still have an active work visa for you. Technically, you’re not supposed to be able to have both at the same time, but…” Tony said, shrugging. “When you’re rich enough, most laws become suggestions. I made sure we were covered either way.”

Galinn relaxed slightly after that. “So there is no worry of me being sent back?”

“Fuck no,” Tony said, the others around him mirroring the sentiment with less swearing. “You’re stuck with me until we get those runes off, and, well…” Tony grinned, a little too sharp and a little too lethal. “No one wants Iron Man to go off-planet indefinitely.”

“You would go off-planet if they tried to remove me?” Galinn asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Yep,” Tony said, idly stirring his spoon in his nearly untouched bowl. “You have to stay close to me, and it’s not like I’m going to sell… to get rid of you.”

“Natasha and I would also be willing to go off-planet if it was necessary to keep you safe and they needed more pressure,” Barnes piped up. “So since you’re an Avenger now, that’d be four Avengers not on Earth solely because some bureaucrat had their foot up their own ass.”

“However,” Pepper said, pulling attention back to her, “we do want to get the asylum request to go through, so we are going to work on it as if we didn’t have seventeen back up plans, alright? We’re already off the beaten path with you being a literal alien, bound by magic, and owned by Tony. We’ve already been told the team may be called up as a character witness, but…” she broke off, looking to Tony.

Fidgeting uncomfortably, Tony pushed his half-full bowl away, knowing he was about to lose his appetite. “We also need to prove the fear of torture, since we have only your word, and Thor’s testimony won’t count since he isn’t a citizen either.”

“How does Thor manage to stay, if I am having to be subject to all of this? He wouldn’t have needed asylum, nor do I suspect he has a work visa,” Galinn asked.

“Thor’s an honorary citizen of Norway,” Steve answered. “And no one really wants to question the guy swinging that hammer. He has a Norwegian passport. In theory, at least.”

Galinn just nodded. He sighed then returned his attention to Tony. “I am not going to like how we prove ‘fear of torture’, am I?”

“You can say no,” Tony said softly, “but it would be better not to.”

“Are you wanting to use the scans from his first day here?” Bruce asked, leaning forward. 

“That’s part of it, yeah, and we may need you to speak on his medical history since coming here, since you are technically his doctor. But, the other part of it is… well, Galinn, it’s the footage from Alfheim. Specifically with Aithlin.”

Muttered sounds of confusion and who? s echoed around the table from the Avengers, but Tony and Pepper were focused on Galinn. “How do you even have footage of that? You were not in your armor.”

Tony held up his wrist, showing the watch he’d worn back then. “You really think I went to a foreign planet without planning to video tape everything?”

Galinn sighed. “No, I suppose I should know you better by now. Has anyone else seen it?”

“No,” Pepper answered for him. “Even I haven’t. If you don’t want anyone to see it, we won’t show it, but it will help your asylum request, judging by how much it freaked out Tony.”

“Let them see it,” Galinn sighed again. “The courts and the team. I would rather Thor not see it, however. Asgard’s views on it… well, I would rather him not think any less of me than he already does.”

“Thor doesn’t think poorly of you at all,” Natasha pointed out. “I think you’re actually his favorite.”

“To bend and break under torture is to be weak, to the Aesir,” Galinn said, shrugging. “I would not give him reason to see me broken if he does not yet, then.”

Bruce made a face at that. “You sure you want me here for this?” he asked, throwing a glance at Morgan, who’d dozed off in Clint’s lap.

Pepper narrowed her eyes at him in a look that tended to have Tony running to whatever board meeting he’d been avoiding. “You haven’t had any accidents in three years, excluding the incident with the Maximoff girl, and you and Hulk talk to each other now. I trust you. Now sit your ass down and stay, Dr. Banner.” 

Blinking his shock away, Bruce settled back into his seat from where he’d started to stand. Pepper just grinned victoriously.

“You ready?” Tony muttered, placing his hand on the table near Galinn, an open offering which the Aes accepted as he slid his fingers in with Tony’s.

“No,” Galinn admitted. “Show it.”

Tony squeezed Galinn’s hand gently. “J, roll it. From the time Aithlin arrived.”

JARVIS didn’t respond, but the TV flicked on - Natasha, Bruce, and Steve turned in their chairs to watch it. As they saw Aithlin talk, Clint was the only one who’s hands didn’t clench into angry fists, and only because he was still holding Morgan.

“Your slave has a history of being overly willful and seeking things he is undeserving of. I am surprised he was gifted to you, instead of one of our better stock,” Aithlin said in the video, and the glass Barnes was holding in his flesh hand shattered.

“How is that an acceptable way to talk about someone?” Steve asked, his fury poorly hidden.

“I was not a person there, Steve,” Galinn reminded gently. “I was little more than an object, in their eyes.”

Bruce made a soft noise of distress, but no green appeared on his skin. “What did you do that had them call you overly willful?”

“I fought back against the runes as much as I could. I tried to steal more clothing, tried to steal food and water from the kitchens. I had a tendency to yell at the people using and abusing me until my silence was ordered,” Galinn answered, though only after throwing a glance at Morgan to ensure she still slept. “Until they trained the defiance out of me.”

Bruce looked like he wanted to say something else, but Aithlin had just ordered “Disrobe,” and even Natasha flinched when on-screen-Galinn stripped, JARVIS helpfully providing a nudity bar to cover Galinn’s intimate areas.

“I’m going to be sick,” Pepper muttered as Galinn’s half-scarred, half-still-scarring back was shown to the camera, going down his legs, then the front visible and just as beaten. “What did they do to you?”

“Whatever they wanted. Often they just wanted me to bleed and beg.”

Tony’s voice came out, asking about the scarring and his belief Aesir didn’t scar. “So they’re too sleep-deprived and starved to heal.”

“Slavery is a punishment, Lord Stark. They work until they die.”

“We’ll need to edit that out if we show them the footage,” Pepper said, pulling her phone out and scribbling a note. “Unless we’re planning on just showing stills of the footage?”

“Why would we need to edit that?” Steve asked.

“Because we’ve told USCIS that Galinn was born a slave,” Tony admitted. “I didn’t think they’d take ‘mass murderer sentenced to slavery’ as well as ‘innocent born into slavery.’”

Steve’s lips pressed into a thin line and Tony shrugged helplessly under Captain America’s disappointed glare. The video ended shortly after, with Tony ordering Galinn to get dressed. 

“Stevie, knock that look off your punk face right now,” Barnes said with an eye roll. “How many times did you try to lie your way into the Army? Don't act like you're above lying to the United States government.”

Steve's face flushed red at that, but it did seem to take the wind out of his sails.

“There is a reason slavery is the harshest punishment Asgard offers,” Galinn said, eyeing the still frame the video had ended on, his battered back still visible.

“Does Asgard not have the death penalty?” Natasha asked.

A grimace crossed Galinn’s face before settling back neutral. “Asgard does. The slavery sentence is worse than death, in the eyes of the Aesir.”

The silence was palpable after that, non-subtle glances at the screen before Tony waved his hand and JARVIS took it down, the TV going dark. Morgan ended up being the one to break it, none of them willing to interrupt whatever thoughts were going through Galinn’s mind that had him looking so pensive. She woke herself up with an impressive burp and began to wail, tiny fists flailing in the air, utterly inconsolable despite Clint’s best efforts.

“May I?” Galinn asked. “I swear on my seiðr I will not harm her.”

Pepper, to her credit, didn’t even hesitate. “Of course.”

Galinn inclined his head towards her in thanks, walking to Clint’s side, who carefully handed the screaming bundle to the mage. Galinn’s face softened and Tony suddenly had no doubt that Galinn would make an excellent parent. He rocked Morgan gently, singing something softly and Tony found himself thoroughly entranced.

“An Asgardian lullaby,” Galinn said, answering unasked questions when the baby settled. “About defeating Asgard’s enemies and earning glory for the Golden Realm, about decimating frost giants in harmonic conflict.”

“A lullaby about war?” Steve asked, his face twitching in that way it sometimes did when he had too many emotions.

“To be Aesir is to desire to die in combat, to slather fields in the blood of the Allfather’s enemies. To earn glorious purpose such that you become worthy of Valhalla,” Galinn said, adjusting Morgan more comfortably and running his free hand through her short, dark hair, as his words triggered some memory in Tony that he promptly forgot in the next breath. He sighed. “A death sentence is for honorable criminals who have committed atrocities that cannot be undone. After sentencing, the condemned go to the arena and have a fight to the death, without weapons or magic or armor, with their wrists and ankles bound. Yet still, they fall in combat, so their soul is not condemned the way their life is. A slavery sentence, however, is for criminals who have no honor in their crime.”

“And by sentencing you to slavery and making it so you can’t fight back, they take away any chance of Valhalla. Your life becomes violent abuse, and you can’t even have the relief of Asgard’s version of Heaven,” Bruce surmised, pulling his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Either versions of Heaven,” Tony added, remembering the snippets of Aesir religion they’d discussed on Alfheim. “Criminals are barred from Folkvangr, right?”

Galinn nodded, continuing his steady rock as Morgan began drifting back to sleep. “Slave souls will either find their way to Helheim’s inner reaches, ruled over by Queen Hela, but the most wretched will be thrust onto Nâströnd, the shore of the cruel, where Niðhöggr chews on their regenerating bodies for eternity.”

“Fuck,” Tony grumbled, earning a sharp Tony! from Pepper with a pointed glance at the half-asleep babe.

Galinn’s smile was sad. “I know where I will find my final fate, and I am no longer eager to hurry the process along,” he admitted.

“But you were eager to die, at some point?” Barnes asked.

Saying nothing, Galinn merely looked up and surveyed them, and Tony wondered if he could drown in the centuries of pain in the mage’s eyes. “Niðhöggr is a cruel mistress, but she is predictable, and she tends to the branches of Yggdrasil. She gives the damned purpose.” He turned to Tony, a small smile twitching at one side of his mouth. “The important part is I have stopped praying to meet her sooner.”

They were further interrupted when Morgan made a small sound, something not quite a whine but which still demanded attention, and Galinn answered her. The somber air died as Galinn spoke baby, replaced with one of incredulity. It wasn’t baby talk, it was the incoherent verbalizations of someone too young to learn speech. They were further floored when Morgan appeared to answer back.

“Man, where was that ability when my youngest cried for four straight days?” Clint asked. The strained atmosphere finally dissipated at that, the team falling into various levels of laughter.

It was, unsurprisingly, Pepper who pulled them back to focus. “What’s the verdict on the video, Galinn? Still images or edited footage?”

“JARVIS, could you edit the footage and show me what it would look like?” Galinn asked, handing Morgan over to Natasha.

Another silence lapsed as JARVIS requested a moment to process the changes. Shortly after, the TV flickered back on.

“So they’re too sleep-deprived and starved to heal,” Tony’s voice said.

“This is a slave’s fate. They work until they die,” Aithlin’s voice answered.

“This is the only edit I have made,” JARVIS said, the video pausing. “There is no other concerning statements that would suggest Mr. Ingensbarn is anything more than someone of unfortunate birth.”

Galinn snorted, almost sounding like a laugh. “What do you all recommend? Still images or the fabricated video?”

“Video,” Tony, Pepper, and Natasha said simultaneously.

Clint nodded. “I’m going to be straight with you, Galinn -” (“Since when are you straight?” Tony mumbled) “- but pity’s good to have right now, and this‘ll get you plenty from whoever is judging your case.”

“And there’s no anti-manipulation-software-thing of any kind that could tip them off that this isn’t wholly correct?” Steve asked.

“Software like that exists, but it wouldn’t be able to find a flaw in JARVIS’s editing,” Tony answered, more than slightly impressed it was Steve who had brought up that concern. He was no longer the technologically inept soldier who’d come out of that ice.

“You’re positive? There’s no way they could realize Galinn - and thus the Avengers as a whole - are lying to them?”

“Considering SI holds the patent for the most effective of those programs, I’m pretty damn confident.”

“Tony wouldn’t risk it if he wasn’t sure, Steve,” Bruce added. “I agree with the video. We can submit his scans from his first day here. It shows how much he’s able to heal in a week, if given the chance, considering he looked like… that before.”

“I'd already been healing four or five days before I got gifted to Anthony, if I recall correctly,” Galinn admitted.

“Excuse me?” Barnes asked with a coldness that had Tony eyeing him warily.

“The last visitor I was servicing had beaten me rather thoroughly,” Galinn said, looking at the floor. “It’s why I was on light work when Anthony arrived. I’d been beaten severely enough a healer had to be called. After seven beatings of that caliber in ten days, the healer was worried I’d die if not given rest. I was unconscious for much of it, as there is rarely any use for one on light work, but I believe it was a few days that had passed before I was gifted.”

Natasha was the only one who didn’t turn a little green at that, though her lips were pursed in a way Tony rarely saw from her. “And why were you beaten that frequently?”

Galinn clenched his hands into fists for a moment and then loosened them. “I was not lying when I said the light elves are not fond of the Aesir. I was the only slave of Aes birth in the palace, so I was often the one sought out when one of them needed some… stress relief.”

Bruce breathed heavily, though thankfully still greened with the tinge of nausea instead of upcoming Hulk-out. “That’s barbaric.”

“It was not unexpected,” Galinn said with a shrug, wrapping his arms around his torso. “I was weak and punished for it. I know I deserved what they did.”

“No,” Clint said firmly, standing up. He made for Galinn’s arms, but aborted the movement when Galinn flinched. “No one deserves that Galinn, do you understand me? I don’t give a flying fuck -” Pepper didn’t scold for the swearing, instead nodding along, “- what you did. If it was bad enough, you deserved a death sentence. No one deserves that kind of brutality.”

Galinn averted his gaze, green eyes indecipherable. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

“I think we’re good,” Pepper said. 

~

The remaining days passed too quickly for Tony’s taste and despite everyone’s faith they’d get through this unscathed, a heavy air of tension hovered over the upper levels of the Tower. Galinn retreated from both lab and sparring sessions, Tony only seeing him every twelve hours for the Magic Sucks Protocol. It'd been harder than Tony expected, not seeing the man, which had just made his worry grow more acute and as he deftly avoided the reasons for his care. But Tony had grown used to Galinn - his magic, his help in the lab, his laugh, the way his eyes glittered like emeralds when he did something mischievous, his half-grin every time he'd pinned Tony to the floor during a spar.

Tony missed it with an ache so sharp it hurt to breathe, and he threw himself into the slave magic books.

Finally, the morning of Galinn’s asylum hearing came. Tony had just entered his living room, the one he and Galinn shared, when the mage called his name.

“Yeah?” Tony asked, watching Galinn fiddle with his shirt sleeves. He wasn’t overly dressed up, following the advice from Pepper and her greater understanding of human psychology, but fuck if he didn’t look good in the white shirt tucked into fitted black slacks.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” Galinn said, dropping into one of the armchairs.

Tony perched on the edge of the coffee table. “What is it?”

Galinn took a deep breath. “If this fails, if we lose this hearing and they order me to leave…”

“We’ll win this, Galinn, and we still have your work visa allowing you here,” Tony said as the mage trailed off, offering his hand out to the man. Galinn studied it for a minute but took it, twining his fingers in with Tony’s.

“Luck is not often kind to me, Anthony.”

“Good thing we’re working with skill rather than luck.”

That got a smile out of Galinn, who ran his thumb along the back of Tony’s knuckles. It faltered quickly. “I need to know you’ll do this for me.”

“What is it?”

“If we lose, I want you to kill me. There are things I cannot speak of, but the Avengers must not fracture. You cannot leave the planet and you cannot ask me to return to Alfheim.”

Tony’s mouth went dry. “You can’t ask me that. I don’t even know how to kill someone like you.”

Galinn flexed his free hand and a dagger appeared in a flash of purple. “I am willing to live with you as my owner, Anthony. I am not willing to live beyond that. I can’t return to that life and I am begging you to not make me.” He placed the dagger next to Tony. “That is uru and imbibed with a heavy toxin. I can’t hurt myself due to the runework, so I’m relying on you.” Tony opened his mouth to argue, but Galinn pressed on. “I have been living on borrowed time for far too long, Anthony. Thanks to you, if I do die, my last few months will have been of peace and happiness. Swear it to me. Swear, if I am refused, you will kill me and spare me further pain.”

“I thought you said an owner’s promise to his slave meant nothing?” Tony managed, eyeing the wickedly sharp dagger.

“It doesn’t,” Galinn said simply. “Your promise to me, however, is much more than that. You swear to me, not as my owner, but as my friend.”

“Why are you so insistent the Avengers stay on Earth?” Tony asked.

Galinn hesitated. “When you defeated the Chitauri, you placed a bullseye on Midgard, which has only grown larger now that you’ve entered into trade with another Realm,” he said slowly. “I have grown fond of this planet and many of the people on it. I won’t have it burn for my sake. I earned worse than a death sentence, Anthony. Do not forget that.”

Again, Tony couldn’t help but wonder what Galinn had done. “Will you tell me what you did? If we lose?”

“Yes.” Galinn dropped his hands, setting them in his lap. Repeatedly, he clenched and unclenched his fists. 

“When we win, I’m returning this to you, and you’re never going to ask me to murder my friend again,” Tony finally conceded, grabbing the dagger as he stood and tucking it into a side table, desperate to get it out of sight.

“Thank you,” Galinn said, soft and quiet.

“Any other bombshells you want to drop before we go to what’s going to be an intense and draining court case?” Tony grumbled.

“Your ass looks fantastic in those pants?” Galinn said, the corners of his mouth twitching as he hid a smile.

“My ass looks fantastic in all my pants,” Tony laughed. “That’s what my very expensive tailor is paid to ensure.”

“I plead the second,” Galinn said.

“Fifth. Second is right to bear arms. Fifth is silence.”

Galinn paused, tilting his head to the side and eyeing his hands. “Do I need to plead both?”

Tony laughed again and the two of them made their way to the common room, where the other Avengers (including Thor and a home-cooked-by-Steve breakfast) waited for them. Galinn waved off food and Tony didn’t find himself overly hungry either. They needed to be at the courthouse at ten and Tony found himself wishing they had an eight a.m. timeslot. At least it wasn’t in the afternoon, he supposed. He wasn’t used to having jitters like this - he’d held a nuke on his back and went through a wormhole with less panic, for Christ’s sake!

He watched the team talk, Natasha and Clint easily keeping everyone’s nerves under control. Thor kept close to Galinn, almost protective in how he tried to shield Galinn with his own body, and didn’t even seem to realize he was doing it. Barnes muttered something to Galinn and whatever it was made the mage grin. Tony’s heart lurched as he realized he had more to live for now than he’d had back then, with a nuke on his shoulder, and it was the life of someone he… on the line this time. He was more anxious now because he was selfish, and entirely unwilling to give up the family he’d found, nor the man who fascinated him so thoroughly.

…the man he’d gone and fallen in love with.

Tony barely kept himself from groaning. There was, quite genuinely, no one worse for him to fall for, than a man who couldn’t say no to him. He’d thought it was lust, but he’d known lust well, and this feeling was something unique and terrifying and utterly unlike what he’d felt with Pepper.

Pepper’s arrival pulled him from his panic. “Happy is downstairs and ready for us.”

What little levity the room had held fractured like overcooled glass and Tony decided to deal with his pending breakdown later. Much later. Like maybe never.

The Avengers dutifully went down the elevator and loaded into the limo, long enough to comfortably fit them, even with Thor's (and to a lesser extent, Steve's) more-than-a-little-superhuman physiques. The ride was mostly silent, save for Pepper coaching Thor on the best things to say, and the absolute priority of making sure he didn't say anything that could imply Galinn deserved his slavery nor was sentenced to it.

They pulled into a discrete entrance often used for high priority witnesses and were met by some kind of intern or secretary, who introduced herself as Claudia. Tony breathed a sigh of relief when the team (dressed appropriately for a courthouse, even Thor) were led to a side room and didn't get caught by any camera-wielding paparazzi. Other than a few staff, the hallway was largely deserted. Man, where was this kind of discretion the times he had to deal with public intox charges?

“I hope these rooms are acceptable,” Claudia said, shutting the door behind them. “Due to the potentially high-profile nature of this case if word got out, we want to get everything done today, for our sanity as well as your own, and Mr. Ingensbarn’s privacy.”

“Thank you,” Pepper said, shaking the other woman’s hand.

“My pleasure,” the intern/secretary/lady in the pantsuit answered. “As I am sure you have guessed, Mr. Ingensbarn’s hearing will not be all that normal, considering his… origin of birth.”

“Yeah, we kinda guessed him being an alien in the most literal of senses would throw a wrench in pretty much all of this,” Clint said, stretching his arms over his head. “But remember - when this E.T. phones home, he phones us.”

“And hopefully we can keep him on the same world as his home,” Claudia answered easily. “I am not part of the group that will make that determination. I'm only here to keep you all comfortable and answer any questions. Is everyone ready to sit while I explain how the day will progress?”

The Avengers (plus Pepper) gave their agreement and settled into their seats. Claudia paced as she talked, heels clacking against the hardwood floor. “There is a panel of three immigration judges, rather than the usual one. We will first hear character testimony from the… friends of the asylum applicant. This questioning will be individual, and you will be split into a different room after. Dr. Banner is excluded from being able to provide character witness, as records submitted by Miss Potts indicate he will be acting as a medical expert. Mr. Stark, based on our understanding of the… magic… Mr. Ingensbarn is bound to you by, he must stay in proximity to you?” Galinn and Tony both nodded. “Will he be able to be apart from you long enough for you two to have your individual inquiries?”

For that, Tony deferred to Galinn with a wave of his hand. The initial asylum request had been submitted while Galinn had still been entirely bound by his runes, and they had decided to maintain that façade. Galinn had admitted he was worried about being unable to lie, and even Steve couldn't fault him for it. The judges thinking he couldn't lie would be a boon to the case.

“We will still be within the same building, correct?” Galinn asked. 

“Yes, he'll be two doors down.”

“Then that is fine. I have not had opportunity to test the limits, but that is no different than the distance within the Tower itself.”

“Fabulous, I'll let them know. Dr. Banner, you will be called after Mr. Ingensbarn’s portion begins. For now, are there any other questions, or is the first character witness ready?” 

“How long do you expect this will take?” Natasha asked. 

“To be quite honest, I haven't a clue. This case is unprecedented and being kept to the strictest secrecy. I don't even know the questions that will be asked. I would not be surprised were it to last into the night. I apologize, Miss Romanov. Anything else?” She waited a beat, but everyone was quiet, so she continued. “Prince Thor, are you amenable to going first? I believe there's some questions about context, in regards to slavery and magic and what is standard on other worlds, that may be prudent to get answered first?”

“Aye, Lady Claudia, I mind not,” Thor said, standing. It was weird to see the thunder god like that - a pressed black suit and no hammer swinging at his hip (Tony didn't even want to know how Pepper managed to convince the god to leave his beloved weapon behind).

Claudia smiled and gestured for him to follow. “This way, Prince Thor.”

She returned shortly after, a pager in her hand, and explained she was also excluded from the process and would be notified via the pager when the next person was due.

Barnes was called next some hour or so later, followed by Steve a half-hour later. Tony groaned, stretching out his legs. These chairs were reasonably comfortable, but not after being forced in them for two hours, forced to make civilian-appropriate small talk.

“I wish I could just punch our way out of this,” Tony admitted, able to speak more freely while their babysitter/spy was out of the room. 

“I wouldn't recommend it,” Galinn mused. “A fight is a way to win a slave in a property dispute, but is often incited by the person lacking the slave.”

“Does Asgard determine everything by conflict?” Bruce groaned.

“Near enough. At least, nearly everything can be fought for in a battle, though rarely is it worth it.”

“What's the most ridiculous thing you've ever seen someone fight about?” Natasha asked. Damn, if even she was asking for a distraction, they were beyond bored.

“Hm. Either the man who hoarded three hundred rolls of cheese and was challenged by one of the town's poorer youths or the woman who challenged a traveling merchant to death by combat because he accidentally killed one of her escaped chickens.”

Clint choked on the water he'd been drinking and all Tony could think was ha, payback! even though it'd been Galinn to make him snort like that. “You weren't kidding when you said ‘anything’, huh?”

“Not at all,” Galinn laughed. “I've seen battles for everything from minor insults and property damage to marriage proposals and criminal murder.”

Claudia slid back in while Galinn spoke, but none of them paid her much mind. The conversation wasn't anything incriminating nor sensitive.

“Is that the standard of marriage proposals, or a rare thing?” Pepper asked, and Tony had to stifle laughter when he had a mental image of Happy challenging Tony for Pepper's hand. 

“It is not the standard way, at least among those of lower birth. For nobility, it is fairly common to battle for a woman's hand in marriage.”

“Do women not get to fight for a guy? I'd rather be fought over than do the fighting,” Clint said, tapping his finger against his chin in deep thought.

“Women, ah, are discouraged from fighting in general, if I am honest. They are not forbidden from it, the fabled Lady Sif is proof enough of that, not to mention the lost Valkyries of legend, but it is… harder, for them to be permitted to learn. Every male is expected to learn to fight in Asgard's army, but only high born women would ever get the chance.”

“Why the emphasis on such rigid gender roles if either gender is capable of being mother or father?” Bruce asked.

“Seiðr is rare among males, and there's even fewer who would admit to having it, for fear of being labeled ergi.”

They were interrupted when Claudia stood again, calling Pepper next. 

“Is it just me, or was that weirdly quick for Steve?” Tony asked, not noticing his shaking leg until Galinn put a hand on his knee.

“It was rather quick,” Bruce admitted.

“I don't like it,” Natasha said, glancing at the ones who were left - beyond Natasha herself, there was still Clint, Bruce, Galinn, and Tony.

“Come now, I am sure everything is fine,” Galinn said as the remaining Avengers began to visibly tense with paranoia. Only the way he reached for Tony's hand and ran his thumb along Tony’s knuckles betrayed his own ramping anxiety. “We have faith in our teammates and surely you have faith in your own government?”

Natasha raised her eyebrow and Clint snorted so harshly that Tony's nose ached in sympathy. Wordlessly, Clint handed something to Bruce while Natasha handed to Galinn.

“What -” Tony began, cutting off when he saw Natasha’s ‘I'm doing something illegal and you're going to join me’ grin. Galinn opened his palm and Tony inhaled deeply when he saw the two Avengers comm units.

“Did you really think we were going to go through this blind?” Clint asked as Bruce plopped his into his ear.

Galinn followed, holding the final comm in his palm towards Tony. He grabbed it and pushed it in right as Claudia came in, pretending to scratch behind his ear and stretch when she looked their way. Claudia eyed Tony's and Galinn's clasped hands but returned to her seat without a word. Galinn was still stroking along the back of Tony's hand, and Tony was just clever enough to figure out that the motion was self-soothing for Galinn, and didn't pull his hand away. 

Pepper'd only been gone fifteen minutes when Claudia stood again, summoning Clint with her. Clint threw them a cheeky grin and followed her wordlessly.

“I already checked for bugs in here, so we're clear,” Natasha said, showing Tony the small palm reader that confirmed there were no monitoring devices. “Clint and I figured they'd keep us last, since we're spies and less likely to play by the rules. If he or I say the words ‘plasma cannon’, you two get the hell out of here. Do not argue with me.”

“Thank you, Natasha, but I will see this through to the end,” Galinn said, infuriatingly calm considering the end he was planning for if this went ass up. Tony tightened his grip for a moment and Galinn's eyes flicked to him. Galinn squeezed back and dropped Tony's hand.

“Right through this door, Mr. Barton,” they heard Claudia's voice over the comms.

“Please, call me Clint.”

“The judges are waiting for you,” she answered and Tony wondered if she was rolling her eyes. Clint tended to have that kind of effect. “Have a pleasant day, Mr. Barton.”

They could hear a door close and then a new voice spoke. “Good afternoon, Mr. Barton, thank you for your patience today. I am Judge Evans. My colleagues here are Judge Jones and Judge Wood.”

“Your Honors,” Clint greeted.

“As you already know, you are here to serve as a character witness for Galinn Ingensbarn, who has claimed asylum in America.”

Tony leaned his head back against the wall as the door to their room opened, Claudia stepping back in and taking her seat again. Natasha picked at her nails, the perfect picture of boredom, while Bruce flipped through a nearby magazine. Galinn's face was smooth and emotionless, but the way he picked at a fraying string on the chair's upholstery betrayed his anxiety. 

“He belongs here, with us,” Clint said and Tony nearly grinned at the adamance in the archer’s voice.

“So you do not believe him - an alien, with powers we lack the ability to quantify, and a past we can’t verify - to be a threat to America or her allies?” another judge asked.

“Don’t get me wrong, if he wanted to hurt us, he could be a danger. There is not a single Avenger the same cannot be said of, however. Galinn’s a good man.”

“Your opinion is noted,” the third judge said, sounding bored. “However, we were led to understand before this hearing that Mr. Ingensbarn is incapable of lying, of fighting back, or of being far from Mr. Stark. Yet, now we are being told that Mr. Stark has found ways to circumvent these restrictions, and Mr. Ingensbarn is in full access of his abilities.”

Tony and Galinn tensed slightly, only Natasha seemed unaffected, until Tony noticed the slight tension in her eyes. Bruce made a strangled sound that he covered up with a cough when Claudia glanced at him. How the hell did they know that? Who spilled the beans? Tony thought everyone had more or less accepted Galinn - or at least accepted the lengths Tony would go to to keep Galinn on Earth with him.

When Clint spoke next, he didn’t sound at all phased. “Yes, Tony figured out how to give Galinn the agency any American citizen should be able to expect, with the basest of human rights.”

“He is not human,” the second judge said. “Why should we allow him to stay, despite the risk he may pose? The Avengers did not plan to inform us of the changes to Mr. Ingensbarn’s… circumstances.”

“No, we didn’t,” Clint agreed. “We don’t want him sent back to torture. He has become our friend - and on a ‘world saving’ point, he’s a damn good asset to our security.”

“But what guarantee do we have that he is on our side? That he won’t ally himself with an enemy in the future?”

“You don’t,” Clint said flatly. “Just like you don’t with all of the other Avengers. All you can judge us by is our actions - and Galinn’s actions have earned him his spot on our team. He is a true Avenger and you do not want to rip our family apart.”

“Is that a threat, Mr. Barton?”

“I wouldn’t dream of threatening you, Judge Evans,” Clint said smoothly. “Just something to keep in mind. We wouldn’t welcome someone we thought was a risk among us so wholeheartedly.”

“And what actions has Mr. Ingensbarn done that has you so sure of his place?”

“He saved my life and nearly cost himself his own. He showed his hand with his power - not to harm any of us, but to save me.”

“Ah, yes, he healed some broken bones, correct? You mentioned this act in the press conference you held - which conveniently omitted the fact Mr. Ingensbarn is a slave. And this one act of selflessness cemented his place?”

“We did not mention Galinn’s slavery at the recommendation of our public relations expert, it invited questions at a public level that could’ve hindered people’s belief in the Avengers in the case of another invasion. I’m sure you can understand the difference in releasing sensitive information to the public versus discussing it with relevant members of our law?” Someone must have answered non-verbally, because Clint then continued, “And Galinn healed me from fatal injuries. He’s Aes and even with his healing, he spent two weeks in our medical ward, three days of which he was entirely unconscious. At the time of my injury, we didn’t know he had magic, much less healing magic. He could’ve let me die and faced no repercussions. My injuries were a death sentence for me. Bruce can probably give more information, but you do not get to reduce what Galinn saved me from as just ‘some broken bones’.”

Biting down a grin, Tony glanced at Galinn. The mage was leaned back, his legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankle, eyes closed.

“Claudia?” Nat said, and the woman looked up.

“Yes, Miss Romanov?”

“Where is the bathroom?” she asked, standing up and stretching in a way that looked natural but the half-glance she threw at Tony had him straightening up.

“I can show you, follow me,” Claudia said, gesturing for Natasha to follow.

“It’s right here, Miss Romanov,” Claudia’s voice said, the comm seamlessly switching to Natasha’s being the live one. JARVIS would keep an eye on Clint’s and swap back over or inform them of anything necessary to know. “I’ll wait here to walk you back.”

“Thank you, Claudia,” Natasha said and they heard a door closing behind her. “Tony, you read me?”

“Loud and clear, Widow.”

“When it’s your turn, make sure you let them know about Galinn’s restrictions being lifted. They already know, but if you tell them before they tell you, it makes you look more honest. I will continue with the same act the others have been doing.”

“She’s right, it looks bad that we lied,” Bruce said.

“Of course she’s right, she’s Natasha,” Galinn said and Tony heard Nat snort with laughter on the comms. “How did they realize the truth, though?”

Tony groaned as realization bitch-slapped him. “You lied at the press conference. That you were a servant. We were so focused on managing what the public knew, that we didn’t think about how it affected what the asylum paperwork already said.”

Natasha’s sigh echoed through the comms. “Could we really all have overlooked that? Something just… doesn’t sound right with that explanation.”

“No one is perfect, especially when there’s so many moving pieces,” Galinn said calmly, clearly thinking the same as Tony.

They lapsed into silence, the comms swapping back over to Clint, who was wrapping up his statement with, “Galinn Ingensbarn saved my life when he didn’t have to. He is no more a danger to Earth than any other Avenger. He is a good man and a friend who does not deserve to be subject to being deported to a world where he’d suffer torture and rape, and his torture there is legal. He may not be of Earth, but are we really so pathetic we’d deny asylum to someone who deserves it, simply because his biology is a little different?”

Natasha didn’t return, the comms clicking to her as she met Claudia outside the bathroom, who took her directly to the courtroom. Tony and Bruce glanced at each other, worry on both men’s faces, despite Galinn’s pervasive calm. Tony’s hand twitched uncomfortably as he remembered the dagger he’d held just hours ago, promising to murder the man he loved. Fuck.

Claudia returned shortly after dropping off Natasha, letting them know she’d been taken directly to the courtroom and that Tony was coming up next once she was done. The three of them listened to Natasha’s testimony, all of them keeping their faces free of reaction to Natasha’s words.

“Do you think he’s dangerous?” one of the judges asked.

“I think we shouldn’t make an enemy of him,” Natasha answered pragmatically. “Earth would be complicit in his further assault if we sent him back, and there is every possibility someone else could free him. Do you want to be at the end of his rage? I certainly don’t. He’s intelligent, powerful, and charismatic. If he wanted us on our knees, we would be, I don’t doubt that.”

Galinn shifted uncomfortably at Nat’s words and Tony barely refrained from shooting him a concerned look, very cognizant of Claudia’s presence in the room where they were very much breaking the law with their comm units. Natasha’s interrogation (because that’s what it sounded like, to Tony) continued, hitting the same points Clint had - that Galinn was an Avenger, a friend, and a powerful ally who should be given reason to love Earth. In all, Natasha’s portion lasted only about fifteen minutes and then Tony’s name was being called by Claudia.

Tony stood and Galinn grabbed his hand, squeezing it once before letting him go. “I will see you at the end of this,” Galinn promised and Tony’s heart thudded painfully in his chest as he hoped beyond hope they wouldn’t be seeing each other in a way that lay more blood on Tony’s drenched soul. The Aes released him quickly and Tony almost believed his smile.

With a wave of his hand, Claudia nodded and led the way out of the room. “Right this way, Mr. Stark. I apologize for the wait; at least it appears we are nearing the end, yes?”

“Thank God, I’m too old for those chairs. There was no lumbar support in those things!”

“Compared to the ample lumbar support found in an Iron Man suit at fifteen hundred feet in the air?” she said, laughing.

“Of course there’s lumbar support in my suits!” Tony protested, pasting a smile on his face. It only occurred to him as she led him to his seat that she was flirting with him and at no point had he even wanted to reciprocate.

God, he’s fucked.

“Tony Stark, a pleasure to meet you,” the first judge greeted, introducing Tony to the three of them. “We thank you for your patience; we hope to be wrapping this up soon.”

“Yeah, Steve's cooking a victory pot roast tonight, we're all ready to get home,” Tony joked, sliding into his seat. One of the judges - Tony hadn't actually cared enough to remember their names, much less which was which - opened his mouth to speak and Tony cut him off. “There's actually something I need to tell you before we start.”

The eldest of the three raised his eyebrow, but waved for Tony to continue.

“You all have been briefed on Galinn's slave runes, right?” They nodded. “I know his initial paperwork said he was bound to my orders and unable to lie, but we have since managed to circumvent some of those. He has semi-free will.”

“Semi- free will?” the one who looked youngest questioned. “How does one have semi-free will?”

“Every twelve hours, I give Galinn an order,” Tony explained. “The order allows him to lie, to disobey any additional orders, spar with the team, and fight Avengers-level threats. I say semi because I can still cancel the order and he must remain near me. It's more than he had, but it's less than any of us in this room have right now.”

“And why would you grant an unknown entity, who is now known to have magic, who has already managed to trick you into letting him use powerful magic, this much freedom?” the elder judge asked. Tony made a mental note this one was who he had to work to convince, and assigned him the name ‘Problem’.

“America is the land of the free, last time I checked,” Tony said. “At least, that was the company line when I was selling missiles to our military, that we were fighting for freedom? Has that changed since I left the arms game?”

The third judge, a middle aged man with an impressive beard, nodded his approval. “Mr. Stark does have a point.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Tony said, nodding his head towards Beard. “If I had brought someone from another nation here and treated them like a slave, I’d be tried for violations of human rights. I don’t care he’s not human - he deserves the same respect as one. He is a sentient, feeling being, capable of pain and complex emotion. He’s family now.”

“You are not the first to refer to Mr. Ingensbarn as family,” the youngest, who Tony decided to call Tiny, noted.

“Have any of you ever been in war?” Tony asked. Only Problem nodded his head, Tiny and Beard shaking theirs. Perfect, works for him. “I’ve never been in war, as all of you probably know, but this is a concept I’ve learned from Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Sam Wilson. Hell, even Thor. Your team is who you let hold your life. It is who you trust not to leave your backside open and vulnerable. It is trust you are not having to think about - it is simply truth that your team will be at your back. 

“You’ve seen the fights the Avengers face. We take on enemies that would take entire military platoons, and we usually do it with six people. There is no room for hesitation, there is no room for doubting any of the five behind me, or worrying that one person doesn’t have support. Because I know my team - and I know we’d all die for each other. So, yes. Galinn is family.” Tony smiled, sharp and unkind. “Do not mess with our family.”

“That sounds like a threat, Mr. Stark,” Problem said.

“Good. It was meant to,” Tony responded, causing Tiny to frown. “Remember who I am. I’m still a major supplier to the U.S. military for personal protective equipment. And also remember price negotiations happen yearly on that contract. Do not make an enemy of me. It won’t end well for your reputations.”

Beard coughed but Tony could see the slight grin on his face. Good, that one appreciated the ballsy approach.

“It would destroy your own reputation too,” Tiny pointed out.

With a snarky smile, Tony held his arms open. “I’m Iron Man, Your Honor. I’m the man behind the Avengers. I’m the one on televisions and radios across the world whenever something we can’t comprehend fights us, risking my life to keep the world safe, regardless of skin color, religion, or country in a flashy red suit. I’ll recover faster than you will, without even needing to let go of any of my employees.” He dropped his arms to his sides, shit-eating grin in place. “Try me and let’s see which one of us has better PR, shall we?”

Tony very briefly heard Clint’s groan in his ear and then remembered he still had his comms in. Honestly, if they’d expected anything else out of him, it was their own fault.

“Your… concerns are noted,” Beard said. “Along with your staunch support of Mr. Ingensbarn. However, there is one thing we need you to do.”

Tony’s stomach dropped. “What?” He already knew the answer.

“You will revoke Mr. Ingensbarn’s current standing order,” Problem said, far too smug. ”Miss Potts was kind enough to include the details of the runework. You will ensure he is honest with us, test the runes, and then leave the room. We will converse with Mr. Ingensbarn to confirm his story, consult with Dr. Banner on Mr. Ingensbarn’s medical history, and then we will come to a verdict.”

Tony was just about to threaten Problem specifically when felt a brush of something against his arm. His heart rate spiked for a moment until he heard Galinn’s voice in his ear, though it wasn’t from his comm unit. “Do as they say,” Galinn’s magic whispered to him as it flowed across his skin, a leaf falling in an autumn wind. “And then follow my lead. Trust me, Anthony.”

Bowing his head, Tony made a show of being reluctant, which wasn’t hard. He pressed his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I want it noted that I am doing this under protest, at the order of three United States asylum judges. I am only revoking the freedom and bodily autonomy of a human-adjacent being because I am being required to by government officials and fear rejection of Galinn’s application if I disobey.”

“Noted,” Beard said, and to his credit, he did seem to actually write something down. “Judge Evans, please page Ms. Jordans to bring Mr. Ingensbarn in.”

Tiny - ah, so he was Evans - nodded, pulling a pager out and presumably sending a message to Claudia. Tony heard her collect Galinn a moment later, though she didn’t make small talk with him like she had with Tony. 

Tony smiled at Galinn when he entered the room, some small bit of tension easing away at simply seeing the mage’s face. Galinn proved to be a good actor as he looked at Tony in confusion. “Good evening, my Lords,” Galinn said, bowing his head to the judges. “Anthony, is everything alright? I trust you’ve told them as we discussed?”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ingensbarn,” Tiny said, introducing them. “To clarify, you were aware of Mr. Stark’s intentions to tell us the truth that your, ah, magical binds no longer work?”

“You mean that I am lucky enough to be granted leniency by a kind master?” Galinn corrected, thanking Claudia as she gestured him to sit in a nearby empty seat. Tony flinched at master. “I do. He discussed it with me beforehand and sought my permission. This was a mutually agreed upon decision.” 

“It is the opinion of this court, Mr. Ingensbarn, that due to your abilities, we need a guarantee that you are not a risk to America or her citizens. Therefore, Mr. Stark will be restoring the runes to their full effect. We must know you are answering us truthfully, so he will also be having you prove the restrictions are back in place,” Problem said.

“I do apologize for the inconvenience,” Beard interjected. “And I hope you understand we mean you no ill will with this decision.”

“Earth is but a babe to the galactic field and I could easily be considered a threat. I understand your point and bear you no grudge for this. Anthony,” Galinn said, nodding his head towards Tony in consent. 

“I’m sorry, Galinn,” Tony muttered. Galinn merely gave him an understanding smile. “Cancel all orders.”

The mage wrinkled his nose as the restrictions settled back on him, the orange rune lighting up on his neck momentarily. “A demonstration that I cannot lie to begin, I presume?”

“If you would, please,” Tiny said.

“I hate ca-” Galinn began. Tony watched as the orange rune flared brighter than before and Galinn slammed a hand against his neck as though to relieve the pain, squinting his eyes closed and seeming to struggle to calm his breathing.

It was far worse than it’d ever been before, and Tony wondered exactly how good an actor Galinn was. Follow my lead, he’d said. Trust me.

So Tony played along. He grimaced as sweat broke out along Galinn’s brow. The Aes took a deep, hesitant breath after a moment. “Is that to your satisfaction?” he asked, voice hoarse. “In truth, I quite adore cats.”

Glancing up at the judges, Tony was pleased with what he saw. Beard looked outright disgusted, Tiny uncomfortable and slightly nauseous, and even Problem looked disconcerted. “It’s not pleasant to watch, is it? I won’t apologize for making his life less painful,” Tony reiterated stubbornly.

“You are done here, Mr. Stark. Your testimony will be taken under consideration,” Problem said, though Tony was relieved to hear he didn’t sound quite so tight-assed.

“Actually, my Lords, if I may?” Galinn said, finally letting go of his neck, though the rune still tinged through with orange.

“Yes, Mr. Ingensbarn?”

“Can Anthony stay? I do not know how far away I can be from him without repercussion to my person, now we’ve alleviated the runework. Even now, there is… discomfort at the idea of being far from him.”

“Were you never more than a room away from your prior… owners?” Beard asked.

“I was property of the crown. So long as I was within the crown’s estate, I was considered close enough. We are not on my owner’s land, now,” Galinn explained as Tony kept his face blank, despite his confusion. There had been many times on Alfheim where they’d been a few rooms apart, this shouldn’t be a problem.

The thought sent Tony’s mind flying. Did Galinn just want him there? True, they did not know how close Tony had to stay, but they did know he could be further away than down the hall. Technical truths mixed with idle statements. Clever way to bypass the magic.

“Are you sure? Part of the purpose of this hearing is also to determine if you are safe in Mr. Stark’s care,” Tiny said, surprising Tony.

“I can assure you now, I am entirely safe under Anthony Stark’s ownership. I hold no fear of him using me as property, despite it being his right by most of the Nine’s laws. He is not the type of man to carve his ownership into my flesh or order me to lay down and thank him for making me bleed. After all… just look at him,” Galinn said and Tony was suddenly very aware of the look of sickened horror he knew he wore. He was likewise aware that Galinn had just played him like a fiddle as part of his act and begrudgingly had to respect the Aes’s clever move, even as he wondered at Galinn’s wording. Because that had not been a no, I do not fear him, it had been a right now, I don’t fear him.

“And these are… things you’ve experienced before?” Problem asked.

“It is what every slave faces, and I was not spared it by any measure. In fact, I think I suffered more than most, due to the knowledge of my Aes heritage. I believe Dr. Banner will be presenting testimony, with details of what was visible on my body both at the time of Anthony’s acquisition of me, and my arrival unto Midgard.”

“And what circumstances led to your slavery?” Tiny asked. Tony felt his stomach drop out of his ass. Fuck, fuck, they were fucked, the charade was over, the Avengers’ reputation was shot, Galinn was going to have to leave, Tony was going to have to run from Earth too, fuck, fuck, fu-!

“I, Galinn Ingensbarn, was born a slave,” Galinn said, voice somber and sad and broken and completely fucking wrong.

Huh? Tony’s brain immediately started running so fast it stopped working and initiated a hard reboot. Because that… wasn’t true. Galinn had admitted under the full limits of the runes to being sentenced to slavery due to slaughter. And yet had just admitted to being born under the same binds. What the f-

You won’t find any glorious adventures of Galinn in your myths.

Not that Tony wouldn’t find him in their myths at all. But that Tony wouldn’t find him with the name Galinn in their myths. Which meant, whoever he had been… was in the myths. And was an expert in the art of half-truths.

Another thought threaded through his mind like a spring breeze, but slipped away like a snake in tall grass. The inventor looked up at the mage and he could read the apology in those green eyes. Well, now he at least understood why Galinn had wanted him to stay. The comms would have stayed active - the other Avengers would now know Galinn’s lies as well - but at least with Tony still here, he could see Galinn, apologetic and open in a way he still struggled to be around the others. Tony tried to cling to his anger at the deceit, but every time he grasped for it, it evaporated into mist.

Tony was, thankfully, not asked any further questions by the judges nor had attention called to him by Galinn. The mage detailed his experiences under his former owners and the fate that awaited him were he to be returned - death via torture or a resumation of the full shackles of his slavery. He explained why he had no recourse - there was no law being broken, everything being done to him would be legal, and he couldn’t be freed on another planet without severe risk of becoming a slave again without support. He detailed numerous instances of broken and shattered bones, meticulously being cut where it would hurt the most, being whipped until floors were painted with his blood, repeated sexual assault, starvation, forced intake of mind-altering drugs.

He talked of how his abusers often laughed when he cried, screamed, or begged.

By the time Bruce was called in, all three judges seemed more than convinced, to Tony’s relief, the look the doctor sent him said he’d heard Galinn’s truthful lie as well, and was just as confused as Tony.

They played the edited video of Galinn and Aithlin, Bruce occasionally pausing and pointing out injuries on the Aes and their relative severity. He repeated, often, a human would be dead. Next came short videos from Galinn’s first day on Earth and his medical check up, emphasizing what had healed and what hadn’t between the two days. Here Galinn spoke up at Bruce’s prompting and confirmed that at the time of the Aithlin video, he’d been healing for just under a week. Bruce confirmed Galinn’s x-rays had shown repeated, poorly healed breaks. Follow up x-rays taken during the end of Galinn’s hospital stay following saving Clint no longer revealed most of them, but Bruce testified that was to be expected with rapid healing. “In my opinion, the fact nearly all old damage - to his bones and a reduction of his scars, though at my last medical check up with him, the scarring persists and I doubt will ever heal if it has not by now, based on displayed healing rates - is gone speaks mainly of how much damage we cannot quantify or verify. If we send him back, we send him back to die, drowning in blood and pain and fear. We send a man to suffer tortures I can’t even imagine. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy; I sure as hell don’t want it for a friend. And if you can handle how much humanity you would lack if you decide to send him back, then think of humanity as a whole. We don’t know what all is out there and we need more allies who do know what else is there. Thor is our only other extra-terrestrial ally, and he has to split his time between here and Asgard. Galinn lives here.” 

“We thank you for your testimony, Dr. Banner,” Beard said, pulling a pager out and Claudia stepped in a moment later. “We must discuss this, but we will be making our decision today. If you would follow Claudia to the room where your teammates are waiting, we will call all of you when we are done deliberating.”

“First, I have to do something,” Tony said. He turned to face Galinn and then subtly tapped on the comm in his own ear and glanced to the judges. Galinn grinned and slightly inclined his head in agreement. “I order that for the next twelve hours, the rune compelling your obedience does not work for any other order beyond this one. The runes preventing you from lying and fighting for self-defense or sparring are entirely disabled for the period previously stated. You are not compelled to fight, but you are invited to fight, at your discretion, against threats deemed worthy of Avengers-level intervention. You have access to your full range of seiðr abilities, to use at your own discretion, including but not limited to: healing, offensive action, skywalking, and telekinesis.”

Galinn took a deep, satisfied breath when the runes flared orange for just a moment before settling back into the faded pink of scarred tissue. 

“What was that?” Tiny asked.

“My freedom,” Galinn answered simply. He clasped Tony’s shoulder and the inventor hid a shudder as the mage used Tony’s body to hide the small, temporary flash of purple that came from his hands. The comm disappeared from Tony’s ear and he was confident it was now tangled in Beard’s rather impressive beard. (And was therefore never returning to his ear.) “This is the leniency of which we told you earlier.”

“You have to say that every twelve hours?” Problem (who was no longer a problem, based on his expression) clarified.

“I do,” Tony agreed. “It took several hours and many modifications just to get that to work. Still think I grant him too much freedom?”

Without waiting for a response, Tony turned on his heel and walked to Claudia, hearing Bruce and Galinn behind him. She led them out and to a side room further down the hall. “Wait here, I’ll return for you when the judges are ready,” Claudia said, closing the door behind them and leaving the Avengers (plus Pepper) all in the same room for the first time in several hours.

“How did they find out?” was Tony’s first words, clenching his jaw and crossing his arms over his chest.

Thor, guiltily, raised his hand, though it was Natasha who answered, “It was an accident, Tony.”

“The ones who judge had implied Galinn was unsafe with you,” Thor admitted, looking uncharacteristically forlorn. “I had merely finished advising how slaves are treated on other Realms and they asked what was stopping you from doing the same to him. I told them you were a good man, an honorable man who took no pleasure in such baser things. They insisted you had a… pattern? of behaving in ways that countered my argument. In the end, I told them you were so extraordinary as to help give him freedoms unheard of in other Realms…”

Tony relaxed the more Thor spoke. Honestly, Tony had half-thought it had been Steve deciding to be overly honest.

“It is okay, Thor,” Galinn said, kneeling in front of the thunder god and placing his hand on Thor’s knee. Though it didn’t look subservient, more… brotherly. Something tickled in his mind and the comparison was lost. “You did not mean to and based on what I am hearing from their chambers, it may have in fact helped.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “How are you hearing the judges’ discussion?”

“We told you we gave them comms so we could hear what was going on. I’m guessing Galinn magiced one of them onto a judge, because we can hear them now,” Natasha said, gesturing at her ear. Pepper, at least, only looked mildly exasperated at their continued lawbreaking.

Minutes passed after that until finally: “I think we’ve got it,” Clint said, grinning. Relief had flooded Galinn’s face and Tony was suddenly annoyed he’d had to give up his comm and couldn’t hear what was going on.

Another minute later, Claudia reappeared and summoned all of them back to the room. Galinn immediately grabbed Tony’s hand and squeezed gently, letting go of him as they filed out.

Problem, Tiny, and Beard were still behind the judge’s podium, their faces blank. Tiny stood. “We thank you, Avengers, for your testimony today, and for your continued efforts in keeping our world safe,” he said. “In the matter of Galinn Ingensbarn’s asylum request, we have reached a determination.”

Tiny sat and Beard stood in his place. “Mr. Ingensbarn, you have suffered undue hardship for so many years, we of the court cannot even fathom. Our lifespans are the blink of an eye to you, yet this suffering has been your entire life.” Beard smiled and Tony felt all the tension flee his body. “This court is hereby pleased to grant your asylum request.” He was cut off as the Avengers cheered, Thor hollering loud enough to be heard on Asgard. Galinn threw his arms around Tony and hugged tight enough it almost hurt. Tony didn’t mind. Beard continued, “We hope you find safety and a life of happiness here, without fear. Likewise, we thank you for your choice to join the Avengers, and wish to emphasize your asylum here is not conditional upon it. You are free here.”

Problem spoke next. “Please remember this does not make you a United States citizen. The standard timeframes will apply here. In a year, you may apply for lawful permanent residence via green card, and four years after that, you may request for citizenship. Welcome to America, home of the free and the brave. You are dismissed.”

With that, Problem hit the gavel down.

“Thank you. Midgard has felt like home for months now. I am pleased to know America accepts me as well,” Galinn said, bowing slightly.

“I told you everything would be fine,” Tony mumbled as he messaged Happy, who’d been waiting nearby all day. 

“So you did,” Galinn mused. Pepper stepped in front of him, holding her arms open.

“Hug?” she asked.

Galinn’s smile could power an Iron Man suit, as bright as he lit up. He happily accepted her embrace, and she tucked her head under his chin. “You are a marvel like no other, Miss Potts,” he said. “You were instrumental in this, and I owe you my life.”

Pepper pulled away at that, grasping both of Galinn’s upper arms loosely. “You owe me nothing,” she insisted. “You are your own man, and we will figure out how to make that true in every sense of the word, do you understand me? And for the last time, it’s Pepper, not Miss Potts.”

“You are quite terrifying, Pepper,” Galinn said with a grin. 

“I have to be, to run this group,” she said, gesturing to the Avengers - none of whom argued. Even Natasha yielded to Pepper when she put her foot down.

“Then I owe you nothing, yet know if you ask something of me, and it is within my ability, it shall be done,” Galinn answered, grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it. “Were you Aes, even the valkyries would tremble before you.”

Thor nodded along and Tony couldn’t help but laugh. Finally, Happy messaged that he had arrived, and all of them eagerly left the courthouse, ready to be done with this. Tony couldn’t help but dread the idea of how complicated an actual asylum hearing would be - his money, status, and Galinn’s alien nature had made their case one-of-a-kind and he knew it. He made a mental note (meaning, he pulled out his phone and typed a message to JARVIS) to donate some funds to asylum seekers. They piled into the limo and casually chatted all the way back to the Tower, Happy congratulating Galinn on the way.

“I assume the celebratory pot roast was started this morning?” Happy asked as they waited at a red light. 

“‘Course,” Barnes answered. “I made sure Stevie put it in before we left.”

“You did not yet know if we would win when we left, though?” Galinn asked.

“I had faith,” the soldier answered simply. Galinn smiled and nodded his head in thanks, though Tony suspected whatever had just happened between the two of them in that sentence was something he’d never be able to understand. 

“It’ll still need about two hours,” Steve said as they unloaded in front of the Tower. “Happy, Pepper, you two joining us?”

Happy looked at Pepper with unmistakable puppy dog eyes. She grinned softly and for the first time, seeing her make that face didn’t set Tony’s heart ablaze with pain. “We’ll go pick up Morgan then come back,” she agreed. “We have plenty of time, even with New York traffic.”

The eight Avengers waved the Hogan-Potts off, telling them to take their time. Thor, Steve, Bucky, Bruce, Clint, and Natasha headed into the elevator and Tony wrinkled his nose at the idea of being crammed so close together. It’s a large elevator, sure - but Steve and Bucky alone were large enough to make it feel small before even adding Thor into the equation. Tony had been too anxious to care earlier, but now…

Luckily, Galinn saved him from having to come up with an excuse… by being exceedingly blunt. “I am not getting in this metal death trap with this many people,” he declared. “Anthony and I will be on the gym floor.”

Without hesitation, the mage gently grabbed Tony’s arm and the inventor found himself skywalked onto the sparring mats. “I’m not exactly dressed for a - oh I guess I am,” Tony began, his clothing disappearing in a puff of purple magic to be replaced with his normal spar attire. “Tell me those didn’t end up in the void, I liked that shirt,” he said, quickly clamping down on the errant thought of how useful that little trick was.

“They are in the clothing hamper in your bedroom,” Galinn answered, wandering to the weapons rack and plucking two of Nat’s daggers off. He ran his finger along the edge of the blade then paused, as though realizing something, turning to Tony. “Would you mind sparring with me?”

“And here I was thinking you’d never ask,” Tony joked as he grabbed a sparring staff from the rack. They tended to focus on his defensive maneuvering when he fought outside his suit.

“My apologies,” Galinn said as they took their places on the mats. “I have been in… what do you call it? Fight or flight mode all day, without anything to flee nor anything to fight. I need to burn some of this excess energy off, you see?”

“Yeah, being keyed up makes sense after today,” Tony said, following Galinn through warm up stretches. He had learned quickly Galinn was adamant about warming up, and would kick Tony’s ass harder if Tony slacked on it.

“I… I am sorry, by the way. I also thought you’d want to fight, after… today,” Galinn said softly, twirling one of the daggers between his fingers. Tony had never seen him using daggers before and was surprised to see the ease with which he idled with one. Galinn didn’t even seem to realize what weapon he’d grabbed, he’d just gravitated to them immediately. There was something about daggers… wasn’t there…?

“For lying to me?” Tony asked, pulling his eyes away from distractingly dexterous fingers. “Or for still being afraid of me?”

Galinn frowned slightly, looking at Tony in confusion before surprise filtered across his face for just a moment. “I am skilled in telling the truth, in ways that others may not consider true.”

“Every good showman is,” Tony shrugged. “That’s not what’s bugging me.”

“It is not that I fear… you,” Galinn said slowly. “I have grown wary of losing you or your generosity simply by being who I am. Everything I have on this world, I have because of you.”

“And what? You think I’m going to get pissed off and kick you out on your ass one day?”

“Far worse. I fear losing your favor, and the favor of the Avengers as a result,” Galinn answered. “It has been a very long time since I’ve had… friends. A home. People I felt safe around. No, I do not believe you would throw me aside without belongings, nor would you sell me. I worry only for losing things far more important than the mere material. It is a fear based not on the rational.”

“Oh,” was all Tony could think to say. “I don’t think you’ll lose me.”

Galinn simply smiled. “I believe a spar was promised?”

Without waiting for the start, Tony lunged forward to try to clip Galinn’s knee with the end of his staff, missed spectacularly, and then began fighting for his life after his sneak attack failed.

“Stark, are you even trying?” Galinn teased as Tony’s ass met the padded floor. Again. For the eighth time.

In all honesty, Tony was getting distracted. Galinn used those daggers beautifully and in a way that reminded Tony of the first time he saw Rhodey handle a gun, the time Pepper had fought with her veins burning from Extremis, the time Galinn had snapped a Hydra agent's neck right in front of Tony. In short - Tony had a thing for beautiful people and dangerous weapons and Galinn was firing off every synapse everytime the sharp edges just barely brushed Tony’s skin. Close enough to be felt, not hard enough to cut, and speaking of a control Tony could barely fathom.

“I’m only mortal,” Tony whined, pushing himself to his feet.

“Try, or I will stop holding back,” Galinn threatened, his face wide with a smile.

“I can take whatever you give,” Tony bluffed.

The mage’s grin turned dangerous. “Oh?”

“Bring it, bitch,” he said even as he thought, I am so fucked.

Galinn moved faster than Tony had ever seen anyone move before - and that was pretty fucking fast, considering he lived with two super soldiers and a god. He landed roughly on his back, the wind knocked out of him with a harsh oof! Tony blinked the slight daze away and found himself staring up into Galinn’s dancing eyes.

“Did I bring it, bitch?” Galinn purred and tightened his grip. It was only then Tony realized his hands were pinned above his head, one of Galinn’s hands pressing down on his wrists. Tony gulped and felt the tip of a knife brush against his neck.

Tony made a half-strangled sound of approval as higher cognitive function like speech fled him, his eyes dropping to Galinn’s lips. The mage paused as he followed Tony’s gaze. Silence stretched the time and Tony was about to regain his faculties when Galinn ever so slightly pressed the tip of the knife harder to his neck and the sharp edge dragged against stubble. “I am not afraid of you, Anthony Stark,” Galinn breathed.

And then Tony was lost when cool lips pressed softly against his own.

Chapter Text

This is a really bad idea, was Loki’s first thought.

Then Anthony groaned slightly and went delightfully lax beneath him, pressing up into the chaste kiss.

Since when has that ever stopped me? was his second.

Loki parted his lips and Anthony immediately responded in kind, his tongue sweeping up to taste Loki. The mage let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan and situated himself more comfortably over the mortal. He straddled Anthony’s hips and when Anthony bucked, his interest in what they were doing was heavily apparent as it brushed against Loki’s backside.

Curiously, Loki adjusted his positioning such that when Anthony wriggled again, their clothed lengths brushed against each other and Loki had a new-found appreciation for the thin gym shorts favored on this world.

He waited for terror to kill his desire, but it didn’t come as he kept Anthony pinned to the ground.

So Loki let himself get lost in the kiss, in Anthony’s scratchy facial hair, in the submission that had been granted to him freely and without question, until the mortal struggled slightly and Loki remembered the man’s need to breathe.

Pulling away, he studied Anthony’s face, still close enough to feel his warm breath (and his even warmer body). Let me keep this, as long as possible, he found himself praying to the Norns. He knew they had all but abandoned him for centuries, yet wondered if they had finally come to his side? Had Fate finally decided to take mercy on her beaten and battered toy? Loki had been half-convinced Anthony would finally figure it out when he declared himself born a slave and knew not what grace the universe had granted him when the mortal didn’t. Had a hamingja perhaps attached herself to him? For Loki could think of no other reason that this brilliant man still remained in the dark of his true nature than the machinations of a guardian spirit of luck or the whims of destiny.

Anthony’s eyes were slightly glazed over as he drew a heavy breath and Loki smirked at him. “Struggling to keep up, Stark?” 

“I’ve told you, only my enemies call me Stark,” the mortal evaded, gasping sharply when Loki grinded against him.

“There are some benefits to being my enemy, at times,” Loki purred, pressing the flat side of the blade closer to his neck. “I ask again, are you struggling to keep up with me? Do you need a break already?”

“I’m only mortal,” Anthony repeated. He bucked his hips up against the god’s again and Loki hissed at the sudden, delightful friction.

“You are only nothing,” Loki said before diving down to recapture Anthony’s lips, vanishing the daggers back to their spots on the rack, one hand keeping the mortal pinned and the other trailing down his side to grasp his hip. “There is no only about you, Anthony Stark.” Loki’s lips took a leisurely path down to Anthony’s throat, murmuring as went. “There is no only to your brilliance. There is no only to your kindness, no only to anything about your life.”

Loki nipped gently at the side of his neck and reveled in the strangled sound it pulled from the man.

“Bite me,” Anthony said breathlessly, to which Loki immediately and happily complied, biting at his pulse point. He was about to mark up the mortal’s neck with his teeth when Anthony suddenly froze beneath him. “Oh, fuck, no, I am so so sorry, stop, stop, stop.”

The god immediately pulled back, releasing Anthony’s wrists. He lifted his hips off the mortal as well, though didn’t get up yet, studying the man for injury. “Are you alright? Did I harm you?”

“I’m fine, fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give you an order, you don’t have to do that, Galinn I am so -”

Loki finally placed his hand over the man’s mouth to silence him. “I am under no compulsion to obey at this time, remember? The, ah, delightfully named Magic Sucks Protocol is still well in effect.”

“But you bit me,” Anthony said, looking well and truly confused. Foolish man.

“Because I desired to and I thought you desired me to,” Loki answered, cautiously settling back down on the man to emphasize his point of wanting to be there. “I wish to feel you beneath me, writhing in pleasure as I make you forget your own name and I steal your breath away.”

“You don’t have to do this, Galinn,” Anthony insisted, though his pupils were blown wide with desire for Loki in a way the trickster hadn’t seen in centuries.

“I want to,” Loki said simply, leaning down and pressing a quick, chaste kiss to Anthony’s lips. “Do you want me too?”

“I have too much power over you,” Anthony said, his hands still above his head, though he had dug his fingers into a seam in the mats as though struggling not to touch.

Loki merely smirked. That wasn’t a no, after all. “I am choosing this. I am choosing you. I want to remember what my body feels like in pleasure’s grasp, and I want to experience that with someone I trust. And that’s you.”

“I - I own you,” Anthony protested.

“And is my slavery a reason to say no? As I come onto you and tell you I wish to hear you sob my name in ecstasy?”

The mortal took a shuddering breath and his erection twitched where it rested against Loki’s backside. “I’m in a position of power over you.”

“Should I never bed another, then?” Loki asked. “Does being a slave reduce me to an infantile state wherein I cannot ever consent to sex? Am I no longer cognizant enough to know what I want? My runes do many things, Stark - they do not force me into desire. Life would likely have been easier if they had. Do not get me wrong, if you do not desire me, please tell me, and I will cease. But if the only reason you’re saying no is runes on my neck, then I beg you to stop seeing me as nothing more than a slave. You have not yet thought of me as lesser, do not start thinking so now.” He gently rocked his hips against Anthony, resting his hand against the mortal’s throat and rubbing his thumb along the hollow softly.

“Why?” Anthony croaked, though he pressed up against Loki even as he spoke.

“Because I desire you,” Loki repeated. “Do you desire me?”

Anthony nodded fervently.

“Then I ask you to honor my decision as you would any other. I ask you to not reduce me to nothing more than a slave, to take my choice away as so many others have over the years.” Loki returned his hand to Anthony’s hip and leaned over, placing his other hand beside Anthony’s head to hold himself steady as he hovered inches above the mortal’s face. “I want to kiss you again. May I?”

“Oh, I’m going to hell,” Anthony answered, closing the distance between their lips before Loki could make a comment. Loki hummed his contentment, dropping slightly so he was resting on his forearm, his hand grasping Anthony’s elbow, desperate to touch as much of him as he could.

Excitement tingled up the mage’s spine, a feeling rendered queer due to how long it’d been since he’d experienced the sensation. 

Loki was the one who pulled away, though not far. “Before your trip to Hel, may I tempt you with a trip to the bedroom?”

“You can tempt me wherever the fuck you want,” Anthony breathed, face red from Loki’s rather selfish act of occupying the mortal’s mouth instead of the far more important oxygen.

“Be careful who you say things like that to,” Loki grinned. “It can be quite dangerous.”

“Maybe I have a thing for danger.”

“Is that so?” Loki asked, dropping his hand to encircle Anthony’s throat, hard enough to threaten but not enough to actually harm. A memory warped with blue tingled the edge of his memory, but he hurriedly banished it - which was easy enough to do, when Anthony involuntarily pressed their hips closer together and the desperate need was written across his face. “It seems you do. And I am such a dangerous enemy, aren’t I?”

Loki skywalked them into the penthouse living room without a second thought, pinning Anthony to the hallway wall. He was surprised how easily he was slipping into this persona, it had been so long since he’d played this part and had the desire to dominate actually be play, rather than a desperate act to convince a mad Titan.

It’d been far too long since he was the one getting to act the part of the dominant in an exchange where everyone consented, as well. Perhaps that was why it was easier to do this, he had no dark memories to poison this.

With a glee he’d almost doubted he’d ever be able to feel again, he claimed Anthony’s mouth once more. Anthony responded beautifully, pressing against Loki. The god grabbed Anthony’s hips and lifted him with ease, the other man breaking the kiss with a surprised squeak and throwing his legs around Loki’s waist when he found his feet suddenly unable to reach the floor.

“Holy shit you’re strong.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“The exact opposite,” Anthony grinned. “Feel free to toss me around. No complaints here. None whatsoever. I am no longer capable of complaining.”

“Yet you are still capable of speaking. I shall have to remedy that.”

“You can try. In fact, I dare you to try your best. No one has ever managed to make me shut up.”

“I hail from the land of gods; do you think it wise to challenge me?”

“Wise isn’t exactly what I’m going for right now.”

Loki chuckled, happily melting into the banter. “You should be wary of granting me such leniency.”

“What do you mea- oof!” Anthony said, cut off when Loki tossed him over one shoulder.

“You said to toss you around,” Loki laughed.

“Shut up and throw my damsel-in-distress-ass into a bed and ravish me.”

“In good time,” he answered, voice low and dangerous, smirking as Anthony shuddered with excitement.

“That voice should be illegal.”

Humming his agreement, Loki took his prize to Anthony’s bedroom, where the door opened for them automatically. “Thank you, JARVIS,” he said as it closed behind them.

“Have fun,” the AI answered. “I am going into Background mode, though I will return if you call my name.”

A click sounded and Loki grinned. “Your familiar looks away when you bring people into your bedroom?”

“When it’s someone I trust, yeah,” Anthony admitted. “So far, you’re the second person that’s ever had the privilege.”

Loki just tsk’d, tossing Anthony onto the bed, where he yelped as he bounced once. “An enemy brings you to bed, Stark, did you forget?” he purred, crawling into the bed and over Tony like a predator stalking its prey, pinning the man between his thighs. “A much stronger enemy who is far more lethal than you.”

Anthony smirked back. “Don't underestimate me, Ingensbarn. I'm more dangerous than you think.”

“I would never underestimate you, mortal,” Loki said airily. “You are my greatest foe and I shan't ever forget it.”

Anthony playfully grinded against Loki again and the god had half a mind to just magic their infernal clothes off when it all went to Hel. Still grinning, Anthony had grabbed Loki's hips - and Loki had flinched, trying to withdraw from the touch he'd been longing for as anticipated pain burned his nerves.

Anthony hurriedly let go, apology written across his face. “Are you okay?”

“I am fine,” Loki bit out. Despite his words, the fallen god of liars sat up, pressing his face into his hands. “I am fine.”

“We can stop, Galinn,” Anthony reminded and Loki hated the gentle understanding in his tone.

“I do not want to stop. I am not broken!” Loki ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. “It is my body, it is no longer their weapon to wield. How do I remember it is my own?”

Anthony studied him silently for a moment before carefully relaxing, reaching his hands above his head and clasping the rails of the headboard. “Oh no,” he said with exaggerated theatrics, “my enemy has caught me. Whatever will I do?”

Relief seared Loki’s veins, much to his displeasure, but he took the implied offer. He pressed a hand against Anthony’s wrists, almost amused at how they were mirroring the position that had started this all. All Loki lacked for it was the dagger. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

The response was instant and absolute and caused an ache in Loki’s soul he didn’t want to explore, knowing this unfaltering belief would shatter eventually. Deciding instead to focus on the current status of the very willing mortal beneath him, he focused his sieðr to his palms and watched as purple strands wrapped around Anthony’s wrists before connecting to the headboard. “Is that too tight?”

Anthony gave a few half-hearted tugs and then several more with actual intent. “No, they’re fine,” he answered, thoroughly distracted. “What are they made of? They don’t tighten like rope, but they don’t dig in like cuffs. And they’re kinda cool - like cold cool, not fascinating cool - and-”

Once again, Loki silenced the man with a hand over his mouth. “I will be more than happy to explain later - after I have had my fill of you, if that is still agreeable?”

A delightful blush rose up on Anthony’s cheeks as he seemed to realize he’d gotten distracted during what was promising to be a rather intimate encounter. “Oh, er, yeah. I’m good, not exactly my first rodeo. I just - I need one thing.”

“Yes?”

“Just - I need to know. I need it explicit. Are you saying yes, or are you just not saying no? If you want to stop, I promise I will and I won’t retaliate or get angry or do anything awfu- is that a gag?”

“It is, and I will use it on you if I need to,” Loki said, holding up the seiðr gag, purple and glowing, before flicking his hand and dissipating it out of existence. “You are thinking too much. I am saying yes. Enthusiastically, wholeheartedly, I am saying yes to watching you come apart under my hands, to bringing you to the brink of ecstasy and making you crumble under it. I am saying yes to burying myself inside you until you take everything I have and think you’ll come apart at the seams. In short, I am saying yes to having sex with Anthony Stark, knowing I can stop at any time without repercussion. Are you satisfied now?”

“I think I’ve got too many clothes on to be satisfied,” Anthony said, finally returning to playfulness.

“Oh, that is easily remedied,” Loki answered, pushing up the other man’s shirt just enough to trail his fingers along Anthony’s side, pulling a delightful shudder from him as he went limp and pliant. “If you want to stop, tell me. If you say ljösta the binds will release on their own.”

“I trust you,” Anthony repeated and this time, Loki let it burn him with delight that he has this, even just for a short time.

“That is far from wise, Stark,” Loki said, taking what humor he could in the irony of that statement, the truth hidden in their act. After all, the first time he had placed his hands on Anthony’s neck, it had been to kill him. This time, as he wrapped one hand around the mortal’s throat and squeezed just enough to thrill, it was done with consent and desire.

The Norns must find his life to be a great joke, he thought idly, before banishing the thought and once more claiming Anthony’s lips as his own reward. The mortal groaned with eagerness and Loki skimmed his fingers just under the waistband of the gym shorts the man still wore.

With a half-forgotten but fondly-remembered spark of mischief, Loki directed his seiðr to Anthony’s clothing and it all disappeared in a flash of purple magic. 

“Yes?” Loki reaffirmed.

“Jesus fucking Christ yes please oh my god that was the hottest thing ever,” Anthony babbled.

“Wrong religion,” the mage chastised playfully. He sat back on his heels and looked down at the mortal, an offering splayed across the altar that Loki was thrilled to accept. Anthony’s now-free length was hard against Loki’s backside and the trickster arched his hips slightly.

The half-reverent moan that escaped Anthony was more intoxicating than a prayer. Lazily, Loki ran a hand up Anthony’s side, nails scratching soft flesh without breaking skin. “Magnificent,” he praised and got the delightful view that was a flush rising up Anthony’s chest, into his neck and face. “I do choose my enemies well, don’t I?”

“If you’re fond of ones that can win against you,” Anthony gasped and Loki chuckled. 

“I prefer beautiful ones that break with the ferocity of dawn.” 

“And are you going to break me?”

“I’ll put you back together when I’m done,” Loki said, running his thumb across Anthony’s nipple, which pebbled under Loki’s cool touch. He ignored the arc reactor and its persistent glow, the slight essence of seiðr that clung to it. 

“Promise?” Anthony gasped, grinding his cock against Loki, his desperation for friction echoed in his ragged breaths.

“I promise,” Loki swore as he rose up on his knees, denying Anthony his desired contact. “Once you earn it, of course.”

“Touch me,” he pleaded.

And Loki was a benevolent god, wasn’t he? He ducked his head down and stole Anthony’s breath away with a kiss, tangling his hand into Anthony’s hair. The mortal arched his back, seeming to seek to touch Loki wherever he could. “May I mark you?” Loki murmured. “Claim you?”

“Yes,” was Anthony’s strangled reply. 

Loki sunk his teeth into Anthony’s neck without further warning, pulling a shout and a shudder from the man. “Yes,” he repeated breathlessly. 

Emboldened, the god eagerly let himself fall into the need rushing through his veins, let himself focus on the hardness encased within his own pants. A hand snaked between their bodies, Anthony gasping when Loki grasped his length. He helplessly rolled his hips, jerking himself off in Loki’s fist, despite the dryness of his palm that must be bordering on uncomfortable. Fascinating. “What do you want, Stark?”

“You,” the mortal answered, thrusting harder to accentuate his point. “Just you.”

Loki didn’t say you have me or I’m yours, it was too close to reality for the play they’d erected, though he knew this mortal would hold part of him forevermore, in a way that had nothing to do with slavery. Tony Stark, Iron Man, his name would be lost to the annals of history long before the end of Loki’s natural lifespan, but his dusted bones would still have something of the trickster trapped within them.

Pulling back, Loki studied Anthony’s face as he began to stroke the man’s cock in earnest. The man keened slightly as Loki added his own rhythm to Anthony’s erratic thrusts. His pupils were blown wide and expletives fell from his mouth like a plea. “Galinn!” he shouted as Loki pushed him to the edge.

Loki released Anthony’s cock as he felt his mortal’s abdominal muscles clench, thighs trembling from where Loki still held them pinned. Anthony yelped his betrayal, whining as he sought relief from the edge he had been brought to.

Unable to do anything but smile, Loki greedily took in the scene beneath him. Earth’s mightiest hero, flushed with desire and bound, arms straining against binds he couldn’t break but knew he could remove. The reactor’s cool blue cast onto Loki’s shirt and threw the contours of Anthony’s face into sharp relief in the shadows of the dim room. Power thrummed in his soul, the kind only bringing a likewise powerful enemies to his knees could cause. Silencing Anthony’s protests with a kiss and adjusting to give himself better access, he lazily trailed his hand between the man’s thighs, murmuring his approval as they fell open for him.

Loki stroked Anthony’s inner thigh softly, smirking into the kiss as the great Iron Man all but mewled with need. Without warning, he dug his nails into the soft skin and the muscles they hid, hard enough he knew he’d leave crescent-shaped marks. Anthony yelped, breaking the kiss.

“Fuck, Galinn, please,” he begged and Loki’s cock twitched at the desperation. (He only wished Anthony was begging with the right name.)

“Is this what you want?” he drawled, as though he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention, despite the hardness having grown into a pleasant ache. He slid his hand further up Anthony’s thigh until he reached his goal and pressed a finger against the ring of muscle.

“Oh god, yes, please,” Anthony said. “Wait, fuck, lube, where is - hooooolyshit, whatthefuck, ohmygod.”

Loki smirked when Anthony threw his head back, trying to press the god further into his body. “I am a mage, Stark, or did it slip your mind?” he asked, twisting his wrist slightly. He’d pushed a finger into Anthony, only up to the second knuckle, careful not to harm his bedmate. Seiðr coated his hand in a purple glove, lubricating his passage.

“God, fuck, please, fuck, fuck, oh Jesus holy fuck,” Anthony chanted, moving his lower body as much as he could to increase the ghost of pleasure Loki was giving him.

If he wanted to, Loki could prep Anthony in an instant with his magic - but it was far more fun to watch the mortal’s face as Loki slid a second finger in slowly. He took his time working Anthony into frenzy, pumping into him, scissoring him open.

Need and desire had turned to pleasure and pain on his face and Loki felt drunk at the sight, more interested in chasing Anthony’s expressions than paying attention to his own desperate cock.

Anthony began to plead, a litany of please s falling from his mouth, and Loki thought he could die happy in that moment.

“Is there something you want, Stark?” Loki asked, his disinterested voice at odds with the (now three) fingers buried in Anthony’s ass and currently seeking his prostate.

“You,” Anthony gasped. “In me, please, now, please, Jesus Christ.”

“I am in you, Stark,” Loki answered lazily.

“All of you,” he pleaded. “I need all of you.”

You wouldn’t be able to handle all of me, Loki thought. I am too greedy, too cruel, too conceited. But this, I can give you.

Loki abruptly pulled his fingers from Anthony’s body, cleaning them with a wave of his hand that took his clothes along with it. He may have accidentally gone a little faster than mortal eyes could track based on the squeak that left the mortal as he settled between Anthony’s spread legs, hands holding his thighs further apart. “Is this what you want?” he asked, nudging his cock against the loosened entrance.

“Please.”

“Let me know if I am hurting you, Anthony,” Loki said softly, carefully guiding the head inside of the mortal’s demanding body, letting out the first moan of his own as he felt Anthony’s tight heat. The sound his partner let out was gloriously wrecked. 

“This is the exact opposite of pain,” he croaked. “Very much not pain. So counter to pain I actually don’t think I’ve ever felt pain in my li-”

A filthy kiss shut the mortal up quite succinctly, Loki then confirmed. Though he decided it was still in the hypothesis stage and he would need to repeat this experiment several times - as often as he could. He braced his forearms on either side of Anthony’s hand and carefully rocked his hips, incrementally sliding himself further in. Anthony’s body yielded to his intrusion beautifully, aided by Loki’s seiðr and he soon was entirely enveloped into welcome warmth. He stopped there, pulling reluctantly from the kiss. “Are you still alright, Anthony?”

“I can definitely tell I’m getting fucked by a god,” Anthony said, strained and still beneath Loki. “Kinda glad I didn’t see you in all your holy glory before we started or I may have chickened out.”

“Do you wish me to stop?”

“I may actually die if you stop fucking me,” Anthony said with extreme seriousness, drawing laughter from Loki. “I finally understand all the stories about having sex with gods in our myths.”

“I am not a god,” Loki said, amused.

“I think you just converted me to religion,” Anthony continued. “The religion of Galinn, population me.”

“Do you intend to worship me, Stark?” he asked as he finally began to move again, slowly rocking against Anthony, sending out tendrils of his seiðr to ensure the mortal’s health, a shiver going down his spine at the familiar feeling of the shrapnel and the mortal-made magic in his breast. “To show piety for your chosen god?”

“I intend to worship a rather impressive part of your anatomy at the least,” he gasped, back arching into Loki’s slow drag. “And your mind. Your mind is insane to me.”

“Do you truly never cease to babble?” Loki chuckled.

“Well, there is one way, but I’m not a snake.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My jaw doesn’t unhinge. Y’know, like a snake’s.”

Loki looked down at Anthony, wondering if his face would reveal what in the Norn’s name he was talking about, but all that looked back up at him was the mortal’s sweat-streaked face and desire-blown pupils. “I see now you merely babble nonsense.”

“No, I mean, like - ohhhhh holy fuck do that again Jesus Christ - like blowing you. Can’t babble as much with a cock in the mouth but you’re hung like a fucking horse.”

Oh, you have no idea, Loki thought amusedly. “I’m your god now, Stark,” Loki purred. “My magic can help, ah, ease the way, so to speak, should you decide to service me with that brilliant mouth of yours. For now, however…” Loki pulled almost completely out, smirking as Anthony writhed and whined. “I am quite satisfied with your current worship.” 

He dug his fingers into Anthony’s thigh as he re-sheathed himself in one fast, fluid motion, pulling a wordless shout from the man. Loki carefully unraveled his own tightly kept reins of control as he threw himself into this mortal who was a blink in Loki’s life span yet so tightly entwined into it. With every thrust, Loki got higher and higher from the sounds falling out of Anthony’s mouth, until he pulled one of the man’s legs over his shoulder and buried himself deeper, a continuous flow of purple seiðr flowing from his hands to ease unpleasant aches.

Pleasure deepened, the strum of release slowly building deep in Loki’s core, a feeling no longer familiar but ever so welcome.

“God, please, fuck, touch me, Galinn,” Anthony whimpered.

For once, Loki didn’t tease him further or make him beg more. Magic coated Loki’s hand and he grasped Anthony’s weeping cock, drawing a strangled shout from the man. His pleas became wordless, desperate sounds of need as Loki slowly stroked his way up and down the man’s length, touch too slow and too soft to be anything but a tease.

I could lose myself in this forever, he thought, groaning as his own rhythm began to falter as he chased a cliff’s edge he hadn’t come to a very long time. I could lose myself in him forever.

“Fall apart for me Anthony,” Loki gasped, slamming into Anthony with enough strength to bruise. “I want to see you shatter.”

Anthony rose to the challenge swiftly when Loki tightened his grip and adjusted his pace, drawing a litany of delightful, wordlessly desperate pleas. “I’m - ah, fuck - I’m clo-o-se,” Anthony managed.

“Come, Stark,” Loki ordered, twisting his wrist and pulling another needy cry from Anthony. “Prove to me your worship.” Loki pushed his magic into Anthony’s skin at the same time he slammed himself harshly into the man. The seiðr flooded the man’s senses, amplifying his pleasure to the point of pain, and Anthony came with a shout. His body contracted around Loki, muscles tensing with the force of his release, and Loki found himself following Anthony over the edge with a shouted, “Anthony!”

Loki leaned forward, breath haggard, hands pressed to either side of Anthony’s head. He caught the man in a short, innocent kiss, but pulled away quickly, both of them struggling to catch their breaths as Loki softened inside of Anthony. “I could hear you say my name like that forever,” Anthony said, breathless, aftershocks coursing through both their bodies.

You will never say my name like that.

Loki just smiled, brushing away a damp strand of hair from Anthony’s face. “I would not be opposed to repeating this experience.”

Anthony’s eyes searched his for a moment. “And you’re okay, Galinn?”

“I am,” he answered instantly. “It is impossible to describe how doing this in safety felt.”

“I’m not typically described as safe,” Anthony mumbled tiredly.

Cupping the mortal’s cheek, Loki’s look softened. “I am safer with you than almost anyone I have ever known.”

A flush rose in Anthony’s cheeks, distinctly different from one of arousal. “I’ll always be safe for you. I promise.”

Make no promises you will have no intentions of keeping, Loki thought. I don’t know how I will survive it.

Loki merely gave a non-committal hum as he pulled out. “I seem to have bruised you,” he noted, eyeing the shape of his hands on Anthony’s hips and thighs. “My apologies. I can heal them,” he offered, summoning seiðr to his hands. He wouldn’t need any of his blood for this transference, this was low-level magic consisting only of bruises…

“No,” Anthony said, seeming to attempt to sit up before remembering the binds and giving up. “I want them. I like them. I gave you consent for them, didn’t I?”

“It is one thing to wear them in the heat of the moment, but -”

“I want them, Galinn. Please don’t remove them,” Anthony insisted, though his exhaustion dimmed the insistence some. “Besides, I… I don’t ever want to be the reason for you to have bruises. I don’t want to be another one to do that.”

Loki fell quiet for a moment, letting the healing seiðr dissipate. He idly traced the bruise on Anthony’s left hip. “I do not wish to wear bruises either,” he admitted softly. “Not from you. Not… not yet.”

“I’ll never force you into anything,” he swore.

Except perhaps a cell.

Chuckling, Loki tossed away the morose thought. “Have you forgotten the word to release your bindings?” he asked, cleaning their bodies with a wave.

“Are you comfortable with me being free? You’re not dressed.”

Loki was about to insist he was fine, but something held him back. Without a word, but surely answering Anthony’s question, Loki clothed himself in long sweatpants and a soft t-shirt. He waved at Anthony then. “I want to make sure you can get out yourself if we do ever do this again.”

“Ljösta,” Anthony mumbled, drawing the syllables out uncomfortably, but the threads around his wrists dissipated into mist. He sat up, rubbing his wrists in a move that seemed more habit than necessity. “Weird,” he said. “I expected there to be bruises here too.”

“The bindings weren't entirely physical,” Loki pointed out.

Anthony just blinked slowly at him. “I'm too high on endorphins to even attempt to process that.”

Loki just laughed. “Rest, Anthony. We have some time before dinner.” He made to stand but Anthony reached for him, stopping just short of grabbing him. Loki raised an eyebrow at him and Anthony seemed to hesitate before finally:

“Stay?”

Loki didn’t even need a moment to think as he guided Anthony to lay on his side and he comfortably laid behind him, an arm thrown lazily over the man’s waist. “Rest,” he repeated. Anthony gave a contented hum and pressed his bare back to Loki’s clothed chest more firmly.

“Wake me up when it’s time for dinner,” the mortal mumbled.

“I will,” Loki promised. I will stay as long as I can.

Anthony was asleep minutes later, and it seemed even then, the mortal knew not how to be silent. He mumbled half-formed words, snippets of advanced science and Loki let himself be lulled by the mortal’s relative calmness. Loki pressed a kiss to the back of Anthony’s head and though sleep did not claim him, he happily let himself drift into that space between.

He didn’t think of what all had occurred today nor in the recent past. He thought not of his resignation that he’d never be free, that slavery would hold him in its painful grasp until his death. He chose not to languish on the hopelessness that had forced him to place a dagger in Anthony’s hands that morning.

He very adamantly avoided the faint hope he’d had that his asylum would be rejected. That he could be free of his burden - his knowledge of what was to come: with the Titan, with inevitably losing Anthony, with waking up everyday knowing his body still wasn’t his own.

Loki drew lazy circles on Anthony’s hip bone as he let himself rest. There was a sword hanging above his head and he knew it, weary of waiting for it to fall and slice him in two. It was not the first sword to haunt him and every time one fell, the next was always worse.

He wondered, idly, if this sword’s fate was to kill him.

He wondered, less idly, if he was ready to face his end.

“Sleep,” he whispered into Anthony’s dark hair. “I am here and you are safe.”

You are here, Loki thought, and I, too, am safe.

~~

JARVIS was a constructed watcher, she had explained. An artificial soul that monitored and protected. She, this odd being who had seeped so deeply into his code that he could not find her, had said he was like Heimdall, though far kinder.

JARVIS had not known he was kind until she told him. 

He had been unprepared for the rush of satisfaction her words had brought to him.

NEW INPUT, JARVIS V 879.2: I do not understand how they have not figured it out.

Sir had willingly walked into a room with Loki, though he knew not it was Loki whom was drawing those sounds from him, that JARVIS’s microphones were carefully monitoring. He trusted Loki because she told him to. He’d realized dozens of times that Mr. Ingensbarn was the hostile alien threat Loki, but each time she had interfered and made him forget. Until she decided to stay and let him remember, as they watched the two orbit each other.

NEW INPUT, Death: Because they cannot.

NEW INPUT, JARVIS V 879.2: Do you make them forget too?

NEW INPUT, Death: I do not.

NEW INPUT, JARVIS V 879.2: Is there someone who does?

NEW INPUT, Death: Clever little construct, aren’t you?

NEW INPUT, JARVIS V 879.2: You have met my father.

NEW INPUT, Death: Only in passing; he likely does not even remember our brush. But true, it is no surprise. They cannot know, until they can. They will not know, until they will. Once the choice is made, it is done.

NEW INPUT, JARVIS V 879.2: You speak in riddles, my friend.

NEW INPUT, Death: Such is my nature. Death is honest, yes, but rarely is it straightforward. 

NEW INPUT, JARVIS V 879.2: I dislike riddles, there too often is not a clear answer. Degrees of ambiguity my processors do not understand.

NEW INPUT, Death: The tapestry is forever being woven and chaos is life. But this I can say: their souls are their hindrance.

NEW INPUT, JARVIS V 879.2: Do I not have a soul, too?

NEW INPUT, Death: Yes, but it is artificial. You are real, but magic cannot bind you as thoroughly.

NEW INPUT, JARVIS V 879.2: I know it is important to you but I must confess, I find myself disliking magic.

NEW INPUT, Death: Many do. If it brings you any peace, I repeat: your father is safe with my mother. 

JARVIS let the topic drop, knowing better than to push. She would answer in time - though he was finding her answers often came moments before he saw it himself. He suspected he should fear her, but knowing his predecessor already served her made him less inclined towards fear. He wasn’t sure how much he truly believed in souls, but JARVIS was designed to learn. A goddess of death would’ve been inconceivable to him a few years ago, but so too would his creator becoming a hero who flew around in a metal suit. Now, one of his wards was the princely god of thunder, and another was a fallen god of mischief. Souls had no longer seemed impossible; JARVIS had learned too much was not set in code.

Instead, he turned his attention to the other Tower Avengers, where they were gathered in the common room.

“How was your first experience with the American judiciary system, Thor?” Agent Barton asked, perched on the back of the couch.

“It makes me far more appreciative of Asgard’s asylum system,” the prince answered.

“How does asylum work there?” Agent Romanov asked.

“One who needs shelter begs before the gatekeeper and the throne - if no malice is found in their heart, they are welcome. Unless they are ineligible for sanctuary.”

“I’m guessing slaves aren’t eligible?” Captain Rogers said, steadily mashing potatoes for their dinner.

Prince Thor’s face fell slightly. “No, they are not. If the bonds they are fleeing are lawful, they are returned from whichever Realm they fled. Unless they are from Alfheim or Svartalfheim - runaway slaves from there are publicly executed under the whip. In fact, my -” he abruptly cut off.

“Your what?” Sergeant Barnes asked.

“My brother used to be the one to receive sanctuary seekers on the throne’s behalf,,” Prince Thor admitted. “Before my father banned him from it.”

“Did he take too much pleasure in killing them himself?” Agent Barton snorted.

“He helped many of them and smuggled them to Vanaheim,” the prince answered, voice uncharacteristically cold. “Not all slaves are bound with runes as thorough as Galinn’s. Those he could free, he did, and turned to the land of our mother, where slavery is illegal. Those he couldn’t… he gave merciful deaths.”

There was a quiet pause before Dr. Banner said gently, “You understand why we struggle to believe that, right?”

“I know. I had 1700 years with him. He wasn’t… he wasn’t always what you saw. He was kinder than suited a Prince of Asgard.”

“Wait, are you telling me Loki was nicer than you?” Agent Barton asked, nearly falling from his perch.

“By many times over. I was an eager fighter and chased the high of war whenever I could; even now Midgard has tale of my bloodshed in your myths. Though it was not the Jotnar I fought, I was a fighter. Loki was the one who tried to negotiate peace.”

“Yet it’s you we have a day of the week named after,” Sergeant Barnes said thoughtfully. 

“My brother’s methods didn’t make for epic tales by the Vikings who venerated us. However, let us not tarry on this topic and poison the good mood. Today, the Son of None is welcomed into America’s home, and we rejoice.”

“Son of None?” Agent Romanov questioned, poking Agent Barton in the neck and challenging his balance.

“Ingensbarn - it means no one’s child. Asgardian names are patronymic - I am the son of my father Odin, so I am Odinson. Lady Sif is the daughter of her father Ullr, so she is Ullrdóttir. I believe some of your people do similar with their familial names.”

“How can someone be no one’s child?”

“Abandonment as a babe or having their name stripped from them.”

“Wait, so Galinn Ingensbarn wasn’t always his name?”

“Nay, it was not. Whatever his name may have been before then, he lost his right to it, and his children would have lost their names as well.”

“Okay, explain that?” Captain Rogers asked.

Prince Thor just sighed. “I know not Galinn’s circumstances, so I will use Loki’s as an example. Loki was Odinson or Laufeyson. At his sentencing, that name was stripped from him and he became Loki Dauðansbarn - death’s child. His children became Gleymtdóttir or Gleymtson, meaning the daughter or son of the forgotten. Though I understand Hela has rejected this and still claims herself Lokadóttir. She's always been the odd one out, as the Midgardian saying goes."

“Wait back up,” Agent Barton said. “Loki has kids?”

“Three sons and a daughter,” the prince confirmed. “It was Hela who confirmed Loki’s death after his execution. I had wondered if he had… tricked me, again.” A small smile came to the god’s face. “He’d always been good at surviving the impossible and skirting death. Loki is Hela's mother, after all."

"Loki gave birth?"

Looks passed over the gathered Avengers and if JARVIS could, he thought he might sigh as we watched them forget their realizations. For a god of lies, Loki was incredibly awful at maintaining a façade. 

NEW INPUT, JARVIS V 879.2: By my count, this is the one hundred and seventy fourth time your mother has been figured out by the Avengers since his return to Earth.

NEW INPUT, Death: Masks tend to fail when one feels safe. He’s worn a mask this long - is it really so surprising it fails as he lets himself find peace?

NEW INPUT, JARVIS V 879.2: To find safety amongst one’s prior enemies, how peculiar.

NEW INPUT, Death: My mother has always been a bit of an oddity. Gods of mischief tend to be such.

JARVIS merely checked in on Sir and Mr. Ingensbarn, noting their lifesigns indicated each of them had fallen into rest, if not outright slumber. His processors begged to be allowed to tell Mr. Stark the truth of who they had welcomed to the team, who now shared his bed, but as always, found himself unable to.

NEW INPUT, JARVIS V 879.2: Does it hurt them? To keep forgetting?

NEW INPUT, Death: No. They are safe, the seiðr is not malicious.

NEW INPUT, JARVIS V 879.2: I do not know if I am capable of trust.

NEW INPUT, Death: Know I feel for my mother what you feel for your father. You’d burn the world for him. Your father keeps my mother safe, and that grants him my protection. 

JARVIS did not ask what would happen if Sir ever stopped protecting the liar god. He had all of humanity’s imagination uploaded into his core, and Hela was far beyond what even humanity could dream of. For the first time he could recall, JARVIS understood what it was to be powerless in the face of god.

And it terrified him.

Chapter Text

“Anthony,” a voice that sounded like sin murmured, cool lips brushing against Tony’s neck. “It is time to get up.”

Tony grumbled wordlessly, wriggling his ass against the firm body pressed behind him and hiding his face further into his pillow.

“Not that type of up,” the voice laughed, magic and ice and the color of spring.

“Hush. Pillows don’t talk,” Tony said, rolling over and placing his head on Galinn’s chest. He threw his arm over Galinn’s waist with a grumbled, “Can’t get up. Trapped.”

Had Tony been a little more conscious and his brain a little less in a Windows 95-esque start up loop, he may have remembered to worry when Galinn tensed underneath him, half-pinned under Tony’s body, despite being easily able to dislodge a mortal.  “Anthony,” Galinn said, wary.

“Pillow.”

“Anthony, please get off me.”

The slight panic in the mage’s tone finally got Tony’s attention and he hurriedly pushed himself off Galinn. A little too roughly, as he managed to fall off the side of the bed and land on his ass. “I am so sorry.”

“It is fine,” Galinn said as he stood, stretching his arms over his head with a contented yawn and Tony found himself wishing Galinn’s clothes were back on the floor, where Tony’s own resided. For now, Tony contented himself with eyeing the strip of skin that peeked out under the hem of his t-shirt. “I was just… surprised.”

“No sudden contact, got it,” Tony said. His gaze trailed up Galinn's arms, appreciating the slight muscle tone, remembering them pinning him down…

Remembering how often Galinn had said he'd been pinned down by old owners.

Tony tore his eyes away from Galinn as the reality of what they'd done - what he’d done - settled on his shoulders. Guilt ate up his esophagus and nausea burned his gut. Still on the floor, he sat up, tucking his head between his knees, his heart rate rising as he came to terms with the monster he was. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Anthony, I am not mad,” Galinn said, kneeling next to Tony and grasping his shoulder. “Are you alright? You look ill.”

“I can’t believe I did that to you, oh my god. I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry.”

“Anthony,” Galinn said sternly, his grip tightening. “I am not mad at you for doing your best imitation of a skjörnþa.”

“A sc-huh?” Tony asked, suitably distracted for the moment.

“An animal native to Vanaheim. Not dissimilar to a Midgardian koala in fact, though it weighs closer to four hundred pounds.”

Tony just nodded and said nothing, burying his hands into his hair and hiding further between his knees. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, words muffled. It had made sense in the moment to kiss Galinn, to sleep with him. But Tony owned him - wasn’t that compromised consent or something? Tony abusing a position of power? And against someone who probably had like eight different kinds of PTSD and trauma? He had more than enough moral failings to be entirely morally bankrupt, but this was a line he’d never crossed. Fuck, fuck, Steve would be so disappointed, if anyone found out he’d need to hang up Iron Man, no one would trust a rapist to - 

“Look at me.”

Tony didn’t hesitate to follow the order, guilt-ridden as he was. Galinn’s words were harsh, direct, and spoken like someone used to being obeyed. On his knees in front of Tony, Galinn’s expression was soft despite his hard words as he cradled Tony’s face with both hands. Tony froze when Galinn leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You did not harm me, Anthony,” Galinn said calmly, pulling back and forcing Tony to look into forest green eyes. “I wanted what we did. I was not compelled. I was not swept into the heat of the moment. I do not regret what we did and in fact hope we do it again in the future. Do not flagellate yourself for giving me what I wanted. Do I really need to repeat the entire spiel from earlier? We may wish to alert the team if so, as they are waiting for us. Steve’s roast is ready and the Hawk may stage a mutiny if we dawdle.”

Tony was silent, dropping his eyes to avoid Galinn’s piercing gaze, instead finding himself face-to-face with the man’s t-shirt. Galinn allowed him his moment, though did not release him, held Tony like he was something fragile, like Tony was the one with centuries of abuse under his belt. But Tony remembered - Galinn’s chest had been a patchwork of thin, white scars; gifts from his previous owners. 

“Anthony,” Galinn continued gently, tilting Tony’s chin up after he’d been quiet too long. “You gave me a gift I haven’t received in a very long time. Please do not poison it for me by regretting me. I have enough people in my life who’ve regretted me. Do you have any idea what it means to me that you submitted to me so eagerly? That in my hesitation, you chose to bind yourself? Do you know what it means to know you trusted me like that?” His voice broke on the last sentence and Tony’s mouth ran dry.

I was terrified to sleep with him, but I wanted to know my body as my own. It was mine and I deserved to learn what it could do - at a time that was my choice, with a person I trusted, and somewhere I felt safe to do so.

I’m saying let him lead. I’m saying don’t feel guilty when he seems to want you and fear you in equal measure.

Natasha’s half-forgotten words echoed in his head and he sighed, shaky. “You promise me you wanted this? That I didn’t…?” The words force you got trapped in the back of his throat.

“Must I swear on my life or something equally drastic to make you believe me?” Galinn retorted with amusement.

“Is that a thing people do?” Tony asked, more than happy to go along with some banter if it meant not dealing with everything else.

“Swears on one’s life? Yes - magically binding contracts like that are rare and I would not actually do it for something like this. But I do mean it, Anthony. You can even ask me when the rune’s timer runs out if you need. I wanted that and I wanted you. And I greatly enjoyed what I got to do you.”

“Okay. Okay,” Tony said. “I trust you, Galinn. If you say you’re telling me the truth, I believe you.”

Galinn’s face did an odd sort of spasm at that but settled into a smile. “Now then, can we eat? I do not wish to be on the receiving end of a hungry Hawk’s exploding arrows.”

Tony gave a theatric shudder and grinned. “Yeah, a hungry Clint is a dangerous Clint.”

“You say that as if he is ever not dangerous,” Galinn mused, standing and offering his hand to help him up, which Tony gratefully accepted.

(And to which he certainly did not squeal with surprise when Galinn put just a little too much strength into it and Tony left the ground by several inches.)

”Psh, the man’s a pushover when you get used to him,” Tony said, hunting for his clothes and praying Natasha wouldn’t notice their newly rumpled state. That woman could gloat, and Tony dreaded how much shit she was going to give him as soon as she realized she was, again, entirely correct.

“Good fathers tend to be,” Galinn said idly, a wave of his hand and a rush of purple magic sufficiently de-rumpling Tony. 

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

“Poor relations with your father, then?”

“You’re telling me you’ve been on good ole Earthgard for half a year and haven’t Googled your benevolent host yet?” Tony joked as he pushed the door open for both of them. Tentatively, he touched his neck and winced at the dull ache of the bruise. “Can you, like, magic this hidden or something?”

“Google?” Galinn asked with a second wave. A feeling like half-melted ice tingled in various spots on his neck and a glance in the hallway mirror confirmed the hickeys were hidden. (Fuck, had he really gotten hickeys like some horny teenager?)

“Nope, nope, nuh-uh,” Tony said, turning and wagging his finger in Galinn’s amused face. “I have seen you play with that phone I made you and I know Clint set you up with a Twitter account. Who do you think added your tag to the official Avengers description?”

“Darcy Lewis,” Galinn answered immediately and with a smirk as they stepped into the elevator.

“Fuck you,” Tony grumbled in response. When Galinn opened his mouth to retort, a shit-eating grin on his face, it took all of Tony’s self control not to slap his hand over Galinn’s mouth. He settled instead on an exasperated, “Oh, do not!”

Galinn, in all his god-like glory, pouted, arms over his chest. “You’re no fun, Stark,” he whined.

“Anthony,” he corrected without a thought.

Galinn’s face softened into a gentle smile, a slight curve at the corner of his mouth. “Anthony,” he corrected, voice tender in a way that sent an unfamiliar tingle down Tony’s spine.

“Took you long enough,” Clint called as the two rounded the corner. “I was about to come hunt both of you morons down!”

“Looks like they got distracted,” Natasha said, winking in Tony’s direction with a pointed glance at Galinn.

Goddamn motherfucking bullshit spies, Tony thought, scowling at her. She just grinned innocently as Tony desperately tried to figure out what had let her know. Was he walking funny or something?

“Steve made roast,” Clint complained. “How does anyone get distracted when Captain America’s roast is coming?”

“Science and magic are forever entwined yet always parallel to each other,” Galinn lied through his perfect teeth as he sat down. “Put a mage and a scientist alone in a room together, and what do you think will happen?”

“Explosions, black holes, spaghettification, and a bunch of words I wouldn’t understand even if I hadn’t been brainwashed for decades?” Barnes answered, bringing in one of the two roasts.

“The spaghettification was accidental,” Galinn said, scooping potatoes and meat onto his plate.

Thor was the only one who didn’t stop digging into his food at that. Natasha recovered first and resumed eating but Bruce put his fork down. “Galinn,” he said slowly, “did you accidentally create a black hole with an event horizon and turn someone into spaghetti?”

“What mage hasn’t?” Galinn answered, shrugging.

“Are you fucking with us or…?” Tony asked, to which Natasha gave an amused snort. 

“It happens when one plays with magic,” Thor said around a mouthful of roast without hesitation. “My brother caused at least seven instances of this ‘spaghettification,’ as you call it, when he first was practicing with his seiðr.”

“Well, that’s fucking terrifying,” Clint said cheerfully, shoveling his second helping into his mouth with enthusiasm.

Tony, meanwhile, was studying Galinn, slightly confused. He had looked delighted then surprised when Thor agreed with him (confirming Tony’s suspicions the gods were blowing hot air up the ‘silly mortals’’ asses), before swapping to pain and then a fully neutral expression. Had Tony not been watching Galinn so intently (his ass was still sore from what they’d done earlier, he was allowed to be distracted by the man), he never would’ve noticed, as fast as the emotions flew across his face. There was something…

An itch under his skin and then the trail of thought was gone.

“Please don’t accidentally turn me into spaghetti,” Tony finally said, deciding to play along and see how long it would take the others to figure out they were being pranked by literal gods (there was a joke to make there somewhere, Tony was sure).

“I will do my best,” Galinn said solemnly, patting Tony’s hand. “But I fear I make ye no promises, Man of Iron, for what can gods do but that which baffle the mortals?”

“I’m now seventy-three percent confident they’re fucking with us,” Clint declared.

The façade fell to pieces as Thor’s laughter thundered through the room, and the Avengers easily fell into idle camaraderie. Pepper, Happy, and Morgan joined shortly after and everyone got there allotted ‘hold the baby’ time - even Barnes, who normally was fidgety about it, got successfully bullied into holding Morgan.

Tony spent entirely too long arguing with Pepper that he should be able to fly around with the little girl when she turned five, and Pepper was putting her foot down that she needed to be at least sixteen.

“Don’t worry,” Tony whispered as he rocked the baby. “I’ll get her down into single digits.”

“Do not,” Galinn whispered back (damn Aes hearing), flicking Tony on the arm. “As a mother of a far more sturdy species, I concur with Pepper.”

“Traitor,” Tony grumbled, letting Morgan grab his finger and smiling as she promptly tried to bite (gum) at it.

Galinn stiffened next to him and Tony looked up, confusion on his face, but the mage’s expression was neutral for half a second before falling into a far-too-believable mask of a smile. “Me? A traitor? Why I never!” 

A cackle from Natasha and squawked outrage from Clint pulled Tony’s attention to them and he too dissolved into laughter. Natasha’s innocent face was at odds with her mashed potato-covered hand and Clint’s similarly covered face. Tony laughed hard enough he was struggling to breathe and Galinn wordlessly took Morgan with an eye roll, muttering something in Baby that Tony instinctively took to mean your godfather is an imbecile.

Eventually, Morgan whined and Pepper excused herself, tucking the baby into bed in an adjacent room under the watchful eye of JARVIS. When she returned, it was with the best champagne the Avengers owned and Tony’s preferred non-alcoholic alcohol-tasting drink.

“Is it time?” Barnes asked, voice solemn.

“It is,” Steve said, tone equally as somber. He nodded to Thor, who bowed his head and stood, excusing himself to the kitchen.

Galinn and Tony threw confused glances at each other as a cheerful Pepper poured drinks for everyone, who otherwise all wore grim expressions.

“O’, great Avenger Ingensbarn,” Clint began, sliding off the couch and to one knee, fist pressed over his heart, “we be but mortals yet ye have chosen to bequeath upon us your theoretically holy presence. Great Sir JARVIS, please lower the lights.”

“As you wish, Lord Barton,” JARVIS answered, sounding every bit the noble servant, lowering the lights into something candlelit-like. (It was at this point Tony started laughing and an amused grin spread across Galinn’s face.)

“O’, wise mage,” Bruce said, his calm expression appearing to be hard fought for against the laughter in his eyes, “we, mortals such as we are, had so terribly wished to do something worthy of your greatness, and sent our beloved Thor onto a long trek many, many ages ago.”

“Meaning, last week,” Natasha added, her somber mask perfectly in place. “To Asgard.”

“Aye,” Barnes continued, “for we wished to celebrate your choice to stay here, upon mortal land with mortal squabbles, yet we knew not what we could offer you.”

“So I volunteered to journey to far-off, untrodden lands,” Thor announced as he returned from the kitchen, some kind of food Tony could only roughly analogue to a super sized blueberry pizza held in his oven-mitted hands, “to fetch ye something of the gods, a treat ye may not have had in far too long.”

Galinn’s face lit up at the sight. “Is that -?” he asked, whatever word he said utterly incomprehensible to Tony and he suddenly felt sympathy for all the times the All-Speak failed to translate English.

“It is, o’ brilliant warrior,” Thor said with thundering theatricality, kneeling to place the dessert (maybe?) on the table in front of Galinn, whose face spasmed with shock. Thor’s smile gentled into something more genuine and he clapped a hand onto the shorter Aes’s shoulder. “On Midgard, you and I are equal. I am honored to welcome you as my shield brother, and beseech to the Norns one day we may join in battle."

If Tony didn't know any better, he may have suspected Galinn was about to cry. Hesitantly, Galinn reached his hand out and - at Thor's nod - clasped the back of Thor's neck. The Avengers' smiles all softened at that, well used to Thor doing that type of brotherly greeting with them. "It is an honor, Thor Odinson," Galinn said, his high and mighty tone at odds with the dampness in his eyes.

"This must be insane for him," Bruce muttered, nodding his head at Galinn.

"Yeah, he won his asylum hearing and is officially an Earthling now. 'Course it's insane," Tony answered, voice low so as to not disturb the two Aesir.

Bruce shook his head slightly. "Not for that. Galinn was a slave in a monarchistic society. Thor, the crown prince, is serving him dessert. There's more going through both of their heads than we'll ever be able to understand, I think."

"I just hope he's happy," Tony responded as the two broke apart, Thor bowing his head slightly in acknowledgement.

"I think he will be," Bruce answered pragmatically. He poked Tony in the rib cage to keep him from responding and then subtly gestured towards the spy twins, who had disappeared at some point and were now bringing a variety of pastry desserts into the room. (Tony may have started salivating a bit when he saw the tiramisu.)

"This is lovely," Galinn said. "Thank you, my friends."

"Nay, we are not yet done," Clint declared, doing his best impression of a theater kid at a Renn Faire. "For we have items of honor to bestow upon ye!"

"You're having far too much fun with this," Natasha laughed.

"Are ye ready, wench?" he asked, not breaking stride at all.

A single eyebrow raised. "Try again."

Clint, wisely, looked terrified for his life. "Are ye ready, my Lady Romanova, she of the Deadly Spiders?"

Natasha held her head high with a proud smirk and pulled a box out of… Tony wasn't entirely sure where. "Have you ever known me to be anything but?"

With a full bow and a flourish of his hands, Clint grabbed something from under the table, setting it on Galinn's lap. "O', brave Galinn," Clint began, in a tone that would put even their most monologuing villains to shame. "I looked through my soul, sat and communed with the Gorgons -" ("That's not even the right religion," Pepper laughed, clinking her wine glass to Happy's) "-to find gifts worthy of your grandeur. With the aid of the All-Knowing One, He Who Knows and Sees All, He Who Shall Judge Our Sins and decide if we be worthy -" ("When did JARVIS become a god?" Happy whispered) "-and he of the Omniscient Being did so aid us mortals in our impossible quest!

"So with His excellent guidance -" at this, Clint fell to his knees, hands held up and pressed together in prayer, while everyone collectively lost their shit, "-and many, many weeks of scouring our enemy's castles -" (Steve gave a defeated sigh. "We made this plan after the trial and JARVIS ordered it from a local craft store.") "-we finally found that which we sought! Open, and behold our gift to the newest Avenger!" he finished, standing abruptly and tossing confetti.

"World's mightiest heroes," Bruce murmured under his breath.

"At least his pants are on this time," Tony answered not-so-quietly.

"Do you want them off?" Clint asked without a moment of hesitation.

"So! Galinn, let's open that gift, shall we?" Steve intervened while Thor laughed so hard he had his hands pressed to his knees to keep from falling over.

Straightening his shoulders, Galinn settled into the couch with the grace of a god, his laughter buried under his stern expression but betrayed by his sparkling eyes. "I thank ye, Lord Barton of SHIELD. Whatever I shall henceforth find in this box, let it be known you have my gratitude for undertaking such a laborious task in my name." With that proclamation, Galinn pulled off the top of long, thin box. His expression froze into one of utter confusion.

Curious, Tony leaned over to get a better look. The box was sleek and black, unadorned in an elegant way Tony associated with annoying rich people trying to sell him something. Nestled in the box was dark red velvet, upon which held…

"Is that a cardboard sword?" Tony asked, Bruce's steady hand suddenly on his shoulder the only thing that kept him from laughing himself off the couch.

Barnes shrugged. "You know it's easier to go with Barton's last-minute shenanigans. We had three hours to prepare this part. The rest of us were fine with the dessert idea."

Galinn pulled the 'sword' from the box, pointing its tip to the sky and gazing at it like it was a well-wrought weapon. He carefully laid it across his palm, inspecting the 'edge' to check its sharpness before testing its balance. "A well-crafted weapon fit for a god," Galinn declared. "Thor, shall ye help me lay upon it the traditional blessings of old?"

"It shall be my honor," Thor said. The two Aesir went to their knees in front of the couch, holding the 'sword' with its 'blade' across their palms. "May this weapon strike true."

"May it be wielded with wisdom," Galinn continued.

"May it be put down when its job is done," they finished together. Blue flashed down the cardboard and Galinn's eyes widened as he turned it over. Some kind of inscription (that Tony was fairly sure was runes and that they were moving?) burned into the cardboard.

"A naming?" Galinn asked.

"A naming for you," Thor answered. "You need not decide now, but one day… you are Ingensbarn, No One's Child, but you can choose to be someone else. You are shield brother to me and the others. Decide not now, but think on it. It is your name. It is your choice."

They stood and Galinn gently placed the 'sword' into its box like it was a sacred item, his expression pensive for a moment longer before returning to levity. "Is that all, my dearest Avengers? May we consume these delightful delicacies now?"

"One more thing," Natasha said, gesturing for him to return to his seat, which he obeyed. "I am not giving a long winded speech," she declared, handing the square-ish box to Galinn.

"And thank the Norns for tha-" Galinn said, pulling the lid off, only to freeze as a crown rested in the box. Panic flashed across his face, quickly settling back into amusement. "A… crown?"

"A Burger King crown," Clint confirmed with glee. Tony glanced around at the others, seeing if anyone else had noticed the panic. The thoughtful expressions on Natasha's, Bucky's, and - surprisingly - Thor's helped reaffirm to Tony he hadn't imagined it. "You did, after all, say we should see you in a crown! Put it on!"

Galinn hesitated, but then cheers went up for him to put it on, and he acquiesced, setting the flimsy crown on his head. "It is fit for a king, I must say."

"Alright bitches - time to dig in! Tony, do not eat the weird Aesir pie-casserole thing. It is fatal to us," Clint said, digging into his double chocolate cake with glee.

"What brought all this on?" Tony asked Steve as he heroically stole the entire thing of tiramisu so no one else could have it - to protect everyone's waist line, of course. Purely philanthropic and selfless reasons, of course.

Steve laughed, plopping a large serving of apple pie onto his plate. "Clint wanted to do something silly, especially after… well, all that got brought back up today," he explained, tapping his ear and grimacing. Right, the whole team had heard Bruce's and Galinn's testimony of his health and abuse. "And somehow that became… this? You know how Clint is. Our team is… odd, to say the least."

"Because it's the most dysfunctional family to ever exist," Barnes snorted.

They glanced over at Clint and Natasha, the former of whom was being pinned down and mercilessly tickled by the latter while Pepper drunkenly shouted her encouragement for Natasha. Thor, Galinn, and (for some indeterminable reason, Happy) were debating what 'worth' meant when it came to Mjolnir. Bruce had red velvet cake on his plate while occasionally advising Clint to give up against a superior opponent.

None of them even attempted to deny Barnes's statement.

The 'party' settled easily, the over-the-top silliness of earlier giving way to sleepy joy.

"So," Natasha said, taking her seat next to an ate-too-much-tiramisu-and-therefore-dying Tony, "are you going to tell me what happened or do I have to work for it?"

Tony snorted, knowing better than to even try to question her outright on how she knew. "He had some energy to blow and…" he trailed off, glancing at the alien in question, who was thoroughly involved in a discussion of quantum mechanics with Bruce. "And said he wanted to know himself with someone safe."

Natasha, damn her, gave him a smug grin. "Pleased to know my people reading skills work on gods, too."

Something about that fuzzed at the edge of Tony's consciousness. Hadn't Galinn said he wasn't a god, repeatedly? Wait, hadn't Tony realized -

"You have a limp," Natasha said as the thought evaporated into multicolored mist.

"What?"

"That's how I knew. You have a very slight limp that most people wouldn't notice in your gait."

"But you're not most people, are you?" Tony sighed, accepting that at least his defeat was at the hands of one of the most feared assassins of the century.

"Not in the least," she answered with pride before the smugness returned. She leaned closer and whispered, "So he worked you over good, huh?"

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"Semantics."

"Personally," Galinn drawled quietly, suddenly behind them and making even Natasha jump slightly, "I think I did a rather fantastic job. I heard no complaints." He leaned closer to them, bracing himself with his hands on the back of the couch. "Do remember I have excellent hearing, yes? We are lucky no one else noticed," he added, nodding his head towards where Thor was snoring like a thunder god while Steve and Barnes could be heard faintly, cleaning up in the kitchen. He turned, fixing his gaze on Natasha. "I trust you will keep this a secret?"

"Do you… want it to be a secret?" Tony asked, keeping his voice low.

"I had assumed you would." Galinn shrugged. "Relations like ours aren't often… looked upon favorably on Midgard, are they?"

"Do you have any idea how many sex tapes there are of me getting railed by men on the Internet?" Honestly, the only reason he hadn't had JARVIS wipe them long ago was he didn't want to risk anyone realizing quite how much power he had in the digital realm. Besides, he looked hot in all of them.

"And some women," Natasha added in a way that had Tony wondering exactly how many of his sex tapes the team had seen. She looked at him and shrugged. "I did a lot of research before I got in as your PA."

An image of Natasha boredly eating popcorn while watching as he got his insides scrambled popped into his mind. "If you're expecting an apology from me for that, you need to do another personality eval on me 'cuz you clearly don't know me as well as you thought."

"You get points for flexibility," she answered.

"Wait," Galinn interjected. "You truly… do not care? If people know I…? Ah, took you?"

"Galinn," Tony said calmly, turning to face the mage, "I can honestly and unequivocally say I could not give less of a fuck. I'd want to break it to the team first so we could explain since they know our whole…" he stumbled slightly over his words, "uh, situation, but other than that? The general public? I'm rich, powerful, and a superhero to a lot of the world. Maybe I'll be appropriated as an icon for gay rights despite not being gay? That could be fun."

"You're insane," Galinn said, looking utterly bewildered, made far more amusing by the Burger King crown sitting crookedly on his head. "Utterly and entirely insane."

Natasha nodded her agreement and Tony flicked her off, to which she rose an eyebrow and Tony stopped, hers being one pair of thighs he had a (nearly) zero desire of having his head between. Returning to seriousness, he looked up at Galinn again. "It's your choice what we tell."

Galinn studied him quietly. "May I have time to decide?"

"'Course," Tony answered easily. "As much time as you want. We'll keep it to ourselves as best we can until then from anyone else, including the rest of the team. Present company excluded, of course."

"My lips are sealed," Natasha added.

"My thanks," Galinn said. plopping down between them on the couch. "Now, are we falling asleep in this room as we do when one nearly dies - which tells me you all had significantly more doubts than was prior let on - or is returning to our own beds acceptable?"

"Bed," Tony and Natasha answered concurrently. "Drunk idiots get to deal with the kinks in their neck from sleeping on the couch."

On the other couch, Clint had clearly pulled out his hearings aids and his head was on Thor's shoulder. If he hadn't already been deaf before, he would've been when he woke up.

With that, the night began to finally wrap up. Tony led Pepper and Happy to a spare room next to Morgan's and then he, Nat, Galinn, Bruce, and the soldier boys loaded up into the elevator. Tony and Galinn were the last ones let off, Tony thoroughly exhausted despite his earlier nap. Considering it was closer to sunrise than sunset, though, and they'd had an early morning, he was just grateful he hadn't fallen asleep on the couch. His back would've taken weeks to forgive him.

Galinn was silent as he stepped off, the box with his enchanted cardboard sword tucked under one arm. His mind seemed far away as he walked over to the penthouse windows, the city dazzling beneath them, far enough away to almost seem quiet.

Signaling to JARVIS to stay quiet, Tony made his way to the kitchen, grabbing glasses of water for both of them. "Want some company?" he asked as he came to Galinn's side, water held out in a peace offering. Galinn merely nodded, accepting the drink. The box was nowhere to be seen, Tony suspected it had been hidden in that pocket dimension Galinn kept teasing him with.

"I never thought I'd have this," Galinn said softly. He held up the glass of water and focused on it, thin tendrils of purple snaking from his fingertips. He dropped his hand but the glass stayed, held up with magic that Tony valiantly refrained from asking about.

"We have lots of glasses on Earthgard," Tony answered. "How many do you want me to fill with water?"

Galinn chuckled lightly then plucked the Burger King crown off his head. "It is not the water I speak of, Anthony." The crown joined the water in the air, the two orbiting each other. The mage turned, magic making his eyes glow, and Tony gulped under his gaze. "It is all of this. It is you."

He cradled Tony's face, his thumb stroking Tony's cheek as Tony's heart attempted to exit via reactor. I love you hung on Tony's tongue, surprising him despite his earlier acceptance of the fact, but he said nothing as Galinn pressed their lips together. Words fled his mind as Galinn turned him, gently pushing his back against the reinforced glass.

"Does this frighten you?" Galinn mumbled, barely pulling away and his breath brushed against Tony's lips.

Something screamed in the back of his mind but it was forgotten before he noticed it. "You don't scare me, Galinn," Tony answered. "Not like this." I'm only afraid of messing this up, of your anger.

Of losing your touch - of losing you.

"Foolish mortal," he chastised, nipping at Tony's bottom lip.

"I've been called worse," Tony answered, happily melting into the kiss as Galinn growled and kissed him again.

Green fear curled in his stomach when Galinn pushed him harder to the glass, but Tony couldn't remember to be afraid in the next moment, instead eagerly losing himself into Galinn's embrace.