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The Loki Redemption Files, My faves - Marvel
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Published:
2018-08-04
Completed:
2022-09-25
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104,695
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26/26
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Beautiful Figments

Chapter 26

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“You’re not gonna hurl, are ya?”

Tony cinches Rhodey’s arm a little tighter where it’s slung over the back of his neck. Rhodey simply groans, pressing the wet rag they’d managed to scrounge up firmly to the base of his skull. He hasn’t exactly been chatty, but at least he’s alive. And somewhat conscious. Tony’s counting his blessings there.

They make slow and stumbling progress back towards the house. Or what remains of it, anyway. The hot glow of it throbs and billows against the night sky like a beacon, spewing ash and cinders across the eerily deserted street. The distant wail of sirens promises the incipient arrival of fire trucks, but in the meantime the US military are apparently content to allow the inferno to blaze unchecked. They have other, more pressing concerns it seems.

The intense heat requires them to make for shelter some way distant, the stoop of a neighbour’s porch offering just enough of a shield to make it bearable. It’s with relief that Tony finds Vision already waiting for them, a charge of his own in tow. 

“Oh God, what happened?” Rhodey manages, squinting fiercely into the intense light. 

“We’re okay,” Tony tells him. “We’re all okay. It’s nothing we can’t rebuild.”

He looks towards where Loki is curled tightly against the lea of the building, eyes screwed shut and trembling visibly. Vision catches Tony’s eye, concern written across his artificial features.

“He is unwell,” Vis frets, somewhat unnecessarily.

Tony lowers Rhodey to sit on the porch steps. He crouches next to Loki, retracting the gauntlet of his right arm to place a palm to his skin. He frowns.

“Shaking like a tweeker gone cold turkey. Sweating buckets, too.” 

Vision blinks at this and looks to Rhodey.

Rhodey sighs. “He means Loki’s not doing so great.”

“‘M fine,” comes Loki’s faint but undeniably aggrieved voice. Then, even quieter: “Not deaf.”

“Sure you are, champ. Never looked better.” Tony passes the flat of his hand across his throat in a slashing motion as he says this, all the while maintaining pointed eye contact with Rhodey and Vision. To state the obvious, they need to get out of here, like yesterday.

“We can’t stay here,” he says. “I know we’re all tired but in about five minutes this place is going to be crawling with uniforms, and you can bet your bottom dollar Uncle Sam isn’t going to be left holding the bag. And I don’t know about you but I’m pretty much done with being made to feel like the bad guy in all this. So what do you say? Time to split?”

“Right behind you,” Rhodey says wearily, all the while looking as though moving is the last thing he wants to do. “But what about…” He jerks his chin in Loki’s direction.

“Nothing he can’t walk off, right Lokes?" He goes to grab the guy's elbow. "C’mon, big guy. Up and at ‘em.”

At first Loki simply grumbles and swats at him, brushing off every attempt to rouse him with the sort of wearied resistance Tony can remember his father putting up after a long night of drinking. Then in a tone Tony doesn’t think he’s ever heard Loki use before — one that’s reserved exclusively for the chastisement and banishment of irritating siblings — Loki calls him Thor. 

That pulls Tony up short. He stops what he’s doing, casting an uneasy look at Vis and Rhodey. Rhodey winces in sympathy.

“Allow me,” Vision offers, stepping into the breach. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he hoists Loki into a fireman’s carry, his expression one of determination in the face of adversity. 

“Now what?” Rhodey asks.


The SUV they’ve borrowed (read: broken into and hot-wired — Vis insisted they leave a note) barely has enough room for them all. There’s a CD collection in the glove box like it’s 1998 and a strong smell of dog embedded in the upholstery. The rear wiper also doesn’t work. But beggars can’t be choosers. It at least has a full tank of gas. Tony promises himself he will buy the owners a brand new Lexus as soon as he gets a chance.  

Some debris in the road rattles the already questionable suspension. Vision immediately winces. “I really am sorry,” he says for about the seventeenth time.

“You’re doing great,” Tony assures him. “Soon as we hit the highway it’ll be easier going.”

“Or we’ll get mashed by a truck,” Rhodey mutters. He shifts in his place in the front passenger seat, the sleeve of a sweater still pressed across his eyes. 

“I’ll take the wheel again if I have to. But V’s got this. He’s a natural.”

Vision frowns doubtfully but doesn’t take his eyes from the road, his hands at precisely ten and two.

“For someone who learned not two hours ago, I can confirm his piloting skills are vastly superior to yours,” Loki says. He stirs from a semi-reclined position next to Tony in the back, his face appearing from beneath a nest of blankets of dubious origin that Vision found in the trunk. He takes a tentative sniff of the layer closest to his face and recoils with a moue of displeasure, all the while squinting at the faint light of morning filtering through the dirty windows. 

“Well good morning, sunshine. And here I thought you were asleep through it all.”

“I was certainly trying, no thanks to you. What time is it?” 

“Breakfast time. We’ll take a break at the next stop. If you’re feeling up to it though I have a quick question first.” Tony waits until Loki has settled himself into a position that can’t be any more comfortable than the one he was already wedged in, then leans forward into Loki’s space. “What the hell.”

“Shh,” Rhodey groans from the front. “Keep it down. I’ve already got a marching band doing riverdance up in here.”

“I’ll second that,” Loki says, even though Tony’s positive he has no idea what either of those two things are. He begins to burrow back beneath his pile of blankets. Tony pokes him hard in his side.

“Oh-ho, I don’t think so. Don’t think that gets you out of it. You’ve got some ‘splainin to do. What did you do to Ross?”

There’s a brief silence that Tony is reasonably confident means Loki is only now considering the consequences of his actions. “Nothing he didn’t deserve. Something that was meant for the Allfather — it will be more than enough to hold the likes of him.”

“You put the whammy on him.”

“Whatever that means.”

"I knew it. You messed with his head, didn't you?" Tony wishes the thought didn't make him flush cold.

"Fear not, he is unharmed. It is no more than my usual fare. What is illusion after all but a trick of the mind? A lie told to our senses? He will simply find he cannot recall what possessed him to come out last night, or who he might have been looking for. I daresay he'll find it rather inconvenient to explain away at times but that's a small price to pay in return for his life. And for ours." 

Tony's not sure he likes it, but he has to admit it's a neat solution. “So that’s it? It worked? It’s not going to come back to bite us in the ass down the line?”

“We don’t have to worry about him any more. I was… much more careful this time.”

It dawns on Tony exactly what Loki means by this. “You said something before. About that being how it was supposed to work. You used the same mojo.” He thinks about it for a sec, then thwacks Loki with the back of his hand. “Are you crazy?”

“Ouch.”

“Are you trying to undo every bit of progress we’ve made? You think I want to go through that bullshit all over again? Once wasn’t enough of a lesson for you? Jesus.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Loki grouses. He then says something Tony doesn’t quite catch, something about it all being a moot point now anyway. Tony dismisses it.

“And what was all that bullshit about taking over the world?”

“They wanted a villain. I gave them one.”

“But my house, Loki. My house.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake. Are you still harping on about that? Honestly.”

“Yes ‘still’. We’re talking yesterday. And it’s not like you accidently threw out my lunch. You torched a perfectly decent, state-of-the-art, multi-million-dollar facility. On purpose. You can expect weeks of mileage out of this, buster.”

“You have other houses. You’ve said so on more than one occasion.”

“Okay, so one: not the point. And two: what the hell.”

“I imagine a safehouse loses its value somewhat when it’s known to the wider authorities,” Vision offers. 

“Not helping,” Tony tells him. “And can I just say, I’m getting real tired of my places being blown to kingdom come.”

Loki thinks about this. “This is only the second one by my hand, I think. Hardly a pattern.”

“Well let’s not make a habit of it, please. And don’t kid yourself that this wipes the record clean on Mario Kart.” Tony taps his temple. “Got all my high scores stored safely up here. And besides, FRIDAY keeps copies of everything.”

Loki sniffs and turns over. “As I recall it is Colonel Rhodes who holds pole position on the leader board.”

“Damn straight,” Rhodey rouses enough to supply.

“We are approaching something called a ‘Wendy’s’,” Vision then announces, conveniently cutting off Tony's next round of righteous, reasonable and fully-justified complaints. “Would you like me to pull over?”


“You can’t go in looking like that. Just wait here and me and Vis’ll bring something out to you. What do you want, a baconator? Shake? Chili cheese fries?”

Loki looks at him like he’s speaking Chinese, then moves to push himself off where he’s leaning back against the car. “What I want is to leave this vehicle. If I have to spend one more minute squashed up next to you on that back seat I will not be held responsible for the consequences.”

Tony takes another scan of the parking lot, just to be sure. Vision has found them a spot far enough from the entrance and the nearest cars belonging to other customers that he doesn’t think they’ll attract attention, but he doesn’t want to take any chances.

“Have you seen yourself?” Tony says. “The dragged-through-a-hedge-backwards look we can probably get away with, but I think that—” he points at the two bloodstains still sticking Loki’s shirt to his back, “—might raise a couple of eyebrows.”

Loki cranes his head over his shoulder to see for himself and hisses as the movement pulls at the wounds. 

“Yeah,” Tony says. “We got them out, but it wasn’t pretty.”

“I really am sorry,” Vision says again.

“It’s okay, buddy, he doesn’t remember.” But Tony sure as hell does. He hadn’t had the strength to do it himself. His job had been to hold Loki down. He shudders, then dismisses the thought as quickly as it came. “If we had a jacket that would fit you it could work, but somehow I don’t think a blanket round the shoulders is really going to cut it. Not if we want to actually get served.” 

Loki sighs in defeat, slumping back against the car, and it occurs to Tony that he hasn’t thought to ask the obvious. 

“What about your magic? Can’t you use it for this? To heal yourself or something?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Loki says.

“Well, how does it work, then? You were all big with the fancy dress two minutes ago. Can’t you just—” he waves a hand vaguely over Loki’s form, “—you know.”

Loki turns a shade paler at the mere suggestion. He presses a fist to his mouth and swallows carefully. “Not… not right now, no.”

Oh boy. Tony wouldn't like to guess how many times he's seen that same hollow-eyed look staring right back at him in the mirror. “Swearing off the hard stuff for a while, huh. Gotcha. Well then I guess I’ll be your waiter. One breakfast combo coming up.”

He's fishing in his pocket for his wallet when something weird starts to happen. 

“Er, Lokes?”

Tony nods meaningfully at Loki’s feet. A ring of orange sparks has begun to chase itself in a tight arc around where Loki stands.

“This isn’t me,” Loki says, frowning.

Without thinking about it, Tony reaches out and grasps Loki’s arm. He’s about to suggest taking a step away when there’s a yelp and a sudden absence of Asgardian. It all happens so quickly that he doesn’t have chance to release his grip on Loki’s sleeve. With a shout of his own, Tony is pulled headlong through the circle of nothing after Loki.


Tony has been in freefall before. He’s not sure he’d ever describe the sensation as something he particularly enjoys, but usually he has at least some control over his descent. Or at least more than a split second’s notice before it starts. It’s also not often he’s clinging onto another person while it happens.

The panic and his body’s instinctual flailing overrides his ability to make sense of what’s happening at first. He twists and tumbles, gasping for breath between screams, his stomach swooping as he’s buffeted and tossed end over end. There is a confusion of light and colours around him, his senses unable to tell up from down, no features to give him something to fix on to gain his bearings. The time it’s taken so far strongly suggests he should have hit the ground by now, even if he can’t see it. 

And yet he continues to fall.    

His suit won’t respond to his commands. Though the wind snatches the words from his mouth, he tries voice activation more than once. The manual override doesn’t work either. There’s absolutely nothing he can do to help himself.

He turns his focus to the forearm anchored to his, and although it’s dizzying trying to get a fix on Loki’s face as they spin uncontrollably, he finally manages it. Tony calls Loki’s name, again and again. Loki’s eyes remain squeezed shut, his body rigid, his mouth moving in a silent litany of denial, his fingers claw-like where they grip Tony’s wrist with bruising force. 

Tony tries to use that grip to pull himself in, latching on with his other hand in an effort to stabilise their descent. He’s making something like progress when an imperceptible current hits them, snapping them clean apart.  

Tony cries out and reaches frantically, trying and failing to snatch hold of a sleeve, a pinky finger, anything that will stop him spiralling further and further away. The terror he experiences at the thought of facing this alone is reflected back to him on Loki’s face until he’s too far away to see.

“Loki!”

A hole opens up beneath Tony, a perfect circle of light and form that grows larger as he continues his descent. Instead of the jumble of twisting nonsense he’s been falling through, the image revealed on the other side resolves into almost jarring normality. As he clears the horizon he has only a split second or two further to fall before a very real, very solid hardwood floor rises up to meet him.

The impact hurts. Granted, he doesn’t seem to collide with the ground at anything like terminal velocity, but neither is the landing soft. It knocks all the breath from his body, and apart from being almost giddy with relief he’s also nauseated, sore and pissed

He scrambles upright, staggering as his brain tries to reconcile the sudden arrest of downward motion. Normal gravity now feels too heavy. He bends double and dry heaves.

“I know,” a voice says from off to his right. “It’s disconcerting, isn’t it?”

Tony whirls, his palm raised in defence before he has time to think about it. He manages to keep it fairly level as he sways. Lowering it again takes deliberate effort, even knowing the nanotech still refuses to respond.

A man he’s never seen before stands before him like some sort of extra from a movie. And not one of the good ones. He’s in the sort of getup Tony’s seen D&D cosplayers wear to the cons they put on over in geeksville. The kind that attract pale spotty freshmen too afraid to talk to girls. Or maybe middle-aged keyboard warriors who still live in their moms’ basements. Tony has no clue. He’s never been to one. 

Anyway. This dude is the living epitome of trying too hard. There’s a cape, complete with high collar, a quiff of hair flung at a roguish angle across a high forehead, and what Tony can only describe as an honest-to-God tunic. All topped off with an officious air and a smug little goateed smile.

If Tony used words like ‘supercilious’, that’s exactly how he’d describe this renaissance-fair-wannabe prick.

“You giving out tickets to something?”  

That smug smile quirks even further, although Tony recognises the hint of irritation behind the guy’s eyes. If there’s anything Tony knows how to do, it’s how to get a rise out of type-A personalities. He shares all their most endearing traits, of course.

“I can’t say as I ever thought I’d have reason to meet the infamous Tony Stark in person.”

“Huh. Guess that makes two of us.” Tony points his finger at the guy quizzically. “Who are you again?”

“My name is Doctor Stephen Strange. You may have come across some of my work with the International Centre for Neurological Sciences. My last paper was a couple of years ago now, but I made the cover of Time once.”

Tony sniffs. “Doesn’t ring a bell.” Not entirely true — now that Tony looks at him he’s pretty sure he recognises the guy from back in the day, maybe from that symposium on synthetic nerve repair he’d skipped out on early that time — but he’s not about to let on. Guy’s clearly got an ego big enough to fill the room as it is.

And it sure is a big room. Tony turns in a gradual (and careful) circle, eyes sweeping to take in the high ceiling, wall-to-wall wood panelling and staircase that would give Downton a run for its money. A strangely patterned circular window set over the landing above filters dim light through the balustrade. It's nowhere near strong enough to illuminate all the features of the room. He finds himself squinting as he peers apprehensively into the shadowed recesses and feels a fresh wave of annoyance when he realises that’s exactly the point. He catches himself too late and sees Strange notice. The smug look returns. Prick.

“So where the hell is this?” Tony demands. “Hogwarts? Isengard?”

“New York,” Strange says. “The Sanctum Sanctorum.” At Tony’s blank look he gives his head a quick shake. “You know what, never mind. When we’re finished it’s about a block and a half that way to the subway.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “The deli on the corner isn’t bad either. I’d recommend the egg salad.”

Is this guy for real? “Yeah, I don’t think so. You broke it, you bought it. When we’re done you can take me back the way you brought me, maybe with a bit less of the drama if you don’t mind. You’re lucky there isn’t a pavement pizza ruining your impeccably polished floor right about now. And I had sweetcorn at lunch. I’m assuming it was you, right?” 

The guy raises a hand and sketches two fingers in the air in front of him. In the blink of an eye Tony’s surroundings change, which Tony guesses is his answer. His position snaps to what was previously the far corner of the room, with Strange now seated before him, a table to one side. There’s a matching high-backed chair behind Tony’s knees, ready to catch him as he falls back.

“Tea?” Strange offers. A tea set materialises on the table at Tony’s elbow. 

“I don’t drink tea. And I mentioned the imminent pavement pizza, right?”

Strange brushes this off with a wave of his hand that also happens to transform the tea into Tony’s favourite brand of take-out coffee. He reaches out and pokes it with a finger, expecting to disrupt the illusion. Instead he almost topples a very real, very solid disposable cup and splashes the side of his hand with very real, very hot coffee when he scrambles to prevent disaster. 

Transmutation, he thinks to himself, his knuckle in his mouth. Huh.

“So you gonna make me play twenty questions with you or are you going to get to the point already? Or maybe you have a few more tricks you want to get out of your system first? I gotta tell you though, it’s gonna take more than that to scare me. You’ve seen one magic switcheroo you’ve seen ‘em all.”

Strange leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled before his mouth. “Yes, about that. Some interesting company you’ve been keeping.”

Tony waits for more. This feels like he’s receiving a lecture from his father about his behaviour in college, the kind where he’s expected to do all the talking while dear old Dad looks on disapprovingly. The got-anything-you-want-to-tell-me, don’t-make-me-drag-it-out-of-you, this-embarrasses-us-both, I’m-waiting kind of lecture he always hated. Well, he’s not in college anymore. And he’s had enough of this.

“You’re really gonna make me ask, aren’t ya?” He can feel himself losing control of his temper, his face heating. “Well all right, hotshot. Here it is.” He ticks off his fingers as he goes. “Why am I here, what do you want with me, and what have you done with Loki? And if I don’t get a straight answer to all three of those questions in the next five seconds I am seriously going to lose it.”

This joker seems to know who Tony is. If that’s the case he should know that’s not an idle threat.

Strange seems in no particular hurry to explain himself or to reassure Tony in any way, but he does at least start talking.

“I’m charged with the defence of Earth from extra-dimensional and mystical threats. I keep a watch list of individuals and beings from other realms that may qualify as such. Loki would be one of those beings.”

“Yeah? Guess he’s a pretty powerful guy. Still not hearing an answer.”

Rolling his eyes, Strange raises three fingers of his own, folding each as he speaks. “You were in physical contact with Loki when the window opened, I have some questions for you, and he’s where he was when you last saw him. That is to say, contained.”

“Contained? You mean—”

“Safe, and where he can't do any more damage. But maybe not having the best morning.”

Tony surges to his feet, fists trembling at his sides. “You let him go, you sadistic mother f—” Strange raises a hand in warning and it's enough to stop Tony cold. He closes his eyes and breathes, reining himself in as best he can. “You’d better pray he’s okay,” he grits out.

Infuriatingly, Strange seems genuinely amused by this. His high-handed tone softens somewhat. “I assure you no harm will come to him. Or to anyone else for that matter. I promise I’m not in the business of cruelty for cruelty’s sake and it’s nothing I’ve not been through myself.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing to him,” Tony says. “I’ve never seen him like that before.” And God knows he’s seen more of Loki’s demons than he’d ever want to imagine existed.  

There must be something in his expression, because Strange simply watches him, thoughtful. With a tilt of his head he persuades Tony to retake his seat. Only then does he lean forward, forearms resting on his knees. His cape seems to shift around him as he does so, as though animated by a power all its own.

“I will release him,” Strange says, “if you can answer my questions to my satisfaction. The quicker you do the sooner he’s out. Deal?”

As much as Tony wants to play the surly, defiant teenager (a part Strange cast him in himself), as much as he wants to rail against Strange, refuse to play his game, tell him to go fuck himself and the clown he rode in on, he can't bear the thought of prolonging whatever torment Loki is still being put through. He doesn’t even have the energy to grit his teeth or pout. Even crossing his arms seems a feat beyond his strength.

So he simply slumps back, sighs wearily and tells Strange to shoot. The guy at least has the decency not to look too pleased with himself.

“Why is Loki here on Earth?”

And just like that, Tony’s weariness triples. “I don’t know,” he says, a hand draped across his eyes. “I haven’t had a chance to ask him yet.”

“How long has he been here?”

“Probably since not long after we thought he left. Couldn’t really tell you. He hasn’t been with me the whole time.”

“But you’ve known about him for…?”

“A few months. Since the beginning of the year.”

“And you never thought to ask him what he’s doing here?”

The headache forming behind Tony’s eyes intensifies. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then make it simple. Tick tock, Tony.”

Tony growls. “That’s Stark to you. And it’s not that simple because he hasn’t been able to remember. When we found him he didn’t even know his own name. He’s… been through a lot. We’ve been trying to help him get better.”

“And I take it you’ve succeeded.”

Tony shrugs. “I guess. Or getting there at least. In the end he worked most of it out for himself.” 

Strange taps his thumbs absently against his mouth as he thinks. “Hmm. I suppose that could explain it.”

“Explain what?”

“The timing.”

“Timing? Timing of what?”

“I was wondering why my wards hadn’t triggered. Wong’s going to be out a hundred bucks — he bet me I’d read the incantation wrong. Like predynastic sanskrit is even that difficult. Should try cramming Svensson’s Advanced Principles of Biochemistry on three hour’s sleep, a hangover and a liquid diet of weapon’s-grade caffeine.” Strange huffs a laugh. "Who'd have thought it was the energy signature and not the individual it all hinged on? Might need to rethink that in future. Got a few other big hitters to keep tabs on. But hey, always good to test these things out. Better to know now than when it's too late. I owe him a thank you."

Tony shakes his head, bewildered. “Jesus Christ, is this what having a stroke feels like? Seriously, am I having a stroke? What are you talking about?”

“You say Loki has been here months. That you know of. I first got warning of him yesterday. Clearly there’s been some significant and very recent change. To his threat status, that is. He wasn’t even registering before. Fascinating.”

This thing is rapidly taking a worrying turn. Tony tries to swallow down his rising anxiety and redirect the conversation. “Listen, I don’t know how it works, and I gotta say I’m not sure I want to know anymore, but either your voodoo is way out or your intel is super old. ‘Cause Loki isn’t dangerous. Not now. And I should know. I’m an Avenger. It’s like a whole deal. If anything he’s actually done more to help make the world a safer place in the last twenty four hours than I’ve managed in the last year.” 

“But he has the potential to be a threat. A very major threat. And he certainly has been in the past.”

I have the ‘potential’ to do all kinds of terrible things — have done plenty that hurt a lot of people — but you don’t have my name on some twinkly woo-woo watch list.”

Maybe it’s the flippant way Tony refers to the guy’s sacred calling or whatever, but Strange’s expression darkens at this.

“He levelled half the city.”

“Okay, yes, but… it’s more complicated than that. There were extenuating circumstances.”

“Oh really.”

Tony can feel the argument slipping through his fingers like one of Loki’s illusions. He’s not going to win this. “It’s hard to explain.” 

He’s not entirely sure he can explain all of it to himself in a way that makes sense. There are still so many things he doesn’t understand. But he feels it. He knows it. There was more at work back then, more they didn’t have the context to see for what it was, more that they didn’t have cause to properly question. He just needs that chance to ask those questions now, to listen, to care. He doesn’t expect Strange to feel the same. But surely Tony’s earned some trust of his own by now?

“And anyway,” he continues, his anger getting the better of him, “if he’s such a threat, where were you before? Where were you when we needed help, when a goddamn army of aliens was trashing Manhattan? I didn’t see you mixing it up with the rest of us, so you don’t get to pass judgement now like some johnny-come-lately. We took care of it before and you’d better believe we’ve got it covered now. I will vouch for him personally. Loki’s one of us now.”

Strange is still looking at him, as though he expects Tony to falter. When Tony simply meets that stare with a resolute one of his own, Strange raises an incredulous eyebrow.

“You really are going with this, aren’t you? Huh. Well, whatever they are, I’m sure you have your reasons. And I have mine. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Alarmed, Tony rises from his chair, a protest at the ready. It dies on his lips as Strange stands, spreads his arms and actually levitates, his cloak billowing around him like the wings of an enormous airborne manta ray. With a whisper of magical cloth he sweeps to the centre of the room where he touches down, arms wheeling in some grand mystical gesture. Tony swears to himself in that moment that he will never call Loki a diva ever again.

A familiar ring of fiery sparks begins to outline a circle suspended some ten feet off the ground. There is a brief moment of silence, followed by the approaching sound of someone falling, then Loki plummets into the room, hitting the floor with a solid, wince-inducing thud.  

Tony thought he knew anger. Loki is a whole other level of furious altogether.

“I have been falling… for thirty minutes!”

Loki pushes himself to his feet, radiating murder. Tony can’t say he blames him, honestly.

Strange doesn’t appear to be even the tiniest bit intimidated. “Loki of Asgard,” he says, as though the title is somehow funny.

Loki narrows his eyes. “And who are you?”

He’s holding it together, but Tony can tell Loki is still feeling the effects of the night’s activities. He’s seen enough of Loki’s fronts to read the lines of exhaustion around his mouth and the shadows under his eyes, to see the effort required to affect effortless menace, the way fear has manifested as confident aggression, the delicate tremble to his hands, his laboured, shaky breaths. 

Loki must know he is outmatched, yet as much as Tony believes in him absolutely, he’s not sure he can be trusted not to do something stupid with his back to a proverbial wall.

As though they’ve heard him and come to life, Tony’s fears prove well founded.

Loki draws a dagger from God knows where — scratch that, two daggers, one in each hand — and squares up to Strange as though he has the strength to do more than stand there without falling over. The ugly expression on his face would have been enough to have Tony thinking twice about his prospects, back before several months of close quarters. Of secrets shared, trust granted, small comforts given and taken, all those tentative extensions of friendship Tony has come to value and take pride in. To an outsider it’s simply an expression of malice. To Strange it’s proof of a falsely held belief.

“Loki, don’t!” Tony calls, for want of anything better.

When Loki sees him his face loses its tight hostility, and although he doesn’t drop his ready stance Tony notices an easing in his arms and a slight straightening of his back. If Tony has learned anything from their sparring sessions, it’s that a strike is no longer quite so imminent.

“What…? Stark, who is this?” He casts a derisive look at Strange, eyeing him up and down. “You think you’re some kind of sorcerer? Don’t think for one minute that you impress me with your second-rate parlour tricks.” He points a dagger in Tony’s direction. “If you have harmed him I will skin you alive. Slowly.”

Strange turns a raised eyebrow on Tony and waits. Tony shrugs.

“He grows on you?”

Again Strange rolls his eyes. Incredibly, he then fully turns his back to where Loki still bristles in readiness, his next words cast over his shoulder as though completely unconcerned by their intended recipient.

“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps this matter is beyond my authority here on Earth. I’m sure your father would prefer to rule on this himself, and it’s probably about time Asgard cleaned up its own messes. I’ll send you both, I think. You first, Stark. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Let’s hope Odin is in a forgiving mood.”

Several things then happen at once, although Tony barely has time to register any of them. Strange takes a step towards him, his hand already raised to cast a spell that will presumably transport him across all of known space and even farther again. He is too stunned to brace for whatever is to come, or even to try to move away. The last thing he sees is the look of purest panic on Loki’s face, his illusory daggers already dissipated from loosened fingers. Then Loki is simply gone. 

There’s a bright light right before Tony’s eyes, and for a moment he thinks this must be the door opening to another realm, one he will tumble out from, alone and unprepared on an alien world. But then his brain catches up with his senses. Where Strange’s magic glows orange and hot, this shimmers golden-green, a combination of heat haze and rays of diffuse light at its edges. He’s seen it countless times before, and where once it might have filled him with fear, it’s now the colour of wonder, of mischief and laughter. It’s the colour of safety. It’s the colour of a friend. 

The light flashes across what becomes a solid form, Loki’s form, before folding back to its source. He is so close that Tony cannot see around him to where he is facing down Strange’s approach, and startled Tony steps back a pace. Even with that small distance added he can still feel the crackle of Loki’s magic, can almost taste it as it darts around them both. He’s never been this close before. He’s never seen or felt this level of power from Loki and it fascinates and frightens him at the same time. He realises that until now, he’s never had a real sense of exactly what Loki is: a sorcerer of myth and legend, a thousand-year-old immortal, a god. He suddenly feels very small.

Loki raises crossed fists before his own downturned face. Tony feels that same absence of pressure and sound at his eardrums that promises the release of incredible force. There’s a held breath like a gathering of strength, then a single fluid movement it takes a heartbeat to complete. Loki throws his head back as he brings down his arms, the speed and the effort flinging his hair behind him and cording every tendon in his wrists and neck. 

The pulse of power, so uncoordinated and unpredictable every other time Tony has witnessed it used, barely stirs the hairs on his arms this time. The full force of it is directed forward at Strange with absolute precision. The human sorcerer has just enough time to prepare the beginnings of some kind of energy shield before the invisible blast hits it, scattering it into a cloud of firefly lights. Whether it managed to absorb some of the impact Tony is not sure: the part that makes it through picks Strange clean off his feet and propels him with inhuman speed across the vast space of the room. 

He is about to collide with the wall, in an impact Tony is certain no human could survive, when a portal opens and swallows him. A second fizzles into life on the other side of the room a few moments later, depositing Strange at a much slower speed to come to a rolling stop at the foot of the staircase. He groans, his cloak — which is apparently capable of independent movement — doing its best to help him turn to sit.

Loki steps towards the man, still taut and trembling with intent, his shoulders heaving. The sharp tang of his magic fills the air around him. It’s only as Tony tries to move to follow him that he realises there is something holding him back: an invisible imperative to remain out of harm’s way, an intangible shield Loki has shoved him behind by will alone.

Tony shoots out a hand and captures Loki’s forearm before he can take another step. Loki stills but doesn’t turn, his attention still firmly fixed on the man trying to pick himself up from the floor.

“Loki,” Tony says, keeping his tone low. “Wait. It’s okay. You can stop now.”

And like magic all his own, those words are enough. Loki diminishes before his eyes, the frantic strength coiled in the muscle beneath Tony’s hand subsiding, the shimmering of the air that Tony can’t even really see disappearing into stillness, the anger and the fear draining into bone-deep exhaustion. Finally able to push past Loki’s hold on him, Tony steps beside him and studies his face.

“All right?” he asks.

Loki nods tiredly.

“That was awesome, by the way.”

Loki manages a small smile.

The sound of isolated yet spirited applause brings their attention back to the matter at hand. Strange has regained his feet, and although there is a split in his lip and marks that tell of bruising yet to come high on one cheekbone, he seems relatively unharmed. He puts a hand at the small of his back and arches his spine with a grimace, then brushes himself down.

“Well. Wasn’t that fun.”

“There’s more where that came from if you try a stunt like that again,” Tony promises darkly (if a little optimistically, given Loki’s condition).

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. You’ve made your point.”   

Tony’s not sure he follows. “How’s that now?”

Strange produces an unreadable smile. “You can handle him from here.”

“Handle me?” Loki demands, affronted. He strains ineffectually against the grip Tony tightens on his arm.

“You’re letting us go?” Tony says.

“If you can guarantee you’ll keep him out of trouble, sure, why not. All I need is a blood oath. Shouldn’t take too long to set up. Break it and your lives would be forfeit, of course. Quite horribly, as I understand it.” He smiles that same cryptic smile.  

“I would sooner die,” Loki growls.

Tony barely refrains from elbowing Loki in the side. Instead he gives his arm a sharp squeeze and focuses his attention on Strange. “You know about me. You know what I do. You’re a scientist too, right? A medical doctor?”

“I thought you hadn’t heard of me,” Strange comments wryly.

“If you are then you know no one can prove a negative. I can’t say for certain Loki won’t fuck up—”

“Hey,” Loki interjects sulkily.

“—but if he does — hell, if I do — you’ll be well within your rights to float down from on high and hand us our asses.”

“Or try to, at least,” Loki adds brightly.

“Will you please shush!” Tony hisses.   

Loki makes a zip-it motion over his mouth, eyes wide. Then he grins.

Tony continues. “In law we punish the crime after the fact, not before. And I can tell you from recent experience that the threat of immediate and painful reprisal is not the way to go here. Loki’s done his time — is still doing his time — and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll take that responsibility. God help me, I’ll pick up that bill. But he deserves a chance to reform, just like anyone else. Without the sword of Damocles hanging over both our heads.”

Tony feels Loki pull free of his grip and cross his arms, an expression of martyred boredom on his face. Tony ignores him. “So do we have a deal?” he asks Strange.

Strange makes a show of clapping invisible dust from his hands. “Okey dokey then. Glad that’s all sorted. To be honest you had me at ‘I’m an Avenger’.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah. Made up my mind about fifteen minutes ago. Just had to make sure. I mean, blood oath? Come on. Like that’s a thing.”

Tony can’t help it. He can’t close his mouth for dumbfounded incredulity. “You… you prick.”

“And just to clear one thing up, I wasn’t there before because I wasn’t here before. You’re not the only people who have changed. But you’re not wrong — you should have expected help from those who came before me. You have my word that when you need it again, you’ll have it.”

With that, Strange opens a final doorway of sparks, this time at floor level. On the other side is the training area of the Avengers compound, dark and empty and still with dust sheets covering most of the equipment, but still there. Still safe. And now, thanks to Loki, off Secretary Ross’s radar. Just one step and they’ll be through.

“What about Rhodey and Vision?”

“They’ll know where to find you. I left a calling card.”

Of course you did, you raging egotist. “Well, thanks. It’s been a real blast.”

“Quite,” Loki agrees. “Thank you so much for having us.”

“Any time,” Strange says, watching them step, only slightly cautiously, through the ring of sparks. “Oh, and Loki? Odin won’t be able to find you. I’ll make sure of it.”

“You think that because you could not that he can’t either? Now that is arrogance. I have hidden myself from the gaze of his Watcher for centuries but even I could not fathom a way to avoid the determined eye of the Allfather, should he deign to look.”

Strange waves that away. “Hey, give yourself some credit. It’s you who’s given me the idea. The runes of Kof-Kol? A spell of forgetting? Can be cast remotely. In theory could reach pretty much anywhere on this plane of existence. Gotta be worth a shot.”

“You meddle with forces beyond your comprehension. Dangerous forces.” Loki thinks for a moment, then smiles sweetly. “But who am I to stand in the way of learning and discovery? Go for it. What’s the worst that could happen?” 

Loki turns, ready to put his back to Strange once and for all, then hesitates. Sobering, he speaks over his shoulder. “Let me know if you succeed. Such a thing… could be of use to me. To us all.”

“Absolutely,” Strange says. “You’ll be the first person I call.” He winks, waves a hand across the portal, then disappears from sight as it spins shut.


When they’re finally, blessedly alone, Loki sags like his strings have been cut. Tony makes the mistake of trying to catch him by tucking himself close to his side, then staggers as rather more weight than he was expecting bears down on his shoulder.

“Christ you’re heavy,” he complains, managing nonetheless to hold his ground. 

Even near collapse, Loki’s offended sensibilities apparently offer enough fuel to keep him talking. “I knew he was bluffing. No mortal could command power to rival the Bifrost. Artless pretender.”

“Sure,” Tony grunts, guiding Loki towards the benches lining the back of the training room. “Didn’t have you going for even a second.”

“I can tell you however that blood oaths are very much ‘a thing’.”

“The fact that you know that is all kinds of disturbing. So thank you for that.”

“You’re so very welcome.”

As they approach the nearest likely seating, Loki seems to realise where they’re heading. “Where are we… What are you doing? Unhand me. I’m not an invalid. That was a pretty speech you gave but you’re not my keeper and I don’t need you fussing over me like some kind of woman—

“Oh my God would you just sit down before you fall down.” All it takes is a little push. Loki sinks heavily onto the bench and leans back against the wall. He closes his eyes and sighs.

Tony watches him for a moment. “So, the All-Daddy, huh? Not a big fan?”

“It is a long story.”

“I got time. When you’re ready. Tell you all about mine too if you like. But first, sleep. Lots of. I’ll go see if I can call the others, let them know we’re okay.”

Loki cracks an eye. “I’m not sleeping here.”

“Whatever you say, champ. I’ll fetch you a pillow.”

Loki tsks at him but doesn’t argue further. Tony turns to leave, a secret smile on his face, when Loki catches his wrist.

“Tony,” Loki says, and if the use of his first name isn’t enough to stop him in his tracks, the intensity in Loki’s expression sure is. “I… I remember it all. I have so much I need to tell you.” He lowers his eyes. “And I am sorry. Truly.”

When the silence stretches Loki flicks his eyes up again to check Tony’s reaction. There’s a whole dictionary’s worth of emotion in that one look. There’s hope and relief, regret and apology, some of it hesitant, all of it sincere. Tony’s never been more certain of anything in his life. 

Loki moves to take his hand away, already certain of rejection, and Tony grasps it, forcing Loki to meet his eye. Loki does so, the hint of fear still there, even after all this time. Tony doesn’t comment on it. Instead he lets the corner of his mouth quirk and shakes Loki’s hand in a parody of greeting.

“Well then I guess it’s nice to finally meet you. Welcome to the team.”

The shaky breath Loki releases precedes a genuine smile that’s hard to look at for too long. There’s no way Tony can leave it at that.

“So I take it you’re not still planning to murder me?”

Grateful for the out, Loki responds in kind. “I’ll keep you appraised.” 

END

Notes:

I have a short epilogue already half-written for this story (complete with special guest), but for now, that's a wrap!

Thank you so much for reading, for your kudos and comments that mean so much to me, and for sticking with this (at times uncooperative) monster. Whether you've stayed with it for the four long years it's taken me to finish or are finding it for the first time, I really do appreciate you sharing this journey with me. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.