Chapter Text
“Butter or sweet popcorn?”
Hands that had just burned a city had nothing on the glare Loki of Asgard sent towards the mortal holding a gaudy plastic orange bowl.
The mouth guard he had ripped from his face was still lying on the human’s wretched turquoise carpeting and Loki had pinned himself to the dust-bunny inhabited sofa as if it were the prison cell awaiting him back home.
“Not a popcorn guy, got it,” Don smiled nervously.
He scuttled away to the kitchen, all soft greys and wrinkled shirt and inoffensive aftershave.
The pathetic mortal was barely even afraid. He should be.
Loki was sweating down his back, soaked beneath the Asgardian leather and bruised all over. He could feel the cuts knitting together on his face, puckered and crimson where the Hulk had smashed his face into the floor of the Avengers infernal tower.
His crossed arms felt wooden and staples to his heaving chest.
What was he even doing here?
The fact the tesseract was missing was one unholy nuisance but the fact he was now in hiding, sheltering with a man who was pushing fifty, was down-right pathetic for a God.
“Y’know,” Don said from the other room, “I do have spare clothes if you…if you need them.”
For goodness sake.
This kindness was odious and foreign. It didn’t make sense.
Surely the clueless man had seen the destruction Loki had wrought upon New York.
Judging by the large grey box with a static screen and a flap labelled “video” though,maybe not. It wasn’t exactly the cutting age tech Loki had seen that pompous Stark use.
“Right, I’ve got water and grapes and…well, that’s it. I wasn’t expecting company, honestly.”
He was sheepish, scratching at his short neck and looking Loki up and down like he didn’t quite know what to make of proper, exquisite Asgardian armour.
“Cat got your tongue?” Don said.
Loki sneered at him, all teeth and no remorse. How long would he have to hole up with this human?
“Look,” Don’s face fell as he rounded a second-hand armchair and perched on the opposing guest sofa to Loki, “I know who you are.”
Loki’s muscles locked and he kept his face stone-set, dangerous and unapproachable.
The infernal man continued regardless.
“I’m not the most up to date guy, but it’s hard to miss a man on TV wearing gold armour, riding a monster when you’re heading down town.”
“I wasn’t riding a monster,” Loki corrected, unable to help himself.
The scowl on his face made the cuts pinch and the memory of burns crawling up his skin from Thanos’s hands…
Loki shuddered and gasped, attempting to swallow it.
“You okay…”
“Yes! I’m fine!” Loki snapped, “You humans, you’re so pedantic-“
“Loki,” Don said seriously.
Loki glared at him.
The softness with which he said his name felt like a red hot knife to his skin. What possible reason could a human being have for being so kind to him? Loki didn’t deserve it. He’d torn a city apart and the worst part was, the aching and tormented parts of him had enjoyed it.
He didn’t enjoy killing people. He enjoyed the fear and the explosions and the power. Loki couldn’t reflect on the grip Thanos had had on his mind because the reasonings and feelings attached were so entangled it could take months, years or millennia to unpack it all.
He was tired.
How many people had he killed, that were just like this silly man who was sheltering him and offering him sustenance?
“You're Thor’s brother right? Thor Odinson the avenger?” Don said.
Loki stared at him blankly, chest feeling tight.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Don pursed his lips, “And I’m making the assumption that you’re gonna be in a lot of trouble back home.”
“I don’t have a home,” Loki snapped.
Gods why the hell had he admitted that.
Don frowned again, deeper, aging his stupidly kind and patient face.
“Why…” Loki breathed through clenched teeth, “Are you not afraid of me?”
“Afraid of you?”
“Yes,” Loki growled, “You should be.”
“Hmm,” Don shrugged, “Maybe I should be, yeah. I was just expecting more maybe.”
That did it.
Loki rushed to his feet, the elastic band of his wits finally snapping. His armoured forearm slammed into the man’s chest and pinned him back to the wall, half sprawled over the sofa.
The human swallowed and Loki devoured his fear, staring Don down, eyes ablaze.
“Tell me now that you’re not afraid.” Loki sneered, “I dare you.”
Don raised his hands placatingly, a worthless olive branch in the face of Loki’s fury.
“Okay…okay,” Don said, “I’m afraid.”
Loki’s breaths came hard and fast; he had no control, no proper upper hand in this situation. This human was not afraid of him. He was lying through his teeth, mocking him.
This was not how it was supposed to be.
Loki was a threat, a malignant force that had demanded the Avenger’s intervention. Loki was a villain.
Why did a midguardian’s refusal to bow to his rage feel like a trap waiting to snap closed?
“Kneel,” Loki demanded.
“What-“
“I said kneel!” Loki snapped, pulling back from Don and looming over him like a disturbed and vengeful spirit.
He would not be carolled by a worthless human, he would not be pitied.
Don did as instructed and slid from the sofa to the floor, kneeling. His thick, hard-worked hands were still raised as if he had a gun pointed in his face.
Yet those eyes weren’t blown wide with terror. They were analytical and searching and Loki hated the way the human was looking at him, assessing him like a puzzle he was sure could be solved.
“What now?” Don asked, “Because I gotta tell you, my knees aren’t what they used to be. I might not be able to stand up again soon.”
Humour.
A desperate attempt to levy the thick and frightening atmosphere. Loki sniffed and looked down his nose at Don.
He was scared, he was just better at hiding it. Loki took it for what it was.
Inside his chest, Loki felt desperate and pathetic. He was playing for control against a single person.
His brother was sure to be on his trail, ready to drag him back to Asgard to face their father’s wrath.
He might even face a death sentence.
Frigga wouldn’t let that happen, would she? His mother…
Pieces of Loki started to crumble and fall apart as he paced the floor in front of the midguardian, silence suffocating him and the aches of burns long healed creeping back into his head.
“Loki?” Don said quietly, “Your skin…?”
Loki froze.
Carefully, he lifted his hands and saw the blue starting to bleed into the caucasian glamour he wore. His nailbeds were onyx, decorative warrior marks adorning his hands.
Loki turned sharply on his heels, stalked out of the room and slammed the door to a utility closet behind him.
…
Loki didn’t know for how long he wept, tears struggling to leave his eyes.
It was too much.
Falling from the bifrost, Thor’s screams, his father’s indifference.
Pain and torture.
Thanos’s dark smile as his children forced Loki to kneel.
Fire.
Biting his flesh and branding him, searing his Jotun skin.
His broken spirit had forced him to comply, no energy in his limbs to resist.
Madness.
Sweat on his brow, the rise of righteous indignation. The urge to kill.
Loki’s blue fingers knotted in his hair, pulling tight, grip strong enough to nearly snap the onyx locks from his head.
He didn’t hear the closest door crack open a few hours later.
Fire, burning, blood…healing, sweating, breathing…
Puny, worthless God…
No doubt Don would’ve contacted someone by now.
This was it.
Loki’s life would pitifully end, dragged by his brother from a closest in some middle-aged midguardian’s home, thrown into chains and then slain or imprisoned for the rest of his miserable days.
Don crept towards the utility cupboard. His heart thundered in his ears and blood rushed like rapids to every muscle, prepping him to sprint for his life.
He may as well have had a rabid bear in his closet.
Gingerly, he pushed down on the door handle and opened it, pulling it outwards towards him by an inch.
Loki didn’t lunge for him and gut him where he stood, so he pulled the door open a few more inches and peered inside.
Adorned in full armour, the Asgardian was wrapped around himself, shaking and making a strange noise that sounded akin to a dry weep.
His hands were still that perplexing, beautiful blue and Don carefully knelt down, knees clicking.
He’d never seen an alien up close before, much less crying in his house.
He pitied him.
What sort of monster hid like a scared child in an ironing cupboard?
Maybe he was an old fool, but the Loki he had seen terrorising New York held none of that malice and decadent cruelty now.
Don reached out, cursing himself for his lack of self preservation.
His fingers brushed Loki’s blue skin and the god froze, locking up like he’d been flash frozen.
Don pulled back, respectfully stuffing his hands back into his own space and plunking himself in the doorway.
He tucked his jeans-clad legs to one side, leaving a gap for Loki to flee through; he didn’t want to box him in like an animal and face a retort of teeth and nails.
“Why.”
“Huh?”
“Why did you touch me.”
“Oh…well, that’s typically how we humans comfort the afflicted.”
A single eye was visible, resembling an anger-fuelled gaze from an ancient painting.
Don noticed, in the warm light from his hallway, that Loki’s eyes were blood red, in stark contrast to his blue skin.
“Do all Asgardians have blue skin?” Don asked meekly, unable to help himself.
Loki didn’t answer, but there was an imperceptible shake of the head.
“Do you need some more time…in the cupboard?” Don said.
Loki ignored him again, with all the retaliation of a stone statue.
Don decided to stay sat, loosely propping himself up with one hand to the new carpet and the other on his hip.
He could do this.
There wasn’t really much choice other than admit to the authorities that he’d been harbouring an interdimensional fugitive.
So he stayed.
…
Loki moved woodenly.
Don was nowhere to be seen and Loki took the moment to navigate his way back to the living space.
A smell wafted from the kitchen and Loki sighed to himself.
On cue, the midguardian came into the room from the adjoining door and propped his hands on his hips.
“Feeling like you’re going to threaten me again or do you fancy something to eat?”
Was this man really still offering him hospitality after he’d thrown him against a wall?
“My tesseract-“
“Haven’t seen it. Sorry.” Don said truthfully, not betraying a lie in his stern body language, “So, dinner?”
…
“Best dress shirt I have,” Don chuckled, “You’re welcome, your majesty.”
Loki adjusted the deep maroon cuffs and surveyed himself in the red garb.
Not bad, if not his usual colour.
Loki sat down at the small dining table and prodded the food with a fork.
Sensibly, Don hadn’t given him a knife. Loki’s lips quirked at the corner, a soft peak of his mouth that felt foreign after so much suffering.
“What do you call this on midguard then?” Loki said, refusing to meet Don’s eyes.
“Beef brisket in red wine,” Don said proudly, “With new potatoes.”
Loki jabbed a piece and the meat fell apart against the metal of the fork, swimming in juices. He scooped the meat into his mouth and chewed carefully.
Delicious.
“If you’ve got nowhere to go,” Don said, “I’ve got a spare room. No charge.”
He laughed awkwardly and Loki heard his fork scrape his plate.
“Only rule is, no stabbing or throwing your host into a wall.”
“I’ve not tried to stab you,” Loki muttered into his food.
“There’s a first time for everything,” Don said, chomping his brisket and potatoes.
Loki glared at him over the glass of red wine the impossible human had poured for him. It was one thing having let Loki shelter in his home.
Now the incorrigible man had ordered a food delivery for them, stocking up as if he was expecting Loki to stay.
And what choice did Loki have?
He was entirely at the mercy of this man and any movement he made, any mistake, would be pinpointed and tracked by Stark and his brother.
And then it was all over.
“Are you not even slightly worried about having an otherworldly threat stay in your adjacent bedroom,” Loki said.
“Threat? Aw come on,” Don shook his head, “Y’know, you’re not that bad. You’re just a pussycat, all teeth and claws.”
Loki sat back, thoroughly insulted. Don had just compared him to a pet.
Don clocked his thunderous expression and the soft smile he returned to him was almost as bad as the pet name.
“No insult intended,” he said kindly, “You’re my guest, and you’re safe here.”
Safe.
Loki deflated.
His shoulders slumped and he poked at his fork. His Asgardian leather armour was domestically folded on the sofa in a vacuum-sealed bag.
How had he ended up in this situation?
What had he done to deserve this kindness?
He forked a potato and considered it before looking at his host, a foreign and painful sensation growing in his chest.
“…Thank you, Don.”
Don took a sip of wine and gave him a gentle, understanding look that felt like a punch and a desperately needed hug all at once.
“You’re welcome, Loki.”