Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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87


Peter huffed, weight bouncing foot to foot as his eyes tracked the luminescent figures flickering down the number line, descending soundly along with him in the spacious elevator. Scanning the papers in his hands, he fought the urge to sigh again. At least he’d be moving to the downstairs couch, where all the pillows were – maybe he wouldn’t spiritually die on the spot writing his blasted, ridiculously lengthy essay. Possibly.


…


86


Oh.

Fumbling with his phone, he opened up the group chat, typing out a long, key smashed message claiming that he didn’t even have the source for the essay, despite the fact that history was the one singular subject where sources were fucking glorified. He got no sympathy from MJ other than a file from the source, captioned ‘here you dumbass nerd’. Ned sent him a thumbs up, claiming that Peter could just say he was hanging out with the avengers. Pretty sure Mr Stark would yeet him out of a window if he did that.

‘Or he’d be proud’

Or he’d be proud. Nevertheless, he closed the group chat, saving the file. He didn’t crop out the caption.

Peter grinned, a warm feeling igniting in his chest. He let it be, allowing it to drown out his remaining frustration. Though it quickly returned when he opened the picture from the file, eyes practically watering at the info-dump of hell presented so carelessly to him.


…


85


Ding!


His mindless internal rant continued long past the spread of doors, trainers squeaking in shared annoyance. It spiraled continuously until a numb buzzing overtook the words, prompting Peter’s steps to somewhat diminish. He fired off another hurried text to the group chat, automatically preparing to banter with the unknown person hanging just around the corner. Hopefully that’d let some of his nerves out.

Maybe.

Though as his foot raised in the air, his eyes latched onto something. He stopped. Stared.

Peeking around the corner, eyes agape, a jumble of nerves and rising excitement overshadowed his thoughts. An impulsively rigid grip on the papers tensed through him, phone almost slipping out his grasp, forgotten.

Settled coolly on the couch, legs slightly over the armrests, lay Loki. He was occupied with a book, eyes fleeting impressively quickly over the pages. Peter dimly registered the bold, fancy text spelling “Hamlet” among his typhoon of thoughts, feet welded to the floor. The God (literal God, there’s a litERAL gOD in front of him holy shi-) remained unaware to his internal debate, mindlessly turning the page.

Does he go up to him? Does he initiate normal, human interaction? Wait, can he be considered human? Can Peter be considered human?

Uh. Nevermind.

I mean, okay, he seems really cool, and from a bit – a lot – of procrastination induced hacki- uh, research (which Mr Stark would definitely kill him for), he had gathered that Loki hadn’t actually been in control over the whole New York thing? If anything, he just seemed...manipulated? Like, he might just need a second chance. Especially with how awesome his magic was, ignoring the fact that Peter had secretly been dying to meet him-

Even still, nerves bubbled up dangerously inside of his chest. They were cut by the rush of excitement that still enveloped his thoughts – a faint buzzing was present in his neck, yet there was no threat. No danger. Even as he stared at the man, he couldn’t bring himself to be scared.


God, Mr Stark was really gonna kill him for this.


Loki looked up slowly, face carefully neutral as Peter walked over. It remained indecipherable, expression only slipping slightly as he scanned the teen. He looked at him curiously.

“Uh, hey! I’m Peter. It’s nice to meet you!” Shifting the papers under his arm, Peter smiled, voice light and genuine, crinkles framing the warmth in his eyes. His hand reached out before he could stop himself, the other scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I mean, I’ve only really heard of you, so it’s so cool to finally be able to meet you. Damn, uh, I said that twice, didn’t it?”

The man considered him for a moment – eyes glistening with an odd emotion Peter couldn’t even begin to analyse – before hesitantly reaching out and shaking his hand. Neither commented on the way the other’s palms shook (for completely different reasons). “Loki, of Asgard. It’s...” His voice seemed to get caught on the word, eyebrows slightly scrunched. “...nice to meet you too.”

Peter beamed.

“Can I sit here?” He gestured vaguely with the papers, almost letting one slip. Catching it just in time, he looked down, arranging the pile back into place. “I just need to get this assignment done and I’ll be off. No offense, but I’ll be wanting to finish this as soon as possible – it sucks.”

“I suppose so.”

Peter flopped down on the couch with a sigh, dumping the papers down mercilessly, causing them to scatter. He arranged them back, flipping the first one with a heavily exaggerated turn, missing Loki’s small, smug smile as he did so. Just the sight of the lines alone made him want to run back out of the room again, but he refused. Pen in hand, source open, he began to write.

Their shared, comfortable silence was broken by the thumping of a pen. It bounced on the ground, the timid clatter grating against Peter’s ringing ears. The teen glared harshly at the paper, his own traitorously terrible handwriting staring back at him.

He ran a hand through his locks, body lazily flopping against the sofa cushions. “Ugh.”

“Frustrated, spider-ling?” The words were teasing, though something else lingered behind them.

“Uuughhh, yeah.” He begrudgingly bent over to pick up the pen again. “6 goddamn paragraphs and I’m still- wait, what?” Peter’s head snapped comically to Loki, eyes like saucers. He only got a raised eyebrow in return, grin peaking out from behind a book cover. “I- wh- did you just call me ‘spider-ling’?”

“Is the name not familiar? I thought, what, with your whole arachnid theme and all-”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The spider-themed superhero stated dumbly, faux-casually leaning against the couch. He sank almost completely into it, flustered face obscured. “I- I mean, I greatly appreciate you calling them arachnids, instead of insects, like some certain people, but I really don’t know what you mean.” He crossed his arms, turning to face Loki, who was eyeing him in thinly-veiled amusement. Peter pouted, looking no less intimidating. “Where did you get that from?”

“I am the Lord of Lies, child. God of Mischief. Don’t try to fool me.” A beat passed between them. They held each others gazes until Peter relented, arms thrown in the air.

“Ok, yeah! Fine! You got me. But I’m not a child.”

“Not a child?”

“No, not a child.”

"Alright, spiderling"

The god turned back to his book, smirking. Peter huffed, though this time it was for an entirely different reason; his thumb skimmed the phone screen, pages and pages of information staring back at him. He slumped dejectedly, the device held loosely in his hands. Just looking at the pages made him want to cry. His eyelids covered the top part of his eyes, highlighting the heavy bags parallel to them.

Sensing a sudden shift in mood, Loki’s eyes flicked up, lips pursued. His eyebrows pinched. The teen fiddled with the hem of his jeans, deep in thought. Suddenly, his expression cleared, excitement coating his features as he turned. “Have you ever tried Boba?”

Loki’s entire brain crashed and restarted in the span of 2 seconds, blinking at the words in muddled confusion. “Huh? B- what?”

“Boba.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I got that part – but what is it?”

“Boba. ‘Bubble tea’,” Loki perked up at that, for once parting with his book. “if you want the proper name. It’s basically tea but with little chewy tapioca balls (a kind of starch – wait, you don’t know what starch is, do you?) at the bottom. Some people use ice and stuff to make it all slushy, and it’s super super nice! You can get so many different flavours and toppings, it’s amazing.”

“I see.” Loki replied uncertainly after a moment of thought, voice tinged with curiosity.

“Oh my god, do you wanna go get Boba? Wait, have you even been outside the tower yet?” A dull shake of the head. “Y-You haven’t? At all?” Another smash, now more confused.

“I’m not allowed to – the Avengers consider me dangerous, and no one outside of SHIELD and Stark’s little boy-band know that I’m here. They don’t trust me, naturally.” Loki explained, a sour, bitter edge to his voice. Not at Peter, who was regarding him with an odd look: the boy seemed...riled up about something, eyes somewhat darkened – though this didn’t seem to be directed at Loki. Strange. Ever since he’d been trapped here, he had been treated with at least some amount of hostility by everyone. Not that he could blame them, as much as it hurt irritated him.

Though this...boy, albeit puzzling in his cheeriness, seemed to throw that normal out the window within a few seconds of meeting him. He was so much more pure and innocent than anyone he had ever met, greeting him like a kind stranger at a coffee shop. Worst part was, no matter how much his brain screamed in self-loathing, he couldn’t pick up a single trace of lies; it was all genuine, and it made him want to cry and/or yell in various emotions he could not place. Damn him.

Said boy’s voice brought him back, all sullenness disappearing in favour of a bright, gleaming smile. “Weeellll, they can’t really stop you if they don’t know you went out in the first place.”

“What’re you implying?”

Peter’s eyes lit up in what Loki recognised best – mischief. He was starting to like tolerate the teen more by the minute. “What do you think I’m implying, God of Lies?”

“Hmph. Wouldn’t Stark be cross with you?”

“Nah. Not on my watch.” Peter gave a dorky salute, making Loki stamp down another grin. “Wanna go and get some? Dude, I’d love to show you around the city. Wait, ohmygod, there’s so many places we could visit!!” Loki’s expression was tainted with a mix of confusion, amusement and excitement – the teen could tell by the timid simmer in his eyes, the quivering corners of his lips. Peter had always been observant.

“I-...okay? Sure?”

“Great!!” Peter glowed, essay already forgotten. The god didn’t have time to open his mouth to say anything, such as, I dunno, ‘how are you going to get me past this ridiculously high-security system’ or ‘what the hell are you doing’, before he was looped around the arm.

“H-hey, hey, wait-”

Yoink.

One Asgardian kidnapping later, both were stood in line at a quaint, hole-in-the-wall Boba shop. Outlining the surfaces with golden and shimmers and glows, lamps hung down from the ceiling. Among the cosy walls were paintings, strung around the shop – some were covered by lush, emerald leaves, stemming from plants that drooped just a few feet above your head. It was comforting. A sense of chatter drifted around, a harmony with the faint whirring of machines.

Loki’s similarly emerald eyes drifted around the shop, hands in the pockets of his sleek, black suit. Around his neck hung a thick, green-white scarf that reached around his belt line, accompanying a long, smooth snake tie. He suppressed a grin at the thought of Peter’s reaction, practically bouncing on his feet at Loki’s impossibly quick change of wardrobe; (“So you can just change whenever you want? Wooaahh!! That’s so cool!!! :D It’s like you have your own Animal Crossing outfit wheel to use!- Wait? You don’t know what- oh yeah, sorry. Man, I’m gonna have to show you it.”)

He proceeded to call the outfit “a vibe”, or whatever that means. Slang is weird here.

Although the ‘Animal Cr’... animal thing intrigued him equally as it confused him, it was in the far corners of his mind, recalling just how genuinely fascinated in his seiðr the boy was: not scared. No fear. Just pure, childish excitement. He didn’t know how to feel about that, cheeks flushing at the unexpected praise.

“Sooo, what are you thinking of getting?” Peter asked nonchalantly, almost dropping the phone in his hand as he swung his arm. The other was tucked into the crevice of his jean jacket, bulking over the gray ‘Stark Industries’ hoodie underneath.

Loki sent him a look, pointing out the obvious: “I don’t know what the options are.”

“Ah. Right. Sorry, uhh….the board up there,” he pointed to the menu situated above the cash registers, “shows you what they have to offer. They have lots of berry ones, fruit blends – you can also change the type of tea, by the way.”

The god considered this for a moment, silently reading off the menu. Most of the berries or teas he had only ever heard of, provided his little and heavily guarded time on Midgard. His eyes caught on a green variant, labeled “Matcha Tea”. There was a cute hand-drawn swirl of cream on the top.

“I think I’ll get the...’Matcha’ one.” Peter searched for it, eyes glinting.

He grinned, raising an eyebrow at Loki. “Just because it’s green?”

“I- Yes, do you have a problem with that?”

“Nope! Just wondering” Peter rocked on the balls of his feet, hands clasped behind his back. He smiled at Loki. To his dismay, he automatically returned the gesture.

“Alright, spider-child”

He lightly swatted Loki on the arm, who only chuckled quietly. “Hey!- Now that-” He pointed accusatory at the god “that is too far for me, sir”

“Hm.” The teen huffed. “Though, if you do want to know, I must preserve my aesthetic.”

Peter let out a faint noise of approval “Fair. Oh, and also, the Matcha one is super nice here – not a lot of places get it right, but this one is amazing.” Loki hummed at that, satisfied.

A ding sounded, prompting Peter to walk up to the counter. His previous anxiety seemed to skyrocket, hand automatically reaching behind his neck. Loki noted this with a small smile, privately glad he was not tasked with ordering, since, well... he had literally no clue how to do it.

“Hello! What would you like to order?” The girl at the counter smiled, lightly dusting her hands off on her apron. There was a slight accent to her voice, dark skin glowing in the face of the soft fairy lights. Her hair was braided in an intricate plaid, dark, thick brown locks weaved with small flowers.

“H-hi! Could we get, uh, a-a large raspberry blueberry Boba and-”


–--


After a small yet increasingly heated battle over who got to pay (which Peter won with the tool of his Puppy EyesTM, to Loki’s great soft dismay), the two were sitting outside on a patterned wooden bench, watching as leaves flitted around in the air, caught in the swing of the wind. Peter sipped leisurely at his own drink, leaving Loki to examine his own skeptically, watching the tiny tapioca balls whirl around at the bottom.

After some subtle deliberation – where he observed how Peter was visibly unaffected by the concoction – he took a tentative sip.

He blinked. Twice.

Peter faltered, looking at Loki out the corner of his eye, taking in how stunned he looked. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. “D-do you like it?”

“I-” Loki’s lime eyes flicked from Peter to the drink. A beat passed, before he drank more, far far less speculatively. The teen squashed down a giggle as the god practically inhaled the drink, relieved to have found something he liked (well, liked may have been an understatement).

“You can buy packets of the pearls and the tea yourself, by the way. There’s, like, special mix versions and stuff – some people even theme theirs after animals or add multiple different flavours to increase the vibe.” Loki looked impossibly more happy at that, the lights in his eyes quietly raving. He didn’t comment, making a mental note about his liking for tea, apparently.

They sat, content, sipping their drinks.

“So….you haven’t been outside? Since you came to live at the tower?”

…

“Wanna see the sights?”

Loki’s natural compass had lead them to a library. Peter flicked through the pages on his phone, pouting. The god’s head peaked out from over his shoulder, scanning the test highlighted on-screen. “It is quite far from here, I dunno if we’ll be able to get there….”

“There are other ways.” That got him a reaction, Peter’s head snapping towards him. He looked confused.

He was silent for a few moments, voice quiet and face scrunched. “Other ways?”

“You have been to this library, no?”

“I- yeah I have. It has lots of good books you can’t really find anywhere else.” He felt something inside of him burst at that, determination rising. “Why, what are you- what are you planning?”

“Hold my arm and shut your eyes.”

“W- huh?”

After a few moments of staring, Peter hesitantly grabbed Loki’s arm, gaze flitting to and fro questioningly before ceasing as his eyelids shut.

“Now think of the library street, what it looks like, feels like, etc.” The trickster felt a click in his mind, fingers curling around a string of seiðr. The twine tensed, looping around both Loki and the other matter, guiding his mind to another area.

With one fell swoop, his heart pulled on the string, enveloping them both and sending them away.

–--


Peter blinked rapidly, stumbling on his feet. He felt nauseous, instinctively leaning against Loki to steady himself. The god flinched as he was broken out of his concentration but didn’t say anything, merely positioning the other again unsurely.

Once the fog cleared, Peter gaped. His mouth fell open.

“Woah...”

The pair were placed carefully shielded under a cherry blossom, wind blowing peacefully around them – across the street was a bookshelf-like arrangement of shops and cafes. The road curved, weaving in and out of trees and flowerbeds. Charming little stalls and benches dotted the square, fountains reflecting puffy clouds hovering above. A steady smell of baked pastries and coffee permeated the area: an aroma to accompany the sweet scent of flowers, rich in hue and bedded peacefully among the soil. They were slightly moist to the touch, most likely from last night’s rain.

Peter took in a long breath, content at the buzz that didn’t overpower his senses. He noticed out the corner of his eye Loki tilting his head, taking in the scene.

Loki’s own eyes widened a little bit, impressed at the picturesque layout they had found themselves in – of course, it was nothing compared to Asgard. Yet he felt more at peace being here than he had been most of the time at ‘home’, chirping birds looping around his thoughts. Now he really saw why Peter had been so desperate to get him out of the tower.

Peter opened his mouth, awe gleaming in his eyes. Though before he could speak, someone else overtook his question.

“Yo, what- where did those 2 come from?” Said two turned in various degrees of panic.

Oops.

“Dude I swear they just teleported here or some shit what the fuck-”

“Should we call someone?”

“Nono, I’m pretty sure we should ask them for their autograph. I mean- what if they’re the Avengers or some shit, man-”

Glancing at each other, they both incredibly inconspicuously speed-walked across the street. In his poorly-disguised panic, Peter missed the special wink Loki gave the huddle of teens, innocently sipping his bubble tea.

Instead, he let out a small ‘aha!’, turning Loki’s attention away from the now spluttering and severely concerned group. He pointed, finger coming into line with a sweet bookstore. The windows were clean and sparkly, reflecting the plethora of literature available behind the doors. Loki didn’t waste a single goddamn second of thought, striding over to them at almost running pace, driven by the survival instinct in him that screamed book s.

He willfully ignored Peter’s whispered “i’m fast as fuck, boiii”

---


Peter could not tell if bringing Loki to the library was a blessing or a mistake.

Not once, not twice, but three fucking times he had had to physically stop Loki from looping a massive, figurative string around a bookshelf and teleporting it with him. As hilarious as it was watching him tug the furniture around like a tired dad with his kid on a sleigh (which Loki seemed to notice, curse him, exaggeratedly lifting a shelf for Peter to wheeze uncontrollably at), if he did it anymore then they were most definitely gonna get kicked out. He wasn’t sure if gods had that vulnerability, but he was not going to risk it.

Which lead them to this predicament.

“Okay, now just click the green button- No, not that one. The other one that says ‘Borrow’”. There was a satisfying tap from the screen, the menu sliding to reveal an empty list. Loki turned to Peter, silently asking for guidance. “Right, okay, now put each book into this box right here,” He slapped the bottom of the machine like a sack of dirt, “with the bar code facing upwards.”

Loki silently stared at the book, emotionless “...What’s a bar code?”

“Huh? Oh, it’s” He flipped it over, pointing to a spot on the back “this thing. The machine scans the lines, identifies which book they belong to and then puts it on the list. It’s like a neat lil identification thingy.”

Satisfied, he placed the hardcover into the box, watching as “Macbeth by William Shakespeare” popped up on the screen. There was a green checkmark next to it – Loki assumed that was a good thing.

Peter grinned, hands in pockets “Alright, now just do that with all of them.”

A few minutes later, Loki had his hands full again, to which he mindlessly hid all the books into his seiðr storage. The spider hero didn’t seem to notice, preoccupied with the struggle of tugging the receipt out from the machine. It was caught, crumpling under the pressure of Peter’s irritated hands. Finally, it relented, somehow not having ripped apart in the process.

“Oookaayy…so we need these back here by the 5^th of September. So you have...like….just over two weeks to read all...” He trailed off, eyes the equivalent of the Windows blue screen. Peter blinked, boring into the spot where the books once were. “I-”

Loki returned his confused look, fiddling with the tassels of his scarf.

“I- where did-”

Blink. “Oh. The books. Yeah, I just teleported them away.” He misunderstood Peter’s even more confused look for outrage, holding out his palms in a ‘don’t shoot me’ gesture “Don’t worry, they’re safe”

“I- you just teleported them??”

“….Y-yes?

“What.” Peter stood there like a pole for a split second, before hurrying out of the door. Loki followed close behind, hand pushing it to ensure that the boy didn’t smash face-first into it. “Okay- wait, so. Basically, you have this portable storage...thing, that you can basically carry anything around with? Dude there’s so much you could do- can you put a plane into it? Like honest to god go to the airport and steal yourself a private plane to use at will? Like a bootleg private jet.”

Loki’s utter bemusement remained unanswered, watching dumbfounded as the teen turned around to face him, now excitedly walking backwards: “Or you could carry a whole vault into it – like break into a bank and instead of breaking it open you just fuckin cease it out of the wall. Wait ohmgod is that where all the daggers come from??? How many do you have?? Surely you have to maintain them or something.”

It turned to fondness, Peter’s wild gesturing narrowly missing anyone who walked past them. “Okay, that brings up so many pranking possibilities though, like, for real, you could do so so much witht hat- ohmygod I have to tell Ned and MJ about this later...I just said their names, didn’t I? Welp. Anyway, holy shit man that’s-”

He was abruptly cut off, bumping sideways into a pole. Loki only just managed to grab him in time to save his face from getting decked by cement. The god was just about to tease him before an increasingly panicked part of his brain yelled out, making him realise something.

Loki could feel a piece of twine interlink them both, still wrapped around his fingers. He cursed once, unable to stop the until-now forgotten string from yanking them both away.

‘Well, shit‘ was his final thought as his brain whizzed, disconnecting from the street.

---

Both landed in various degrees of gracefulness; Loki managed to stay on his feet, only just avoiding tripping over his boots. Peter, on the other hand, slammed into a counter, already-pounding head suffering among the noise. He sat sprawled dramatically on the floor, looking dead.

The trickster clumsily gazed around, feeling every defense crumple in utter perplexity. His brain stuttered, completely unaware of the boy getting to his feet behind him. Both peeked cartoon-ishly around the corner, taking in the sight. A thick sense of coffee drifted through the air.

They were situated in the doorway behind a counter, surrounded by various machines and clatters. Voices piled over each other, resulting in a blend of conversations, chair scrapes, clinks, clanks and laughs – it was almost intolerable for Peter. Or it would have been if he was actually paying attention - he looked elated, turning to Loki with a sense of mischief that filled him with simultaneously dread, despair and eagerness. It screamed chaos.

“Dude, we’re gonna be employees at fucking Starbucks”

–--

“Put the apron on.”

“I am not putting the apron on, spider-child.”

“C’monnnnn, pleeasee? This’ll be so much fun!” He looked at Loki akin to a pleading puppy, holding the scrunched up, dark green apron in his hands. It irritated him how much these two things convinced him: as absolutely disastrous the idea seemed, it did promise lots of chaos; he could not deny such an opportunity.

Before he could plead for any more mercy, an old, stoic man came out from around the corner. He was dressed in an all-black uniform, the name-tag “Chad” perfectly complimenting his scrunched up features, mouth tilted disproportionately down. “What are you two boys standing around for? We have a hell of a lot of customers, so it’d be nice if y’all went and did your jobs!”

He harshly pushed past them, muttering about ‘lazy teenagers’. Peter feared that he would have turned around again if he made any more noise, hand clamped over his mouth to squash down the laughter threatening to escape him – Loki did not help one bit, exaggeratedly impersonating the man in the most childish way possible.

Barely composed, Peter turned to the remaining apron. His grin fell.


–--


“Hey Mr. Lo- uh, adhge- Liam, can you pass me the strawberry syrup?” Peter fumbled with the cream lever, glaring at it as if it had offended his family.

“Straw- what the hell is ‘strawberry’?”

“I- Dude, you don’t know what a strawberry is??”

“No???”

“It’s the red liquid in the bottle near you. Just...yeet it over here, I’ll catch it.”

Peter turned back to the cream-maker, giving it a sold thwunk or two before it finally decided to work, spilling a ridiculous amount of whipped cream onto the cup. Dramatically, the teen flung a straw out from the container beside him, not sparing a glance as a hard bottle thumped into his hand. He turned to open the lid, before doing a double-take. Triple-take.

“Yo is this- is this freaking ketchup?”

“What is-”

“Where did you get ketchup from?? DO STARBUCKS EVEN HAVE KETCHUP??”

“I DON’T KNOW, EVERYTHING LOOKS THE SAME TO ME – YOU MIDGARDIANS NEED LABELS”


–--


“Okay, so this one is a penny, this one is a dime – aka 10 cents,” Peter pointed to each penny in turn, “this one is a nickel, which is 5 cents. There’s also this quarter, which is 25 cents, and also a 50-cent. Then all of these add up to 100 cents, in order to make 1 dollar, which is this:” He held up a small gold coin, shining under the artificial LED lights.

The young hero had been assigned the role of accountant – they had discovered impressively quickly that Loki was terrible with American money, simply because he did not know what it was in the first place. “There are also slips of paper, called dollar bills – so uhhh, like this one is 1, this one is 5-”

“Why are there SO MANY??”

“I don’t know, variety??” He flung a coin into the air out of amusement, disguising it as frustration. It made a dent in the ceiling. “Look, I’ll handle the money-”

“Thank god-”

“And we’ll split the drink-making between us.” Loki drizzled another spiral of syrup onto the cream. It was perfectly circular, much to Peter’s momentary awe and annoyance.

“Right. Okay. Fine. Pass the measuring cup, Jeff.”

“My name is not Jeff!”

“Really?” Loki asked, voice muffled by the nutrient bar in his mouth (yes, it was stolen). He gestured vaguely to the name-tag on the boy’s apron, which hung down slightly under the weight of the fabric – it was far too loose, being held together by a thick belt and sheer willpower. “I thought that it was.”

“It is not!”

“Identity fraud.” He drawled, lazily tossing a cookie into one of the cups; it was a miracle half of the liquid didn’t spill out.

Peter huffed, grinning behind one of the blenders. “Whatever, Liam”

“Hey-”


–--


With a shimmering, plastic smile, the woman behind the counter prattled off another set of instructions, obviously deciding that the first set was not already enough. “Oh, and also 3 pumps of vanilla, if you could. Could you also add some pumpkin spice to it, honey? Maybe some cinnamon in there too.”

If Peter didn’t have super-human speed, he would have lost himself long ago, hurriedly scribbling down the list of orders. Almost piercing a hole in the cup out of internal resentment, he slapped on a fake smile of his own, nodding along. “You got it!”

He turned on his heel, striding over to Loki with an expression that screamed ‘kill me’.

“Sorry, Liam – I have a pile of orders waiting, so I’m gonna have to hand this over to you.” The heavily puzzled god didn’t have time to respond, watching Peter speedily hurry off, wiping his forehead with a towel. He shrugged, deciding not to bother the already stressed-out teen.

Said decision wavered once his gaze landed on the contents of the boy’s messy scrawl, decorating the cup in what looked like the entire Declaration of Independence. A quick, exasperated scan yielded zero recognition, almost every single item foreign in some shape or form.

Looking across the counter, Loki sighed. He grabbed hold of a random machine.

Improvise, Adapt, Overcome.


–--


Peter watched from the other side in absolute dismay, eyes watering at the cups of cinnamon Loki was vigorously pouring into one of the blenders. Some part of him lacked the energy to stop the embodiment of chaos, forcing him back to his own task with a shake of the head.

If someone died to the hands of Loki’s deadly spice concoction of bullshit, at least it wouldn’t be his fault – he was a witness, not an accomplice.


–--


Peter gaped.

“Oh, this is just wonderful! Thank you so much honey-”

“Uh- there really is no need, ma’am-”

She flapped her hand dismissively, shoving the note into Peter’s hands. “Nonsense! Take it, consider it a tip”

The poor boy only broke out of his stupor in enough time to send her a shaky, stuttering “have a nice day”. He swiveled.

Loki leaned against the counter, a shit-eating grin around a green straw, looking far too pleased with himself. He wiggled his eyebrows, motioning with his head to the smooth, new bill in Peter’s limp hands. The teen looked down, then back up.

“I can’t tell if I admire you or absolutely hate you – what did you put in it?”

The trickster spread his arms out towards the cacophony of jars. Each appeared to be opened or missing some of its contents in some way, remains dusted on various parts of Loki’s apron.

“Oh my God.”


–--


“And your name?”

“Patricia.”

“Uh- right.” Loki tried not to show any of his disarray on the outside, fingers scribbling down what he heard with a flourish. “And will that be all?”

“Yes, yes”

“K, we’ll have it ready in a moment.” With a quick nod, he retreated, subconsciously handing the cup to Peter. The scrawl faced the inside of his palm, protecting Peter from the demon. “Here, Jeff.”

“My name is not- y’know what, nevermind.” Completely unaware of the utter despair that awaited him, he flicked on a blender, automatically stirring another fruit mix with a long spoon.

…

“Okay, we have a Cookies and Cream Frapp for- w-what the fuc- fudge.” Peter could feel the brain damage situate itself in his headache, having a literal stroke over the key smash of letters that stared back at him. “For, uh- Pa- Pe….what...ph..oh, Patricia!”

He ignored the judgmental look fired at him in favour of telepathically questioning Loki. An utterly helpless, painful shrug was all he received in return.

It took all of Peter’s remaining self-control to not burst into laughter-induced tears right then and there.


–--


"Mummy, what are they doing??" A young girl pointed to the counter, pig tails swishing with her blue dress. Her mother sighed, taking in the scene while sipping her coffee. Their evening was definitely unique, she thought, not sure whether to accept this event as a nice break from the world or sigh in dismay at the weirdness of humanity.

"LIAM, PASS ME THE CARAMEL"

"WHAT THE HELL IS CARAMEL??!!"

"JUST GRAB THE YELLOW BOTT- I SWEAR TO GOD IF THAT'S MUSTARD-"

Thunk.

"LIAM-"

She slowly looked over to her daughter, wiping the table with a tissue. Her husband looked on in utter confusion, eyeing the two chaotic men behind the counter with a look that screamed 'what in the actual fuck'.

"I don't know honey, just look away."


---



“That’s ridiculous- you know what? I can get you fired right here, lemme speak to your manager. Because you-”

“I-I’m sorry sir, but there’s really nothing I can do.” Peter scratched the back of his neck, leaning backwards to compensate for how much the man was leaning into his personal space. “I can set you up with a different drink-”

Slam. Peter flinched, the sudden assault on the counter wreaking havoc on his senses. Almost breaking the pen in his hands, he winced. “A different drin- did you listen to a word I said? I’m expecting you to do your job, is that so hard-?”

“Excuse me?” Both men turned, and Peter couldn’t help but slump in relief at the familiar voice; what did not comfort him, though, was the dangerous, malicious poison dripping from it. “I’m sorry, can you stop harassing him and just let him do his job, sir?” Through some incredible force, Loki managed to make the title sound demeaning.

“He’s not doing his job, IN THE FIRST PLACE!” He sneered, now over the counter enough to topple over it. Both employees wished that he would.

“Maybe if you actually gave him a proper order or let him get to work, he would.”

Scoffing, the man pointed a finger at Peter, voice high and mocking. “This little kid? He looks as incompetent as they get-”

Loki didn’t know why. Maybe it was the voice, the fact that he was threatening fucking Peter of all people, the one person who had treated him nicely and normally from the start, or the flash of hurt he saw flicker across the teen’s face before he turned away, fumbling with a coffee cup and blinking rapidly. But something inside of him snapped, the heat inflaming his chest, spinning strings into webs and clogging up his mind.

He leaned in dangerously close, voice practically biting into the man, “Listen here, you sad sack of shit, if you can’t deal with the fact that not everything will go your way all of the time, which I hope it doesn’t for you, you can take your shit, and get out.”

He swallowed, eyes reflecting a type of fear that had Loki smirking. It took one more deadly, death-promising look that only the god could produce until the man turned away, hurrying out of the door with his tail between his legs. The twine snapped before he could control himself, a distinct thwap emitting from behind the glass.

“Wh- did he- did you just-”

Peter gaped as the man ran, no, galloped out into the sidewalk, weaving in and out of incoming people, baa-ing madly. It took several seconds for the teen to register this information before he was leaning against the counter for support, wheezing. The laughter was music to the god’s ears.

“Oh my god-” He uttered breathlessly, wiping the tears from his eyes. Peter turned to Loki, adoration in his eyes “dude, that was amazing, thank you so much.”

Loki didn’t have time to unpack all of that, turning away to hide the shakiness in his hands, “Yeah, yeah, whatever spiderling” The god didn’t know what to feel about the sudden surge of protectiveness that had blasted through him, still running red-hot through his cold blood – all he knew how to do was ignore it, hitting the button on the blender more forcefully than he probably should have.


---


Another shrill ding resounded, the ringing completely deaf to Peter’s ears – it had faded into the background by now, an occasional sound forming into a rhythm of time passing by.

What was not deaf to Peter’s ears, or rather his eyes, was the person causing the ding; a visibly tired, goofy man walked up to the counter, faded black hoodie haphazardly slapped onto his torso. He swayed slightly, stopping entirely once their eyes met.

Both men paused, taking a moment to stare into each other’s souls in silent questioning. It seemed that fate was horribly dreadful. Their collective stupor expanded when a certain black-haired god popped out from around the corner, face devoid of emotion.

“Uh...h-hey Scott.”

The man flitted between the apron-clad ‘employees’, dazed. He raised an unreadable eyebrow at Loki, who shot him a small, unenthusiastic wave with a syrup bottle. Peter scratched the back of his neck, cream smeared over his right cheek.

“...sigh. You know what,” He threw his arms up, utterly defeated, “I’m not gonna ask. I’ll take a Large Latte – pump in an extra 3 shots of espresso and I won’t even tell anybody.”


–--


One more look at Loki was all it took for Peter’s will to live to crash and burn. “I swear to- Liam, stop taste-testing the- Scott! Tell Liam to stop taste-testing all the drinks!”

“I- huh?! Who’s Liam?” Scott yelled tiredly, steaming coffee cup clasped in his hands.

“Mr. Loki!”

“Mr- I- w h at?” He didn’t get a response, watching practically dead inside as Peter attempted to wrestle a cookie from Loki, blinking in surprise as he fazed right through the god.

A moment of silence passed, the trickster quietly munching on the mermaid biscuit.

“I- I hate you and all, but that was super freakin' cool”


–--


Loki collapsed onto the couch, a weird sensation of joy overtaking his exhaustion. He huffed, his mind running through the chaotic events of the day – it stuck out like a sore thumb among the bore and straight up depression of the past few weeks. Strangely enough..it was..nice.

The rush of air, brain so suddenly exposed to the parts of Earth he didn’t even know existed left him wanting more; the walls of the tower now felt more claustrophobic than they had before, his only way of coping with said fact being the delightfully big pile of fresh books sitting on the table.

“Busy day at work, huh?”

Loki blinked, the events of the day now merging to form one question: “What the hell did we just do?”

“I dunno, but it was fun as hell. I’m gonna have to swing off now, homework and all.” He bounced up from the couch, beaming at Loki. “Have a nice day, Mr. Loki!”

…

“You too, spider-child.”

Chapter Text

Silence envelopes him, words failing as if his lips are tied together by twine – he’s falling from nothing, the space ahead dark and devoid of light. It’s unstoppable, his mind powerless to feel, do, or even begin to escape this never-ending cycle.

Dimly, he registers the stars whizzing past mockingly, free to travel and glow where they most desire. He lacks their light; a flame is extinguished inside of him, energy that he so deeply relies on and grounds himself on mere emerald smoke in the air above him, too faint and far to grasp.

As hard as he pulls, the string doesn’t come apart, leaving his voice desolate, blinded and shunned by the world.

He plummets deeper. There’s vines twisting around him, clogging up his lungs and threatening to tear him apart. It’s effortless, the way he gives up so fast. No amount of struggling or shaking could get rid of them, jet black and invading his conscience. Yet at the end of the day, his pleas remain unheard, cast to be perceived as the creator of the vines. The god is suffocating in his own panic, short and shallow gasps increasing as his infinite fate looms closer.

He plummets.


Down.


Dᴏᴡɴ


ᴰᵒʷⁿ


---


Loki sprung upwards, the opposite rise in direction sending the shadowed space spinning, mind aching and shaking, black spots dancing in its crevices. He desperately fought to clamp down on his chest, forcing his shuddering breaths to calm and quiet. It was by no means a success. The unstable mantra of ‘it’s just a dream, it’s all over, you should be over this by now’ was sounding too close to droning, so he stopped in favour of pressing his palms painfully into his eyes.

The God sighed, the sound too weak and stuttering for his liking. Shakily, he pushed himself up to a less awkward position, ignoring how the unbearably stuffy room seemed to tilt on its feet. The way the covers weaved in and out of his body, constricting his movement sent flaring flashbacks throughout his brain – the god shoved them off, unceremoniously dumping them into a heap on the floor. His whole body felt hot, the pine, long sleeved sweater sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Yet Loki found himself shivering uncontrollably; it was simultaneously boiling and freezing, which shouldn’t have been possible considering-

…

Nevermind.

Working to dispel that certain thought, he aimed blindly for the glass on his nightstand – he missed, cursing quietly as it flung itself off of the edge with a dull thump. Its emptiness brought both relief and dismay (god, his emotions were haywire), yearning to rid the hoarseness of his throat, each breath painful as it scraped against the sore surface.

Ah, fuck it.

With a resigned huff, Loki swung his legs over the side of the bed, relishing in the way his feet pushed down on solid ground. The thin smear of light drifting through the curtains outlined his bookcases, swaying like a pendulum as he strode over. It was getting harder to breathe right (not like he was actually breathing right before that, but nevermind). Despite the numerous plants draping down the shelves, he could feel oxygen draining from his lungs.

He fumbled blindly with the doorknob, practically slapping it open in his tired frustration (the stuttering of his hands didn’t help one bit, barely gripping the cool metal). The man pushed the door open enough to silently slip out, carefully closing it behind him. Well, he almost slammed it, flinching as a bright shine illuminated his feet, flickering akin to a star in the night sky – Loki turned, watching hazily mesmerized as several, spherical lights shone up the hallway, casting a guide for him to follow. He huffed; despite his dislike for its namesake, Stark Tech was rather useful, silently thanking the AI in reluctant awareness that he probably would have face-planted into a wall without it.

Steps silent through practice, he padded down the corridor. He prayed that none of the avengers would be there – he just wanted some water, for god’s sake.

A sudden clinking sound emitted from the kitchen. It was suspiciously hushed, like the person causing it was making sure that no one else heard. A soft glow was also present, the hue a warm topaz.

Loki hesitated. If there was someone else there, he might as well turn back now, glass of water be damned. It was no secret that the Avengers were still far from mildly comfortable around him — his relationship with them resembled a craggy crevasse at best. Yet, somehow, his complete oaf of a brother had been able to convince them enough to let him stay. Somehow.

Shaking his head, he soundlessly scolded himself. How pathetic — who cares, he just wanted some water.

“Hsss! Ow! Dammit...”

Before he could do a full 180 on his heel, the god stopped. The voice sounded...younger. And oddly familiar.

Ah.

Loki rounded the corner, leaning on the doorway.

Illuminated by the faint, aquamarine glow of the stove lights, stood Peter. His frame was leaning slightly away from the counter, white sweatshirt hung loosely around his shoulders. From what he could see, his hair was slightly mussed and fluffed, standing in wild, curly directions. Loki noticed the way he was clutching his finger, pouting down at it in mild disappointment. His back lay blanketed in soft orange hues, the luminescent stripes of his cargo pants reflecting light like a sunset.

Before the trickster could open his mouth, the teen turned, pupils blown wide. Loki remained motionless, internally impressed at how fast the boy had reacted — considering how light his steps had been. The spider hero relaxed minutely after a quick scan, shoulders slumping as a small smile overtook his features.

Yet no matter how small, the smile seemed pained – Loki was observant, too. He couldn’t help but notice the way the teen’s hands shook, fiddling and twiddling with his thumbs; the way his feet remained together, causing his overall figure to appear shrunken; the way the bags under his eyes seemed to droop his whole expression, radiating a sense of exhaustion that he could feel in his bones. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, he could sense the pure negativity, seiðr twirling in response. He doubted the red, puffiness of the eyes were a lighting’s trick.

“Oh. H-hey, Mr. Loki.” A barely audible foaming noise sounded from the stove, prompting Peter’s attention to snap back to the sleek, black pot on the stove. He hurriedly turned down the heat.

After a moment of silent deliberation on where to go, Loki cautiously tread to where the boy was standing, weight fixed on one leg. He peered over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the creamy white contents of the dish. Circling the pot, the spoon was found to be the source of the previous clinking, swirling rhythmically around the edges. Registering the faint smell of the liquid, he recognized it to be milk (no doubt to the help of the Starbucks incident a few weeks prior. Hm.). “Hello, spiderling”

Neither of them were quiet sure how to proceed until a sharp sound pierced the silence, Loki practically jumping out of his skin. He blinked, twice, only now noticing the microwave on the other side of the kitchen. The neon green numbers reading “00:00” flickered, switching in time with the harsh beeping coming from the machine.

The boy shuffled over to it, muttering a soft “damn, I didn’t stop it before the beep” that Loki only just caught. He watched, curious, as he pulled a bowl out of the sleek metal box: upon closer inspection, it was swirling softly with a rich, dark substance. He frowned.

“I did not know you drank coffee.”

Peter glanced at him before placing the bowl onto the counter, adding to the plethora of dishes already dotting the surface. He smiled in response, clearly amused. “It’s not coffee, Mr. Loki – it’s hot chocolate. W-well, just melted dark chocolate, at the moment. I wouldn’t recommend trying it right now, it’s literally just bitterness in a bowl.”

The teen promptly turned away once more, padding over to the fridge. He wretched the handle open, squinting at the bright glow. Loki watched in interest as Peter visually searched the racks, letting out a small ‘aha!’, swiping a cylindrical can off of the top. He noted how the boy had to stand on his toes, his foot finally connecting with the fridge door after several failed attempts. Popping open the can lid, he regarded Loki with a soft smile, grabbing a towel off the oven handle.

“And what do you do with-….” Lacking the words, Loki trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards the clutter of items. “What are you making?”

“It’s called hot chocolate, and it’s insanely popular here on Earth because it tastes so so good.” He grinned, the glassiness of his eyes flickering with various shines.

“So basically, you mix all of these together,” Peter wrapped his hand with the towel, flicking off the heat with a satisfying click. He carefully lifted the pot off the hob, placing it on a wooden cutting board, “,it’s melted chocolate, cocoa powder if you want, milk, cream- well, some people use water and ready-made packets,” he glared at nothing, powdering the pot with cocoa before pouring the contents into a tall mug, “which taste horrible, but it’s an okay alternative I guess. Anyway, what was I- oh yeah, you can also add lots of different toppings to them!”

He swung open a cupboard, reaching for a slightly deformed packet – it was filled with pink and white...things, squishy to the touch. Ripping the plastic open like a pinata, Peter winced at the intensity of the sound. “Like, I’m using marshmallows, which are these little things.” He slid the pack across the counter towards Loki, plopping some of his own into the cup. “Wanna try?”

Loki stared at the packet for a few seconds before cautiously taking out a puff, noting how it felt powdery yet sticky between his fingers. He cast a glance at Peter, who was currently piling a concerning amount of whipped cream onto the surface of the smooth, brown liquid, before plopping it into his mouth. Huh.

“It’s...nice...I suppose.” He considered the taste between his teeth, hesitantly taking out another from the small package. Peter smiled, not at all moved by the wonky mountain sitting in front of him – if it was any higher, it would have toppled onto the floor.

Suddenly, the teen turned towards him, a glimmer dotting his pupils and warm energy in his voice. He scratched the back of his neck, a tick he had come to associate with nervousness or embarrassment

“Do you wanna try some? Hot chocolate, I mean – I-I may have made way more than probably necessary, and frankly I think you’re kinda missing out. It doesn’t take too long.”

The spider-themed hero faltered after a few seconds of silence, the hesitant slump barely noticeable in the dim light, making Loki realize that he hadn’t responded yet out of sheer surprise. He swallowed, feeling an unusual weight settle in his chest.

“Uh- Okay.”

Peter glowed, whipping back around to the disarray of pots and pans, yoinking another mug from a nearby cupboard. He left Loki to wallow in his own whizzing thoughts, focus entirely on making sure that he didn’t spill any of the milk. It defied gravity and dribbled down the side anyways.

The unusual spider child was being so...friendly towards him? Of course, he had been nothing but that a few weeks ago when they first met – the boy had actively sought him out, excitement in his eyes as he greeted him. Loki didn’t know how to respond to that; he was often met with odd, borderline resentful looks, forcing him back into the corner that he had learned to sustain himself in throughout his life. It was overshadowed, tucked into a crevice to watch as others easily surpassed him.

Loki was never tough or overbearing in size or physical strength, left to be pushed aside by the people around him, both physically and emotionally – the trickster had found strength in other areas, honing and practicing his seiðr in the secluded valleys of forests and libraries, alone and content to embrace what thrummed in his core. Observing in awe as emerald trickles danced around his feet, humming through his bones, albeit still vastly out of his control. Mother had taught him so, shown him how to hide his outlandish and forbidden qualities from the prying eyes of Asgard.

Mother...she had done so well to try and teach him, never making him feel small and insignificant under her own gaze, unlike the brutal, judgmental stares of Odin that shrunk him back into his corner. They seemed to be reserved for him and him only. Special in the worst way possible.

“-kay? Mr. Loki?”

He flinched, mind torn back out from the spiral it had tripped into. Peter looked at him in concern, head tilted and a can of whipped cream held loosely between his fingers. Ironically, the spiderling’s own worried eyes were tinted pink, dull and lacking the shining energy he often held. Loki pushed himself away from the counter he was leaning against, subconsciously tucking a stray, puffy lock behind his ear.

“Hm? Oh, sorry – just thinking. Don’t worry about it, spider child.”

Peter pinched his eyebrows, clearly not believing him. “You sure? You kinda..like, spaced out pretty badly.”

Loki flapped his hand dismissively, fiddling with the ends of his sweater sleeve. He looked back over to what the teen was doing. “I’m fine.” The words seemed fake and shallow to both of their ears, yet neither said anything. Instead, the god watched as Peter swirled a different spoon around a simple, cream coloured mug, patterned with gold stripes. His own was white with vibrant print, reading ‘Um: The element of confusion.” Strange.

Soon enough, the mug closest to him was decorated with its own spiral mountain, dipping under the weight of the marshmallows wedged between the layers. Peter happily slid it towards him, already sipping on the mug in his own hands. The whipped cream reached up to his nose. “Okay, if you say so. I-I mean, i-if you need to talk I- Wait wait, be careful with the cup! It’s really hot.”

Loki faltered, hands pausing around the mug. He wrapped the ends of his sleeves around his hands, carefully clasping it. The warmth seeped through the fabric, flowing through his body alongside the gentle thrum of seiðr, just barely in control. It calmed to a gentle hum as Peter yelped, accidentally spilling some of his hot chocolate and unknowingly reigning the trickster’s thoughts back in. He snorted.

Peter huffed a laugh, pouting in fake annoyance, “Hey! It’s not that funny – Mr. Stark will literally kill me if I stain the kitchen again.” He bent down to grab a towel, halfheartedly mopping the tiles with his foot and haphazardly chucking it into the sink.

“Again?”

“Yeah...” Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair tiredly, “somehow I manage to do something to the kitchen every time I enter it. Like, it’s not on purpose or anything! I don’t even know how I do it, it’s crazy. Most of the time it’s when I’m baking, I think.”

Loki tilted his head, raising his eyebrows, “You bake?”

“Oh, yeah! I try my best to learn so I can help my aunt. Her baking is, well...” Peter winced, looking guilty, “she tries her hardest, and her cooking is actually really good at times! But her baking is...u-uh..”

“A different story?”

“Yeah.”

The god took a sip of his cocoa, a shiver running down his spine at the pleasant taste. It was sweet, yet not too overpowering, a bitterness balanced with a sugary cream, dissolving into the smooth liquid. The pattern was chaotic yet strangely beautiful, pinks and whites flowing in between rich browns and bubbles. Marshmallows melted in his mouth, sticking slightly to his teeth. The corner of his mouth tilted upwards against his will. “It’s really nice.”

That was a massive compliment in Loki’s terms, Peter gleaming in surprised joy at the praise, “T-thank you!! It’s actually one of my aunt’s recipes – I just modify it.”

Before he could reply, Peter’s eyes suddenly widened, bouncing upwards not unlike he had done previously. He turned to Loki, brimming with energy. The words came in a rush. “Have you ever baked before?”

“...Uh- well,” He paused, considering the question, “not really. In Asgard we have cooks who prepare all the dishes for us. I’ve been down to the kitchens, but never actually...cooked.”

Peter grinned, already pulling out his phone. “Well, we could bake. I mean, neither of us are mentally prepared to go back to sleep, right?”

“I- How did you...” The god hesitated again, then seemed to abandon all sense of reason, shrugging in typical – he looked to the clock, taking far longer than necessary to gather the brain power to read the hands – 2AM carelessness. “you know what, yeah. What’re we baking?”

“Weeellll-”

“This one- wait, nono, that takes three hours.” Peter shook his head, scrolling further down the grid of recipes.

Loki pointed to one of the thumbnails, decorated with a gleaming 5 star rating, “What about this one?”

“Nah, that uses muscovado sugar, we’ve run outta that. Can’t do it.”

“Muscovado….?”

“It’s like...fancy sugar substitute. It’s, like...uhhh..fluffy and really sweet.”

Loki nodded, not understanding at all, “I see.”

They went through articles and articles, considering and evaluating every single vaguely promising recipe – it wasn’t until 20 or so minutes later that they finally found something, settling on a simple double chocolate chip cookie recipe that would, theoretically, take 30 minutes. Hopefully.

“Oh! We have all the ingredients too! Looks pretty simple.”

The trickster beside him skimmed through the instructions, internally deciding that it was not, in fact, ‘pretty simple’. “You sure we can do this?”

“Yeah, yeah! I- I think so….uh..” He took a moment to think, considering both of their skill sets: complete lack of knowledge for human culture and items versus questionable baking abilities.

“Yup! We can totally do this one!.”


---


“Careful, careful, careful….”

“Move- move one of the...other containers first.”

Both winced and prayed at the harsh scraping that resounded, hands still gripping various edges of the bowl. Their first roadblock appeared to be actually getting the equipment out in the first place, struggling with the bowl positioned directly in the middle of the clutter of the cupboard. Arms aching, they tried once again to shimmy it out of the tight space.

One of the bowls tilted dangerously, eliciting panicked whispers from both as they hurriedly re-adjusted it. “Okay- okayokayokay pleasedon’tfall”

Loki looped a tight green string around the container, keeping it perched precariously on the other. “Quick, move the one underneath it.”

The teen fumbled comically with the stack, easing out two of the others and placing them gently on the counter. Seiðr tightening, Loki scrunched his eyebrows in concentration, tongue peeking out slightly. The thrumming steadied, slowly moving out of the space.

“Hey uh, Mr. Loki…?” The god held one finger up, bowl carefully sliding along the edges of the others. Here comes the hardest part, he thought shakily, every so slowly easing it out of the pile, floating down to rest on a wooden cutting board. It connected with the surface barely audibly; both practically collapsed in relief, leaning against the counter. Peter gestured exaggeratedly in the silence, running a hand down his face.

Exhaling deeply, the teen pulled out his phone again. “God, that was way too stressful.”

“Agreed.” Loki tucked some more hair behind his ear, drumming his fingers against the counter.

“Okkaayy, so we also need, uh-” Peter examined the screen, eyes flitting across the text, “two or three trays, some smaller bowls-”

“Goddammit-”

“-and also some spoons, measuring cups etc. But we can deal with those later! For now, let’s do the dry ingredients.”

“Don’t you need the measuring cups...for the ingredients?”

The teen blinked, rapidly turning around to one of the drawers. A muffled “Oh yeah, you’re right!” followed him, making Loki huff with laughter.


---


Peter hummed, lightly tapping the sieve in a steady pattern – the flour filtered satisfyingly through, forming a puffy white pile inside of the bowl. On the other side of the kitchen, Loki was rummaging through a cupboard endlessly, finally emerging with a compact box labeled ‘baking soda’.

The two had fallen into a rhythm, automatically passing each other various items and baking utensils. Occasionally, they’d meet to go over the instructions or for Peter to show Loki how to use/identify certain ingredients; after much trial and error, they’d found their pace. The flour and cocoa powder swirled satisfyingly around the wooden spoon, mixing to form a light brown dust that coated the sides of the bowl.

The teen pondered the mixture, taking in the lumps. “Hey, Mr. Loki, could you pass me the whisk? It’s in the top drawer to your left.”

“...I beg your pardon?”

“The whi-” Peter stopped, turning to face the stumped god, “you don’t know what a whisk is, do you?”

Loki slowly shook his head, “I may know what it is, just not the English word.”

“Well, uh...it’s like.” The spider-themed superhero goofily tossed a spoon in the air, only just catching it, fumbling, “it’s a bunch of wires that..kind of like...curve in a star shape at the top then come together into the handle.”

A perplexed blink is all his explanation received.

“Right. Uhm.” Peter contemplated this new predicament for a while. Suddenly, he bounced up, hastily flinging his phone out, smacking a hand to his forehead. “Oh yeah! Damn, how didn’t I think of that?”

The trickster watched inquisitively as the other boy speedily typed something into the phone, face contorting in confusion before slowly handing the phone back to him. He stared at it, processing the familiar word before his mind connected the two dots.

“...OH! I see, yeah. Here.” He absentmindedly tossed the whisk out of the drawer into Peter’s hands, oblivious to the teen’s internal stroke. “Ah. So that’s what it’s called on Midgard-.

“I- the- wh-”

“...you alright?”

Peter blinked rapidly. “How do you- how do you even-” Loki looked at the phone again, then up at the teen, still not finding the source of his dismay.

“How do you what?”

“...pronounce...” His finger pointed vaguely to the word on screen, translated into an Old Norse keysmash of letters.

“Oh. ‘Hvisk’.”

“...Huh?”

“Hvisk. H-vih -sk.”

“...hffihskkf”

“….close enough.”


---


The teen fiddled with the buttons in confusion, lightly hitting the overly complicated mixer in shallow frustration. “How do you even turn this thing on?” He looked to Loki for advice, who gave him a helpless shrug, not even knowing the name of the equipment.

“No clue. Maybe you’ve...what’s the word...’plugged it in’ wrong?”

“Nah, this is Stark Tech, so it’s wireless. Which is really awesome, apart from the fact that I...don’t know how to use it.” He hit another button, causing the mixer to light up and eject the two beaters attached to it. An awkward moment of silence passed.

“...did you just break it?”

Peter turned to retrieve them from the counter, laughing in both disbelief and nervousness. “What? Nohohoo, it’s meant to do that,” he tried to put them back in again, stilling as they popped back into his hands, “….I think.”

Awkwardly fiddling with the handles, Peter’s gaze went to Loki with a grimace. They shared looks before the god quietly walked over, stepping into the space the teen had cleared for him. Tipping it over, he looked desperately for some kind of sign or guidance.

He found none.

Peter clicked his tongue, hands on his hips like a disappointed mother; only this time, he was disappointed with himself. The sleek, satisfying design of the metal provided both with nothing but despair. Mindlessly poking the machine with a knife he had somehow obtained, Loki slumped, flipping it between his fingers. Peter thought better than to question it.

“Hm.”

“Yeah.”

...

“...Wait. Mr. Loki, could you pass me a screwdriver please? I have an idea.” The god only responded with confusion, blinking.

“What-what do you need a screwdriver for? And why would it be in the kitchen??”

Peter bounced, voice pleading and rushed “Just trust me on this! And uh, oh right, it should be in the room behind us. Like, the one with the gray door.”

The trickster sighed in resignation, puzzled but completely vulnerable to Peter’s innocent, begging eyes. He shook his head, already sauntering over to the door.


–-


Loki looked helplessly around the room, eyes searching the drawers akin to a lost child in the middle of a store.

Everything looked the same.

Drawers, cupboards and cabinets alike dotted the space, each filled with heaps of metal, odd tools and general stuff that he did not recognize in the slightest. Throwing his hands up in frustration, he took to a random cupboard, moving to yank it open before remembering the time – he opened it quieter, albeit a little forcefully. Sighing, Loki dug through the various tools, pausing to look at some in utter bewilderment.

“What are you doing?”

Almost dropping the tool he was holding, the man flinched, arms already raised defensively at the sudden, brooding voice. Loki spun around. The fingers curling automatically around his daggers loosened, locking gazes with shadowed eyes, framed by rich brown locks. Straightening up, he tried to make himself look as least intimidating as possible – he couldn’t help but let his eyes travel downwards to the metal arm glinting menacingly in the LED glows.

The god faux-indifferently closed the drawer, the other man’s eyes tracking the movement. “Nothing. Just looking for something.”

“At 2am? While the avengers are asleep?” Bucky’s eyebrows scrunched in distrust, arms crossing, “In the storage room?”

“I’m just- uh..”

The other man didn’t let him finish, stepping towards Loki. He swallowed. “Look, if you even think about trying anything-”

“So sorry I didn’t tell you where it was, have you found it yet? I think I’ve figured-” The voice cut off, feet squeaking against the wooden floorboards in his sudden halt of speed. Peter blinked, registering the scene before him. Bucky faltered barely noticeably, turning towards the teen.

A moment of silence passed.

“Peter? Why’re you awake?”

“Oh, uh...” The boy mindlessly walked over, standing by Loki’s side. Before the soldier could tear him away from the trickster, he spoke up, “we were just- uhm….well..so here’s the thing, we-”

“We were just-”

“Uhhh, so we were in the kitchen-”

“Yeah, so-”

“I asked Mr. Loki to go get a screwdriver-”

“To fix the mixer he probably broke.”

“I-I didn’t break it! I just…altered it...”

“To not work anymore.”

“Nohoho!! I swear I didn’t break it!! I think I just have to, like, put the beaters back in-”

“Why would you need a screwdriver to do that???”

“I don’t know! I just-”

The two playfully bickered like this for a while, leaving Bucky to stand bewildered, sitting in mixed emotions – they sounded like two siblings explaining a broken vase to mum, voices overlapping and simultaneously questioning each other. It wasn’t until Peter mentioned ‘baking’ that he broke out of his stupor, doing a mental double-take.

“Baking? You two are baking?”

The teen scratched the back of his head, looking over to Loki for support, who was very conveniently faced away. “I- yeah….neither of us had anything to do and we couldn’t sleep so we just...baked.”

“...He proposed the idea.”

“Yeah.”

“And you...broke the mixer?”

“I mean...’broke’ is a little harsh-”

“He broke it.”

Turning back to the trickster, the teen pouted, whisper shouting. “Loki! You aren’t helping my case.” The god winked in response, making him squawk indignantly. Bucky took in the interaction, face unreadable.

“And you managed to break Stark Tech? Tony Stark’s own product?”

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t break it. Secondly, the beaters fell out, which I don’t think they’re supposed to-”

Bucky blinked. “...they are.”

“So- wait, what?”

“That’s how you change the type of beater, depending on what you’re mixing. You...take them out and put them back in. They have special slots, so you probably just didn’t face them the right way.”

The resultant silence was broken by Loki’s incredibly quiet, muffled laughter, hand clasped around his mouth as he turned away – Peter stayed completely still in shock, probably re-evaluating his life choices. After a few moments, he threw his hands up, a common mood among the residents of the tower.

“Are you serious?! We just spent- I-” The teen turned away, running his hands through his hair. Despite his despair, a grin was pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I thought I-”

“How long have you been struggling with the mixer for??”

Peter was too occupied with going through the five stages of grief, so Loki answered for him: “Around 10 minutes, at the minimum.” He bit his curled lip at the teen’s whispered screaming, crouched on the other side of the room.

Bucky didn’t respond for a while, staring simultaneously at everything and nothing. At Loki’s helpless shrug (an increasingly common occurrence), the solider strode past them both, gently pushing open the door. The two shared looks before following him out, trailing behind like two lost dogs.


–-


“...So, just click that and it’ll turn it on and off for you”

The soldier pointed to the round slider on the top of the machine, voice carrying over the blissfully gentle hum of the mixer: “This is the speed dial, so the higher numbers are faster and the lower numbers are slower. So for example when you’re kneading dough, you’d set it to a slower speed, but then if you’re whipping cream, you’d want it to be higher – we have it at a medium right now since for fluffing butter and sugar that’s your best option.”

He opened up a drawer, pulling out an assortment of beaters. Each was shaped differently, some long and some short. “These are all of the beaters, and you change them depending on what you’re mixing. So, this one right here,” Bucky held up a long, spiral piece of metal, “is most used when kneading dough or making bread, on a low speed. To be honest, that’s really all you need to know”

“Cool! Thanks, Mr. Barney!” The solider huffed at the nickname, ruffling Peter’s hair as he adjusted the mixer once more.

“And make sure to use the right spoons – teaspoon, tablespoon etc. Also, if you’re mixing stuff in the measuring cup use the coffee ones, since they’re longer. Don’t do what Steve did and try to use a tiny ass teaspoon.”

He opened up another drawer, gesturing for them to come over. Peter peaked over his shoulder, Loki standing just at the counter next to him. “These are all the spoons. So you have Janice here, the small teaspoon-”

“Wait wait. You’ve named all the spoons??”

“I bake a lot-”

“That doesn’t explain anything, Barnes-”

“You’ve baked enough to the point where you’ve given names to each of the spoons??!-”

Bucky turned back to the drawer, oddly defensive. “Yes, I’ve named the spoons. That’s Adam, Jake is the tablespoon-”

“Wouldn’t Jack make more sense, considering the size?” Loki murmured, ignoring the ‘you wanna fight?’ look sent his way. If Peter heard, he didn’t comment, picking up one of the spoons.

“How are you making me emotionally attached to a spoon? Also, how did you come up with all the names?” The soldier shrugged, stealing one of the chocolate chips laying on the counter.

“I don’t know, it just happened.”

“Valid.”

Bucky turned to a different drawer, pulling out a tiny, baby whisk. “This is Gerald. He's incredibly small and best used for when you're whisking up eggs or something tiny." He handed it to Peter, who took it incredibly carefully, cradling the petite little cooking utensil in his hands like his own child. There were tears in his eyes, noted Loki, becoming more and more perplexed by Earth by the minute. Gently, the teen examined the whisk, feeding further into the lost trickster's bafflement.

"I love him."

"I- It's a whisk??"

"Not 'a whisk', Mr. Loki, our whisk. Our child."

"...I don't- I don’t understand the human race."


---


Murky, multi-coloured water swirled down the kitchen sink, gradually lightening as more paint washed off of the brush. Bucky ran his real fingers through the various bristles, making sure the handle was free from any splatters or staining. Satisfied, he placed it on the side of the sink, grabbing another brush.

"What're you painting this time?" Peter asked, fiddling with the elastic band around the chocolate chips; if it was tied any tighter, it would definitely snap.

Bucky turned the tap off, ripping off a perfect square of paper towels from a nearby roll. "The skyline looks really nice at night, so I've set up a canvas by the window. Couldn't sleep anyway, so.."

"Oh, cool! Can I see when it's done?" He nodded, taking in the teen's smile out the corner of his eye, morphing into a pout as he ruffled Peter’s hair.

"Is painting a normal thing, here on Mi- Earth?"

"Yeah, a lot of people do it either as a hobby or professionally. Is it not a normal thing on Asgard?" Loki shook his head, offhandedly vanishing the flour sprayed across the counter. Peter gasped from beside him; he swore he didn't imagine the god's brief smile.

"They cover castle walls with paintings of old stories or gods – it isn’t often that people paint regular objects or Asgardians just for the sake of it."

"Hm. Is it looked down upon, or- Oh, could you pass me the can of plums, Loki? They're in the cupboard."

Still turned away, he missed the nonplussed stare boring into the back of his head, broken by rapid blinking. A few quite shuffles were heard, punctuated by the opening and closing of cupboards before he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, Bucky held his hand out, ready to receive the can.

He halted. Gaze flitting between the item in his hands and Loki’s clueless eyes, the awkward silence stretched.

“...Why did you give me a cheese grater?!”

...

“Oh.”

“Language barrier.” Peter remarked, eyes fixated on his phone. Before he could begin to ask what the hell that even meant, the device was thrust into Loki’s hands. The god’s eyes traveled across the screen. After a moment, he tilted his head, slowly handing it back to Peter with equal puzzlement.

“Well, I still don’t know what plums are.”

“Aw, damn-”

Bucky broke out of his trance, still struggling to digest this new information.“Wait wait, you don’t know what plums are??”

Loki sighed heavily, turning in the direction of the incessant beeping of the microwave. “We grow specific flora, vegetation and generally have a completely different ecosystem on Asgard – I’m not overly familiar with...Earth’s kind.” The god pulled out a bowl of melted chocolate chips, wincing slightly at the heat of the ceramic. “Why is the bowl hot while the food isn’t??” He muttered, putting it back in.

“Terrible design – literally all microwaves are like that, and it just kills the vibe.”

Loki blinked, leaning against the counter. “Kills the- what?”

“Oh- Oh my god I have to show you vines-”

“’Vines’? Like, the plant? I’ve seen those already, spider child-”

Shaking his head, Bucky gathered all of his paintbrushes, walking back towards the corridor – he was not up for this kind of conversation. Though he stopped at the door frame, turning back towards the two, shoulders tense and voice stronger than it had been for the last 20 minutes; his half-glare was aimed at Loki.

“I’m off now, since I’ve got to get back to painting. And Loki.” The man in question looked at him, expression carefully neutral. “Look. I still don’t trust you one bit – I’ll get this go for now, since I trust Peter’s instincts and his ability to tell who’s currently dangerous and who’s not. But, if you hurt him – or anyone – even slightly, I won’t hesitate to hunt you down and kill you on the spot. And I’m not going to go back on that promise. Goodnight.”

Loki inclined his head after a few seconds, face still unreadable. Satisfied, the soldier nodded back at them both and turned out of sight, steps fading away.

–--


“Spiderling, can you pass me the- shi- shoot. Sváss. Pass mik svássrinn. Hvat's worðinn fyrir sváss- Su- damn þat. The white grains that are sweet and taste good...sug- THE SUGAR-!”

Peter grinned, pausing his whisking to look at Loki. “The- the sugar?”

“Yes, the sugar.”

The heavy bag of granulated sugar connected with Loki’s hand, the other folding a smooth, puffy yellow mixture. Tipping a minuscule amount of sugar into the bowl, he stirred it in again, eyes flicking to Peter – the teen was cautiously pulling out 2 trays from the cupboard, walking over and softly setting them down on the counter next to the god. He looked over Loki’s shoulder, smiling.

“It looks good! We’ll have to add eggs and vanilla extract next, then the dry ingredients.” Seeming to remember said ingredients, he turned to slide the other bowl towards them, almost knocking it off the edge in the process.

Loki looked at the boy out of the corner of his eye, eyebrow raised. “Vanilla extract?”

“It’s basically like a sweet flavouring! It’s made from vanilla beans and you use it quite a lot in baking, especially for, like, cookies and stuff.”

“I see. Like, a flavour enhancer?”

“Yeah, basically! Actually, I wonder what it tastes like on its own….it must be super sweet...” Peter held a finger to his chin in thought, grabbing the cute, innocent little bottle. Not knowing what was to come, the god didn’t stop him, watching as he poured a little onto a teaspoon. He offhandedly ate the extract, tossing the spoon into the sink before reaching towards the egg carton.

Peter stopped completely, hand falling against the counter with a muffled cough. In one split second, he was downing a water bottle from the cupboard, leaning against the counter.

“Peter?” Loki felt the thrumming intensify, concern shining through against his will. “You okay?”

Voice muffled by his palm, the teen shook his head, swallowing in disgust. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Mostly. But holy shi-. Don’t- don’t eat that by itself. Holy fu- fudge, what the hell?! How can something so good taste so awful?? That’s- That’s some space crap.” He massaged his throat, taking another massive sip before speaking again. “Like, that literally burns your throat with zero flavour what the actual hell.”

Loki picked up the bottle, examining it. He ignored the way his hands shook slightly. “Spiderling, this is concentrated flavouring. You don’t down a whole bottle of sriracha sauce by itself, do you?”

“I- Oh. Right. Woops...wait, how do you know what sriracha is but not a whisk-?”

“..Don’t ask. How much vanilla extract do we need?” Peter chose not to comment on the subject change, whipping out his phone, still grimacing at the horrid taste on his tongue.

“Uhh, around a teaspoon. I don’t think it needs to be super accurate, but-” Before he could finish, the god poured a random amount of the liquid into the mixture, shrugging before looking towards Peter. He blinked. “You know what, that works. Right. Uhhhmm, so now we need 3 eggs.” This time, his hand reached all the way to the carton, taking out 3 eggs and very carefully placing them on the counter.

He grabbed one, tenderly hitting it against the counter. Both lapsed into overly concentrated silence, tentatively examining the cracks each time it hit the table – once it was broken enough, Peter positioned it above the bowl, forcing his thumbs into the small, cracked spot. Liquid spilling over his fingers, he cleanly separated the two shel-

“Hello.”

Peter yelped, stumbling against a startled Loki, who only just managed to catch himself against the freezer. They both whipped around, ignoring the shell currently splayed in the batter. Completely silent and still floated Vision, hovering like the grim reaper on the other side of the room. An omen of death.

…

“Are you two alright?”

The teen pushed himself up using the counter, whispering a quick apology to Loki. A vague, dismissive wave of the hand was given in return. “...sorry Vis but that was so ominous and terrifying – I mean, please don’t float in like that again holy crap-”

“Oh. I apologize.”

“Don’t worry, it’s okay! Just please don’t come through the wall like that with no warning, it feels like something from Ghostbusters. Not even mentioning the fact that it’s, like, 3AM, which makes it even scarier – it’s like a movie come to life- I’m ranting, aren’t I?

Straightening up, Loki hid the dagger he had flung out automatically at the intrusion, muttering a half-exasperated half-relieved ‘Odin’s beard’ under his breath. He subconsciously shoved the freezer-induced hand into his pocket without a glance.

His brain finally registering what just happened, Peter swallowed, eyes drifting to the wall behind Vision, “wait, hold on, did you actually just...glide through that? With no restrictions?

The AI turned to said wall, then back again, a blank expression on his face. “Yes.”

“...ohohokayy..” Peter said nervously, disbelieving laughter colouring his words. All things considered, this wasn’t the weirdest thing he had witnessed.

Vision cast his gaze to Loki, who slightly raised his eyebrows in return. The teen watched this exchange in sudden realization, eyes snapping to the AI initiating the stare-off. “Wait, Vis, please don’t tell Mr. Stark!”

“...You do not appear to be in danger. However, boss has asked me to report anyth-”

“Nono Vis please! Everything is fine and we just bumped into each other, which kinda lead to this whole, uh, thing….anyway, we’re just baking, and honestly this is really cool, like a bootleg bake-off show-”

Loki clicked his tongue, fingers drumming against the counter, speaking in a completely monotone voice. “To be honest, you’re killing the vibe, Vision.”

Peter choked on his own saliva, a mix between coughing and wheezing.

“...I shall not tell him. Nonetheless, I will alert him if anything happens that is deemed dangerous.” The god nodded in acknowledgment, smirking at Peter’s dumbfounded and slightly watery expression. He only just managed to shoot the AI a hesitant thumbs-up, receiving a nod as the other man glided back out of the room.

...

“Dude, that’s still ominous as hell.”


---


One of the many problems the pair had come to discover is that Steve tended to tie every single packet up like your goddamn mother – Peter had spent the last few minutes painfully trying to untie the elastic band around the powdered sugar packet, looped around 50 times to form an impenetrable wall of rubber. Loki opened his mouth, the teen already knowing what he was going to say:

“Do you need a knife?”

With a resigned sigh, he nodded, finally conceding and accepting the blade Loki had offered to him approximately 20 times within the past hour. “Yeah. Thanks.” With one clean swoop, he cut the top off of the bag; it exploded with a cloud of sweet powder, making them both cough and wave at the air.

“Right. Wow. Okay. Sooo, now we need to put the parchment paper onto the trays, then we can make the dough balls, and then we can finally bake the cookies!!”

“What’s ‘parchment paper’?”

Peter opened up one of the cupboards, swinging out a long tube of brown paper, held together by a piece of tape. Waving it around like a wonky stick, he took the tape off and grabbed a pair of scissors, talking airily. “It’s this brown baking paper. It basically just prevents the dough from sticking, so you don’t have to deal with the cookies being fused with the tray.” He grabbed one of said trays, hovering the unfurled roll just above it.

“Do we need something to stick the paper to the trays?”

The teen marked the cutting line with a small rip, picking up the scissors. “Nah. I mean, we could, but the weight of the dough balls should just hold it down.” Peter attempted a glide through the paper, whole figure slumping as the parchment ripped apart between the blades. Loki held out his hand, silently asking for the roll. He gave it to him.

With two, calculated slides of his arm, the god perfectly cut out a clean section of parchment, dagger drifting through like a boat on water. Peter did a double-take in awe, jokingly glaring at the shit-eating grin on Loki’s face. He halfheartedly shoved the roll in his direction, making the god laugh, picking up the cookie dough bowl. The teen was just about to pick up a chunk before gasping, pivoting around fast enough to give himself whiplash.

“I forgot to preheat the oven!! Nooo, it’s gonna take forever now...” Loki looked on in amused interest, irritably slamming his hand down on the parchment paper that refused to just stay flat. It sprung back up, mockingly bouncy and cheerful. He tilted his head, glaring at it.

“You have to preheat the oven? You can’t just light a fire under it and immediately put the food in?”

Peter sighed, cranking the dial to 325F. “That sounds super cool and useful but no – you have to wait for it to heat up gradually by itself.”

“How long does that take?”

“Like, 10 minutes at the maximum, maybe? Still annoying though.” He skipped back to Loki, scooping out a bit of dough from the glass bowl. “I mean, getting the cookie dough done before the oven preheats completely is stressful as hell, but damnnn iiittt~”

“You can’t speed it up?”

“Nooo….”

Loki hit the spread with his palm, getting more and more pissed at the defiant little rectangle of paper. The teen watched on, sympathetic – he placed a perfectly round, cute shiny dough ball on one of the corners, holding down the parchment paper. Loki watched him for a moment before pointing to the cookie dough bowl, raising an eyebrow. “May I?”

Peter smiled, already grabbing another chunk. “Yeah! Sure!” The god carved out a ball of dough from the bowl, grimacing slightly at the sticky texture. He stared at it for a moment, making the boy next to him stop as well, silent in question. Before he could speak, Loki hovered the ball into the air, emerald, shimmering wisps circling the glowing orb. It spun, tendrils of seiðr whipping around it like moons around a planet. Suddenly, the light ceased, the perfect dough ball softly plunking into his hand.

Peter gasped, lightly bouncing on his feet. His voice raised in pitch, quick but hushed in the dim shines of stars outside the window. “Duude! That was so frickin’ cool ohmygod-” Loki bit down the smile on his face, placing the spherical ball on another corner of the parchment. “Did you just- manipulate matter? Like you just changed the shape of it effortlessly oh my god that’s so so cool!! Can you change states of matter too? Like, turn water to ice or steam- what about walls or solid objects?”

As the boy carried on rambling, Loki took a moment to consider him, a little (read: very) shocked at his enthusiasm – such a small, insignificant trick would be frowned upon in Asgard, dirty looks shot at him across the table. Norn’s sake, gliding a spoon across the counter would earn him a scolding.

And yet the spider-child had accepted this with...awe? He hadn’t had time to comment after his little, undetectable teleportation trick, setting up an illusion at the tower. If this was how he reacted at a minor wave-of-the-hand trick…

The thought made Loki’s brain stop completely, swallowing at the influx of praise still streaming from the teen; it was far from what the trickster was used to, this unusual change of pace after damn near a lifetime making his cheeks warm lightly against his will.

“...which would make it collapse- oh- damn, I just completely spiraled, d-didn’t I? Sorry, I didn’t mean to get carried away-”

Loki stuttered slightly, the sound so unlike him it made the god hurt on the inside. “I- It’s-….It’s fine, don’t worry about it, spiderling.” Peter grinned at him (albeit a little embarrassed) before flopping another dough ball onto the tray, a piece sticking to his fingers. “Pray tell, child – why are you so...intrigued by my seiðr?”

“Why am I- Dude!! It’s literally magic~!” A wild hand movement accompanied the words, just missing Loki’s arm.

“’Magic’?”

“Magic!! Like, it’s so awesome!! It’s basically the coolest fricking thing I’ve ever seen in my life!? Why wouldn’t I be??”

Loki cleared his throat, rolling another seiðr dough ball to distract himself from the compliment-induced stroke his brain was having. “Well, on Asgard seiðr is looked down upon among men – traditionally, woman are the only ones expected to possess such a power, and even so, you are meant to use it in private and with little result. Any usage is frowned upon.”

He moved over to the sink, speaking over the stream of water carrying the leftover mixture off of his fingers. “Asgardians are trained to be warriors, physically trained to take down even the strongest of opponents. Not with ‘magic’ or seiðr. As you can see, I do not apply to...either condition.”

Peter digested this information for a moment, eyebrows contorting in a mixture of shock and confusion. The god didn’t understand why. “’Frowned upon’? Wouldn’t seiðr be much more effective and useful in a battle? Like, not only would it be unexpected, but you could easily exploit any weaknesses and ignore the laws of physics. Or basically just yeet them into the sky...”

The trickster chose to ignore the last few words, not even questioning their meaning. “They do not seem to think so. Even a slight levitation of an object is heavily against Asgard’s expectations.” Loki said, sighing in defeat – he had already accepted such a fact. Peter, on the other hand, appeared uncharacteristically annoyed; angry, even.

“That’s just stupid!”

Loki smirked. It was bitter. “Tell that to the All-Father.”

The teen seemed to actually debate going up to Odin’s throne and arguing with him himself, scratching his head.

“….Well. I-.” Peter hesitated. Then, turning back to Loki, he grinned, eyes warm and defiant. “I think it’s really cool!! It looks super hard and it just looks so awesome when you do it – like, no offense to Thor, his thunder is really cool and all. But like.” Peter seemed to lack the words, ruffling his hair with both hands. “Your seiðr is just so awesome, man – I can’t describe it.”

The teen glanced at the first tray equipped with 14 shiny dough balls before offhandedly reaching for the second one, still avoiding the roll of parchment paper out of offense. Loki, on the other hand, stayed silent, running through the teen’s words in his head – he couldn’t begin to open his mouth, having more compliments simultaneously dumped on him within the span of a minute than he had had since his time with Frigga. The trickster’s brain crashed, blinking rapidly while his cheeks lit up once again. And to be compared to Thor, but with literal admiration instead of disappointment and ire? What??

Seeming to notice Loki’s sudden silence, the teen turned back to him, popping one of the marshmallows on the counter into his mouth. It tilted downwards. “Loki? Did I-”

“No, no. I-” The god ducked his head down and turned away, letting some hair fall by his face as he cleared his throat. He unrolled some of the parchment paper, determined to not let himself think too hard about it. “...Thank you.”

The quiet whisper of gratitude made something in Peter’s brain snap, feeling more than a little frustrated. Seeing Loki like...this. It was. Different. He found himself so simply unable to stare at him and feel fear or disgust, becoming more firm and firm in his belief that something wasn’t...right. The Battle of New York. Through the clips he had seen, the trickster’s eyes had been a vibrant blue, swirling in a never ending pool of aquamarine blue, manic and broken.

Yet, even as the broken aspect remained, this whole...figure of Loki – so emerald-eyed and different – was far from anything he had heard from anyone. Mr. Stark’s warnings to stay away, tucking him away from the god as if the teen knew or could sense nothing seemed so pointless now – even when they had first met, not a single ounce of hatred or ill-intent had ever been directed at Peter, despite the distance between them, made aware by the shallow sarcasm and quips.

Seeing Loki’s apparent discomfort, Peter gestured at the roll of parchment, a mix between smiling and pouting. “No problem. Can you do the uh...cool glide thing. Please.”

The god smirked, internally grateful for the change of topic. He bowed exaggeratedly. “Of course, Peter.” The teen pouted, trying desperately not to laugh. He watched in awe as Loki cut a perfect line down the middle of the parchment, twirling his dagger back into thin air. The trickster huffed at Peter’s whispered ‘magic, I’m telling you.’


---


“Noooo!! C’mon...” Peter whined, hearing the distinct scrape of metal against tile, laying in dismay as the spoon whizzed away from the broom. “Goddammiiiitttt~”

Loki tilted his head, almost falling ever so gracefully out of his cross-legged position. He held himself up with his right arm. “How far away is it now?”

“It’s probably in Narnia or somethin’ now...”

The god looked to Peter, who was dejectedly swiping the stick underneath the cupboards. “’Narnia’?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain later. It’s a reference – man, sometimes I forget you’re, like, from a completely different realm.”

“Forget me and my otherworldly ‘magic’ are from a different realm.”

“Mmm, yes.” The teen’s eyes widened, accidentally hitting the poor cutlery even further. “Wait, no-” A distinct clatter was heard, the metal hitting the wall.

…

“Well, it has probably passed ‘Narnia’ by now...”

Peter huffed, head thunking against the cool kitchen tiles. His voice was muffled, hot breath rising against his face. “Can you and your magic get it out? Please?”

“I can try..” Loki sighed, propping himself up on his elbows. He looked under the cupboards, finding nothing but the void staring back at him. The god shook his head, willing the flashback out of his mind. “Though it is quite dark – I am not sure if I’ll be able to. I could feel it out, but I’m afraid my seiðr is not at it’s prime as of now for...reasons.”

Peter considered this, humming. “Wellll, we can always try.”

“That we can.”

Loki closed his eyes, letting his seiðr drift around the small, enclosed space. It looped around a smooth, thin object. He smiled, tugging it out with a wave of his hands. However, when he opened his eyes, his smile fell, eyes landing on an item that was definitely not a spoon.

“...dude, does your natural compass just actively seek out knives.”

Loki expertly examined the blade, coughing slightly at the dust that arose when he blew on it. “Perhaps.”

Peter groaned, the grin on his face still visible through the hands covering his features. “Duude, Bucky’s gonna kill us.”

“Is he?”

“Oh, he definitely is.”

Loki shut his eyes again, seiðr sweeping the floor. This time, he let it wrap around the object, the distinct cry of spoon echoing in his mind. As he pulled it out, it skid across the floor, stopping at Peter’s foot. The teen let out a whispered whoop of joy, fists pumping the air.

“Yesss! No more death to us!”

“...Yet.”


–-


Loki pulled down the oven door, eyes scanning the rapidly expanding puffs of dough – it squeaked again, connecting with a soft clink as he shut it.

Peter sighed from beside him, amused. “Loki, if you keep opening the oven door you’re gonna let all the heat out.”

“I’m checking on the pastries.”

“I know – you’ve been constantly for the past 2 minutes.” The god huffed at that, crossing his arms in mock annoyance. “Just let them bake, they still got a long way to go. Also, you can just look through the window.”

“Well, how long has it been?”

“Like,” the teen checked his phone, “5 minutes.”

“And how long do they take?”

“Like, 12, if you want the good soft-in-the-middle effect.” Peter drummed his fingers against the counter, eyes drifting to the clock on the wall. Loki tapped his foot, about to open the oven door again before deciding to just watch from outside. They looked at each other.


–-


Peter’s thumb swiped rhythmically at his phone screen, occasionally double-tapping or reblogging posts. His ears strained as a tiny, repetitive squeaking sound came from his left, causing him to casually look up, not expecting much.

Well, he certainly didn’t expect this.

Loki stood to the side of the fridge, face practically pressed up against the side. His hand was gripping the door, quietly opening it. Ever so slowly, he shut it again, slumping as it connected – the light inside didn’t flicker even for a moment, drifting through the cracks. Determined, he opened it again, this time holding the door just barely away. The god squinted.

“Are you trynna see the light turn off?”

Loki looked to him, a defensive look on his face. “Yes.”

Peter hid a smile behind his phone, leaning against the counter. “You can’t, Loki. It’s basically impossible. Besides, you’re just gonna let all the cold air out.”

“You said ‘basically impossible’, not ‘impossible’.”

“Loki, believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Well, clearly, you have not tried hard enough.”

“I have!"

“Have not!”


---


“They’re looking nice and crispy on the edges. Nice dark brown colour.” Peter muttered, hand uselessly flopping up from the floor. He let out a soft ‘ow’ as it greeted the tiles again.

Loki twisted around, hands clasped around his feet, overlapping each other in his cross-legged position. “The tops are rising, too. Is that supposed to happen?”

“Yeah, yeah! Means they’re almost done. You want them to still be slightly soft under your finger when you poke the center, so the outside is cool and crispy while the middle is soft and chewy. Makes the cookie taste even better.”

“I see.”

Peter didn’t say anything else, looking up at the dimly-lit ceiling. Permeating the silence was the gentle hum of the oven, which the two had resorted to just staring at after many tries of finding something to do. Strangely enough, this wasn’t boring or uncomfortable by any means, Loki thought; if anything, he was unusually...content? It had been a while since he got to sit down and let his worries fade into the back of his mind.

Loki hated how calming the silence was – he was a god, norn’s sake, and yet here he was being dragged off by a teen he had only just met recently. And yet, for some odd reason, he was completely fine with it? He’s supposed to close himself off, never let anyone see the vulnerable parts of him that remain shrouded in his own anger and denial. Just like he has throughout the years, alone to wallow in his own problems. And here he is, content: happy, even, watching fucking cookies bake. He should hate it.

And yet he isn’t.

The pair lay like that for a while, Loki resorting to just letting his back rest against the cupboards. His nails aren’t pressed into his palms anymore. Peter has his hands behind his head, laying on the floor. Occasionally, he sits up slightly to peer inside the oven.

The silence isn’t uncomfortable.


---


Peter excitedly lifted the two trays out of the oven, bouncing with so much energy Loki vaguely feared he’d hit his hand against the top. The cookies steamed, hot air rising out of the oven as he shut it again. The god turned the dials off behind him, having already memorized how to use it.

With a soft clang, the teen set the trays down on a wire rack, pulling off the oven gloves and swinging them onto a nearby cupboard handle. Both peered over them.

Peter clasped his hands behind his back, poking the middle of one of the cookies with a toothpick. It came out mostly clean, with a few moist chunks. “They look really good! Nicely cooked. Wait, some of them have fused….”

“Where?”

“There.” He pointed to the top right corner of one of the trays, wrapping a sleeve around his hand before spinning it towards them.

“Oh. Is that bad?”

“Nah, we just have a mega cookie now!” Peter examined them – they weren’t overly fused. They could just snap them in half. Suddenly, he gasped. “They’re married!!!”

“...don’t you have to cut them apart, though? Then consume them?”

The teen grabbed the two cookies, softly breaking them apart in the middle. “Divorced.”

Loki huffed, watching in amusement as the teen visibly restrained himself from eating the cookies. Once again, the teen gasped, hurriedly grabbing a nearby plate. “Do you think Vis would want a cookie? Do you think AIs can eat? Or feel hungry?”

“I-”

The trickster didn’t have time to finish his words, Peter already chaotically half-tiptoeing half-running down the corridor, plate of cookies in hand, whisper shouting. “Vis!! Do you want a cookie??”


---


“...which is totally unfair. I mean, seriously! It’s not as if I actually knew about the attack. The comms were down.”

“Right.”

Peter gestured wildly, startling and hitting himself in the head at a familiar wooshing sound, making Loki turn around. There was a deep silence for a moment, staring at the caped figure peeking out of the wall.

“Jeez- dude, Vision. My guy.”

“I apologize again.”

Peter bounced on the cushions, shaking his hands to ward off his nerves. “Nah, you’re good. Just- damn, that’s a legit jump scare.”

“I will try not to do so any more.”

The teen grinned before noticing the empty plate in the AI’s hands, eyes widening. “Oh, wait, did you like the cookies?” Vision returned the smile, setting the plate down on the counter.

“Yes, I found them quite enjoyable.”

“Dude, wait, do you have, like, programmed taste buds?”

He tilted his head, considering. “I suppose so. I can identify tastes and either enjoy or not enjoy them.”

“Sick!” Loki didn’t say anything, absentmindedly eating one of the cookies – to both of their surprise, they actually tasted really good. Somehow. Peter had even placed some by Bucky’s door, he had told the god (to be fair, he was probably the only reason why they didn’t totally fuck it up).

“I should be going now. Thank you for the cookies.” Peter waved enthusiastically after Vision, who sank back into the wall. He shook his head afterwards, still slightly unnerved by the action. Loki just blinked, not even questioning it.


---


The god sank back into the cushions, another round of exhaustion seeping in; it had been a few hours, the adrenaline of trying to cope in the kitchen wearing off. Peter was slumped into the corner of the couch, arm resting on the top and legs splayed. They had been quietly talking for some time now, a plate of cookies perched precariously on the coffee table between them. Loki ruffled the base of his hair, adjusting the fluffy green collar of his sweater.

“Yes, I suppose it has been...nice.” The words felt weird on his tongue, sounding strange to his ears. Once again, the innocent teen had left him completely stumped. He didn’t know how to accept this.

A beat of silence passed. It carried on, the only sound in it a steady rhythm of breathing. Loki turned towards the boy, worried considering how chatty he normally was. “Peter?”

Loki’s eyes landed on a clearly sleeping Peter, head resting on one arm, fluffy locks falling onto his closed eyes. The steady fall and rise of his chest shifted the other arm laying on his torso, rest of his body completely still. The god smiled softly, slowly standing up. He made sure to keep his steps purposefully light, hands in his pockets. Though he stopped, turning slightly to face the teen again, eyes flickering across the various couches, armchairs and cushions.

There was nothing to prove that Loki swiped one of the blankets from a nearby sofa, draping it very gently over the teen in one swift movement. Or that he meticulously put all the tools on the counter to one side using his seiðr, cleaning them up and putting them into the machine he had discovered to be called the ‘dishwasher’. Made sure to hide the plate of remaining cookies underneath the blanket, positioned right next to Peter’s arm to ensure that no other resident would take them.

There was no one else to see how Loki padded back down the corridor into his room, flopping down on the blissfully cool bed. The room was airy and light, the sunlight that peered through the cracks in the curtains accompanying his (for once) peaceful sleep.

Chapter Text

Peter’s legs swung high and low, gliding between buildings and skies alike akin to a clean wave in the sea, hushed whooshes echoing with each flick of string.

He took a deep breath, lungs relishing in the calm, night air that swirled in. It was a quiet patrol. One where the street corners and alleyways were less populated, occasionally resounding with the distinct sprays of paint and shouts of teens.

As much as Peter adored the rush of adrenaline, free to yell out quips and finally feel right about what he’s doing, feet clashing against the cement in calculated steps, nights like these where the glowing moon was the only pair of eyes tracking his every step stood out among the rest; content to let the wind carry him through passageways and bridges.

Cutting smoothly through the air, Peter swung downwards, feet flattening to meet the ground below. With one timed tap, the thin, tense white string suspending him shot back into his web shooter, leaving the teen alone to embrace the wind. He rolled, feet springing to launch him cleanly onto a nearby pole, automatically landing in his signature crouch.

Peter let out a breath, elbows perched on the caps of his knees.

“Hey, uh, Karen, anythin’ on the comms? Any action?” He asked airily, absentmindedly fiddling with the gloves on his hands.

“Police comms are currently inactive and I am unable to detect anything in the area. However, it is currently 1:46 AM on a school night, Peter – I would suggest going home.”

The teen stood up abruptly, whirling around as a small, aqua-coloured digital clock popped up in the corner of his vision. “Wait wait, really? Already? Oh uh- shooottt….May’s totally gonna kill me.”

“I believe I have reason to agree with you.”

Peter huffed, hopping off of the pole. He clicked his web shooter again, letting momentum do the work as he swung back in the direction of his apartment — with such a still night, it didn’t seem like a massive sacrifice. “Could you send her a text saying I’ll be back in, like, uh...” He glanced around, scanning the buildings to determine his exact location, “10 minutes-ish?”

A small ding resounded into his ears, fading between whirling rushes of wind. His mind wandered as he sprung from building to building, running across poles edges alike – it came naturally, lost in thought while muscle memory carried him across the city.

The way his eyelids drooped didn’t go unnoticed by both himself and others, sucked into the black hole of 3am on most nights; exam season, he thought bitterly. Not a week could go by without some sort of test, each sparking a last-minute study session in the dark corners of the night. Several Avengers had already come up to him with their concerns – each was waved away by a stuttered excuse or lie. He was fine.

He yelped as his side connected rather angrily with a large ad sign, like a bird to a window.

Yup. Completely fine.

Peter let his string collapse, rolling onto a nearby roof. God, he hoped no one had caught that. He groaned, half laughing.

As the teen lay flopped on the concrete, his thoughts bounced around, ping ponging from topic to topic. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself up again, ignoring the small sound he swore Karen had made. Could AIs laugh?  If they could, she totally was. Damn her.

“Yeah yeah, very funny, Karen.”

Her voice came out overly innocent, somehow mastering the tone despite only being programmed to do so. “I did not speak.”

Peter hummed in disbelief, feet running along the roof tiles. Strangely enough, he didn’t quite have enough energy to banter today, only now becoming fully aware of just how late it was. Oh fuck’s sake, he had a history test today as well. Dammit.

The only resident who hadn’t come up to him (or at least thrown him a stray “You okay?” passing by – the response was always the same) was Loki.

But it’s not like the god had a chance, kept under close watch by the Avengers. He wasn’t completely blind. Most of the time. Sometimes.

Course, he didn’t really know why exactly Loki was here in the first place, or why he seemed so unusually careful to make sure he stayed here – the details were never passed to him, kept in the dark. If anything, the Avengers were keen to keep him in the abyss, constantly making sure that the two never crossed paths. Sheltering him like a small child, seeing to it that Peter’s own eyes would never land on the trickster, much to his internal annoyance. Just like always, it seemed.

Well. Task failed successfully.

It had started off...small. Offhanded, even. It was a stray idea Peter was too bored to refuse, eager to find some sort of communication – he had quickly discovered that the trickster was actually incredibly fun to be around, each sarcastic quip or chaotic idea leading to hours of shenanigans, trademark sense of mischief following each thought. It had only taken a few more weeks for them to meet again. They needed to find some way to vibe without the Avengers noticing.

So, naturally, that’s exactly what he did.

When Loki had stopped by his usual spot in the corner, he had hesitated, noticing something wedged between the cushions. After a quick glance around, he sat down primly, nonchalantly pulling out his book (“Macbeth” it was titled. It didn’t take long before Loki was completely immersed in the story, picking it apart in his mind) to cover the other hand snaking under the cushions.

It emerged with a smooth, quaint little can, glinting in the room’s LED lighting to show off a vibrant packaging. A vivid red was wrapped around the surface, broken by a small note taped to the side. He tilted the can.

The paper was torn out of a notebook, handwriting round and curled, somehow simultaneously neat and messy. Tucking it between the two pages of his book, Loki quickly read it.


‘uh, heyo Loki! i was thinking we didn’t have any proper way to communicate without the whole team noticing (well, they seem low-key (pun totally intended) suspicious already, kinda. maybe? i mean, Mr. Captain Crunch gave me a really weird look once, which totally Stressed Me Out. i can’t tell if i’m overthinking or if i should be genuinely concerned), so, yeah.

i grabbed one of these while i was at the sandwich store, and you mentioned being curious about our style of food, so here! pringles(™)! :D they’re a popular kinda snack crisp (a crisp is like a thin wedge flat chip slice of potato (usually) with lots of flavouring on it. tastes good!) that you might want to try? maybe? i mean you don't have to, but. i thought you'd be interested.

anyway, i got the og flavour, since i don't know what flavours you like or know, so its just the plain salt version. still good tho! :DD

-P (spiderman, not spiderling. smh.)’


Loki huffed to himself, equally puzzled and amused by the spiderling’s peculiar way of writing. He made a mental note to ask the A.I. about the last 3 letters later (it was a strange sort of thing, but it did provide the god with lots of information).

Tucking the note into his seiðr storage, he silently got up and padded down the corridor, tin in hand – the Midgardians were getting increasingly loud and overbearing anyway. Loki couldn’t simply just stab them, much to his dismay. Disappointing. Mortals were too weak, he mused.

Well, even if they weren’t, it was too risky to stab anyone in his current position. Dangerous.

Thwip.

Peter stopped to admire some of the vibrant paintings flowering across the block wall, sensitive nose picking up the freshness of the paint. A cat brushed up against his leg, collar ringing. The twinkling of golden bells paired nicely with the soft yellow arcs of the lamp-posts below. He smiled softly, eyes taking the stray pet in for any suspicious signs before lightly scratching behind its ears with his suit gloves – it nudged into his hand as a response.

Gradually, the notes had become more and more chaotic, sometimes paired with items Peter had picked out specifically to confuse the hell out of Loki. It worked, he thought, grinning, remembering the god’s face of absolute, bone-deep bewilderment as he dejectedly held up a furby from across the room; his fingers curved around the base carefully, positioned as though he feared that if it was held too tightly it would curse his soul.

The sigh that followed was so powerful that Peter could still hear it in his ears, staring at the sparkly green creature as if to ask what the purpose of its existence was. It responded with a horrific gurgle, making Loki drop it onto his lap while repeatedly muttering ‘what the fuck’. Even for a powerful, magic-wielding god, Peter considered his reaction appropriate. Honestly.

(If they both got scared to shit at the hell-bringing sound the unholy toy had wailed out when they placed it on the counter, no one had to know. ‘Surtur’s very own offspring’, as Loki had proclaimed. Peter didn’t know what that meant, but he hummed along anyway.)

Though, they weren’t always like that. Well, sometimes – it was mostly chaos, in all fairness. From both sides, of course.

You see, being under constant scrutiny of the Avengers was getting to Loki – that much was obvious. Very obvious.

Although they lowered slightly at the sight of Peter, the god’s looks were always tinted with some sort of disdain or annoyance, visibly refraining from making some overly snide comment towards another resident of the tower. When the teen thought about it, he found that he couldn’t really blame him. Locked up and kept away from anything that wasn’t strictly necessary; the only thing Peter had really seen him do, apart from their shenanigans, was reading-

Damn, Peter had thought to himself, slumping in the middle of his hurried typing. He couldn’t imagine not being able to go anywhere like that. He constantly found himself wanting to tinker or fiddle with something, having to keep on his feet and do something with himself. Move, sway, keep switching feet and moving his hands. Subconsciously.

So, sometimes they were less fun/weird trinkets he had found, but more just...general things. Gifts, even? They weren’t anything special, really, but why not?

Loki had begun to lift one of his favourite boxes of tea (there were many, of course – one of the only things Midgard was ahead in was their blessedly immense selection of the beverage; he swore his jaw had dropped when FRIDAY casually told him that there were over 20,000 different types in the world, as if it was nothing. 20,000. Norns. The Asgardian selection was downright pitiful) before stopping, eyes landing instead on the box beneath it.

Well, it wasn’t a box.

He threw a glance over his shoulder to make sure that no one else was watching before carefully lifting the soft-cover book out of the cramped space. The lamination was a bit dusty and the corners a little bent, but it was still very much intact and clean. No matter. A quick flip revealed the usual note stuck to the bottom, just above the blurb.


‘hey again Mr. Lokiii! :D this is a really well-known series here on earth and i just thought you might want to give it a go? i don’t know which genres you prefer or like, so i don’t know if it’ll be for you, but you said that you were interested in our literature, so why not? i’ve had this for a while (sorry if it’s a bit scuffed up! nothing torn out and the pages are still nice, but still) sooo i thought i could give it to you instead of letting it dust - of course, you don’t have to keep it if its not your style! but. pog.

oh and i have, like, a ton of books that i haven’t touched for ages, so just ask and i can yeet those your way too.

-P (your local spider-m͇a͇n͇ >>://)’


Loki pocketed the small note, the corner of his lip slightly upturned against his will. Just because he’d received many notes by now didn’t make him any less exposed to Midgard’s strange...language. He turned his attention back to the book, running his thumb over the reflective bold letters on the front cover. ‘The Hunger Games’ gleamed back at him. Flipping it again, a quick scan of the blurb immediately drew his interest. ‘Why not?’, as the spiderling had put it.

A mere two days later appeared a neatly folded note in the crevice of Peter’s web hammock. Taking it out, he carefully unraveled the paper, eyes lightening up in recognition at the familiar handwriting.


Spiderling,

I admit, this is incredibly interesting, thank you. Do you happen to have the next book in the series, by any chance?

-- Loki Lau Odinson


The teen had huffed at the first line, pouting despite his internal glee to find something that Loki had liked. He absentmindedly ran his fingers over the writing.

It was the direct opposite of Peter’s, and certainly not what he had initially expected – slightly slanted and neatly scratchy while not quite uniform, lines criss crossing like a row of runes, engraved into the page akin to a knife on a stone tablet. The god’s fingers had gone through the motions so many times that it had worn down to simplicity, no room for fancy curls or loops like one might expect. Unusual but strangely nice – it just screamed ‘Loki’.

Another book tucked under the same tea box the next morning answered the trickster’s question.

Whoosh.

Peter suddenly stopped, distractedly landing on a roof - the hairs on his neck stuck up like needles towards a magnet, drawing his eyes to the landscape of apartment blocks behind him. A weight sunk into his gut. He strained his ears, adjusting the web shooter straps on his wrists.

Could always tap into the police comms, Peter thought, biting his lip; with such a small lead, he couldn’t pinpoint the sou-

A sharp cry for help pierced the night sky, shooting through the teen’s thoughts and flipping his mindset over like a dime. Lenses contracting, he hooked onto a nearby lamp post, carried by the senses buzzing fervently in his mind. A thud reached his ears, pushing his feet forward to bounce between walls and crevices. The leaps became faster with each sound.



---



Smash.

The glass scattered like a round of bullets, piercing heaping bags of garbage built around the girl’s knees with several small clings, eliciting a sharp intake of air at the slash that broke her shin’s skin. She swallowed, bag protectively held to her chest. It rose and fell rapidly against it. The straps had begun to wither under the pressure of her white knuckles.

“Listen, lassy - I don’t know how many god forsaken times I’m gon’ have to tell you this to get it through your thick skull.” Gritting his teeth, the slightly older teen strode towards the girl. The metal of the baseball bat gleamed threateningly in the moonlight, casting a blind eye to her distress. “Hand over the fucking bag, or this shit’s gon’ go straight into your head - might set ya straight while it’s at it. Now. Before I change my mind.”

She didn’t respond, blinking furiously against the barricade of tears blocking her vision. A drop of sweat ran down the side of her face. She couldn’t give it away. It would cost them so much. She couldn’t- she couldn’t-

Huffing, the other girl spoke up from beside the teen, leaning against the wall dejectedly. The black cap on her head obscured her eyes from the lights in the sky. “Maybe you could give her a little nudge. Actually do something for once. Empty threats.” Her voice turned mocking, faux-curious. “You aren’t going all weak and hesitant, are you?”

He turned towards her abruptly, eyebrows scrunching in a mix of rage and disbelief. “I- weak? You callin’ me fucking soft?”

“I dunno man, you’re clutching that bat as if it's some kinda accessory - just hit her, take it, and let's get outta here before anyone arrives. We don’t need anyone on our backs.”

“You do it then, if you’re so brave, little princess.”

At those words, she straightened up from the wall she was leaning against, crossing her arms. “Maybe I will. Maybe even give you a little while I’m at it.” He held up his bat, silently daring her to speak another word. She cocked an eyebrow.

They both turned back to the teen pressed into the corner, lips trembling with the rest of her body. Gazes were passed around for a few seconds before the boy sighed heavily, taking another step towards the girl. His companion stayed suspiciously silent, teeth biting the edges of her scuffed nails.

Despite the practically non-existent age gap, he towered over both her and the bags piled up and around the alleyway.

“Ugh- you know what,” his left eye shimmered purple as he spoke, voice lower than before. “,look. We-.” He swallowed, tightening his grip on the wood. “We don’t really have a choice here. We don’t wanna beat the shit outta you, or whatever you might think-”

His companion deadpanned, muttering, “not like she could think anything else, Adam, fuck’s sake-”

“Shut the fuck up Amber. Just- hand over the bag,” his palm reached out, building a bridge between the few feet between them, “and we’ll leave. All we want is the money, and that’s it. And we ain’t stopping at anything to get that shit, because we either do or we crumble away with nothing to live off of - we don’t wanna do this, but we gotta.”

Her brain raced, breaths shallowing with each passing second. The other teen, Adam now, exhaled harshly through his nose, unkindly motioning with the bat. It shook in his hands. She felt judged, weak and helpless. It stung.

In a rush of impulsivity, her mind fogged with anger, words aggressively running out of her mouth before she could take them back.

“I-It’s not like I’m keeping it for n-nothing! You’re- you’re not the only one who’s all ‘crumbling away’ and fading into dust with your poetic bullshit!!” The man leaned back minutely, drawing Amber’s attention to the sudden aggressiveness spouting from her mouth. His eyebrows fell slightly, eyes shifting.

“This is literally all I have. And- and if I lose this. If I lose this shit, I’m gone too! And so is my mum-” Swallowing hard, the tears finally spilled over her cheeks, throat burning against the cool air of the night. “She’s the only reason why I have this in the first place. If she- if….”

The alleyway remained silent, breaths merging together in various speeds. Its emptiness dragged on for full seconds, stretching. She couldn’t make out their expressions through the thick fog in her eyes.

Fuck. Why on Earth did she do that?? They’re definitely gonna have a go at her now, her and her stupid emotional outburts. Fuck. She’s fucked.

There’s a weight, sinking and sinking into her chest like the knees slowly trembling her body downwards. There’s nowhere to go- nowhere to hide, she’s gone. She doesn’t have any control. Why isn’t she stronger, for god’s sake? Why didn’t she fight back, kick, or scream harder, why didn’t-....

Her breaths fade into the back of her ears, drowned out by the sharp ringing echoing around her skull.

….well. There’s. Nothing she can do now. Not much she’s useful for anyway.

As if to confirm her thoughts, Adam turns back to the girl behind him. She looks away. Voice quick and hushed, her attention is grabbed again, frowning at the whispered words whirling between them. Amber shoots a quick glance at her bag before whispering back, voice hissing and sharp-edged.

She can make out small snippets of their conversation; the man seems conflicted, almost hurt by Amber’s insistence - as trembling and weak as it is, it still directs his bat slightly upwards. Her words seem doubtful, tinged with lies and regret, yet Amber remains determined, carefully avoiding her own gaze.

Adam tries again, voice desperate, as if a different person to the man threatening her just moments before. “I don’t think we can do this, Am. We just can’t.”

“Don’t call me that- There’s nothing else we can do.” She tilts her head to the side, arms crossed and stance offensive. Her hands grip her sleeves. “Do you really want to disappoint him? More than we already have? Lead to more...trouble?”

The question sends Adam reeling, quick to whisper-shout back. He looks as if he’s been stabbed through the heart. “What?? No- well. Agh! He’d just be more disappointed if he found out where we got the money from-”

“That doesn’t matter! We fucking need it, don’t you understand?”

“I do! And I also understand that you’re too dense to realise that this is the wrong way to get it!”

“Oh, so I haven’t tried to get it anywhere else? I’m lazy and aggressive, then? Like I haven’t fucking tried other ways??”

“Amber, you know that’s not what I meant!”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do? Hm? Magic it into thin air like some mystical fairy godmother that comes at midnight baring truffles and good fortune? Turn this into a poorly written fictional fairytale where it all ends in some equal happily-ever-after?? Why can’t we just get it here, and go?”

“Wha- Because it’s wrong, Am!! We’re literally stealing from- I- Dude, fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this-” His hands gripped his hair, voice lowering at the end.

“I- It’s fine. Just do it, Adam, for god’s sake. Just do it, we’ll run, and it’ll be fine.”

“It’s not fine. Fuck, nothin’ about this is fine!”

“I-” There’s a slump in her figure now, voice breaking - there’s not much difference between the two, it seems. Just a different degree of denial. Two different masks. “I- Adam! We have no other choice! Anywhere! We need this. Please.”

While the two bicker and beg between each other, she searches for a blind spot, heart hammering against her chest into her ears. Maybe she could just sneak by-

Her thoughts are wrenched apart by a harsh yank against her arms, sending her toppling forwards. Quick to tug back, she locks eyes with Amber, dark brown and glossy. The bag is clenched strongly by both, seams straining under the force.

“Wh- Hey! What are you doing?!-”

She pulls it towards her, fighting against the other pair of hands and her own staggering breaths. Amber doesn’t relent. “Give me the fucking bag- Let go! Stop making it harder for yourself-”

“Amber, just stop! Forget it, let's just go already!”

“Shut up, Adam! If you’re too scared to do it then run away by yourself, you coward! Now-” She eyes something in her belt, eyebrows scrunching, “give me the bag, or I’ll use other means to get it out of your cold hands myself.”

Ire flashes red and hot through her skull again, teeth clenching, “‘coward’? I-I’m the fucking coward? Stealing from someone else cause I can’t be bothered to do anything else? You know,” she tugs again, this time wrenching it out of Amber’s grasp - it’s trembling. She hisses lowly, voice quiet and venomous, “maybe your friend, brother, I don’t care, is right - you really are a dense fucking idiot-”

The girl doesn’t get to finish her words, arm swinging to press up against her throat - she hears a panicked, angry shout sound from behind Amber as her vision sways. Damn it, she’s done it now. Definitely.

Just as the fight starts to build between the other two, a sudden thwip and thud sounds in front of her. Lungs filling with fresh, burningly cold air, she gasps, stumbling away, heart blocking the supply trying to flood through her airways.

Someone lands in front of her, arms spread out in an offensive pose. The vibrant pattern on them clashes harshly with the grayscale alleyway.

A surprisingly young voice comes from the figure - it’s airy and light, though a strong undertone shines through. “Hey, hey. Let’s all settle down here. No use getting all violent.” He looks back at her and offers a quick nod, lenses expanding with a small whizz.

Getting the message, she whispers a stuttering but eternally grateful ‘thank you’, feet clashing against the pavement as she runs away. Her breathing is still heavy, but for an entirely different reason.

The other two teens, however, seem less than grateful; as Amber heaves herself up, she aggressively dusts her shirt off, glaring daggers at the spider-themed hero. Adam stands beside her, face contorted in a dark scowl to direct attention away from the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“Son of a-”

Before Amber can lunge, Spider-man puts his arms out. He speaks over her. “I overheard.”

“Am, please, let’s just go-”

“So what?” She retorts, entirely ignoring Adam’s pleading. “That was our only chance, and now it’s gone just because you decided to stick your nose into our business.”

“Sorry, dude - that’s what I do. Now, I get why you wanted to rob her and all. I do. Hell, I’m not too well off myself. But that doesn’t make it any less wrong - there are other ways-”

“‘Other ways, other ways’”, her voice goes mocking, shaking under the hate in it, “ - that’s what everyone’s saying. ‘Just get a job!’ as if there’s any out there that pay enough to sustain us. I’ve heard all this shit before, spider boy-”

He swallows, heart aching slightly at the familiar words - he has to keep his strengths up, even if it hurts on the inside. “I know! So have I! But please, trust me, this isn’t the right way to do it-”

Amber scoffs, angrily slapping away the hand going to rest on her shoulder. “As if there’s any other way.”

“Am, please. Just listen to him-”

“I’m not listening to ANYONE. Much less him, some random dude that decided to swoop in as if he’s some kinda hero-”

He leans backwards, voice rising in pitch at the offense. “Hey!”

“Amber, please-”

“Just SHUT UP, Adam! I’ll do it myself. Go run away to him again and hide, I don’t care. Give me the bat first, though.” This time she prepares to swipe, Peter’s senses alerting him before she could begin to position her feet.

He doesn’t have time to say anything else, blocking Amber’s fist and using it to twist her arm behind her back, enough to sting but not cause any damage. She grunts, left leg blindly kicking at his shin.

Peter gives slightly, enough for her to try and flip them both over - he regains control, using the force to propel himself onto the other alleyway wall.

Dropping down, he lands crouched next to Adam. The teen backs away, hands raised comically in a ‘don’t attack me’ pose while the bat remains clasped in his right.

“Dude, you deadass have a metal bat and you aren’t even using it? What?”

Amber’s aggressiveness drops for a split second, voice raised in mild annoyance, “I know, right? That’s what I said to him!”

He doesn’t say anything, eyes flicking towards Peter. Despite the fabric separating them, he can still feel Adam’s eyes lock with his own, lost and strangely helpless, even with the brutal weapon in hand. Behind the mask, he bites his lip - these types of people aren’t at all rare, but it still doesn’t make it any easier. He swears there’s a brief shine flitting across the boy’s pupils. Peter swallows.

Amber watches this silent exchange with increasing anger, frustrated with the world. “Aren’t you gonna do something? For once?”

Silence.

She huffs, glaring at Adam with so much spite that Peter can see him reel back, swallowing. One last, defeated glance is cast at the spider-hero before he turns and runs down the street. The clang of metal bashing against the concrete grates Peter’s ears, already making a mental note to not let Amber take the abandoned weapon.

While Peter ponders the teen’s sudden disappearance, a heavy weight sinking into his stomach, he hears Amber sigh heavily, muttering “what else did I expect - fucking coward”.

He turns back to her. “Look, I really don’t wanna fight you-”

She swings at him, kicking him in the stomach. In response, Peter rolls to the side, clicking his web shooters into place.

“Nevermind.”

As her foot tries to land a hit on his face again, he shoots a web at her hand, pinning her to the wall. She acts fast, wrenching one of the glass shards and slicing the thin webbing off. Soon enough, the glass is being thrown at Peter’s face - it misses, smashing into the wall where the spider once was.

He rests his hands on his knees, crouched on a ledge just above her. “Not gonna lie, you act pretty fast. You’re a good fighter.”

“If you’re trynna win me over with compliments, you better drop it.”

Peter huffs, already tired. He’s gonna have to dial this down somehow - he really doesn’t feel like hurting this girl, eyeing the hand-shaped bruises littering her skin. “Nah, just trynna make conversation. Gotta give credit where credit is due, I guess.”

“Well, people don’t normally chat while fighting each other, dude. You lost or somethin’?” She goes over to the bat, only to growl when Peter yoinks it away. He tosses it into some tight crevice.

“I mean, 3 hours of sleep doesn’t do much for me, I guess - pile a whole buncha anxiety onto that and you’ve got the whole package.” She considers this for a moment, tilting her head with a raised eyebrow as if to concede his point.

“Mood, honestly. You gonna come down and fight me? Would really love to kick your spider ass right now.”

“I’m good.” He dodges again as another bottle greets the wall behind him. The sound pierces his ears. “Dude, look. I don’t want to fight you. Honestly.” He hops down in front of the girl, biting his lip at the cuts already on her hands. “It’s just gonna get you and someone else hurt in the end, and you won’t even feel good about it.”

“You really should stop - and I mean it. You’ll only get yourself into trouble, which really won’t help-”

He’s cut off by his own sigh, grabbing her fist again as she tries to push him against the wall. Amber keeps trying to kick him, aiming at his shin and stomach.

Peter doesn’t know whether it was the lack of sleep, the guard he had let down or his general tiredness, but suddenly there was a sharp sliding sound in his ears. A feeling of overwhelming dread covering his mind so overbearingly that it leaves him dizzy, confused and trying to figure out what’s wrong. His already foggy brain lurches, a gasp escaping him.

He doesn’t register the senses fast enough, because it just happens so quickly.

One second she’s uselessly kicking at him before there’s a glint in the lamp lights, sliding along the edge of the blade like the sun over a horizon line. The other second there’s a white hot pain piercing his side, digging through his skin and veins into his brain, sending adrenaline racing throughout his body.

It’s too much for the bone-dead exhaustion lurking in the back of his mind, unable to aim properly at the girl against the pain burning pain he’s been stabbed holy shit o w-

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Amber, horrified eyes flickering all over the blood blooming across his suit. Seconds tick by. Both breathe into the silence of the alleyway, the air quivering. She doesn’t say anything, brain catching up to what she had just done. Hell, she looks as shocked as Peter feels, equally disbelieving in what her rage-blinded brain had managed to pull off.

Not for the first time that night, the spider hero can’t get a single word out before the teen is running away, pushing herself away from Peter out of fear. She doesn’t look back, the tears streaming down her cheeks glistening in the same way as the knife now embedded in Peter’s side.

God fucking dammit. Great. Just what he needed. He lets himself collapse against the wall, hands already brushing against the handle to examine the spot. Why’d he get so vulnerable? He could have just webbed her up and it would have been over. Why the hell didn’t he do that?

God, he’s such an idiot.

Well, she’s probably learnt her lesson, he thinks humourlessly. Inhaling shakily, he finally registers the loud voice in his ears.

“It seems that you have been stabbed, Peter-”

“Yeah, no shit, Karen.”

She carries on as if she didn’t hear, voice calm and professional, “-However, it does not seem to be near or in any major organs; as long as you don’t remove the blade just yet, the bleeding should keep to a minimum and your healing factor should take care of any possible infections-”

“Yeehaw.”

“-Even so, I’d suggest going to the tower-”

He sighs, voice breathy but not unkind. God, he’s tired. “-to the tower. Yeah, thanks Karen. Mind shooting May a text? Wait wait, tell her I’m fine and all, just might take a while to get home. Emphasise the ‘I’m fine’.”

“Will do. Should I call-”

“No.”

Once again, if AIs could laugh, she totally would be. “All right. Avengers Tower is approximately 8 minutes of swinging away from where you are.” A small blue ‘A’ icon popped up to his right. “As it is a Wednesday, Doctor Bruce Banner shall be there in the medical bay.”

He slowly brought himself to his feet, groaning at the pain that flared into his side. Leaning against the wall, he mentally prepared himself for the first swing - once he had enough momentum, the ride would become smoother and he would be fine. This was Fine.

“Ugh- pog. Could you tell him I’ll be there in like 10? I mean, I don’t want to disturb him or anything if he’s working on a project-”

“You have been stabbed, Peter-”

His voice raised in pitch, ruffling his hair and scuffing his feet in the silence of the alleyway. “I know! But it’s nothing serious-”

“He has been notified.”

Peter threw his arms up, turning around only to hiss at the way it pulled at the wound. He took a deep breath, adjusting his web shooters.

It had been May’s rule, of course - he didn’t mind it, if it meant that she wasn’t worrying over him. Not at all. He’d rather go through the whole medbay situation than hide it if he knew that she was going to be happier in the end. Any day.

It had been established not long after she had caught him in the spider-man suit, once the whole half-argument half-conversation had passed. She was worried about losing him, which Peter would be lying about if he said that that didn’t make him shrink in sadness and guilt.

And so, the agreement had stood.

Whenever Peter got injured enough to be a genuine concern (they had spent at least a few hours debating that, Peter’s insistence that ‘a small stab wound’ was nothing to be worried about being met with incredulous insistence that it was, in fact, a cause for concern) he would swing over to the medbay to be checked over a patched up before going home. Immediately.

He wasn’t too far from the tower anyway, the swinging distance between the two relatively small - crime was dotted around the place too, meaning that more often than not he was already pretty near.

And so, as a result, he groaned through his first swing, clenching his teeth in favour of letting the momentum glide him smoothly towards the tower icon. Icon.

Black spots flickered in and out of his vision, chased away by his rapid blinking.

God, he really is such an icon, Peter thought scathingly.

Chapter Text

Shink.

Shink.

Shink.

Loki took a moment to examine the blade again, flipping it over between their hands. Almost perfect, it seemed. Just a few more slides.

Shink.

Shink.

The god sighed, taking a moment to flex their wrists. Absentmindedly, they looked out the window, half-open between the separated blinds. The stars stared back.

It was a normal night; well, normal in Loki’s terms - yet again, they hadn’t been able to sleep, leaving them to sit sheltered under the dim yellow glow of the lamp atop their bookshelf, shining down to bring out the emerald hue of the pillows surrounding them.

A small whetstone lay perched on the table, gray surface illuminated by the moon’s soft radiance. Their thoughts wandered as the trickster rhythmically slid the dagger across it. Maybe the freshly-sharpened blade would help cut away at the dark fog clouding their mind.

Deeming the whetted dagger’s condition satisfactory, they went to reach for another dagger, only to stop.

Oh, of course.

Still distracted, the trickster offhandedly called out to the A.I. How could they forget?

“Freyja?”


…


“Greetings, Royal Loptr.”

Their face settled into an expression of disgruntlement, thick locks swaying away from their face under the force of their deep, pained exhalation.

Features calm yet mildly annoyed, they glared up at the ceiling, daring the A.I to laugh - it wasn’t their fault they had been chucked into Midgard so suddenly , they thought, the nickname souring the god’s expression. Midgardian names were so fickle and forgettable.

Still not receiving a response, F.R.I.D.A.Y (or ‘Freyja’, as so beautifully accidentally named by Loki) spoke again, tone ridiculously smug. “Yes, Loptr? Is there anything that you may need?”

Still scowling, Loki replied, wanting to fling themselves out of the window. ‘Loptr’ . Ugh. The bane of their existence. “Is anyone else outside of their rooms at the moment?” They were planning to leave a small item for the spiderling again - best to make sure no other residents caught them doing so. Would certainly lead to a round of questioning.

“Peter Parker and Dr. Bruce Banner are currently awake.” Oh. Well, they could just sneak past-

“Both are in the Medbay, and I suspect neither will be leaving any time soon-”

Loki did a double-take, words running out of their mouth at once. “‘Medbay’? Why are they in the Medical Bay?” They trampled the concern in their voice immediately, clearing their throat. Get a hold of yourself. Norns. “I mean to ask, did something happen?”

“During patrol-” She didn’t get to say anything else, letting Loki wrench the door open in 2am brain fog. Her A.I cameras (could A.Is see?) watched in vague amusement as the god sprinted speed walked down the corridor, dagger still in hand.

She mentally fanned herself. Oh dear.



---



“Yeah, so I- ow . I-I feel kinda bad?”

Bruce muttered a quick apology, leaning over to grab a piece of adhesive tape, voice incredulous and confused. “Y-you feel bad? Peter, she stabbed you.”

He tried to keep his gesturing to a minimum, careful not to disrupt the doctor’s work. Well, not a doctor doctor, but close enough - Bruce didn’t let him try and haphazardly wrap the bandages himself. “But she looked so scared afterwards! Like, she was crying as she ran off, and I could have spoken to her differently so it didn’t get that fa- ...dude, she might think I’m dead.”

“W-well, if you’re really worried,” the scientist smoothed down the adhesive tape, shooting a smile at the teen, “we have the fingerprints of the knife, so we could track her down. I’m not sure if you’d like that, but there’s always that option.”

“I dunno, I don’t wanna get her into trouble-”

“Why- She stabbed you-”

“I know! But she...I dunno, I overheard her and some friend, brother, or someone arguing - they’re really struggling, Dr. Banner. Like, they were trynna steal just so that they didn’t run out of money for their family, which I’m pretty sure isn’t even kind to them - they kept on referring to someone else and...just…”

Peter shook his hands, pulling on a stray hem of his shirt, “they seemed... scared. I could tell they were both shaking and lost , e-even if they tried to hide it. Hell, they were basically my age . I just...I wish I could help them.”

Bruce hesitantly patted Peter’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, examining the bandages just underneath it. “Well, you can’t save-”

“Save everybody. Yeah, I know. It just... sucks. ”

He sighed, nodding in understanding - he knew exactly how that felt, thinking dejectedly of his counterpart. “W-well, I still think you handled the situation pretty well - the girl ended up safe.”

“I...guess so.” He offered his own awkward smile before looking down again, clearly not convinced.

They were alone again. Peter hadn’t helped anyone. Well, the poor girl was safe with her bag, but that was...it. In fact, he had probably made it worse - he had failed to de-escalate everything like he was meant to do - like his job was - so that everyone- He was supposed to help- He...

Was it his fault? It..

Damn.



---



Loki stood confused in the middle of the corridor, staring down the numerous potential pathways. The A.I, bless her soul (soul? sentience?), sensed their disarray, lighting up the hallway to their left with vibrant, blue little L.E.Ds.

As the trickster darted down towards the medbay, their thoughts whizzed around, flowing between images to ideas like the seiðr thrumming and weaving between bones and nerves alike, making their eyes seem especially verdant and feet lighter.

Just what had happened? The young spider always seemed so reluctant to seek help, always wallowing in his own problems - if he was in the medical bay, it must be an exception. And an unfortunate one, at that.

The reasonable, common-sense oriented and ridiculously exasperated part of their brain was left abandoned in some random crevasse, claims to ‘ just ask the A.I, for Norn’s sake’ completely ignored. Like they didn’t even exist: gone, reduced to atoms.

With one last turn, their sock-clad feet slid elegantly across the hardwood floors, eyes landing on the medbay door just at the end; Loki was focused on one thing, and it wasn’t the material the wall was built from.

Incredulously, the two watched as the trickster came to a clean, satisfying stop by the end of the corridor. In one split second, all overwhelming anxiety seemed to vanish, pose straightening while Loki tucked a strand behind their ear - they took a moment to dust themselves off, knife flipping between their fingers before latching onto the door handle, camly and coolly pushing it open.

As Loki half-emerged from behind the door, there was a moment of silence. They scanned the room for the spiderling, only to fi-

...

Oh. He was fine.

Right.

...

The more the seconds ticked by, the more Loki became uncomfortable under the sheer scrutiny of both of their gazes. Clearing their throat, the god straightened up, hands making their way into their pockets.

“Uh- hi, Loki. You- you good?”

The trickster looked down at their feet then back up again, leaning against the doorway to hide the way their heart pounded against their chest. Unbeknownst to them, the pair had already noticed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

…

This time Bruce spoke up, severely confused. “W-we just watched you slide down the corridor. Like- like literally all panicked just-”

They blinked, startled. Shit what- “What are you talking about? What corridor? Panic? I- You quim, I don’t-”

“That one!” Peter gestured behind them, wincing when it pulled against his bandages. “Like, literally full on glided across it like that one scene in every TV show- It was honestly kinda impressive. The skill- ”

“ Glided? I didn’t glide- ”

“You totally did, Loki-”

“You did, man-”

They crossed their arms, mind racing for an entirely different reason to what drove them over here. “Hmph. How absurd. I don’t-”

While Loki spoke, voice high, they turned back around to take a proper look at the wall. Then stopped, blinking.

Their very own reflection stared back at them, face blank.

Oh. Fuck.

“D-did you not realise that the wall was glass?”

Loki scoffed, mentally trying to ward off the bright pink rush flooding their ears and cheeks. Shit. “I- of course I did - why would I not see such an obvious detail?”

“Uh-huh.” Peter tried to hide the grin on his face - the teen was only partially successful, shoulders shaking as Loki ruffled the base of their hair. He received a mild scowl.

Bruce seemed to be taking this entirely differently, looking between them in shock. “Wait, do you two know each other? Have you guys met??”

Oh how the turntables, thought Peter, watching as Loki went through the 5 stages of grief themselves; he answered for them. “Yeah, we met a coupla weeks ago actually! We did some uh- crazy shit-”

“Language, Peter.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“...wait, sooo. A-are you two, like, friends?”

“Uhhh, y-yeah! I guess you could say that.” Loki still didn’t reply, emptily glaring at the glass.

“I-” Bruce blinked, looking at them both. Literal cinnamon roll versus stabbing villain/anti-hero. God of Mischief. 

“How??”

Peter scratched the back of his neck, still not learning his lesson of not pulling on the bandages. Ow. “Well, I kinda ran into him-”

The trickster did their best to ignore the uncomfortable weight that settled at the word.

Loki turned back towards the pair, finally having internally calmed down. They strode over to one of the tables, perching on the edge nonchalantly. “Just they/them today, spiderling.”

Something flashed over Peter’s wide eyes. “O-oh! I’m so so sorry-!”

“Nothing to apologise for, you did not know.” Their eyes flicked over to Bruce, who nodded and smiled, as if to say ‘alright, noted’.

“Sor- wait. Uh- So, uhm- oh yeah! I ran into them while I was going downstairs, and we ended up doing some stuff together-”

“Oh? What stuff?”

“He kidnapped me.”

“I-” Bruce’s wide eyes looked over at Peter in disbelief, filled with a million questions. He would not gain an answer to any. “You kidnapped them-?”

The teen turned towards the god, hand over his heart. “Wh- you came along!! Willingly!!”

Loki waved their hand dismissively, “details, details.”

“Objection! It’s not ‘details’, it’s the truth!-”

Bruce hurried to de-escalate the non-existent argument. “Okay, okay. Loki, why’re you here in the first place?”

The question made Peter stop, only now pondering the trickster’s sudden, hurried appearance. There wasn’t anything important going on here, and Loki rarely went out of their way to interact with others- “Oh, yeah! Do you need somethin’?”

Seeming to remember what they actually came here for, Loki blinked in shallow surprise, eyes flicking to Peter. “Fre- The A.I said that something happened to you during patrol. I had nothing else to do,” Liar, “so I came down to check.”

“Oh! Yeah, don’t worry, I’m fine!” He missed the raised eyebrow Bruce directed at Loki. “I got a bit stabbed during patrol, no big deal-”

The trickster’s voice lowered, pausing their staring match with the doctor to scan Peter over. “You got stabbed?”

“Yeah, nothing deep though-”

Loki was closer to his side at once, eyebrows furrowing - only now did Peter notice the more vibrant green of their eyes. Their voice was darker now, almost venomous. “Let me see. By who?”

He raised the side of his shirt in confusion, revealing a slightly pink bandage. Something unidentifiable passed over the trickster’s expression. “Some random girl - she got a bit desperate and stabbed a pocket knife into me-”

Before he could finish, the dagger in Loki’s hands was raised. “I finished sharpening this just now. Where is she-”

“Loki!”

“What? She stabbed you, Peter. An ‘eye for an eye’, as you primitive Midgardians say-”

Peter gestured wildly, waving away the knife. “What? No!! Not like that!”

“And why is that? There’s no rule against it.”

“I- Yes. There is. Law. Law is why, Loki-”

“Do I look like someone who abides by law?”

“I mean- well...no..but still! No stabbing, Loki! It’s really bad and mean!”

“...lightly poke with a knife?”

“Same thing!”

“Graze with a blade?”

“No! She’s a minor!”

“So are you, spider-child!”

“I- You can’t just stab people, Loki! They’ll die!”

“Well, too bad!”

“Loki!!”

“Fine. Maybe no murder, that’s.” Their mind wandered into space for a second, furiously shaking the memories away. Not thinking of him, as of now. Imbecile. “Too far, I suppose.”

Bruce was still confused. Heavily. It seemed that it was going to stay that way.

“Pleasee, don’t stab anyone!!”

“...ugh. Fine. However,” they looked towards the bandage again, “instead…”

Peter raised his eyebrow in curiosity, watching as Loki’s vivid emerald eyes looked him over, considering something.

Bruce made no major move to stop the trickster - he was the only Avenger (apart from Thor and Peter) who had truly seen Loki in their element since the battle of New York, and thus the only one not entirely hostile towards them. Ragnarok came to mind, the god fighting alongside them to ensure the safety of Asgardian civilians.

Though still quite (very) chaotic and unpredictable, they had...changed.

He couldn’t quite place it, but Loki was different, now; course, same smug mischievous bastard, but more dialed down. Tired, almost. The pair were on neutral terms as of now, not exactly trusting but able to smoothly carry out normal conversation.

Good enough.

Loki’s hands paused above the bandages, hurriedly going back into their lap. “May I? Healing isn’t exactly my forte, but I could alleviate some of the pain and speed up the process.”

“Wait, you can heal people?”

Bruce looked up too, incredibly intrigued; his eyebrows raised, silently communicating that he was listening. “Not entirely, spiderling - though I do know a few simple incantations, they are quite limited. More for decreasing the risk of a wound or life force draining someone rather than completely healing it at once. A sort of seal to prevent it from doing any more harm, I suppose.”

They rolled up their sleeves slightly, subconsciously collecting their seiðr. “However, we do have designated healers on Asgard who have honed their magic specifically to help others - they are largely responsible for taking care of major injuries on warriors.”

“Aaa, dude, that sounds really cool!! How does it work?” He rolled up his shirt, observing as Bruce rolled a stray chair towards Loki.

The god nodded in silent thanks before huffing, sitting down cross-legged in front of him. “I’m afraid that would take too long to explain, spiderling. There are many many different variations and processes used in seiðr healing depending on the injury, type of illness or disease, etc etc., and frankly…” They flexed their hands, sighing slightly, “I don’t know if I have the energy to get into all that. However…”

They repositioned themselves a final time, muttering, “you’ll get the idea…”

Peter went quiet, watching in silent awe as tendrils of green wisps danced around Loki’s hands, seemingly flowing out from thin air. Bruce followed suit, eyes widening.

They slipped into deep concentration, lips moving ever so slightly as the strands orbited around the gauze, differing in speed. The twirling stopped after a few seconds.

The trickster flicked their wrists - uniform, emerald runes plastered themselves around the bandages, as if engraved into the fabric, burned between the fibres. They whispered a soft incantation: a language that Peter could only guess to be Old Norse, the vowels unfamiliar.

A smooth dance of string followed, wrapping around the area before vanishing, leaving behind a green trail.

The spider-hero gasped quietly, hands hovering over the affected area. He flicked a quick eye up to Loki to ask for permission, who nodded in affirmation. They sat back a bit in their seat, clasping their hands between their legs. “Dude...I- holy shit…”

Bruce didn’t even bother to reprimand him, looking on in astonishment as Peter gingerly peeled back the bandages, unravelling to reveal-

“Woah-”

a thin, vertical pink scar that ran down Peter’s side, completely disregarding the open and rapidly bleeding wound that was there mere minutes beforehand. He ran his hand across it gently, careful not to disrupt the tender skin. The teen could already feel several parts of his brain start to go haywire.

Bruce ironically took off his glasses to get a closer look. It didn’t help his understanding at all.

“I- I can’t-”' Peter ruffled his hair, grinning in amazement. Holy fuck. “That was- I-. I’ve been magically healed. I’ve witnessed- That- Givemeasecond-” He pressed both hands to his forehead, internally fanboying.

“Did I break him?”

“...y-you broke both of us, man.”

Loki dusted themselves off, smirking - they would be lying if that didn’t stroke their ego a little bit. Still, they looked back up to Peter, ignoring the exhaustion gradually seeping into their core. “I take it that the pain has stopped?”

“I- Yeah! It has! It literally just...disappeared…” Loki was satisfied with that answer, relieved that the quick spell had done its job.

“Good. Though, the wound is not completely sealed yet - it should scar over completely soon. Then, it’ll be healed.”

Peter nodded distractedly, still practically vibrating in excitement. “Yeah. Healing factor should take care of the rest pretty quickly- But dude, thank you so much. Like-” He shook his hands, flinging the bandages into what one might call a ‘fold’ of some sort. “Just. Agh, that was so amazingg!.”

“Mm. Yes, well.” Loki cleared their throat to even out their voice, rolling the chair away to sit back onto the table. “It’s not much - not a particularly complex incantation - but I suppose it does the job-”

“N-no. No. Dude. You- you can’t just heal a stab wound then claim it’s nothing, what the hell-”

“Yeah, I-I’m gonna side with Peter on this one- I mean, how do you...does it stitch the cells back together? Increase platelet production? Is there a sort of energy it uses?”

The trickster let out a puff of air, bringing their legs up to sit comfortably cross-legged on the counter. “Well, there is an energy transfer involved in the healing, yes - it largely revolves around the runes used, which I engraved into the bandaging before performing the spell.”

“Of course, if I were healing something more damaged and complex than a simple, thin incision, I would have to make use of actual rune stones or sticks due to my limited purely verbal healing abilities. Depending on the type of illness or injury, different incantations and arrangements of specific runes may be used, such as thurisaz, nauthiz, isa, and the like. Some even take to singing or chanting when performing a healing ritual, though those tend to be healers more experienced in the field-”

Loki abruptly cut themselves off, only now noticing how the pair were staring at them.

They cleared their throat, voice switching back to quiet and reserved, as if retreating back into whichever little corner it had come from. “Ah. I apologise, I got a bit ahead of myself: I’ll stop now-”

“Huh?” Peter shook his head, smiling. “No, dude, keep going! It’s cool as shi-”

“Peter.”

“Shiiizzzz..”

The trickster blinked, expression undecipherable, voice even quieter. “You...want me to keep talking? About it?”

Peter beamed. “Of course, man! Like, please - I really wanna hear more. ”

Bruce nodded, already itching for a notepad and pen. He put down the part he was tinkering with, grabbing another strange metal piece from the rack. “Same here; we’re all ears.”

The trickster looked between them again, as if looking for some hint of a lie. The waft of fake words or ill-intentions. “...are you quite sure? I would not want to keep you here by forcing my words onto yo-”

“What? No! I mean, yes I’m sure! Loki, I wanna hear what you have to say, man!” Peter once again missed the way the trickster’s brain stuttered on the words, talking excitedly. “Honestly, this is wayyy cooler than that history test I’m totally gonna flunk and should probably study for-”

“I-..you..” They swallowed, unsurely flipping the dagger between their hands. Loki took a few moments to compose themselves, shooting the duo one more stunned look before finally speaking, albeit much more tentative than the two had ever heard them. “Okay…well. A type of magic commonly used in healing practice is called ‘sympathetic magic’, which…”



---



“No. Nonono. That can’t be a real thing. I refuse to believe-

“I-I mean, is it that unbelievable? Considering…” Bruce pointed to a small, winged creature in the corner, body made up of the features of a thousand animals, “...that.”

“Dude, it- LOKI WHAT THE HELL-”

The trickster in question calmly picked up a green squirrel...thing, scratching it behind the ears. “What? It’s a cute little creature.”

“IT LOOKS LIKE A GODDAMN POKEMON-”

“What’s a ‘pokem-”

“L-Loki. You just cannot look me dead in the eyes and tell me that. That. Is a real thing.”

They grinned, letting it crawl up onto their shoulder in one swift movement. “I don’t know, is it?”

“It better not be.”

“WHY. DOES IT HAVE A TREE. GROWING OUT OF ITS ASS-”

“P E T E R.”

Loki’s shoulders shook in barely suppressed laughter, letting the numerous illusions scurry across the space. They ranged from majestic to drugged-creation-of-Surtur, patterned in various furs and ghastly features. They pet the tiny Ratatoskr in their arms, watching in bastard-ly delight as the other two bickered over which animals were real and which were merely Loki’s own cursed creations.

The chill atmosphere had escalated to pure chaos in a matter of minutes, the trio now deeply immersed in a guessing game. A very cursed guessing game.

It was Loki’s fault. Undoubtedly.

They had offhandedly mentioned the usage of illusions during their mini TED talk, leading to a spiral of questions from both companions. A collective mistake.

You see, despite trying their best to become somewhat familiar with Midgard’s culture and fauna, Loki still lacked a lot of information when it came to the various creatures inhabiting it. This meant that they were often puzzled by even the simplest of animals that did not inhabit Asgard, strange and foreign.

What it also meant was that Loki was not aware of just how...odd Asgardian creatures appeared to Midgardians (to put it lightly).

Bruce considered a different creature on the other side of the room, choosing not to mentally scar his eyes with the abomination sitting curled up in Loki’s lap. “I bet you that that one isn’t real.”

Peter turned around to face it. The animal pounced over to him, numerous tails waving. “I mean, it could be.”

“Well, I hope that it isn’t.”

Loki absentmindedly summoned a small wisp of seiðr, letting the panther-based horror run around after it. “Dear mortals, do I have some news for you~~”

Bruce exhaled harshly in shock, looking between them. “No. No. You’re joking.”

“Am I?”

“Loki you’ve gotta be kidding. Seriously.” Peter received only a raised eyebrow, making him press his hands to his forehead again, looking like the ‘panik’ meme.

They sat cross-legged in silence for a moment before grinning impishly, waving the far too realistic illusion away. “Okay, yeah, I am-”

“COME ON!”

“...thank God-”

“You know what isn’t imaginary, though?”

“....nope. Nonono-”

“Wait, Lo, hold on, I need to mentally prepare myself-”

Bruce seemed to be the only one who picked up on the nickname, the teen and trickster too occupied with dying and vibing respectively. He raised his eyebrows.

Peter shook his hands, staring at Loki dead-on. “I’m ready. Throw your cursed Nine Realm-y creatures at me.”

“As you wish.”

With a smirk, the god snapped away all illusions currently present in the room. They raised their hands, gathering a misty ball of seiðr before setting it alight into a shimmer of gold and green. A pair of wings beat over the science duo’s heads, creating a wind that left everything in the room untouched.

“HOLYFUCK HOLY sHIT-”

“WHY IS IT SO BIG-”

Loki shrugged, running a hand over its tail. “Scaled down for practical reasons.”

“Sc-scaled down??”

The dragon opened its mouth to reveal a set of razor teeth, serpent body twisting in the air, scales patterned into an array of geometric spines akin to a heavy set of armour. It bore several dull spikes that  weaved around in the air; like a terrifying jellyfish.

Thanks to all gods present in the universe, Loki had shrunk it down significantly, small enough not to cause any panic or fear but still large enough to leave an impression. And god did it leave one.

“S-so what is this? A house pet?” Bruce asked, half-jokingly half-terrified. He hesitantly pressed a hand up against its back, analysing the peculiar arrangement of scales and structure. “Local home guardian?”

“Oh, Norn’s no. This is Níðhöggr, a serpent dragon that resides underneath Yggdrasil, gnawing at the roots of the cosmos. It is a rather terrifying thing, I must admit - I have reduced the appearance and size by quite a margine.”

“I- have you met it??”

“No, and I have no intention to myself. Although, I have read numerous books and seen many interpretations of it.”

“C-cool. I mean…” Peter tilted his head, looking at the serpent dead in the eyes, “...once you get past the whole ungodly creature thing, it is actually really cool: at least, this interpretation. Like something out of the Star Wars univer- Dammit, anything you make is cool, what the hell-”

Loki didn’t have the emotional capacity for that last comment, so they mentally skipped around it before punting it into some random crevice of their mind. Problem solved. “Well, the purpose it serves is less so…”

“...I- I don’t even know if I want to know.”

“Same here.”

“You sure?”

“...no. Tell me.”

“It devours the corpses of those who have sinned greatly, down in Hel.”

“...”

“...hey, Loki, can you make it vanish again-”



---




“Magical illusions do come in different forms, of course-” As they talked, Loki spun a strand of seiðr around, morphing it into various small objects, “for instance, some may offer very limited interactions, such as a vague sense of touch, while others serve to manipulate other people’s perception of reality - they may create a completely different world only visible to a certain amount of people.”

“Obviously, those require a large amount of energy to perform and uphold. It all really depends on what you’re trying to achieve.”

Bruce tapped the pen against his chin, stopping his pacing. “Are there certain limitations? Like, things you just can’t do?”

“Hm. Well,” Loki considered it for a moment, stopping their string spinning, “it ultimately depends on your skill level, energy store and capacity. For instance, one person may focus on creating very realistic illusions that are only visible to one person, while another may train in gathering mental stamina and energy in order to alter the perception of an entire world for lengthy periods of time. Those require a different mindset and thought.”

“Though, seiðr relies mostly on energy, meaning that a person’s ability to control their power is honestly what influences their abilities most significantly. Most of the time.”

Peter whistled. “Damn. So it’s mental training, too? Do you need, like, specific environments to properly practice it?”

“Actually, yes - we often have a preferred place or general atmosphere that we tend to train or focus our energy in - you see, seiðr is a type of magic that inhabits this universe, though only certain individuals are born with the ability to sense and control it. Therefore, it is important to be able to connect with it. Not to let the power consume us through overuse or carelessness.”

“This is easier to do so in a controlled environment, where you strengthen your limitations and work to uphold your strength while not letting the sheer magnitude of it overtake you - for instance, some may have a rock, place, field or area that is familiar to them that they sit on and use to practice.”

“Oooo, that’s cool!! Do you have one?”

“Hm, I suppose so - I used to train in the valleys and secluded forests of Asgard on specific rocks or spaces when alone. Sometimes if the library was empty it would be an ideal place, too.”

“Oh!”

Bruce scribbled down another note. Peter, on the other hand, was subconsciously threading his fingers through a woven blanket, completely oblivious to his own fidgeting.

Suddenly, he tilted his head in thought, scratching the back of his neck. “Can I ask you something? Like, I don’t know if you’d be comfortable with it, so you don’t have to answer-”

“What is it, spider child?” Loki asked, though not unkindly.

Peter thought over it for a moment, still fiddling with the strings. “I was wondering - when you change your appearance, like now…is it an illusion you’re actively upholding? Or is it something else?”

“Ah.” Loki smiled easily, flipping over a dagger. Force of habit, the two guessed. “No, this is not an illusion, spiderling. When changing my appearance based on how I feel, I shapeshift; if I were to use an illusion, it would actively drain my energy, which isn’t very effective.”

“However, this way, I can use a concentrated amount of seiðr to alter my physical form, then once more when I feel like changing it again.”

“You can shapeshift?!” Peter gaped - it seemed that each new thing Loki said left him astonished. Huh. “I- dude!!! I wish I- That’s so sick!!”

“‘Sick’?”

“Like, super super cool!!”

“...oh.”

Bruce looked up, equally amazed. “Shapeshifting? Can you turn into, like, animals or other people or...?”

“I- well, I can transform into animals and various people, plus alter my own physicality, yes.”

Peter clicked his fingers, bouncing up. “Oh, oh!! When you change your outfit in like 2 seconds, is that you shapeshifting?”

“Precisely.” Loki smiled, resting one arm on the chair’s backrest. They had shapeshifted this morn- well, last morning, technically. It was a simple yet inexplicably complex feeling - they just knew.

Today in particular they resided solely somewhere vaguely in the middle of the ‘gender’ spectrum (what even was ‘gender’, anyway?), just one of those days. Or several, depending on how they felt. Sometimes even more than that.

Loki’s hair was cut shorter and curlier now, cheeks slightly rounder and form more androgynous. Despite them being several and small, the changes helped a lot - it felt right.

Bruce put down the component he was tinkering with for a moment, reaching for another. “Is it possible for you to shapeshift other people? Like, changing their appearance, etc.?”

“Oh, yes, however that takes a considerably larger amount of energy, and usually isn’t very practical - it would be easier to simply create an illusion to trick others. Although,” Loki smirked, wiping their knife with a cloth, “I do have the ability to easily shapeshift things they are holding into various objects or creatures. Perhaps a goblet into a snake, or a food they’re eating.”

“Oh wow.”

“Hmm…what if they swallow something and you change it?” Peter asked innocently, resting a hand against his chin.

“Ah.” They smiled not so innocently to themselves, vanishing away the cloth. “One time when we were children, my oaf of a brother and I were at a very formal banquet - I had transformed Thor’s food into a pile of slugs while he was swallowing. He spat them out and they were back to normal. The superiors did not like that, to say the least - call it payback, if you will.”

Peter’s eyes widened, stopping his fidgeting. Bruce gaped in horror beside him.

...

“I- That’s...disgusting as hell but also low-key kinda funny-”

“W-what? No?! Th-that’s terrifying-!?”



---

"Wait so it- you said that magic, or seiðr like you sometimes use, is traditionally a women's thing? Mostly?"

Loki huffed, annoyance seeping into their tone. "Yes, in Asgardian culture. As frustrating as it is, I have already accepted that - I suppose I should amend my previous statement. Although using seiðr and general magic as a 'man' is not completely outlawed, it is heavily looked down upon. 'Ergi', others may call you, meaning feminine. As an insult."

They tilted their head, smirking bitterly. "Of course, I do not have an issue with that personally, but others say it scathingly. As if you're inferior for being so."

"Well.." Peter bit his lip, grimacing. "We have lots of gender stereotypes and expectations here, too. Both ways, both harmful." He shrugged, eyes darkening. "It is really stupid, to put it lightly, but its just how our society works."

Bruce nodded in silent agreement. "And yet you've still...practiced seiðr?"

"On my own and with the teaching of my mother, yes. Odin refused to let me use it unnecessarily. He feared that I would become powerful, consumed by magic like many others have in history." They flipped a dagger, scowling as it flew out of their hands and across the floor. "I was not the one destined for power. To him."

Peter pushed the knife back to them, face grim. "Damn. Wouldn't refusing to teach you how to control it just make it worse?"

Loki let out a humorless laugh. "Indeed it would, child. It seems you are smarter than a lot of Asgardians. Magic is not something you can simply remove - stamping it down only makes it more foreign and wild once it inevitably surfaces. My mother saw this. She was incredible in the art and agreed to teach me."

"And she did. She was…" Loki trailed off, swallowing past the unwanted barrage of thoughts now flooding into their mind. They cleared their throat.

Peter smiled, eyes sad. "She sounds wonderful."

"Oh, she was." Loki returned it, albeit a little smaller and distracted.

"Was...Odin against it? Her teaching you?"

The trickster turned to Bruce, considering. "Well, he certainly wasn't delighted. Though Frigga is still her own strong soul and decided to nonetheless."

"Sounds badass, too."

"Oh, yes. Although Odin was the main ruler, she did stand her ground. When she was truly infuriated you'd run to Heimdall and beg to be taken to a different realm." Loki smiled wider, drifting into their own thoughts. "I suppose that may have been how she 'got away' with teaching me magic, despite other's comments."

"And how did you? With everyone's...judgement…" Peter asked, tilting his head.

"Fascination, desire, and pure fucking spite."

"...Iconic."

---



“I- what the fuck. Why is it so…” Loki trailed off, lacking the words to describe the bizarre, alien creature being thrust into their face. They scanned the screen, as if to find reason for its existence.

“Cute?”

“No.”

“It isss!! It’s beautiful and I support it!”

“Kill it. Kill it now-”

“Noo-oooo!”

Bruce let his head drop into his hands, far from willing to support Peter’s argument. Loki continued to stare at the phone, face portraying an emotion that doesn’t exist.

“Why. Why does it look like a droopy bag of flesh-” Loki asked in despair, head resting against the sides of their palms.

“Hey! No it-” Peter paused, flipping the phone screen back towards himself. He tilted his head. “...well…”

“What is this creature called?”

Peter grinned, already typing another name into the search bar. “A blobfish!”

“That....somehow makes it even worse.”

“Naw, come on! There’s wayyy creepier things. Wanna see somethin’ adorable?”

“I’m afraid your definition of ‘adorable’ may be a little skewed, spiderling-”

“No! Look!” Peter turned the device back again, displaying a tiny axolotl. “Look at himm!! He’s baby!!”

…

“...I suppose he is...cute...”

“See!”

Bruce paused his internal mental breakdown for a second, glancing up at them. “What’s cute?”

“Lil’ baby axolotl!” Peter showed the phone to Bruce, this time.

“Oh, those! Yeah, t-those are cute. Unlike that blobfish…” Bruce tagged on at the end, muttering into his coffee cup - the teen caught it, shouting out an indignant ‘no! he’s cute too!’. Loki was quick to disagree with the statement.



---



Peter let out a half-shriek half-laugh, dodging the veil of rain that raced towards him. He scowled jokingly at Loki, who only smiled innocently in response.

“Lo-kiii-!!”

“Wha-aat-”

The teen’s face settled into pure ‘>>:/’ “You- woah-” He blinked to clear his glare, gazing in awe at the small, puffy cotton-candy-like cloud that floated down towards his level. Hesitantly, Peter reached out to it. Unlike a real cloud, this one was soft to the touch, despite being a mist. He ran his hand through it, smiling.

“So you- Okay. You can control the literal weather, too?” Bruce asked in disbelief. Several pages of his notebook were already full.

Loki shrugged, smiling. “To some extent - I can change the weather in an area, yes. Although it is quite a task, to say the least. Quite doable, but draining.”

“I- doable. You call changing the weather ‘quite doable’?”

“What, is it not to you mortals?”

“Dude, you aren’t completely immortal, either!”

“I am a god, Bruce. I have some ‘reasonable’ leverage when it comes to life span-”

“Can you make it rain fish?”

Loki looked from Bruce to Peter, completely caught off guard. Rain- huh?

They looked to the scientist for some lue of explanation. All they got was a dismayed shake of the head, as if already mentally preparing for chaos.

“Rain- I beg your pardon?”

“Oh. Does that not happen on Asgard?”

“Rain fish? No? We aren't an aquarium-?”

Peter pulled out his phone, typing hurriedly. It seems that little device was the source of many of Loki’s questions, these days. “Look!”

Loki stared at the screen, dead inside. Midgard was not as bland as they expected. In the worst way possible. “Well, that’s utterly cursed.”

Bruce sighed with the weight of the world, ignoring Peter’s shock. “It’s a phenomenon, most likely caused by storms and waterspouts carrying them over from shallow water or similar - fish rain from the sky, and a lot of them are still alive. So, yes. It’s cursed. There’s even this one town down in Honduras where they fall once or twice a year.”

“Once or twice-”

“It happens with other animals too, like frogs and jellyfish. I mean, spider rain also exists-”

Peter spun around to face Bruce, voice low and panicked. “Nononono. We do not talk about that one, Dr. Banner-”

“What, why-?”

“No.”

“I…” Loki considered it, thinking about the sheer chaos it would cause. Chaos. “I could recreate the fish rain-”

“I- NO-”

“Y E S”

Bruce shoved his head into his hands for possibly the 5th time that day, gut filling with dread. Well, amused dread - this was the most interesting thing to happen this week. As cursed as it was.

Loki was already concentrating on the other side of the room, a faint green mist swirling around the ceiling.

Jesus Christ.



---



“This feels like a fever dream-”

“No, no. This is a nightmare.”

Loki openly grinned from their seat on the desk, one leg dangling from the edge. “You’re right. This is cursed.”

Bruce looked to them in a mixture of scientific awe and horror. “I- dude. This is literally one of the most cursed things I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“This is chaos. This. I- oh my god I love it so much-” Peter stood in the middle of the rain, feet submerged in water-not-water. Loki had created an...illusion? But not quite? A mini weather? Whatever it was, it was powerful - colourful, glimmering fish fell occasionally from the cloudy ceiling into the vast ocean covering the floor, scales reflecting like fireflies in the water.

Despite the shine of the liquid, Peter’s hair remained fluffy and dry, as with the rest of the lab. It was cursed, yes; but strangely mesmerizing, observing as fish of all shapes and scale arrangements shimmered and spun around, fins creating mini waves that lapped around the space. There were even small pieces of coral, seaweed and the like on the floor if you looked close enough.

Loki’s eyes gleamed similarly under the praise, waving a small whirl of water to swirl beautifully around Peter’s feet. “I specialize in chaos, spider-child.”



---



Peter breathed out a laugh, hand covering his mouth. “Holy shit-”

“I- I don’t even have...the words..”

“Should I make it go faster?”

With each passing minute, Bruce’s caution had gradually worn down to practically nothing, the scientist part of his brain taking over. I mean, this wasn’t actually dangerous, was it? Loki was controlling it. It was fine.

Completely fine.

“I- You know what? Sure. I wanna see what happens up close.”

Peter stood in silent horror, wide-eyed and flicking between Loki and Bruce. “I- we’ve cursed Dr. Banner-”

Loki smirked, very pleased with this development. They didn’t say anything, turning back to the mini tornado. With one circular motion, the spinning increased, tendrils of light wind whipping the air on all sides.



---



“Ohohoohoh no- oh nO-”

“Loki- Loki stop the tornado! This is too dangerous!”

The trickster in question only blinked in confusion, head tilting. “What- how is it dangerous-?”

“Because it’s gonna mess up the lab-!”

“Bruce. I’m controlling it-”

Loki cut themselves off mid-sentence, turning around at the sound of a small yelp. Their gaze landed on Peter, who was lying sprawled on the floor, broomstick perched across his arms . A small thumbs-up went into the air, drawing a silent snicker from Loki.

Bruce, on the other hand, seemed more concerned about the relatively harmless tornado, standing behind a desk - the spiral of wind had increased largely in size over the course of the last few minutes. In his minor (major) panic, he had forgotten that Loki was a god and actually knew what they were doing.

“Loki!”

“What?”

“The- I-” He popped his head out from behind a chair seat, gesturing towards the miniature typhoon. “It’s going to destroy-”

“Come on. Literally nothing has been touched, Bruce-”

“Well, except for that one vase-”

“What vase?”

Peter flung his hand out in its general direction, still sitting on the floor. Loki scrunched their eyebrows at it.

“No, we broke that one earlier, spiderling.”

The teen blinked, staring at the pile of porcelain. “We did-? Oh yeah, we did! Right, right-”

“Wait it was you two that broke it-?!”

“Hush.”

Peter hurriedly waved his arms, not even sparing a glance at the tornado. “It was an accident!”

“Okay. I-I’m not even gonna question it. I- Loki. Please-”

“Bruce. Seriously. Have a little faith, will you? I have this completely under- isthatasnake-”

The doctor followed Loki’s eyeline, landing on a small Corn Snake in the corner of the lab. It was surrounded by foliage, climbing up the sides of the giant, warm terrarium it resided in, wrapped around a thick branch.

“Oh, yeah- a friend of ours-” He didn’t even get to finish, watching as Loki hurriedly gravitated towards the small coiled reptile, black and brown scales looping around its body, the pattern broken by occasional stripes of white. Not even hesitating, the god swung open a portion of the glass.

“...wait, Loki, can you-” A sharp snap cut his words, again, causing the whirling tornado to suddenly vanish. Preoccupied, they gazed at the little reptile. A quiet hiss was directed their way before it reached out, coiling smoothly around their forearm; the pair were too far away to hear Loki’s reaction, only seeing the way their shoulders lifted.

Their voice was distracted, running a hand across the smooth scales. “Who do they belong to?”

“....uhm...a close friend of ours needed a person to watch over their snake while they were gone. We have lots of heat lamps, terrariums and equipment in the lab/medical bay (I mean, this isn’t the first time that it’s happened)...so we decided to take them. Just for a few days.”

“Wait, I don’t think I’ve seen….?”

“Just brought her over this morning, Peter.”

“Ohh..”

“What’s her name?” Loki tilted their head slightly, following as the reptile slithered over their shoulder, coming back around on the other side.

Peter smiled warmly, skipping over. “She’s called coconut!”

“I-” Loki ran a finger over Coconut’s head - her tongue flicked out, reaching out to flicker over Loki’s nose. Peter’s grin widened.

“...how long is she staying here?”

“Until Saturday, I think.”

...

“...you’ve already fallen in love with her, haven’t you.”

“Perhaps.”



---



Bruce rummaged through the closet on the other side of the room, dim sounds of lab equipment crashing echoing throughout the medical bay. “Hold on- w-wait, gimme a second-”

“What’re you lookin’ for?” Peter swung his legs back and forth, hands supporting him on the desk.

“Uhhh a specific solution, I know where it is, just got mixed up a bit- wait. OH it’s in the other lab- hold on…be back in a minute.”

The two watched amused as Bruce turned a right corner, half-running. The glass received another glare from Loki.

For a few moments they sat in comfortable silence, broken only by the gentle humming of machinery and the LED lights of the ceiling.

Peter scratched the back of his neck, fiddling with the sleeves of his t-shirt. “Uhm, hey, Loki. Can I uh…” He cleared his throat. “Can I just say...something..? Just, as a side-note, I guess..”

Loki didn’t say anything, looking over to show that they were listening.

“I- uh. I just think it’s really really cool that you’re open about like...your identity, I guess? Like, you just change your appearance and what you wear based on how you feel, and I-I realize that might sound weird but I just think it’s really cool? Like...it’s nice to know that there’s someone else who’s cisn’t and generally presents themselves how they want without caring about what others think...”

After a moment of stunned silence, Loki shifted, scratching the side of their neck. The sudden sting in their eyes was merely from lack of food and sleep, of course. Obviously. “I- Oh. Thank you, Peter. Cisn’t?”

“Huh-? Oh, oops- wait, do you know what-”

“I can guess. Though if you don’t mind me asking, what do you mean by…”

Peter scratched the back of his neck again, smiling nervously. “Oh! Yeah! I’m...transgender. Hence, cisn’t. I-It means I wasn’t born as a boy, biologically, but I am one!”

Something sharp and stinging tore at Loki’s heartstrings. They willed away the memories of Asgard, the look on a few of their peer’s faces when they had excitedly first discovered what shapeshifting allowed - they hoped that Midgardians were not as judgemental to Peter.

“I see, spiderling. I believe I might be what you Midgardians call ‘genderfluid’.”

If possible, Peter beamed even brighter. Loki found a small smile forming on their own face against their will. “Ooh, that’s super cool! Do you change often? As in, I wanna make sure I don’t use the wrong pronouns (sorry again!) - are there ones you’re always cool with, or…?”

“Oh. I.” Loki swallowed, feeling their nose tingling slightly. Damn it. Only Thor, Frigga, occasionally Odin and a few others had ever… “I suppose I do change quite often to fit how I feel. Though, they/them is always valid, spiderling, thank you for asking. And you?”

“He/him I always prefer, though they/them is alright too! Dr. Banner knows and so do a few Avengers, I think. Uhm, a few friends too. I mean, it’s not a secret, per se? I just don’t, y’know-”

“Spiderling, you are who you are, and if anyone dares to insult you over it I know a guy.”

Peter’s head snapped to them, alarmed. “Who- what guy?”

“Me.”

He slumped, playfully shoving Loki’s shoulder. “No! You- you can’t stab people, Loki! We went over this-”

“Bold of you to assume the message stuck.”

“Loki!! Please-”

“...”

“...”

“Who’s Loki stabbing?” Bruce’s head popped up from around the corner, several glass vials in hand.

Peter huffed, hiding the smile in his voice. “Anyone who tries to offend me about being trans-”

“Oh.” He offhandedly set a beaker onto the counter, grabbing an apple from a nearby bowl. “Loki, do you have a spare knife then-”

“WH- DR. BANNER-!!”

Loki shrugged, grinning. “I have 258 daggers I’m currently not planning on using, if you’d like to choose.”

...

“....wait, what-”

“I…” Peter eyed Loki warily, scanning their expression. They smiled wider. “...can’t even tell if you’re joking.”

Bruce swallowed his apple bite and looked to the trickster, only to find the same shit-eating grin.

“I- no. No. You don’t.” He denied, more to himself than the bastard sitting cross-legged on the desk.

“Ohmygod really?!”

Loki flexed their wrists, waving around the dagger already in their hands. “Would you like to see them? They may take up a lot of space-”

“YEAH NOHOHO SHIT-”

“I- I can’t. I just can’t. I have no words. I-I’m. Done.”

“...is that a yes?”

“p l e a s e.”

Satisfied, they closed their eyes, mentally reaching out to pull on the strings of their storage. They took a moment to gather everything into summoning, ignoring how their eyelids wanted to remain shut, drooping under the force of the seiðr - that and the lack of sleep meshed together into one tangled mess.

Oh well.

Loki pulled once, materialising the daggers into existence (well, technically, they already existed, just not...here). They faintly registered sharp gasps and exclamations from the other two, taking the time to harshly blink against the lights. Since when were they so bright?

Peter laughed in surprise, hopping backwards to avoid a sleek blade sliding down the rather intimidating pile now taking up a large portion of the lab floor. “H-HOLY SHIT. THAT- my guy has a literal knife collection-”

“I- LOKI WHY. I’M- YOU- WHY DO YOU NEED THIS MANY?”

The trickster cocked an eyebrow at Bruce, as if to ask ‘why wouldn’t you?’. Calmly, they peered into the towering pile, seeming to remember something. Peter crouched down, very cautiously pawing his hands through. Each individual dagger was engraved differently, blades curved and carved into various arcs and designs. They ranged from serrated to long and sharp, all gleaming with perfect polish.

“This. Literally has the energy of digging through legos- wait wait- do you have to, like, aggressively mentally rummage through the whole pile to find a specific dagger? Like finding that one specific lego piece to fit into your house and having a breakdown cause you can’t find it in the literal sea of plastic?”

“Peter. I do not know what ‘legos’ are.” Loki said dryly, ignoring Bruce’s slow descent into insanity.

“Oh. But do you have to, like. Dig? For knives?”

“Yes. Oh god, Norn’s, yes. Actually, there is one I’d like to polish up-” Before Peter could enquire further, Loki practically jumped into the pile, being swallowed into the knives akin to a child in a foam ball pit. Vague sounds of sliding blades and general chaotic digging followed them.

Peter wheezed, on his hands and knees to the side to look for the sunken god. “LOKI OHMYGOD-”

“I- LOKI-” An unscathed arm popped out from the pyramid, dagger clutched in hand. “Oh, there they are-”

A torso and head followed, popping out from the heap. A few more daggers slid down the pile, skidding to a stop at the bottom. “You can use this one after I sharpen it - I don’t tend to use this style of blade and handle grip, anyway. Just needs a quick polish.”

Bruce blinked, watching dead inside as the god attempted to get themselves out. Was life even worth it anymore? “I- bro. Loki.”

“Hm?”

Bruce gave up on what he was going to say, numbly waving his hands before burying his face into them.

“Do you just give them out like raffle tickets dude-”

Loki slid gracefully down the side, waving away the thin green shield coating their body. “No. If someone tries to steal one, they’ll receive it free of charge through their throat.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Damn, okay. Jeez-”

Loki sighed. “Not you, spiderling.”



---



“A-are these all...different types? Of knives??”

Loki ransacked their own collection, becoming more and more annoyed. Where was it-

“Why, of course - each is effective for a different foe or fits a certain aesthetic. It’s necessary to collect all different types and craftsmanship styles.” They muttered to themselves, shoving several knives away in their search. “For practical use or as a coping mechanism, I’m not sure which.”

“Mood. I have several questionable collections - they are my pride and joy and I love them so much.”

Bruce stared at the pile, sloppily writing another paragraph of notes. “Does a collection of regrets count?”

“Oh, of course~”

“Yup.”

“Well, I have a considerable amount of those, that’s for sure. That’s...yeah.” Loki nodded in agreement, silently echoing Peter’s pained ‘same’. They sat back for a moment, hands on their hips. God fucking-

Peter tilted his head lazily, letting his hair flop to the side. “What knife you lookin’ for?”

“Einar Dagger - I haven’t polished it in a while and it is a rather beautiful blade. I found it in one of the forests, left to rust away - restored it myself...comfortable handle...” They mumbled, mind focused on finding the damn thing. Needle in a haystack.

“...dual hardened, too - a unique heat treating method that increases sharpness while keeping the blade from becoming brittle...- Ah.” Loki swiped a dagger from the mini cave they had dug themselves, waving away the whole pile. They could feel it mentally dump into their pocket space.

Turning back around, they tilted the blade to the light, watching flashes gleam across the slightly blunt edges. They sat back down, holding it openly in their hands to allow the other two to see.

Peter whistled. After a silent affirmation, he hesitantly ran his hands over the hilt, tracing the gold detailing - it formed intricate chains and shapes across the pommel and cross-guard. A rich, almost navy blue shone through the gaps; it ran across the whole hilt, becoming worn and a softer texture on the grip.

“Daamn...it's really pretty..”

Bruce nodded but didn’t dare touch it. His eyes flicked back up to the pile. “Yeah. H-how do you keep literally every single knife in such good condition?”

Loki shrugged. “Force of habit. I have to keep them sharp. Hate when the engravings are damaged or the blades are dull.”

“Valid. Can I…?” The dagger was carefully placed into his hands. Subconsciously, Loki adjusted the position of his fingers, silently showing the boy how to hold the blade without risk of slicing the skin.

Bruce looked over Peter’s shoulder. “You said something about it being ‘dual-hardened’? Is that specific to this type of dagger or a kind of strengthening thing?”

“Huh? Oh...that- uhm.” Loki scratched their cheek, already twirling another knife in their hands. “That was just to myself-”

Peter looked up, smiling. “Can you tell us about it, though? Like, you obviously know a lot about it, like with the seiðr-”

The trickster blinked, eyes looking between the two again. “You..still want to hear me talk? I-I mean..”

"...what do you mean?? Dude, of course! W-why not?"

“..."

“...Loki?”

Bruce tilted his head, fixing his gaze back on the god, unreadable.

Loki didn’t say anything, mouth opening slightly before closing again. What? Why would they? Why were these two simple mortals so willing to listen to them, of all people? Endlessly, it seemed. Was it a trick of trust? Were they secretly annoyed? These were just...stupid interests of theirs - they weren’t even remotely important or intriguing to anyone el-

Peter must have gotten the wrong idea, hurriedly amending his previous statement. Bruce eyed Loki curiously, brows scrunched in silent thought. “I-I mean, you don’t have to! Like, I totally understand if you don’t, I’m sorry-”

“N-no, no. It’s not that, spiderling, stop apologising-”

“Right, sorr- wait, I’m sorry that I said sorry-”

Bruce turned his gaze back to the teen, albeit still a little distracted. He doubted Loki would enjoy the questioning or attention. “Peter.”

“Sorr...wait-”

“Norns.”



---



Peter ran a finger tentatively across the long, lustrous blade. “Oh! And these are runes, right? Like, I recognise them from when you healed…”

“Yes, they are.” Loki smiled, tilting the engraved edge towards the teen. “This is actually the runic alphabet, as hinted by the name ‘Runic Long Seax’, which is this specific dagger - we often engrave it or specific runic phrases into blades, as it is thought to increase their strength.”

“Daamn, I wish we had knives like this…”

Loki flipped it around in their hands, smirking. “Who says you can’t?”

“I dunno...I guess it would be cool to have a kitchen knife that’s, like, heavily engraved and fancy-”

“Oh, tch, spiderling. The amount of dirt and grime that gets into engravings is one of the banes of my existence-”

He shook his hands, gesturing again. “I know! But imagine someone asks you to cut off the plastic packaging of something and you whip out this fancy ass runed dagger that probably, definitely costs more than your rent to assert your dominance-”

“I already do that.”

Peter gasped. “You icon-”

“Wait, how much do these cost?” Bruce asked curiously, though slightly concerned.

“Hm...” Loki looked over to the pile, scratching the side of their neck. “Well...most of these I steal or find and restore myself, not buy specially…unless I would like a certain engraving or pattern-”

“Hol’ up you steal-”

Loki deadpanned, looking back at him. “...you do realize who you’re talking to-”

The trickster was abruptly cut off by a loud, high-pitched voice, jumping more than they’d care to admit - Peter almost fell off of the table, fumbling to pull his phone out of his pocket. Bruce let out a shaky breath, hand over his heart.

Upon glancing at the contact, Peter’s voice dropped to a terrified hush, words quick and panicked. “Oh- shitshitshit-”

Loki watched in mild concern as the colour drained from Peter’s face, staring at the phone in now-silent fear. They took in Bruce’s pained grimace of sympathy before looking over his shoulder. The name ‘Aunt Ma-

Oh. Oh no.

When Peter looked to them as a cry for help, Loki only offered a similarly sympathetic grimace, admittedly more focused on identifying what the hell the music (song??) blasting from the death-bringing device was. ‘Come on and slam, and welcome to the jam-’ repeating over the high-pitched, Japanese (?) voice served as background music for Peter’s internal breakdown.

Silently, he slid his finger across the bottom of the screen, putting the phone up to his ear. Peter nervously cleared his throat.

“H-hey May, uh-”

“PETER BENJAMIN PARKER.”

Loki’s eyes widened, startling away from the offending device. Beside them, Bruce shoved his head into his hands, fearing for Peter’s very safety; the teen himself became paper white, swallowing in dread. He didn’t dare speak a word, drowning in quiet panic. Petrified panic.

The god’s mind flooded with memories of Frigga, the bone-deep fear when their full name was called in such a cool, menacing tone. A cold flame that washed over your whole body, freezing you in place, a weight that sunk down to your feet and left them wedged into the floor. Oh shit.

May the gods have mercy on you, spider-child.

“Where. Are you.”

The teen seemed to utter a silent prayer before replying. “U-uhm, I-I’m at the medbay. I’m fine, don’t worry-!”

“If you’re ‘fine’, then why haven’t you come back yet? Or messaged me? How bad is it, Peter-” Her voice was angry, dripping with underlying concern.

“I- ohmygod I didn’t- May, I’m so so sorry- I- uh..” He flicked his eyes up to Loki, who slashed their hand back and forth across their throat. “..got, uh..caught up..doing a..” Peter fumbled, voice raising in pitch as if to question himself. “...project??”

Loki facepalmed.

“...Peter, I swear to god, if you’re severely inju-”

“No, no! I’m fine now, promise! Just a small, uh, stab wound-”

“STAB WOUND?” Wait, fuck-

Peter fumbled to reassure her, internally screaming. “I- WAIT- M-MAY, IT’S FINE, I PROMISE-”

“NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. WE WENT OVER THIS, PETER. A STAB WOUND IS NOT ‘FINE’-” Loki threw their hands up as if to say ‘exactly’, receiving a half-hearted glare from the teen.

“nO NO- I GOT HEALE- u h- i got...uhm. uh. there’s-” He mouthed ‘hypocrite’ at the trickster to fight his nerves, earning his own scowl to match. Bruce watched in dead, confused exasperation.

A tired, worried sigh resounded through the speaker. “Just come back, please, Peter. I can ring up the school to give you the day off-”

“N-no, no! It’s actually fine, May. L-like, literally, it’s all healed now-”

Peter’s insistent claims went ignored. “Is Dr. Banner there?”

Before he could protest, the doctor answered, already leaning forward. “Y-yes, yes, I am. Peter’s fine, don’t worry, Ms. Parker-”

“Okay, well that’s a relief." She let out a low breath, pacing coming to a stop. "And just call me May...Peter, please swing back over here if you can, honey."

"Okay, I'll be there in just a few minutes! And uh..sorry again, May. I-I didn't mean to worry you.."

She let out a soft sigh before answering, unintentionally feeding the ball of shame tangled up in Peter's gut. He couldn't do anything right today, huh? Failing, failing again- "It's fine now, Peter." No it isn't. "Just come back, ok? I want to see that you're okay.”

He swallowed, forcing his voice to smooth out, fighting the urge to slump his shoulders in defeat. Defeated by himself and his stupid decisions. “Okay, I will. I’ll be there in about, uh...10 minutes?”

“I’ll be waiting. And Peter? I larb you, honey. Don’t forget that.”

The knot in his stomach tightened, almost robbing him of his breath in a wash of guilt. “I-I larb you too, May.”

“Swing safe, Peter.”

Click.

He stared down at the bright white screen, trapped in his own thoughts. Loki and Bruce’s quiet conversation ran like water in his ears, muffled and lapping against the sides of his head, a dull throb that spread like a thick weight across his body - it weighed against his shoulders, forcing them down despite his efforts. Another failure to drag him down against his will to keep his head above the water.

“Peter? What’s wrong?”

He startled, turning around. Bruce’s concerned gaze pierced through him, twiddling a pen between his fingers. Loki shifted from beside him, raising an eyebrow at the teen. Worried lines etched into the crevices of their face.

Peter slapped a shaky grin onto his own face, already whirling back around to latch open a nearby window. “Oh, nothing, don’t worry! I’ll be swingin’ off now-!”

“You sure?”

He flapped his hand uncharacteristically, waving away the worry - no one else had to be worried. He was Fine. “Yeah, yeah! Gotta get back to May-”

“Spiderling. Your mask .”

Peter blinked, processing their words for a moment. If possible, Loki’s eyebrow arched higher. “Wh- OH! Oh, yeah, that- I should probably get that, yeah. Woops-”

“Peter, if something’s wrong-”

“No, no! It’s fine, uh-” He yoinked the mask off the table, pushing himself up to perch on the window ledge, shoving it on. “I-I really gotta get going now, or else May will literally crucify me with her bare hands. Cya!”

Before the two could reply, Peter hopped off of the ledge, arms up to swing cleanly against the horizon line. The faint orange streaks in the sky outlined his rapidly disappearing figure.

After a moment of thoughtful silence, Loki sighed, crossing one leg over the other. “I don’t think I doubt him, from the sounds of it.”

Bruce hummed, biting his lip in worry. “Yeah, May is...intimidating when she wants to be. Or when she’s worried.”

“Mm. Does this happen often?”

“Yeah, yeah it does.” Bruce dusted his hands off, standing up to clear the desk he was working on. “Whenever Peter gets injured, he has to swing over here - May doesn’t want him getting seriously injured after...past experiences. T-they’re not...mine to talk about.”

Loki decided not to push it, pushing down their...unease before speaking. “Do you know what happened tonight?”

“From what I heard-” Bruce dropped the box he was carrying on the ground with a quiet grunt, “Peter got involved with an attempted mugging. Problem was, it was a bunch of teens, around his age. They were...robbing for money. For their...less than understanding family, I believe.”

Loki caught on at once, thinking of the spider-child’s character. “ Ah . I see.”

“Mhm.”

“And he’s overridden by guilt, I presume?” They looked towards the window, squinting at the faint yet painfully blinding star peeking out from under the city skyline’s blanket of buildings.

“It seems like it. Definitely.”

Loki sighed again, running a hand over their dagger’s hilt to calm the worry simmering below the surface. On the outside, their pose was indifferent, face turned towards the window to hide the worried creases shaping it. “Well, the Midgardian teens are not any less in the wrong, despite their motivations. Though I do understand their...situation.”

Bruce nodded distractedly. “Peter shouldn’t be blaming himself for it, though.”

“Well, he is still a child under all that power, after all. Besides, the girl ended up saved by him, was she not?”

“She was. But Peter’s blocked that part out. I wonder why it’s so important to him…”

Loki didn’t say anything, half-heartedly transforming one of the pens on the table into a weird...creature. Bruce stared at it in despair before flicking his eyes back up to the trickster, who was lost in thought.

“You seem concerned.”

Their attention was immediately re-captured, snapping it back. “I am curious, is all, Bruce. Why should I be concerned with you mortals?”

Bruce blinked back up at them, eyebrows deadpan. Should he go there? Or would he die?

Ah. He had F.R.I.D.A.Y and the other guy to help him anyway.

“I-I can tell you care, Loki.” The trickster stilled almost unnoticeably. “A-At least, much more than before. I dunno, something’s changed-”

“That’s none of your concern, Bruce.” Loki cut off coldly, slipping off the table to walk back over to the window, faced away from the doctor.

“Well, you seem to be too concerned for someone who truly doesn’t care.”

They didn’t respond, a sickening sense of vulnerability poisoning their heart. Loki’s walls braced around it, preventing the feeling from slipping between the cracks and leaking into the outside world. They’ve shown too much. How could they trust them so easily? What if this is all a farce?

Yet the spiderling seemed so...sincere. Bruce, too, to some degree. They doubted such honesty could be faked (not that it hadn’t been before. By him. How Loki had fallen a fool to them-

“You don’t know that, Bruce, you quim.”

He sighed, taking his chances again. He hadn’t been stabbed ruthlessly through the heart yet. Yet. “Look, I-I’m just...saying..Loki. You, uh.” He made a quick gesture with his hands, hitting his knuckles against his palm. “This side of you, I think. If you showed it more, the Avengers might warm up to you-”

“You mortals are annoyingly naive.” Loki tsked, gripping the side of their sleeve where Bruce couldn’t see. “It isn’t that simple, Bruce, and I don’t owe anyone any ‘sides’-”

“Well...I just think that if this is what’s been under there all this time then...you should show it more-”

“Tch. As if that has ever been received well.” They said bitterly, patience running thin. The scrutiny of the doctor was becoming more and more irksome, and Loki ignored the part of their brain that shifted uncomfortably under it.

Bruce didn’t have anything to say in response, awkwardly smoothing out a pile of files by hitting the edge against the table. A heavy silence passed, so empty that Loki thought within it the loud rushing of their thoughts could be heard.

The doctor cleared his throat, standing by the doorway. Please don’t stab me. “Well, I uh...just think that you seem...happier like...this. I can tell that you care, but, that doesn’t make you weak or vulnerable. Just…” he fumbled for the right words, missing the way Loki’s slight swaying had stopped completely, “..you’ve changed- or you...are changing. There’s something different about you, Loki. I dunno what it is but, it’s...nice.”

Loki’s first instinct was to lash out in anger, suffocating Bruce’s words with the sharpness of their own; and yet their mind stuttered in place, sinking into a painful sense of vulnerability that left them floored and confused.

He didn’t receive a response or cut off this time, stumbling to fill the void in conversation. “Just don’t summon that weird rat snake hybrid thingy near me again please - that isn’t.”

By the time Loki had found the mental capacity to turn around, the doctor had already vanished out of sight, an echoed “Goodnight” in the air the only evidence to prove that he had ever been there in the first place.

His distinctive, awkward footsteps left Loki to stand lost by the window, thoughts swirling chaotically in the morning breeze.

Chapter Text

Tony rolled his eyes, sinking his head into his palms as the others bickered like crows on a dreadful morning. Jesus fuck.

Steve straightened up in his chair by the argument discussion round-table, raising his voice to be heard over the commotion (with minimal success). “FRIDAY would have told us if something had happened, so I’m not sure if we should take permanent action just yet-”

“You’re the walking moral compass and yet you’re going against sending away Loki?-” Sam turned around, raising his eyebrows.

“No. I’m just saying that if there was a threat, then FRIDAY would have informed us-”

Natasha looked between the two, stone-faced. “We still don’t know the extent or capabilities of Loki’s magic - he could have overran her. Hijacked the system. We don’t know if that’s the case, Steve.” They also didn’t know that FRIDAY wasn’t telling them for an entirely different, more underwhelming reason.

Twirling a pen, Bruce spoke up from the corner. Despite being one of the only voices of reason, he was quickly drowned out. “O-okay, yeah, but how can Loki’s magic possibly manipulate technology? Code? Binary numbers-”

“Bruce whose side are you even on-”

“I-I’m just saying! He doesn’t even know how to use a blender!”

Tony groaned in despair, not even bothering to look up from the comfortable little void he had dug himself into - he hadn’t even had his 3rd cup of coffee for the day and was already having to deal with this. Hell, why did they even agree to this anyway?-

Sam deadpanned. “I don’t think that matters when you’re a god from outer space, Bruce-”

Steve gestured exasperatedly with his hands, cutting Sam off in a futile attempt to stop the argument. It seemed today the captain lacked any control over this sinking ship. “Let’s just- we could always just observe him for now, I guess-”

This time Tony did look up, frustrated voice breaking his exhausted silence. “Oh, yes!” He raised his eyebrows and hands in faux-surprise, as if to say ‘why didn’t I think of that?’. Steve fixed him with a Look. “Let us sit back on our recliners and dine as we watch a murderer interact with the spider kid. Maybe butter some popcorn while we’re at it-”

It was Steve’s turn to sigh. “Tony-”

“He could be manipulating Peter as we speak, capsicle-” He hissed out, fingers tapping on the desk between his words.

A moment of silence passed before Bucky looked between the two, resting his chin on his palm. “You know, I think I agree with Steve-”

“Sigh...no. No. We are not doing this.” Tony abruptly stood up from his chair, flinging out a hologram from seemingly nowhere. Clint glanced up numbly, strangely having paid little to no attention during the whole impromptu meeting, haphazardly organized by a ruffled Tony.

He swiped on a picture of the trickster, along with reports and files. Tony failed to notice the slight disorganization and rough placement of the picture and video data. “Loki, y’know, the whole New York attack guy, is currently living at our tower. I don’t care what Thor says, this is dangerous-”

“Then why did we take him in?!”

Natasha answered before the mechanic could begin to open his mouth, making a silent risk assessment that having Tony answer would be the equivalent of chucking gasoline at a fire. “If we did anything else, let him be taken into the raft by Ross,” she spat out the name, “or worse, then we would be personally struck down by Thor and/or taken there ourselves for assisting a criminal.”

A dead silence overtook the group. It wasn’t awkward, per se; just heavy, as if each was telepathically daring the other.

Rhodey, in possession of one of the few brain cells present in the group, calmly spoke up, not even sparing a glance at the mechanic wiping a frustrated hand over his face. “Let’s just observe for now. We don’t have any proof and FRIDAY hasn’t said anything, so we can’t jump into accusations.”

“Accusing a murderer-”

“Accusations, Tony. It’s no use blindly arguing against Loki if we’re not even sure what he’s doing or how much power he has - it’s best to judge the situation first.”

Natasha got up, already moving over to the doorway, voice carefully impassive to hide her impatience. Steve whirled around to face her. “Leave it to me.”

“What’re you doing?” He asked, voice strong. She stopped, resting a hand on the doorway.

“Relax, Steve. I’m just going to gather some information. See what he’s up to. Maybe Tony’s right.”

The mechanic looked to take personal offense to that. “Excuse me, ‘maybe’?”

Fixing him with a level look, her eyes hardened. “I’m not saying you aren’t, Tony. But charging into this head-first won’t provide us with anything useful.” Shooting a final look at Clint, her frown was reflected in the window the archer had been staring blindly out of for the past 20 or so minutes.

The other members of the team followed suit, gazing in concern at his prolonged silence. No one dared to push it, though still internally questioned his lack of response to the topic considering the hearing aids still perched in his ears.

Although the archer had a habit of openly turning them off as a joke whenever he didn’t want to listen, the distance between him and the rest of the group seemed bigger than what the room allowed considering that he hadn’t.

After another tired pause, Tony pressed his palms into his eyes. “Fine. But you see anything suspicious and he’s out - it has to be a damn good reason, so find one.”



---



Peter skipped down the hallway, scanning the paper clutched in his hands one final time. Hopefully, this new formula would give him some more flexibility. Manipulating the webbing once it was already placed, maybe? Was that possible? Or having it connect to his suit in some way, allowing him to change its texture depending on what he wanted to do.

But was that even possible? Or- wait. Hm. He could have it as a sort of tightening capture weapon - he could shoot a loose cluster at someone, then catch them off guard by rapidly tightening it. That could give him some rescue opportunities, too, if he needed to quickly restrain someone or maybe even secure them for their own safety.

I mean, on another thought, he could always head down to the testing area while he was at it-

Peter’s internal rant was cut off by an external splutter, stumbling backwards and almost tripping over his feet while his arms automatically flung out to steady themselves. The sudden collision into seemingly nothing left him confused, blinking rapidly and trying to decipher who he had-

Oh.

Motherfu-

At the sound of a near-silent chuckle, he glanced up, scanning the ceiling before his eyes landed on the vent. They fell into a half-hearted glare.

“Are you quite alright, spiderling?” Loki asked innocently, tilting his head. Peter responded with a blind wave of his left leg, attempting to fling off the saran wrap miraculously still enveloping it. If there was any pity, Peter could not have found it even with a magnifying glass.

He hopped around in place, fighting the plastic. “What does it look like?”

The trickster smirked, speaking airily. “I’m not quite sure, the terribly obvious barrier is blocking my view.”

Peter looked up at him akin to the ‘listen here you little shit’ bird, ferocious gaze completely broken by the smile now painting his cheeks. “Saran wrap isn’t even that obvious, dammit!”

“That’s the point.”

Peter was about to playfully retort before he spotted a green gleaming across the surface of the wrap. “I- wait wait, did you actually curse the seran wrap?”

“Modify, as you put it.” Loki gloated.

Peter’s face drained of emotion, trying to secretly bite back another grin and failing miserably while waving his arm like a drunk ribbon dancer. Instead of coming off, the wrap gracefully transferred to his other hand. “Oh my god- ugh. Great prank though, I’ll gladly give you that - what’re your pronouns today, o’ royal bastard?”

Loki cleanly swung from the vent, gold wallet chain clinking as his feet landed on the floor. “Couldn’t care less; gender fell into the same abyss as my once hopes and dreams. I do appreciate the compliment and title though, spiderling.”

“Oh, mood. I’ll use it if you do me a favour.” He flung the saran wrap piece into the air, watching as it slowly drifted back onto his jumper. Loki tried (and most likely failed, judging by Peter’s joking scowl) to cover up how he was internally losing it.

“Mhm?”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, carefully stepping over the tough barricade of sheer plastic so as to not disturb the craftsmanship. Well, it had taken him crashing into it, but still. “Can you help me get back at Sam? He covered my web hammock in camouflaged silly string yesterday and literally ruined my whole vibe. And my star wars shirt.” He added, pouting.

Loki smirked again, waving his hand over the wrap to smooth out the creases and ‘modify’ it to be more difficult to get off once more - well, not like it wasn’t already painfully annoying to normally, much to Loki’s prior irritation when trying to set up the stupid thing. No one saw.

“Oh, spider-child, that is not a favour but an opportunity I shall gladly accept. Do you have any specific requests in mind?”

Peter beamed, bouncing over to his side with a plan already flowing from his lips.



---



“You wanna give him a book?” Sam asked incredulously, eyeing Steve.

He huffed, crossing his arms. “What? He obviously likes reading, so that would be most reasonable-”

“Wouldn’t just putting a chip on him be easier? We don’t even know what he likes-”

“Loki’s a criminal, not an idiot, Sam. We can’t just leisurely stroll up to him and start talking or give him what’s obviously a monitoring device.” Tony said dryly, already sipping another coffee - he pointedly ignored Steve’s Disappointed Frown.

Into his own coffee cup, Bruce muttered something along the lines of ‘well, Peter did it’ causing Bucky to glance over at him. He tried and failed to cover it up by awkwardly looking away, missing the soldier’s questioning gestures.

Still hoping to avoid his gaze, Bruce spoke up. “U-um, we could always try giving him a necklace or something he’d use often-”

Sam blinked, crossing his arms from the other side of the room. “...you wanna give Loki a fuckin’ necklace-”

“No, I mean as Peter-!”

“Why would Peter be giving him necklaces-”

Steve buried his face into his hands, giving Bucky the opportunity to widely gesture in Bruce’s direction. The doctor somehow managed to catch onto what he was trying to say through sheer dumb luck, nodding hurriedly.

Clint, who was secretly trying to decipher their shoddy charades, massaged his brows, completely stumped. Mixers? Snakes? The doctor made some weird, fancy twirling gesture with his hands, allowing Bucky to join the archer in the pool of confusion.

Tony flung his arms up before running them through his hair, closing his eyes. “Where the fuck is Nat when you need her-”

“Probably off being more productive than all of us combined.” Clint said flatly, subconsciously looking back at the door.



---



“Well, what’re they saying?” Sam muttered, flicking his gaze over to Clint. He tilted his head, taking in their gestures. Rhodey just looked on, practically dead inside.

“So uh-” He swallowed, rubbing his forehead to try and disperse the thoughts that plagued it. They didn’t seem to belong to him, flooding his mind despite not...coming from it; he shoved it aside for now, focusing on the others. “He seems to be saying- that….what- what the fuck is he going on about-”

The small huddle disguised as a note-taking group gazed in puzzlement at the pair, who seemed to be unaware of the possibility of everyone seeing their drunk-looking hand gestures.

Clint huffed. “I don’t even know who taught these guys sign language but it WASN’T me-”

Sam rested his chin on his palm, covering up most of his sight. Not that he could decode whatever the hell they were doing with the entirety of it. “Any ideas, bird-brain?”

“Well, I thought at least Bucky would know, but he’s straight up just. Keysmashing. In charade langua-”

He stopped, mouth part open. Sam looked between them before nudging him. “I- well, now they’re saying that they - I presume Loki and Peter - managed to break a vase at 3am-”

“Wait, that was them?!”

Tony had obviously had enough, frustratedly raising his voice to carry over to them. “You got somethin’ you wanna share, you two?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, tearing them from the doctor, who was whispering a whole ass tale to him. “What are you, my teacher?” He muttered something back to Bruce, whose eyes widened in surprise. When questioned, he just nodded, confirming the shit he had seen with his own eyes.

“Just watching you two is making my brain cells disintegrate, what the hell are you on about?” Clint asked, dumbfounded. “Tornadoes and knives? Bruce, you okay dude?”

“Uh-” He responded eloquently, glancing towards the soldier for help. “Yeah, uh, don’t- don’t mind that-”

“It doesn’t matter, Clint. Drop it. Does anyone have any ideas besides tracking devices?”



---



“That won’t work.” Tony deadpanned, already swiping away the hologram to pull up another.

“Okay, but you don’t know that.”

“I do. Because it's obvious and, frankly, kinda mediocre-”

Steve sighed heavily, roughly scribbling something down on his near-empty piece of paper. “We’d need to put it somewhere inconspicuous, but also somewhere Loki would definitely go to.”

“Or we could just. Not do it.” Rhodey offered, leaning back in his chair. “Hell, what trap are we even talking about?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it-”

Sam cut him off. “Steve, we need to know what trap it is before we figure out what to do with it. That’s the whole point - there’s no use deciding where to put it if we don’t know what ‘it’ is in the first place-”

“...I mean, there’s no point making a ‘trap’ anyway, really. It’s not like we’re catching Loki, we just need to figure out what’s going on.” Bruce reasoned, words tinted with confusion.

Once again, tired silence overtook the gathering of Avengers. Rhodey tapped his pen three times, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

...

Bucky blinked, not even facing the others. “Okay, but what if we put it in Sam’s room-”

The man in question spun around to face him, creaking his chair. “What the hell would that do? Why would he be in my room?”

“No, no, he’s got a point.” Clint argued in amusement, making a secret effort to dispel the thoughts clogging up his brain. He could feel their darkness spreading, distant voices ringing in his ears.

“And what point is that?”

Clint made a fist and extended his index finger, holding it in front of his nose and making a ‘pecking’ motion twice, feeding into the team’s silence. Bucky nodded, leaving Bruce in the dust to catch onto whatever the hell Clint was trying to say. Unbeknownst to him, the archer was also attempting to get the memo and failing royally.

The rest of the team watched soundlessly, stumped; a full 3 seconds passed before Tony sighed dramatically, flinging his arms up. “Right, we need another translator.”



---



Peter put his foot on his tangled tumbleweed of wrapping paper, awkwardly trying to hold all the pieces in place. “Hey, Loki could you uh- crap- could you pass me another roll of tape please?”

The trickster neatly folded one of the pristine edges of his own paper, cleanly encasing a picture frame, before looking up blankly. “You asked the same thing 2 minutes ago.”

Peter brokenly gestured with his head to the heap in his lap, held together with tape, scrunched folding and sheer willpower. The clump closely resembled Loki’s current mental state.

He stared at the ball blankly, using a thin piece of tape to secure his own neat little box. “...spiderling, are you wrapping that with paper or pure tape because I genuinely can’t fucking tell.”

“Bold of you to assume I know, now h elp me please-”



---



“Loki, what the fuck, we’re not supposed to wrap the ceiling fan-” Peter giggled out, watching the god climb up onto an already-wrapped desk, filled with determination.

He didn’t even spare Peter a glance, watching it spin round and round. It did not occur to this utter genius that he could just turn it off. “And why not? You’ve asked for my help with a prank and are expecting me not to go the whole way?”

“But Loki, it’ll hit you, please don’t-”

“Spiderling, I will cover every single goddamn inch of this blasted room. Do not underestimate me.”

“I’m, like, in awe! Literally! But, uh, please just be careful because that thing will vibe check you-"

As if on command, Loki leaned a little too close to it, only just managing to dodge the blade aiming to deck him in the forehead. Looking strangely offended, he surveyed the foreign mechanism. How should he...

Peter contentedly observed Loki’s futile attempts at understanding the mysterious Ceiling Fan for a few seconds before coming to his aid. “Hey, Fri, could you..uh. Turn the fan off?”

The god watched expressionless as it slowed to a complete stop, providing him with space to wrap it as he pleased. Peter looked gleefully amused, springing over to one of the drawers.

He flung open a drawer, considering the contents. Hm. “Wait, should we wrap his clothes?”

Loki silently flung the paper roll up to himself using seiðr, whipping a dagger out of his sleeve (???) to cut a large piece off. “Of course.”

After a moment of digging, Peter stopped, looking at one of the piles. “....all of his socks, too?”

Loki smirked, looking over to the teen. “What are we, considerate? Take them all out.”



---



“Ooooh, wait, Loki!!! Have you ever popped bubble wrap?”

Loki, who was currently attempting to wrap a whole ass bookshelf, stopped. “Bubble wrap?”

He held up a large sheet, the bottom left corner already crumpled. “Oh. I believe I’ve seen that before - you use it to wrap things and prevent them from being damaged, am I correct?”

“Yup!! But what’s fun about it is that…” He put it down on the floor, excitedly jumping onto it. Several pops resounded, a loud satisfying wave following when Peter moved around.

Loki paused, only managing to blink before he was casually handed his own sheet. The teen returned to the cylindrical pencil-holder he was currently trying to wrap; its shape had been reduced to a messy blob.

He managed to turn around for a full 3 seconds before several popping noises filled the room, each faster than the last.

“...can I keep this?” Loki asked quietly, popping another bubble rather aggressively. He might as well have been stabbing it.

Peter beamed, climbing up on a chair to reach the items on the shelves. “Yeah, sure! We have lots of it in the tower anyway since we always keep it for fun- ”

“Wait. Peter.”

“...yeah?” He asked, turning around.

Loki was staring at the chair that the teen was perched precariously on, something suspicious glinting in his eyes. “...I have an idea.”



---



Tony paced around the small space, movements tracked by Steve. “Fri, could you pull up all of Loki’s files for me?”

He waited for his blue holograms to pop up but to no avail, staring at the wall.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

No response.

Steve raised his eyebrows, looking up at the ceiling. “Is she turned off?”

Tony sighed irritably, repeatedly tapping the spot where the projection was meant to be. He need to find out how much danger Peter was in, fuck’s sake- “Steve, you’re asking that as if she’s a fucking toaster-”

“I’m just asking, Tony. It’s weird. She usually responds straight away. Maybe someone else is talking to her?”

He hummed vaguely after a moment, partly conceding his point. He took a long chug of his much-needed coffee before replying. “Possibly, but it's not likely.” Tony glanced back up at the ceiling. “Hey, Fri, I really need you here.”

…

“F.R.I.D.A.Y??”



---



Peter held a hand up to his mouth, half-laughing. “Oh my god, that’s so genius but so messed up-”

Loki took it as a compliment, examining the chair to use as a reference. “That is the plan. Hopefully we can make it realistic enough.” He considered something before looking up to the ceiling. “A.I.?”

“Using three different physics theories, I calculate you need to tape paper together at the main structural points and fold at a 68 degree angle to create the illusion and structure of a chair.”

Peter beamed, unfurling yet another roll. They had lost count, having already covered a portion of Sam’s room (albeit partially badly, considering the difference between the two’s wrapping abilities). “Thanks, Fri!”



---



Bucky strode down the corridor, brushing strands of hair out of his face. He was about to pass Sam’s room before stopping, hearing a suspicious amount of commotion coming from the inside. Wasn’t Sam downstairs?

Suspicious, he silently pushed the door open. Before he could even take a proper glance around the room, a grinning Peter popped up, several pieces of tape sticking to each of his fingers.

“Oh, hey Mr. Jesus!”

Bucky blinked, taking in the scene before him. “Hey, kid.”

Around half of Sam’s room was completely decked out in green and red wrapping paper, various bows and ribbons slapped onto unidentifiable surfaces. From the pencils on his desk to the- the fucking ceiling fan? ?

That last detail seemed to make perfect sense as his gaze landed on a certain black-haired bastard, currently covering one of the shelves in green paper. Their eyes met.

“...wait, hold on, I’ll be back in a minute-”

Before the two could ask, the soldier speed-walked back down the corridor.



---



Peter’s concentration was broken by a dull thud.

He looked up, immediately spotting Bucky standing by the door, who gestured at the floor. At Loki’s hum of approval from behind him, he looked down - Peter covered his mouth again, smiling broadly.

In a heap stood several questionably large pink boxes, flooding with pink confetti, glitter, Big-Bird-themed wrapping paper (A/N: I can’t believe it actually exists adhgja) and the like. There was also some ribbons and shredded pink paper, all overflowing the containers like some bootleg Santa’s workshop. Much like Sam’s room was becoming.

Bucky smirked, already leaving. “Go apeshit.”



---



Peter awkwardly adjusted the jumble of rolls clutched in his arms, speed-walking down the corridor - they had started with 13. Thirteen! This time he was holding double the amount, since Loki was making sure that they would go all the way . Not that he was complaining. The look on Sam’s face at the sheer chaos would be priceless-

He let out a small ‘oof’, colliding with someone or something the second time today. What was with him and collisions?

“Huh- Oh! I’m so sorry Mr. Steve! I wasn’t looking at where I was going-”

Steve smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Peter. And I told you you could call me Ste-” He stopped, smile falling in favour of suspiciously eyeing the frankly impressive amount of wrapping paper in Peter’s arms. “What are you using all that for?”

“O-oh! Uh…” Peter hopped between his feet, going to scratch his neck before remembering the valuable package he was carrying.

Before he could come up with a lousy excuse that wasn’t ‘gift wrapping for friends’ , because who the fuck used 26 rolls at once (or in their entire life), Bucky came from around the corner, a pack of plums in hand. “Drop it, Stevey - let the kid do his thing.”

Steve looked taken aback at the pure rejection, turning around to face him. “Wait, Buck-”

“Thanks Mr. Jesus! I’ll uh- I need to get back to...work…” He hurried off, leaving Steve to stand in the pool of confusion the whole team was slowly beginning to occupy; Bucky just smiled to himself, taking out another plum from the pack.



---



Nat scoped the hallway, biting her lip. F.R.I.D.A.Y wasn’t responding, so she couldn’t ask her for any information. A few rounds around this floor yielded nothing - Loki was nowhere to be found, but she had heard Peter from one of the other rooms. Perhaps the god was keeping himself quiet to avoid suspicion? It would make sense, manipulating Peter without drawing any attention through noise.

Then again, Peter did have senses, so he should have felt something unsettling around the god. But on the other hand, his heart gleamed of gold, often getting in the way of his ingrained sense of danger.

She needed to get a good eye on their interactions, yet it would be hard to do so without either noticing and thus changing character. No matter. Natasha was trained for this, after all.

Her thoughts were cut in half with a loud clang, making her whirl around to the source of the noise.

Clang.

Clang.

Raising her eyebrows, she took off down the corridor. The kitchen was closest.



---



Natasha stood emotionless by the doorway, barely flinching at the repetitive clangs coming from the soldier standing in the middle of the kitchen. Oddly enough, the banging of pots and pans was far from surprising to her. Welcome to the tower, folks.

She blinked, watching as Bucky reached for 2 baking trays. Turning around, he made direct eye contact with Natasha before resuming.

“Just wait.”

Natasha looked between him and the pans with non-committal confusion. “What are you doing?”

“Just wait. This is my therapy, okay?” On second thought, he paused his rhythm, offhandedly adding: “And also I’m waiting for someone.”

“Oh? Who-”

Sam bustled into the room, holding his phone. “Who- oh. Of course it’s you.” He stated, annoyed but not surprised.

Bucky only continued slamming the sheets together, aiming to hold Sam’s attention for as long as possible.

He managed to fail 5 seconds in, as made evident by a sigh from Sam. “Well, I’m going back to my roo-”

“Wait, Sam. There’s a- someone left a baby on the doorstep, go check. It’s on floor 31. ”

Thick silence enveloped the trio.

Sam spoke quietly and evenly to mask his infinite confusion. “...floor 36 is a lab. There’s no doorstep-”

“WOULD YOU LEAVE A BABY OUT ALONE ON THE DOORSTEP??” Bucky accused loudly, sweeping the air outwards with his baking sheets. Natasha felt a small breeze ruffle the edge of her jumper.

Sam’s expression remained the same, as if he was too tired of life to bother changing its shape. “I guess...not?”

“Good, now go down there and check!”

Natasha broke in with amused perplexity, knowing he was putting on a show but not caring enough to bring it down. “Bucky, there’s no-”

She was regarded with a quick slash-across-the-throat gesture, still in plain view of Sam. Bucky turned back to him.

“Just don’t put the baby in your room. Or go to it.”

“No. I don’t believe you.”

Before Bucky could respond, bright LEDs lit up underneath Sam’s feet, leading to the elevator.

“See! Even F.R.I.D.A.Y says so.” He shot a secret thumbs up to one of the cameras, which responded with a small flashing of lights. Natasha sighed heavily after a moment of consideration; not like she was getting anywhere anyway.

“Right, let’s go Sam.”

He glanced rapidly between Natasha and Bucky in disbelief. “You believe him?”

“No, but he probably won’t stop until you do. So. Let’s go.”



---



“Hey, Clint!”

The archer crawled over to the nearest vent, looking down through the grate. Bucky stood right underneath him, an unidentifiable piece of paper clutched in his right hand. “Yeah?”

He gestured, stepping back. “Come down here, I need to explain.”

Curious, he kicked down the vent, dropping onto the floor. Before he could ask, Bucky thrust a 50 dollar bill towards him. Raising an eyebrow, he looked back up for some lieu of explanation. “I’ve told Sam to go down 56 floors to find a baby in order to keep him distracted. I need you to go down to the vents once he’s there and blast a baby crying noise in the vents. Don’t ask why.”

Clint just stood in place, a million questions bouncing around his brain like a DVD screensaver. Subconsciously, the archer took the note. “I- Wait...no, hold on, I will ask why-”

“Too bad. Just do it while Sam’s still down there.” And with no explanation, the soldier sped back down the hallway, leaving Clint to cope with his teammate’s usual but stupid antics.

And for once, he wasn’t the source of them.



---



“The carpet.”

Peter looked down from his position on the wall, crouched to wrap a shelf. “I- the carpet??”

Loki was looking down with pure determination, driven by some unknown internal force to cause the most destruction possible. “The carpet. I’m going to wrap the carpet.”

“...no. Mr. Loki, you can’t-”

“I can.”

He opened his mouth before closing it again like a baffled goldfish, momentarily blind to the fact that he was currently talking to a 1000 year-old god from ancient mythology who couldn’t care less for what was ‘possible’ and ‘impossible’. “Loki- how do you- how do you wrap a- a freaking carpet ?! You can’t do that -!”

“Watch me, mere mortal.”

And with that, Loki lifted up a portion of the carpet corner with his seiðr, considering the best approach. If there was one?

Peter, who had become very familiar with...this...just quietly laughed in shock. “A-alright, I guess? You need me to hold the wrapping down, or?”

Loki silently considered him before turning back to his workspace, sending a gust of seiðr to knock back the rest of the carpet. “...I suppose that would make matters easier, thank you spiderling. Could you tape it down as I place it?”

He let out a happy hum, hopping down to cross the room. He watched in awe as green string stitched together large pieces of wrapping paper, covering the vast surface of the room. When Peter stepped, he startled slightly at the unusually loud crackling sound coming from... underneath the carpet…

“...no. You didn’t.”

Loki smiled smugly, showing Peter the portion of fluffy floor he had lifted up. “I did.” Like a layered cake shone through a pastel green from underneath. “I need to do the other half as well.”

“Ohmygod, you-” Peter grinned, taking a roll of tape off the desk. “I’ll gladly do the honours of taping - where do you need…”

Loki pointed to the edge against the wall, getting up. “Just there, along the wall to secure it.”

While Peter thickly layered the roll on like a preschooler attempting to fix their scissors with masking tape, Loki went over to the other side. After a few failed attempts of trying to pull the carpet up, he summoned his horned helmet into his hands and flipped it over.

Bending down, he used the two horns to lever the carpet up, much akin to a goat roughly digging grass. Several more attempts later, another portion of the carpet was folded over. Dusty wooden planks exposed themselves.

Loki sewed together even more wrapping paper to the layer using seiðr, stepping onto a chair to avoid the folding pieces.

Peter whistled, paper crinkling loudly as he crossed the room. “Daamn. This is gonna be annoying as hell. ”

“Glorious.” Loki hummed.

The teen grinned, taping the bottom layer to the wall before hopping back to the carpet; Loki flipped it back over and sealed it. A few seconds later, there was another layer right underneath their feet.

Peter put his hands on his hips, spinning around - every corner and inch was wrapped generously, furniture pieces practically indistinguishable from each other in a mess that would have burned your eyes to shreds if not for the pastel choice of colour. The floral pink confetti and banners accompanying them, however, fulfilled that failed job splendidly.

“I think we’re done. Should we hide and wait for Sam?” He asked, beaming. It fell slightly at a long lack of response. “Loki?”

He spun around again, only for his stare to fall blank. The trickster was gazing at the window, helmet and roll in hand. The same determined, smug look bored into the reflection.

Peter exhaled sharply, laughing. “...bro.”



---



Tony sighed heavily, power walking down the corridor.

The team had all dispersed to whoever-the-fuck-knows-where, each seeming to pursue a completely different goal, spreading around the tower floors like ants (and apparently the vents too, Tony had exasperatedly noted upon hearing an avalanche of shuffling from above him). Brilliant, incredible. Amazing.

Nat still hadn’t come back yet, and no one had anything to report - despite them all having their suspicions about Loki, not a single word had been caught. Not even F.R.I.D.A.Y, who had been told to keep a close eye on him, had said anything.

It was all too...convenient, he thought. The unpredictable trickster had been too quiet, too reserved. Of course, they weren’t expecting him to interact, but something was...off. Tony couldn’t quite place it, but with each passing day some part of his brain became more and more on edge, more alert, getting the feeling that something wasn’t quite right despite Thor’s reassurance over the speakers.

They had agreed nonetheless, less than eager to frustrate Thor (to put it lightly) or hand Loki over to either Ross or S.H.I.E.L.D, as much as they mutually distrusted him.

But why? Tony still wasn’t sure. The kid certainly didn’t know. They had made sure of that. Best to keep them as far away as possible - there was too much risk with Peter; too much innocence, Loki could manipulate him so easily.

It was-

“A.I?”

Tony stopped completely, immediately turning in the direction of the voice. His eyebrows scrunched.

“Yes, Loki?”

After a moment of thought, Tony quietly walked up to the wall, staying still. Was he using F.R.I.D.A.Y for information? That would explain her lack of response or updates...

A quick padding of footsteps sounded from the same direction, as if someone were switching feet. His eyebrows sank further.

“Where is Sam Wilson at the moment?”

The response was immediate, tinted with amusement. Why, Tony could not begin to guess. “On floor 31. I believe he will be staying there for a considerable amount of time.”

Tony almost got whiplash after the voice that followed. “...floor 31? Why is....why is Mr. Sam down there? I swear he hates the labs…”

“I will confirm that Bucky is responsible and has looped Clint into his...interesting plan.”

A moment of silence followed, filled with understanding; aaalll made sense.

“...ohhh. Yeahh, that explains it- wait! That means- hold on, I have time to grab somethin’ else then, perfect-”

Loki replied, voice tinged with curiosity. “What might that be?”

“Ohh, ok, so basically,” Peter paused, brimming with suspicious mirth. He didn’t even try to hide the glee from his voice. “I have these really old, spare, massive posters and plaques left over from a joke years ago, that are, like, the pinnacle of those basic Facebook mum inspirational quotes you see hanging around your school.”

Loki must have sent him a questioning glance, for he elaborated. “So...ok. They say things like ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ and ‘Just Breathe’, full-stop, in bold text on top of a sunset background. In, like, fancy white writing. I could web them to his wall so they can’t come off.”

Wait... web? Did Loki...

They were both silent for a moment, leaving Tony to wish he could peak around and watch without being discovered. Though, judging by what Peter had said, he could guess Loki’s reaction.

Because, honestly? Jesus fuck - whatever Sam had done, it must have been horrible. Christ, kid.

“Norns.” Loki simply said, so quietly but full of emotion that Tony almost missed it. For once, he agreed with the god. “That’s disgustingly repulsive. I’m impressed.”

Peter took pride in the compliment. Tony didn’t know whether he was really right to feel the same. “Thanks!! I might wrap them too, even if he kills me for it.”

“What if you made the webbing pink?” Loki smugly offered. Was he trying to get on Peter’s good side intentionally to use him later? If he was, he was succeeding, considering the kid’s reaction:

“Holy shit, yes!” Peter gasped. “ I could even make him a plaque with his name on it too-”

“But misspelled.”

Peter let out a breath. They were both going to die later. “...oh my god. But how?”

Loki considered the options, going silent.

...

“...Sam...S-Sam Whiskson…” Peter giggled, voice shaking.

“That’s terrible.” Loki smirked, clearly not standing by his own words. “Do it in bright pink.”

“Wait, dude, I have some gold star stickers somewhere...we could decorate it.”

“Pour glitter onto the plaque so it spills out when he tips it.”

The teen paused to let the weight sink in. “...that’s pure evil, man.”

“Why, thank you.”

The two continued back and forth, muffled voices drowned out by Tony’s thoughts. Why were they talking so openly? Had Loki already gone too far? If the god took a hold of Peter, used him for his power and connections with the team, things could be disastrous. Hell, the conversation he was overhearing could be a ploy by itself, acting open and unguarded to build a sense of trust. Change.

Loki had changed - according to Thor, apparently. Now that he thought about it, Bruce seemed to side more with him than the team’s negotiations. Did he really believe him so easily? Just as Peter seemingly was…

But no. Peter shouldn’t know.

Did he?

I mean, they had already failed to keep him safe, Tony thought bitterly, scolding himself. It should have been a simple job. And yet for all they knew, Loki could already have his hands on the innocent teen’s mind. Was that why his words were so...unusually open (not that they had really heard the trickster speak that much beforehand anyway)?

Something wasn’t right. He was sure of it.

Then why couldn’t he figure it out when the kid probably needed it most?

Tony was broken out of his reverie at the echo of rapid footsteps fading away, brought into the realisation that he had just missed a large part of their conversation. Helpful. Great.

After a moment, he risked to step out a little from around the corner - Loki stood leaned against the wall on the far side of the room, 2 small strands of hair framing his face, which was currently absorbed in a book he had somehow managed to obtain. He crossed his arms, eyes not leaving the page.

Tony strode down the hallway, countless words on the tip of his tongue.

Though the universe seemed to have other plans, greeting his countless questions with a barrier to the face; the mechanic stumbled backwards, hand automatically raising at the unexpected assault. He blinked rapidly. It took a few flickers before he registered the shine of the practically invisible obstacle.

His attention was frustratedly directed upwards at the sound of another near-silent snicker of satisfaction, making direct eye contact with a pair of green eyes cast to the side. Oh, for fuck’s sake-

Tony fixed Loki with a glower, which failed to shake the god. “You shouldn’t be in here. F.R.I.D.A.Y told me you were in your room.”

Loki appeared just as confused - it was shallow and barely readable, yet Tony couldn’t determine if it was a facade. “She did?” He asked blankly.

“What did you do? You hacked her, didn’t you?” Tony pressed further, slowly striding back up to the barrier. The other made no attempt to move; all he received was a blink in return.

Loki’s eyebrows dipped slightly. “...Hack?...stab?”

…

“What? No, hack - manipulate her. Hijack her program” Loki’s expression shifted at that. His hand clenched the spine of his book just a little harder. “so that she runs differently.”

Loki tilted his head. “And how would I do that?”

“I don’t know, Point Break hasn’t told us the capabilities you have, despite the fact it would be helpful to know the powers of someone in the tower.” Tony said, irritated.

The trickster adjusted himself, eyes narrowing as he asked “Point Break?”. He’d heard the name used light-heartedly around the tower, but assumed it was just a...person on the TVs he wasn’t allowed access to.

Tony looked up and spoke. “Your brother. Point Break. It’s a joke because he has the same hair as- why am I trying to explain this to you? It’s not like you have any interest in....what is it you call it when you talk to the kid? Mortals? Earthlings? Culture?”

Loki pulled his eyes away from Tony’s steely glare as he spoke up again. He didn’t know whether it was out of nervousness or coldness. “So. What is it you and the kid have been talking about? Something you can’t share with the rest of the team - because I swear to whatever other gods are up there, if you’re corrupting or mind-controlling him in some way-” This time Loki couldn’t suppress a barely-visible flinch, eyes shooting back to the frustrated mechanic; the mention sent his mind reeling, back to the shadows where everything suffocated him and struck his head to the point where his own thoughts became mere echoes in the dark-

Yet on the outside he straightened up, letting a slight head tilt re-adjust his vision to where he was currently. “If I truly was, wouldn’t you be able to notice?” Loki pressed, a bitter undertone seeping through his words.

“Well that’s the issue, isn’t it? We don’t know. But like I said, even your brother won’t be able to (legally, mind you) combat us handing you over to someone a little less...inviting” Once again, something flashed over Loki’s eyes. “...if I find out you’re messing with the kid’s head - and now it seems like a pretty good time to find out, don’t you think?”

Transforming a gauntlet over his hand, he blasted a quick hole through the barrier Loki had set up - the trickster watched the seran wrap float down peacefully with an odd look, as if more interested in the little piece of plastic than the man sauntering over to him. “After I just overheard you chatting with the kid as if you’re his best friend and setting up some kind of amateur trap with the materials you could find-”

A quick, forceful snap cut him off. Tony could dimly hear a whoosh behind him as the barrier reset itself. He looked back at it before fixing Loki with a level look, which the god returned, though less strongly.

Loki took the time to vanish his book and cross his arms, which Tony observed for a while before looking back up. Now’s not the time to be interested. “If Ii was...mind-controlling Peter purely for my own gain, then why would I bother to get to know him in the first place? Why didn’t I just...use him immediately?” Though it was a question, Loki looked as if he already knew the answer.

Tony gritted his teeth, stopping when he was just a few feet away from the god. He flicked his eyes upwards to make up for the difference in height. “It’s simple, isn’t it? It’s easier to manipulate someone if you have their trust, to slowly bring them closer to you and isolate them.” Tony failed to notice the way Loki’s stand-offish expression fell a bit, how his fists clenched underneath his crossed arms.

Though, he quickly recovered, words dripping with venom as he bit back. “Is it really? If I was trying to manipulate him, as you say, then why would I bother trying to find nuances? Careless details?” Tony swore the temperature of the room had dropped a few degrees, the tips of Loki’s fingers becoming outlined in frost. His green eyes flashed dangerously.

“To find out he doesn’t want to be treated like a defenceless, incapable child that’s below everyone else despite having potential? And if you care so much, then why do you all treat him exactly like that all the time?”

Tony stopped, the words on the tip of his tongue falling short. What?

No one answered his unspoken questions; not even the person calling down the hallway. Loki turned on his heel and swiftly strode down the corridor in the direction of the young voice, not uttering more words than he had to. The floor he walked on became slightly tinted with the cold, though Tony’s eyes were unfocused among the thoughts rushing through his brain.



---



“I told you, he wasn’t being serious! I came down all this way, and for what?”

Clint peered through the vent slits, confused yet still determined to carry out his questionable duty. Sam stood annoyed underneath him, turned to face an exasperated Natasha; even though she was barely in his view, he could sense the waves of “I’m going to kill all the dumbasses in this tower someday” radiating off of her like clunky syrup off of a chocolate machine.

Nat sighed, absent-mindedly snacking on a granola bar. “Well, what did you expect?”

“You told me to come down here and check!” Sam exclaimed, gesturing broadly. He glared at the lights flashing underneath his feet, still pointing down the corridor.

“Well, he would have carried on if you didn’t. Let’s go back up, not like we had anything else to do anyway. It’s probably just some prank.”

Clint figured that was his queue, so he took out his phone - a ticking time bomb, about to explode in chaos. He hit the play button, unleashing an unholy wailing noise throughout the floor.

Sam turned around immediately, the archer ducking out of the way before he could look upwards. “What the fuck?? Is there actually-”

Nat took a moment to scowl brokenly at nothing before casting her gaze upwards, locking eyes with Clint akin to a disappointed mother. He didn’t say anything in return, only retreating back into the vent tunnel. Better avoid her later. Or for life.


(13:05) CAW CAW BITCH: the deed is done. i don’t know why you asked, but your deed is done.

(13:05) off-brand jesus: great, thanks for the help.

(13:05) CAW CAW BITCH: am i still not gonna receive an explanation?

(13:06) off-brand jesus: :/

(13:06) CAW CAW BITCH: ok bitch, not my fault your name sounds like the sound a chicken makes

(13:06) off-brand jesus: i will clap these baking sheets against your face like an idiot sandwich you wet pigeon.

(CAW CAW MF IS TYPING….)

(13:06) off-brand jesus: can’t even fly, you just walk into trees like a bird against a windshield.

(13:06) CAW CAW BITCH: WOW. I OFFER MY SERVICES AND FOR WHAT? NEXT TIME DON’T ASK FOR MY HELP - USE THOSE BAKING SHEETS TO SLED DOWN THE STAIRS AND CRASH INTO FLOOR 31. BITCH.

He angrily closed the chat while the bitch was still typing before going back to YouTube, playing the noise again for the chaos rather than the request of his ex-friend. Hearing Sam speed-walk down to a different side of the lab, much to the tired confusion of the employee trying to do their fucking job, Clint risked to peek back out of the vent, immediately making eye contact with Nat again. Shit.

She gestured to Sam in question. Clint only shrugged, having received no explanation to provide. Nat watched him for a moment before turning around and going back to the elevator, abandoning Sam in pursuit of doing something reasonably productive, leaving her teammate to look for the “baby” himself. Which there wasn’t, but hey - knowing Bucky, he was doing it for a reason.

Or purely just to spite Sam. It was hard to tell, really.

Considering his mission done, Clint nimbly climbed back through the vents. After a while of climbing, he finally came back up to floor 87. He paused.

Below him was Tony, who seemed frozen in the corridor - he considered calling down, but noticed that he seemed to be occupied in a heated conversation about ‘boundaries’, ‘vague, undeniable parenting’ and ‘withholding information’ (???) with F.R.I.D.A.Y. Huh.

Since he looked so frustrated, and Clint crawling in the vents just tossed coal onto the raging barbeque that was Tin Can Man, he decided to leave as soon as possible.

---✰*dumb gremlin hours*✰---



Peter compiled all of the beautiful inspirational quotes into one Armageddon-bringing pile, deeming the collection of garbage satisfactory. Satisfied with his work, he turned and nudged the door open with his arm, carrying the posters/frames in his arms.

He was adjusting the canvases when Loki made his way back down the corridor. Peter opened his mouth before noticing the angry weight to his steps, leaving a sort of...trail beneath his feet. If the teen listened closely enough, there was an audibly rapid heartbeat accompanying his hurried footsteps.

Peter’s eyebrows creased in concern, gazing worriedly at the god. “You...you okay? I got the quotes and stuff.”

Loki took a moment to take a secretive deep breath (that Peter caught anyway), coming to a stop beside him. Peter held back a shiver, feeling the air around him become suddenly frostier. He had a sweater on, what the hell? “I’m fine. How many did you get?”

Peter considered him a moment before replying. “I uh…” He flipped the pile over, counting the quotes. Oh boy, it was a lot more than he thought. “...ssseven, all frustratingly cheerful - do you wanna read them? They’re, like, terrible.”

The trickster discreetly rubbed his hands together before taking one off the top of the pile. His eyes scanned it before blinking slowly, taking in the sight. It seemed as though every part of his body burst into flames, filled with a gruelling hatred for the 3 innocent words plastered on the flowery canvas. Why the fuck did mortals make things like this?

“I’ve never wanted to brutally stab an object more in my life. Who hangs this up on their wall?” Loki asked, honestly edging on confused fury. Peter just shrugged, an amused smile on his face.

“Mums in their 40s. It’s practically a staple item of their home.”

“That’s…” Loki took a breath, looking back down at the abomination. He wished it was an illusion. “...I may be morally decrepit, but even this is terrible to give to someone.”

Peter looked back up to him, face falling at the misunderstanding of tone. “Wait, so, a-are we still hanging these up?”

“Oh, of course we are - I never said otherwise, spiderling. Do you have the pink webbing?”



---



Peter contentedly surveyed the array of unholy canvases laid out in front of him, a partially wrapped one already in his hands; he had made sure it was pristine, utilizing what little skills he had to the best of his ability. Loki stared at the ‘Just Breathe’ poster with a concoction of irritated amusement, unable to figure out how he should respond to its existence.

The god turned back to the roll of tape he had been bullying for the past 5 minutes, skimming his fingernail down it once again. Mini helmet horns perched on his head (Peter had asked him to keep them on, because it apparently “looked really cool” - damn these fucking mortals with their casual compliments), he sighed.

“Need help with that?” Peter grinned, looking up.

Loki determinedly held the tape closer to himself, scratching at the surface. “No, it’s fine. I can do it myself.”

The expression Peter wore could only be described as ‘mhm ok bitch’, easily finding the end of his own tape and cutting a piece off.

He stood up, shooting a neon pink web at the wall before gently pressing the innocent little wrapped present to it. Stepping back, he admired his work, already thinking of the shouts that would follow the unwrapping. Ah. Bliss.

Peter turned back around to see if Loki had found the end of the tape yet.

Nope.

He uselessly bounced the stupid roll at the floor, watching it fly around the room before magically flinging it back to himself.

“...do-do you-”

Loki huffed. “No.”



---



“There’s the bitch-”

Peter giggled, turning around from where he was standing on a desk. “Did you find it?”

In response, Loki aggressively ripped the tape away from the roll, slicing off a large strip. He made sure to fold the end of the tape, this time.

Peter hummed, hopping down. As he made his way across the room, he twirled the tape roll around his finger before absentmindedly flinging it backwards, careful to aim for something other than Loki.

Unbeknownst to Peter, he failed, brain dismissing the faint shink, clank that followed, plus the way the crinkle of wrapping paper stopped completely afterwards. He grabbed a bottle of glitter, twisting the cap open. Loki remained silent.

“Sooo...where should we put the glitter?” He asked, accidentally spilling some onto the wrapped carpet.

“....Peter…”

The teen couldn’t read that tone for the life of him, prompting him to turn around in question. He stopped midway.

It seems that the place Peter’s subconscious chose to land the tape roll was Loki’s mini right horn, dangling at the bottom like a wonky ring toss game. A thick silence enveloped them.

Loki spoke quietly, reaching a hand up. “Did...what the fuck-”

Peter giggled nervously, holding a hand up to his mouth as Loki gazed at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to do that-”

The trickster tried to find it in him to be at least slightly ruffled, but all he did was turn away to hide the way the corner of his mouth curled against his will. Why wasn’t he that annoyed? He slowly slid the roll off of his horn.

He heard the teen start giggling again, shakily sprinkling the glitter over the top of the frame.

Without even looking, Loki picked up one of empty wrapping paper rolls and bonked the problem child, making a dull sound as it bounced off of his head. “Wh- hey!!”



---



Clint shuffled over to another vent, peering down - he did a double-take as his hand encased...paper? He looked down while running his fingers over the pastel pink pattern, whispering a quiet ‘what?’.

“I swear to- spiderling…”

He froze. Was that..?

“What?” Replied a bubbly voice, coming from somewhere on the wall. Clint risked a glance down, eyes widening at the living children’s birthday party that assaulted him. In the midst of the colourful mess, he could easily pick out the colour palette of green and gold, which was currently feeling the tape roll...on their helmet.

The god heaved a sigh, flinging the roll (now glowing green) off of himself.

A few seconds of debate passed before Clint watched as Peter picked up another roll while talking, quietly lining it up with Loki’s helmet. “I wonder when Mr. Whiskson is gonna come in...he’s been gone for a while…”

Whiskson…

son-

...wait.

Clint leaned over and studied the layout of the barely recognisable room, the pieces clicking in his mind. Bucky. The “baby”. How F.R.I.D.A.Y kept rigging the elevators to carry Sam further and further away.

The archer’s eyes locked onto the floral inspirational quotes scattered across the floor, only managing to read one before having to slap a hand to his mouth.

Oh my fucking god.

“...it is strange, I must admit. But it wi-”

Loki paused, another clank echoing round the room as Peter flung the tape roll akin to a frisbee, swiftly sliding down the trickster’s left horn. He swore he heard a “score!”, though it quickly cut off as Peter received a thrown wrapping paper roll to the face. Bonk.

The teen spluttered, breathing out a laugh. “Hey! Take that ba-” He just barely dodged another tube aimed at his face, watching it bonk against the wall behind him. Peter turned back to Loki.

The trickster showed no signs of remorse, just turning to generously wrap the window handle. Peter huffed.

“Ok, valid. Where should I put this one? It says- ohmygod, it says ‘Life is out there. Go chase it-”

He stopped at the sound of a muffled snicker. Looking up to Loki and only receiving a curious eyebrow raise, he looked around for the source of the sound.

With all the weight of the world, Peter sighed, face morphing into a grin as he got up and stepped into the hallway. He looked up.

“Hey pigeon man.”

Clint stopped snickering immediately, glaring down from the vent. “Why is everyone calling me that?? First Bucky and now you, kid? The betrayal.”

Peter beamed. “Perish.”

Clint swore he heard Loki snigger from inside the room, a hand making its way up to his heart. “Wow. I help y’all and this is what I get. I’m honoured.”

“Help?”

Clint scowled at the kid, who was innocently bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Yes, help - Bucky asked me to play the sound of a baby wailing at Sam for...some reason. I assume it's to do with this.”

Peter blinked, looking back to Loki for any possible info. He stared back. “Uhhh...probably? No clue, though.”

“Dammit. Welp, what’re you doing anyway?” Clint huffed, secretly admiring the level of effort put into the room.

“Oh! I’m getting back at Sam for wrecking all my sh- stuff with silly string. I asked Loki to help me..”

After a moment, Clint unhooked the vent, hanging down a hand. Peter jumped up and high-fived it, easily hitting the mark despite the ceiling’s height. He used this time to catch a glimpse at Loki, who was currently overly preoccupied with covering the shiny glass window in wrapping paper; if the archer looked hard enough, he could see an unreadable face reflected in what remained visible to him.

“I caught that first bit, kid, but you're lucky I have a soft spot for you. You have my ultimate seal of approval for the prank-”

Peter deadpanned. “Wow, so valuable-”

“-if anything, just shoot me a text and I’ll distract Sam a little longer.” Clint finished, ignoring Peter’s little muttered comment in favour of sending him a wink, which the teen gladly returned with a smile.

“Thanks! Though, we’re almost done a-”

A loud voice resonated from above him. “Peter, I’m afraid Sam has defied me and chosen to take the stairs. Natasha has abandoned him and is not available to stop him-”

“Oh, sHIT-'' Peter half-shouted, already nyooming down the corridor in the direction of the stairs. Clint looked down the hallway where the teen had zoomed off to in vague amusement before hopping down from the vent, replacing it as he went.

Loki stared silently at the floor as Peter left the room, eyes preoccupied with the polka dot pattern peppering the wrapping paper below him rather than one of the worst reminders of Him. Absentmindedly, he ran his foot over one of the creases, disrupted by a harsh cough from Clint’s direction.

“So.” Loki smothered a flinch, fixing his expression and steeling himself for the relentless questioning he knew would follow. “What exactly are you doing? With Peter, I mean.”

He hesitated before speaking, careful to avoid direct eye contact in order to make himself look as harmless as possible. “Just what he said - getting back at Sam.”

“Huh. No agenda, then? No...tricks?” There goes the cool atmosphere, Loki thought as Clint shifted his position threateningly, leaning partially against the doorway. “If I remember correctly, there was an agenda to everything last time. An agenda to everything you made me do. To every trick you used to gain control.”

Loki felt a shiver run down his spine despite his background, hurt but unsurprised - if no one had believed or listened to him, he wouldn’t blame Clint for not being the exception to that unspoken rule. He forced his quick breathing to remain undetectable, ignoring how his vision unfocused as his mind swam in guilt and tried to think of anything to say that wouldn’t result in an interrogation.

After a moment, Clint scoffed, failing to notice how his breath appeared to turn into frost in the air, vanishing as quickly as it came. “Nothing. You’ve got nothing to say.” Loki swallowed, willing himself to appear as neutral as possible. His eyes wandered past Clint’s, the words blurring together. The chilly room seemed too suffocating for its temperature.

“I-...” Loki’s voice petered out despite not having any real sound to it to begin with. Before he could try and fill in the gap, the door’s hinges creaked for him.

Peter stepped into the doorway from the side, this time unable to hold back a violent shiver at the cold that assaulted his lack of thermo-regulation. His eyes went rapidly between the closed, half-wrapped window to the two now facing him, though one much more directly than the other.

His ears drummed with the thrum of both of their rapid heartbeats, noting how one appeared to skip rather than beat. Peter’s eyebrows creased in worry, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. A mix of anger and panic filled the room. “...you guys okay? I got- I convinced Sam to go back downstairs…” He trailed off, awkwardly fidgeting with the ends of his sweater.

Peter looked between the two of them again, standing coldly on opposite sides of the room - he couldn’t quite read Loki, but the standoffish appearance he was taking didn’t hide the way his chest rapidly rose and fall, or how his eyes darted around the room as if looking for something to strike. Clint, on the other hand, looked calculated but pained, a thin veil of anger covering his hurt.

Had they fought? He tugged at the hem of his jumper again then waved between the two, nervously muttering about Sam for a minute. The coldness of the room was getting unbearable. God, he didn’t know what to do.

Maybe he should do what he failed to do last time…

“H-hey, uhh, Mr. Loki, could you go get another roll of tape please? The...uhm..” He rubbed the base of his neck. “...pink one’s out in the corridor - it should be in one of the cardboard supply boxes.”

Clint looked as if he wanted to say something, but an unreadable flash fluttering across his eyes seemed to cut him off. It appeared to take a moment for the words to fully register in the trickster’s head, snapping himself out of his own mind before making a minor move towards the door. He paused slightly as if to see what would happen next, suddenly aware of what he was doing.

Peter shifted uncomfortably before plastering back on a bright, albeit nervously awkward smile as he motioned towards Clint, who was only partially paying attention. He clicked his knuckles. “Uhm….you wanna help? We’ve kinda been inconspicuously asking around the tower, and, uh, stuff, so if you have anything that fits the aesthetic of the room feel free to contribute.”

Loki nodded absentmindedly from behind him before leaving for the tape, touching the edge of the door as he shakily slid past it.

Chapter Text

Peter nervously chewed his cheek, about to say something before his eyes suddenly widened. “Oh! I forgot the- dammit…”

Clint subtly shook his head, making an effort to block out the echoing sounds streaming through his ears. A few words flitted past, but they were indistinguishable. “Thanks, but I have stuff to do, kid - I’ll let you know if I find anything to add.”

“Oh, thanks! ...are you sure you’re okay, though?” Clint dismissed the question, swallowing past another sharp flash. He didn’t remember the images that followed, resembling nothing that he had ever seen; though, despite their unfamiliarity, his eyes stung at the overwhelming darkness that enclosed them.

It was more of a fleeting memory. A sort of dream that you’d forget once you woke up, little snippets of muddled sounds repeating over and over as you tried to recollect the details. The fragments of imagery themselves didn’t hurt him, as he had no idea what they were - a blurry mess, at most. Yet there was a feeling embedded within them that rained familiar, only stronger than he had ever experienced himself.

A concerned hum from Peter broke his daze, reminding the archer to show a small smile to the kid. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Just pigeon troubles.”

Peter didn’t look convinced, but he let it slide anyway. A suspicious tone leaked through his words. “Aight...well, I gotta run off and get somethin’ - it’s pretty small but it’ll definitely get on Sam’s nerves.”

Before Clint could reply, the kid had already gone past the door, leaving Clint alone in the room. He thought for a moment, brow furrowed, before deciding he couldn’t bear to spend anymore time seeing...him. “Fri? Tell him that Sam was coming up the stairs again and I went to help.”

There was a minor buzz of acknowledgement just barely picked up by the archer’s hearing aids. Disconnected, Clint slipped out of the room and took the left corridor, feet automatically carrying him to the vent he knew was closest.



---



Loki’s feet paced against the floor irregularly, punctuated by the shallow breaths barely making it past his lips. He willed his vision to stay clear, trying to focus on the task of finding the tape in order to distract himself from the violent memories now flooding his thoughts. Every part of his body felt like it was on fire - as if something was heating beneath his skin despite the natural coldness of it.

The god stopped in the middle of the room, spinning around to locate the box. Why were there so many? Didn’t Stark Tower have around 100 floors? Couldn’t they find any space within those floors to put the god-forsaken mountain of boxes?? He took a deep breath, doing everything in his power to block the harsh, grueling voice scorching with animosity from taking over his senses again.

The god’s eyes landed on a blurred pink blob sticking out from one of said boxes, becoming clearer after a couple blinks. He took another deep breath before walking over and bending down, rifling through the contents. Criminally bright pink tape, duct tape, masking tape, how many types of tape did Midgardians need-

Loki swallowed, becoming frighteningly aware of how fast and helpless his breaths were starting to run, desperately fighting to slow down but to no avail - every single shaky attempt at clamping them down rendered useless. His hands shook in place, fingers resting on a spare tape roll he was barely registering. Get a grip on yourself. You’re a god, Norn’s sake. It’s pathetic.

He looked up, doing a minor double-take - a pair of piercing, judgemental eyes stared back into his own unfocused ones. Shit. First Clint, now Natasha? How many fucking times? Lost for words, he moved to half-stumble back down the hallway. Loki straightened up. Vaguely aware of how wildly suspicious he appeared, he nonchalantly picked at one of his palms, fighting the suffocating feeling collapsing in on him.

Nat’s cold eyes bore into the back of his head, silently following him down the corridor with an air of hesitation. Loki’s heart picked up the pace. “...Hey-” An accusing tone spilled through the word, but Loki was already hurrying down the corridor, breath verging on hyperventilation as she muttered something else.

For a split second, it's as if her voice was replaced with another, like a twisted game where he could only sit and watch as the dealer picked out his cards. Her gaze tracked his every move. To see if he’d try and pull a sleight of hand, to escape the deck splayed out in front of him, ready to be used - as if she was ready to jump out at any second.

As if He would burn the flames again at the slightest hint of struggle.

No. Nononono. Loki tried to focus and stop the memories from flashing before his eyes, though the damage had already been done. His room. He just needed to find his room. Why couldn’t he do something so simple?

Left. Right. Left. Le- fuck. He couldn’t distinguish one foot from the other, ignoring how Nat’s voice seemed to peter out. Loki didn’t say anything. He couldn't. Each shallow breath robbed him of any sound, increasing in frequency. He didn’t know how to stop the flashbacks burning into his eyes, from replacing the world around him with the blistering bursts piercing and spreading underneath his skin-

Making a hard right down the corridor, his hand didn’t even need to latch onto the dark, wooden door’s handle: it flung open with the force of his magic, threatening to spin out of control. As it closed, Loki found himself pacing the room, breaths unevenly punctuating each hurried step. Helpless, he sank down to the floor by the foot of his bed, knees brought up to shield him from the invisible enemy. His whole figure trembled, a stifling stuffiness coming from the fumes of the flames surrounding him. Underneath the skin, they burned and replaced blood with white hot pain, spreading throughout his body like water barrelling down a river-

A hand was tearing into his skin, gripping his wrist enough to bruise the bones underneath - scorching heat pressed up against his head, drawing a pained gasp from him as he felt the coldness of his skin flare up to the iron, throat too hoarse to say or shout anything else-

He bowed his head to escape the assault and ran a hand through his hair, desperate to clamp down on his rapid, painful breathing; fighting against him, almost forcing his heart to beat itself out of his chest. Think of anything else. Focus. Breathe in slowly. His breath shook and gasped, unable to keep a steady beat. Loki shoved his head into his hands, fingers curling into the locks of hair slowly beginning to fall in front of his face. Fuck.

1, 2, 3, 4-

His breath hitched. Loki clenched his fingers further into his hair. A sharp prickling stabbed at his eyes. He just wanted it to stop, just stop-

“Loki?” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice came from above, low to avoid startling the trickster. He didn’t even look up, unable to face the towering figure he knew would be there in front of him. “Should I call someone for assistance-?”

He shook his head rapidly. His state was pathetic - it would be humiliating for anyone to see him like this. It wasn’t important. He wasn’t really there. He was making things up. It was all a lie. Everything he said was always a lie. His words weren’t worth hearing anyway. They promised betrayal and spite.  It was just an overreaction, as he’d been told. Every single time he had managed to calm down in the end on his own, and today would be no exception.

How could he trust anyone to not use this moment of...weakness against him? To not pierce him with judgemental stares, a half-hearted “relax” offered in his state of distress. A side-eye directed at him as he fought to just stop, waiting to collapse completely the moment he was alone. Not in front of Father, of Mother, of practically anyone, as much as his chest quivered under the force of the air asphyxiating him from the inside out.

Loki willed his lungs to co-operate and took a deep breath in, ignoring how it came out as more of a gasp. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. He dug his fingernails into his palms, carving crescent-moon scratches in between the crevices. Hold it. 1, 2-

Three quick, hesitant knocks resounded on his magically sealed door, followed by a few words he couldn’t catch. The god’s breath hitched, though he tried to recover by letting it out as slowly as possible. 1, 2, 3, 4. “A.I?” He asked shakily, voice barely audible.

“Peter is at the door - he asks if you’re okay or need help.” Despite himself, Loki shook his head again - he could never be sure of anyone’s intentions. Peter, though he liked could tolerate him, shouldn’t have to be burdened with his problems. Besides, Loki was still sceptical of his...friendliness towards him. Best not to risk anything.

“I’m fine...” Loki forced out, chest starting to fall back into a proper rhythm. In. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Hold. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Out. 1, 2, 3- 2- 1? 3? His breath suddenly escaped in a rush at the last second, feeding into his inner frustration. You’ve done this a thousand times. Don’t relapse now.

Much to his rising agitation, panic kept flaring up throughout his exercises. A metallic scent was starting to appear, though he didn’t stop to register it; something was underneath his fingernails. Again. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5-

“Peter says ‘okay, if you’re sure - I’ll be in the kitchen if anything, but if you need help or something, then, uh, just tell Fri and I’ll come down here.” Loki nodded, detached. He took another deep breath before unstably getting up, holding onto the wooden bed frame for support. Weakly, he teetered over to the window, shoving it open and relishing in the blast of cool, fresh air that flooded in, making the sweat running down the side of his face feel like ice. Or was it tears?

He roughly rubbed at his eyes with a sleeve, swiping off the streams that had spilled over his cheeks at some point. Norns, it truly was pathetic.

F.R.I.D.A.Y, bless her soul (again), seemed to pick up on his discomfort, as made evident by the way a soft breeze started to sway the loose threads hanging from his ripped jeans, streaming in from the AC on the wall (that he had failed to notice, to his annoyance). He took a moment to lean against the windowsill.

Despite the added support of the AC and open window, the room still felt too stuffy, too suffocating - as if he was trapped within its walls, looming around him to collapse at any second. He didn’t fully know why, but he wanted to get out. It was a comfortable room, fitted with bookshelves and cushions and a few ivy plants hanging from the shelves - hell, he spent most of his days holed up in it, comfortably sitting with a book 2cm away from his face.

And yet? He just wanted out. Into a spacious living room, into a kitchen. Anywhere. Somewhere new. Loki didn’t understand why - he never had. To distract him, to ignore the problem entirely, to be flooded with air that was cool and fresh and different? Who knows.

With that bitter thought, Loki focused on his magic. How it thrummed forcefully just out of sight, tilted and precariously hanging off the edge of control. How it pulsated in waves as he worked to draw it back in, using the feeling that very few could experience to ground himself amidst the raging thoughts still occupying his mind. Spinning and glowing in little wisps around him, nervously jittering in the air.

It was only now, staring down at his hands, that he realised where the scent was coming from - with a small ‘tsk’, Loki forced the dripping, blood-red scratches to reduce to nothing, leaving his hands to look untouched. Apart from the painful slashes and scars that had forever painted them.

He looked up to the vents. Any sort of distraction or change of scenery. Some chaos to reign him back into feeling normal, easier to repress anything else that wanted to resurface. Easier to ignore the problem if you didn’t have to face it directly.

It wasn’t even that important anyway - he could just choose to shove it back into the corner of his mind, like he’d always done. As twisted as it was, just ignoring it and going back to whatever chaos he was causing always felt like the better option. It was the better option. It made no sense. And yet at the same time, it made perfect sense.

He didn’t particularly fancy seeing anyone either, yet he didn’t want to stay in one place. Ugh. Why did emotions have to be so frustrating and complex?

Click.

Loki’s form shimmered and reduced in size. In a split second, a feline queen had shakily taken her place. The world appeared bigger, though she felt light on her feet, small and able to escape into the tightest crevices, able to watch it all from above. Quick and agile, a shadow flitting past in the corner of your eye.

She cracked the door open to check if anyone was watching before smoothly sliding past it. In a few bounces, she was perched atop a shelf, the faint clang of a vent cover the only evidence to say she had slipped into it. Her lightly fluffy black fur blended seamlessly into the darkness of the tunnel, green eyes glowing and shimmering from the magic thrumming just beneath the skin. Soon enough, a bright emerald wisp reflected in the tip of her miniature golden horns.



---