Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Earth’s not what Loki expected.

It had never seemed so… big, in the grand scheme of things. Compared to Asgard its size was nothing, and the buildings that stretched towards the sky were little competition for the spiralling gold of home.

Home.

Well, he supposed Jotunheim was a more accurate size to place next to earth, and certainly a more suitable naming for his home, though despite the frost giants looming size their halls were dwarfed by that of the Asgardians - stoney cold arches and topless towers crumbling under the winds caress. It was always a dismal place - wrapped up in it’s own ice and frozen in its isolation. Asgard merely felt more like home in the way a warm hearth was more endearing than a thunderous storm.

Though the thought may not be shared by his brother, Loki hated storms.

He pulled his jacket, an easy steal from a midgardian salesman who was preoccupied with the attentions of a young female, closer to his body and looked upwards to where the rooftops broke off to reveal a clouded sky. Where ever he thought home to be, Asgard or Jotunheim, it was out there - beyond a choking atmosphere - and not close enough to even glance.

Loki ignored the dull ache the thought of never been able to return brought to his chest, and looked back down to the alley floor. He was a God. An immortal. A higher being.

Surely the Earth and all its hopeless inhabitants wouldn’t pose too much of a challenge?

Chapter Text

His head aches.

There are memories - not his own - of small, furry animals and a red-lipsticked smile. There's a dark haired boy with green eyes and a snub nose who steals Loki's toy from his hand, a midgardian toy, and the light scolding of tall man with greying hair. A white board with words scrawled upon it, his name on a yellow sheet and the laughs of a girl who looked like she had enjoyed more than one asgardian feast in her time.

He fought these back with the jeers of the Warriors Three, the sight of Sif's hair falling from his hands, his false father's - Odin's - words of disapproval and the royal with the dull eyes hissing that Loki was never ever going to be king. He recalls the skin slipping gently from the royals flesh and the growls of Fenris as the royal reached towards Loki - hands curling at the last minute, his nails flaking off into tiny, little pieces.

Loki smiles.

Though his head still aches with the recollections of two lives, Loki presses down the unfamiliar street and towards a tall tower that's vaguely memorable to him - though with the fog of misgardian memories he fails to remember how the imposing tower strikes a chord with him. There's much about the human world that is similar, he reminds himself, like the houses and the trees - the pattern of life repeated again and again to fill mortal rock with monotonous life, and that a building on one hemisphere could be identical to another based elsewhere. Perhaps he had stumbled upon this building before - trips to earth were few since the humans took the Gods as myth - yet in the last few centuries Loki had visited it more than he cared for.

He frowned to himself and touched his hand to the light stone of a nearby wall, feeling it's grainy texture and squeezing his eyes against the onslaught of ringing, childish laughter that arose from the thought of sand; his - no - the implanted memory of a midgardian family echoed a golden beach, reminiscent of the purity of Asgard, and a deep sea, almost as blue as Thor's eyes, which hungrily pulled in grain after grain of glowing sand.

The waves were almost audible.

"Loki?"

Loki stills. His hand curls against the grating wall and he feels the rough stone dig into the ridges of his knuckles. He knew that voice.

"Iron Man. It's been a while." He turns, smiling in what he hopes to be a patronising manner. The Man of Iron, currently without his metal wrappings bore a mixed expression of curiosity and coldness - eyebrows raised yet stance forcibly relaxed. Stark's 'bravery' was little more than arrogance, of course, as it was with these clever midgardian, and arrogance was enough to get one exiled in Asgard. Loki doubted the same was true for the human realm.

"What are you doing here?" Stark's gestured towards the tower and in the general area, his pose barely moving an inch of his body, aggression clearly cut into his words. Loki ignored the way The Man of Iron's voice seemed to change mid-way through the sentence, and how his brown eyes flashed to green and his height seemed to rise by a few inches. Though he could not ignore how Stark's face twisted into that of another, the one of his midgardian memories falsely placed, and he felt his sly smile slip from his features. They were persistent it seemed - warping the environment around him, even. Loki wondered after the fool who had placed this faulty magic upon him, and vowed that when his time was over and he was free to return, they would pay.

However, his fake father, Odin, has intended upon wiping Loki's memory and placing him forever, mortal, on this earth? Would he ever be free to return?

His head ached as the world changed again, dragging him to a foggy reality, Stark seemingly shrinking before him - eyes still green but voice back to normal. He heard his name - peculiar still on human tongue - and realised, briefly, that his hand was on his forehead and his legs no longer seemed capable of holding his weight, jelly like and battling against an impossible weight.

Darkness and it's sickening familiarity fell once more.

Chapter Text

The first thing to come to the awakening God was pain. It seared up his leg without prompting, spreading quickly to his sore side as he attempted to shift upwards off the bed of metal he appeared to be lying on. A cold metal pressed persistently down on his wrists and, most painfully, on his complaining ankle. Manacles. He was all too familiar with the concept and gave up after a brief struggle - particularly after the arrival of a needle like pain swooping over his form - rendering him temporarily dizzy and accenting the exhaustion he already felt.

He was weak in this human form, incapable of looking after himself. If he was the God he still hoped to be once more, he would be able to heal his leg with a simple spell. He would be free of the oppressing metal spreading chills down his limbs and the mortal Tony Stark would have not had time to fit his skin of iron before he was graced with death. Graced for it was truly an honour for a midgardian to be killed by one higher than itself.

Loki curled his lip up in self disgust at his vulnerable position and glared up harshly at the dim lights above him; his eyes roaming the room for any possible escape if he were to come into a brief period of freedom. Nothing. The ceiling met the walls flawlessly and almost without seam, and though he could not see the floor from his higher positions, Loki was almost sure it was the same story. A blank room. He was a dangerous prisoner.

Or so they thought.

At that moment a door directly parallel to Loki's eyes, slid open and a strange, unnatural sounding voice accompanied the entrance of Stark as Loki craned his head upwards to look better at his adversary.

"...regained consciousness only minutes ago. I would recommend a brief adaptation period to avoid any-"

"Yes, thank you JARVIS." cut off Stark, taking a stand at the end of Loki's metal bed and smirking at the God's imprisoned state. "Well, well, well."

Loki let his head fall back onto the metal bed, a slight ache slipping down his neck and the hard surface seeming to seep away the warmth of relaxed muscles. Everything hurt. That had been his first spell of unconsciousness since he fell down to earth, and with it seemed to come a new awareness of his mortal body. It could not be pushed like his immortal form had - its limitations were great and when reached much pain arose, as the wariness that still dogged his mind suggested. He had made himself weak due to neglect of his human needs and, though it was unpleasant, the promise of such hurt as he currently experienced seemed in line with his intended punishment.
Odin had wanted him to suffer.

And suffer I will, thought Loki, watching Stark's calculating gaze.

"Why did you come to earth, princess?" questioned Stark, resting his hands on the end of the bed and smiling somewhat maliciously, "Not enough doom and gloom for you to spread in your little golden land? Oh, wait - let me think - did big bad Thor and his friend beat you in battle, again? How unexpected." The jab was cruel and somewhat unnecessary, though Loki found he could not rise to the battle of wits. Thor and The Warriors Three had always defeated Loki - even as children training in the palace's facilities; Loki was weak, unable to wield great weapons as Thor and Sif easily did. 'If a woman can raise this, so can you, brother!' Oh but he could not and the very loathing he felt as they laughed and lunged at each other could never quite be directed at them, or even Odin as he dismissed Loki's coming-of-age with no great weapon blessing.

The failures and their consequences were entirely his own, no matter how much the acknowledgment of that truth chipped at his pride and reigned in his tongue.

He said nothing.

Stark, seeming to notice his unusual silences, frowned and addressed a question aloud, eyes not leaving Loki.

"JARVIS, I though the drugs were supposed to wear off by now?"

"A period of adjustment is favourable to allow optimal brain engagement and awareness, his injuries also suggest he requires medical attention. Shall I contact an emergency service?"

Medical attention was something Loki desired sorely, but would not voice as it was another thing Stark could easily hold above his head. Loki had no intentions to harm any humans, and without his magic he quite useless - Stark, of course, did not know this. Loki's fool of a brother had not thought to tell him Loki now walked among the humans, which would have been wise as Loki seemed to have kept his appearance.

"Call Bruce down. Do not let him in." With that Stark turned around and let the room without further comment to the God strapped to a steel bed. Loki stared at the sliding door then closed his eyes tightly. They were going to torture him, no doubt, leave his wounds untended and starve him of substance. Try to find an ulterior reason for him to be here.
He supposes Odin expected this to happen, as he viewed magic as unimportant and the stripping of it appeared a small discipline, and a humiliation at the hands of mortals, no less the mortals who had defeated Loki before, seemed a more fitting punishment.

Loki wondered how much pain his body could really take.

Chapter Text

He must have lost conscious again, for when his eyes flickered open once more he was still in the sealed room, though with a familiar face frowning towards his leg. It took a moment of realisation for the pain to set in.

Loki hissed as quietly as he could allow, biting down hard on his tongue and shooting a venomous look at Bruce Banner, who was presumably meant to be helping him to heal, not encouraging the hurt that stemmed in quick flows from his ankle. Bruce glanced towards him, uninterested, before pulling once more on Loci's injured limb in an upwards motion. He felt the rough brush of bandages against skin and held his tongue against the profanities that threatened to spill out. As a God, and trickster, he had been through may tortures and punishments to amend for his numerous offences and crimes - but now, in human form, the pain seemed magnified, potent. A very real threat.

"You broke your ankle. Which you shouldn't have in such a small fall, by the way. I'm chalking it up to lack of food and general bad health, though it's a wonder how that happened - given how much Thor seems to be able to eat. No, the real issue," Banner paused in wrapping Loki's ankle and looked towards the former God "is why, despite Tony's failure to gag you, you haven't healed yourself. Or killed every single one of us." Gag. The word sent a slight shiver down Loki's spine and he looked pointedly away from Banner. Gags separated Loki from his magic, leaving its warm feel still in touch yet elusive of grasp. Odin used them on him when he could not trust magic to keeps Loki's tongue still; and as a method of bringing shame upon Loki. Muzzled, like some midgardian house pet.

Loki reached for his magic. He was met with emptiness.

This time Odin had found a way to remove Loki's powers completely. Of course, Loki had noticed when he first fell to this realm, but the mess of memories and his aching form had prevented him from thinking on the gaping the hole that seemed to now swallow him. Without magic. Mortal. Loki clenched his hands, pushed his nails against the metal table. He was defenceless. Vulnerable. At the beck and call of mere humans who had learnt to master their physical bodies, rather than their minds, and were formidable enemies to those who relied on the strength of muscle rather than spell; a percentage which now included Loki. Without magic, Loki's days and nights spent over books and in vicious training sessions with other sorcerers were swept away entirely - leaving him with the few sparring lessons he had attended and the vague know-how on fighting. Of course, he was skilled with a dagger, many a spell required blood or indeed sacrifice and Loki had been muzzled far too many times to completely rely on magic, but here, in the mortal world, skill with a dagger seemed fruitless when attaining one was hardly a likely possibility.

However, Tony had not gagged Loki, as Banner mentioned, so perhaps another slip up was not impossible?

"Loki?" he had not continued to wrap Loki's leg and was instead was watching Loki with an intensity that unsettled him deeply. Had he done something to trigger him? Was Banner about to turn - to smash Loki into the ground? This time he would not survive, he was sure. Even while in Godly form, the 'other guy' was not a foe to be taken on lightly.

"I have no magic. " he closes his eyes to block his view of Banner, to avoid the smugness that would no doubt be painting his features "It was taken from me." Also, please don't smash me through this table.

"By who?" By whom, thought Loki, mentally correcting the man and trying to ignore the crawling feeling his stare brought his skin.

"It matters not." The words seem to ring in their defiance and Loki half expected Banner to strike out at him. When he did not for some time, Loki opened his eyes, refusing to show his nerves as he surveyed the thoughtful looking man. Banner was still as he seemed to debate something in his mind, his grip around Loki's leg loosening. Eyes narrowing in on the fact that his leg was not restrained, Loki considered yanking it from the mans grip and attempting to escape. He could kick Banner back and hopefully-

Banner's grip strengthened once more and Loki visibly flinched away, fear darting up his chest and resting heavily on his lungs, making his head feel light. The avenger seemed not to notice the tricksters fear of him as he mumbled an apology for 'hurting Loki's ankle' and slowly returned to wrapping the scratchy material around the affected area. Loki evened his breathing and stared back up the plain ceiling.

He would not attempt escape with Banner present. The man was... a threat, when angry.

Chapter Text

"Tony, did he hit his head at all?"

"No, I told you; I caught the top half of his body. He flopped like a fish out of water - bottom half all over the place. He can still wear his tiara without any pain." Banner huffed in amusement. Loki opened his eyes warily, watching the two blurry figures out of his peripheral. He frowned. Why were they blurred?

"He has regained consciousness, sir."

The taller blur, whom Loki identified as Stark, came closer - peering down at the God curiously.

"Loki?"

++++++

"Bruce, why the hell is there a ninety pound God in my detainment chamber who won't stop fucking passing out?" Yelled Tony the minute the silver door slid just behind them. Loki had passed out. Again. He'd barely been awake five minutes the two days he'd been here and he couldn't even tell them why he was here and Tony was pretty damn sure this was all kind of trick. He was position Loki was going to sit up and use his mojo to destroy something valuable and irreplaceable in the next few days and it was making him antsy.

"He's showing classic symptoms of a concussion; he must have hit his head at some point. It's lucky he even woke up - well, as lucky as a God being conscious is. Concussions can be serious."

"Would concussions affect his magic?"

"You're the expert here."

Tony groaned.

"He said his magic has been taken, anyway. I don't think he would still be here if he had it. You didn't muzzle him, he's free to cast whatever he wants on us, or the room, whenever he wants. If he had magic." Bullshit. This was Loki - what was it Thor had called him? Liesmith? God of Mischief? He'd lie to his own mother if it meant another minute of life. He said as much to Banner, frowning and calling Jarvis to bring down the elevator.

Banner shrugged "All I'm saying is, Loki's scared of me. He's got a broken leg, he looks twenty pounds underweight and he's sleeping more than someone with just a broken leg should be, considering we haven't given him anything. He's not healing himself, Tony, he's in pain and vulnerable. I don't think he's got magic but... it's not completely off the cards. Loki just doesn't strike me as a guy to take this sort of humiliation lightly."

The lift doors opened.

"He tried to take over Earth. Don't blame me for not trusting every damn word he says."

++++++

Loki dreams of parents that aren't his and those sharp green eyes that fade in and out of reality. His father. Not his real father. Not Laufrey or Odin. A woven truth, a fake identity - a midgardian him and a midgardian family to match. Loki wonders who they are.

If they're real.