Archive of Our Own

It started out innocently enough, as many things with Loki did. Of course, it also ended in a complete disaster, as most things with Loki also did. 

All-Speak did not translate idioms. It conveyed ideas, concepts, intent. But idioms were peculiar things, born from aeons of culture and customs, evolving, warping, transforming, sometimes with logic, and sometimes with wordplay, rhymes that went well together, like birds of a feather. 

But this is not the story of an idiom or how it was formed. 

This was about Loki, who, after recognizing the flaw in All-Speak, decided to fix its lack, and in the case it didn’t work, to learn each and every idiom of the language spoken by his current adversaries. 

And so he did, Loki always liked going in pursuit of more knowledge. He was the God of Mischief, but the God of Stories also, and the tales between some of those sayings were hilarious, or tragic, or simply an interesting glimpse into cultures not his own. 

And if he managed to confuse the Avengers with his new mastery of the abstract knowledge of idioms, then it was all the better. (There was only one Avenger that Loki wanted to upset. And there might be one other that he wanted to impress. But that was irrelevant.)

The spell to give life to idioms had been just a bit of fun, a way for people to watch their words and think about what they were saying. It was also great fun, to see people start barking at trees or climbing walls, to visualize a barrel of laughs. 

That was, until the derisive rhyme started looping through the spell. 

Liar, liar, pants on fire. 

It was just a bit of fun. 

Until it was not. 

The Avengers didn’t like Loki’s new spell. Bruce did have fun pointing out the linguistics of idioms, Tony laughed at the various animals conjured for the sake of visualizing the metaphors, Clint used the illusions as target practice, but overall, they did not really enjoy it. Not that it mattered, really. They weren’t really the target audience, after all. 

Loki on the other hand, looked as though he was having the time of his life, running about and making appreciative noises as random people got attacked by illusory bitches, parrots, olive branches, baskets and bullets, barking dogs, butter or grease, or even blood and disembodied hands for the unlucky ones. 

Each illusion seemed to be coming to life almost on their own, powered, most probably, by the intricate array of runes and weird objects carefully laid out in the middle of central park. One could recognize amongst them a dictionary of idioms and a book on the history of language and its evolution, but the others might instead be more arcane artifacts, placed there for reasons only Loki could understand. It was, in truth, a marvel of ingenuity, and in any other circumstances, one might have been impressed. As it was, people were mostly exasperated, or terrified, or simply confused beyond reason. 

And the Avengers? The Avengers were on the move. 

Because, while no one was hurt so far, it didn’t mean that it wasn’t disturbing the public order. 

In the end, they wouldn’t be able to tell whose fault it had been. Clint had called Loki a basket case and ended up screaming as a basket of severed limbs fell in front of him, Steve had tried keeping a cool head, but his “Get your head in the game, people!” had turned the entire area surrounding them in something that looked like a soccer field. 

Clint cursed, and Thor tried to find an aerial view to find the limits of the illusion, but there weren’t any to be found. “We have to find a way to break out of this thing,” Steve said. And Thor of course thought he knew how to do it. 

“Stop this madness, brother!” He called out, “There is still hope for you, if you but cease these tricks! You still have my love, Loki." 

He had shouted something more about making things right and had brought down Mjolnir’s might against the ward protecting the spell’s array, cracking it open with a great blast. 

Shockwaves of unspooled magic rippled through the air, crackling and sizzling with aimless power, but little by little, the illusions started breaking apart without the structure of the ritual there to direct it. 

“The spell is broken, let’s retreat!” Steve’s voice crackled through Thor’s comm unit, but he ignored it. 

Loki had appeared, then, sizzling with raw magic and the lingering threads of madness, snarling at Thor’s posturing and laughing madly as the magic swirled between them, an ominous green fire wreathing him, “You love me? You love me, you say, as though you did not plan to bring me back to a cell. You love me, as though you hadn’t spent a millennia belittling me.” 

“Brother, if you would just listen-”

“But I am listening to your absolute drivel, Thor,” Loki’s voice raised a pitch, anger and pain blending together with the surrounding magic, the liquid miasma of the destroyed spell cloying to him, “I am your brother, you say? As though you had ever treated me as such, instead of an unruly subordinate. ‘KNOW YOUR PLACE, BROTHER’, do you remember? Cease this madness, brother, you say as though doing such would actually let me get back to the life before, as though it was actually possible.”  

Loki started laughing, an irrepressible, hysterical thing that was both painful and terrifying, “You know what, Thor, you’re a liar.” He giggled, unhinged, “A liar, Thor, a big fat liar. They call me the God of Lies, you know, but you’re the biggest liar of them all, perhaps even worse than Odin. At least he had never pretended to care for me.”

“Fuck’s sake, Thor, leave the bag of cats alone!” Clint’s voice sounded strained, scared. 

Loki twirled his staff, a menacing, deranged grin on his face, “Perhaps you and your little friends are in need of what they call here a reality check, mmh?”

Thor stepped back, somehow realizing that perhaps he had pushed too far this time, or perhaps only just realizing how messed up Loki really was. But it was too late. 

The coiled power swirled around the destroyed ritual array, glowing eerily and crackling with green flames. And Loki laughed, and danced, his voice high and clear, mocking and cruel as he sang, “Liar, liar, pants on fire, you think yourself so honest, let’s see if you are so flawless.”

And with the echoing ring of his mad cackles, Loki disappeared, leaving no traces that he’d even been there at all, except for the befuddled and worried people that remained behind. 

It didn’t take long before they’d understood what it was exactly that Loki had done. It only took Clint shrugging off the shield medic’s fussing, claiming that he was fine. Immediately, his pants started smoking, green flames licking along the hem of his pants. 

Clint howled, patting himself down like a madman, jumping around while the others watched pretty helplessly, befuddled at what had been happening, until Coulson stepped in, a fire extinguisher in hand, dousing Clint from head to toe. 

It didn’t work. 

“Agent Barton, remove your pants.” 

Clint cursed up a streak, before shimmying out of his skin-tight combat trousers with short, jerky movements. The pants ended up in a heap on the floor, still smoldering in green light. Coulson doused it with the fire extinguisher again, then again when it didn’t seem to be working. The pants were still on fire. 

Coulson checked quickly that he’d taken the all-purpose extinguisher that Shield chemists had designed exactly for that purpose before looking back at the three Avengers who’d been dispatched to deal with Loki. 

“Do you have any idea what might be happening?” 

Steve and Clint looked at each other. 

“My brother must still be playing tricks!” Thor growled, “SHOW YOURSELF, LOKI, stop hiding like a coward. This is no longer a game.”

But Loki did not show himself, and soon enough Steve placed a hand on Thor’s arm, “He’s not there, Thor And we need to treat Clint’s wounds now, we can’t afford to throw the facility upside down.”

Indeed there were red marks on Clint’s legs. Nothing as harmful as true fire would have produced, but still nothing benign either. 

Clint sighed. “Well, since I’ll be staying here for a while, you should probably do a scan of my ankle. I think it’s a sprain.” 

Inside the containment unit, the green fire slowly puttered out, leaving the pants untouched under the lightly smoking fire-retardant foam. 

No one took note of it. 

Steve and Thor’s welcome at the tower wasn’t exactly warm. 

Nat was the most blunt about it. 

“You got us all cursed.”

Steve paused at that. “You were affected too?” 

Her gaze turned frosty. “The others are downstairs, in Stark’s lab, trying to figure out how to put out the fire. I don’t expect them to come up anytime soon.”

Her glare turned to Thor, “I know you care about Loki, but please refrain from provoking him next time.” 

Thor made as though to answer, but Nat was already gone. 

Down in the lab, Tony and Bruce were not revolutionizing science. In fact, they were pretty damn stumped. 

“The foam does not work, we knew that,” Bruce notes, “But I didn’t expect the powder not to work either.” 

“I know, I know, that’s fascinating,” Tony was waving his hand over a vacuum chamber, where his sweatpants were still burning merrily, “In fact, it doesn't seem to need air at all.”

Bruce’s eyes sparkled,  “Do you think the spell replaces the oxygen with something else, then?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what to think anymore,” Tony eyed the pants bubbling green fire underwater in the reinforced isolation tank, he had hoped for at least a little reaction there, some sizzling or a great fireball of doom, but nothing. “Well, it doesn’t seem to be oil based either. I mean, I’m not too surprised, since this is still a fire that’s created pretty close to people, and the kind of fiery gruesomeness isn’t really in Loki’s M.O. anymore, but still. That fire burns underwater. And it’s temperature isn’t even enough to create second degree burns, let alone draw the oxygen from it like magnesium-based fire would. This is baffling.” Tony didn’t seem to be all too upset by that fact. 

Bruce pursed his lips, combing through his rather vast chemistry knowledge. He might not be a specialist in making things go boom like Tony was, but he knew his elements. “So maybe it’s not a fire at all, after all. Just a chemical reaction that looks like fire, perhaps? Do we have anything that would fit those parameters?”

Tony hummed, frowning, “But the curse especially said fire, and wouldn’t the wording be important? Fire is necessarily a chemical reaction with oxygen that radiates energy. We have the energy here, what with the heat produced, but still no clue as to the reactants. Since the pants aren’t actually being consumed, and we’re not even considering oxygen as a reactant, then aren’t we breaking the rules of the curse?” Tony frowned, he couldn't believe he’d just said that. “Well, I suppose most people don’t really care for the exact definition of the various chemical reactions. And I can’t believe I was trying to follow magic-logic. Seriously, this thing is driving me crazy.”

“Honestly, I would think it all an illusion if it didn’t actually burn.” Bruce tried pouring a sodium hydroxide solution, watching with a sort of giddy bafflement as it did absolutely nothing. “Do you think the green means it’s copper based? The sodium doesn’t make it react.”

“I mean, copper based fire still needs a reductant. There doesn’t seem to be any, there. No fuel, no copper sulfate, it’s almost as though there’s the vaporisation without the combustion. It makes no sense.” Tony laughed, running to the other side of the lab, where he would be able to find heat sensors. 

Bruce blinked, eyeing Tony with wonder, “If there is no combustion, then there would be no way to stop it. Of course. But isn’t that the mental equivalent of thinking the entire sum of our experience just an illusion produced by our mind?” 

Tony waved him off, “I’m not trying to get philosophical. We’ve already defined that it was no illusion. Clint’s burns were very real, so there must be something that we can measure and record.” 

Bruce frowned, “But what if the answer to this fire is philosophical? It comes from a spell after all.” 

Tony blinked at him, “Well, even if that’s the case, that doesn’t mean we can’t try to understand it in an empirical way.” 

Bruce shook his head, “Yes of course. But if our main purpose is to look how to shut down the fire…” 

“We must follow the paradigms of what created it,” Tony completed, an excited smile coming on his lips, “Of course! Brucie-bear, you’re a genius!”

Bruce shook his head fondly, as though he was above such childish antics. (He actually wasn’t, and they both knew it. It made working together much more enjoyable, too.)

“So, we have good news, and bad news. Which do you want first?” 

Nat looked at Tony, unimpressed, “Just tell us, Stark.” 

Tony sighed. People these days didn’t appreciate good showmanship anymore. 

“Well, the good news is, we know how to stop those fires, once they’ve started, at least. Bad news is, this is not at all a scientific approach, so it stays very nebulous. And we have no lead on how to break the curse.” 

Clint rolled his eyes from his place, sprawled out on the common room’s couch. “Great, so you’re completely useless.” 

Tony smiled, a slow tight thing that still looked indulgent. A now familiar crackled echoed through the air, emanating from the bottom of Tony’s pants. The smile disappeared, and the flames with it. 

Nat’s eyes narrowed. 

“As I was saying, lies can be nonverbal and honesty dispels the flames. However, it only works on a case by case basis. I can’t lie about the color of my socks and hope that telling the truth about the color of the sky will work. Now that my little exposé is finished, I can see that I am not welcome here, so I will take my leave. Do whatever you want, it’s not my problem.” Flames crackled again. “Well, it is my problem because I feel responsible, like an idiot, but really, I’m only a consultant, after all.” The flames snuffed out. “Right,” Tony grimaced, before pivoting on his heels and leaving the room. It didn’t quite feel like a tactical retreat, but it was close enough for Steve to frown. 

“Did his smile just now trigger as a lie?” Steve shook his head, “Is that even possible?”

Natasha shrugged, blanked faced, “Anything is possible with Stark. He’s used to putting on a show, and clearly he does the same with us. I suppose it counts as a lie too.” 

“Rude,” Clint said, popping a popcorn in his mouth. “He should just stay out, if he can’t even stand to be in the same room without being an ass.” 

Nat said nothing to that, though her gaze was troubled. 

Steve shook his head at them, “Come on, we should make an effort,” but the curling smoke going up his pants legs showed the lie in his words. Steve grimaced, “Well, he’ll come around. We’re a team after all.” Green fire flared, enough for even Steve to hiss in pain and remove the offending garment. He did not make a third attempt at seeking the truth, but the wracling flames and pungent smell of ashes spoke loud enough for the rest of the room. 

“Goodness Tony, I was so worried!”

Tony shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. “I wasn’t even on the field, Pep. Bruce, Nat and me were on reserve. It was the others who got their ass kicked.”

Pepper frowned, coming closer, “And yet you got cursed with them. How are you, Tony, really?” 

Tony smiled, soft, reassuring. His pants turned ablaze. 

She should have known that smile was a lie. 

Pepper’s eyes widened, horror and heartbreak plain on her face, “Oh, Tony!”

Tony turned his face away, letting his smile drop, and the burning smell went away with it. “I’m…,” He stopped, rethinking his words. Pepper just knew that he would have said something along the lines of ‘I’m fine’. Knowing that his favorite lie was out of the question must be galling. 

As much as Pepper had railed and cursed at the way he always kept everything to himself, always hid his hurt behind a facade and never let anyone in, she couldn’t stand the thought that her friend was now forced to live without that armor. Every vulnerability forcibly bared, and no more pretense to hide behind. 

“Oh, Tony,” she repeated with a whisper, mournful. She came closer, taking him in her arms, and he pulled her closer, hiding his face against her chest, probably the first hideaway he’d had all day. 

Her heart ached. 

In a world of gods and heroes, how could she possibly protect that man, who, for all his flaws, had such a big and fragile heart he could not show it to others without shattering to pieces? 

If there was dampness on her shirt, Pepper never mentioned it. 

“You know, they can’t understand if you don’t let them know.” Bruce’s presence was a balm, as always. Calm, steady, and for all that his words seemed to push him in a certain direction, they didn’t feel judgemental. 

Tony sighed anyway, leaning his head back against the sofa. He was mostly unable to work. Pretending to pay attention to business meetings and basic courtesy (when faked) counted as a lie, so Pepper had banned him from SI work. Except for R&D, that department always made Tony feel welcome, and his scientists knew him enough, and were enough of weirdos and oddballs themselves, to let him emote in whichever way he felt without making him feel bad about it. 

When he’d come down there last, and they’d seen his pants catch on fire as he smiled, they’d only nodded understandingly. The next day, Archie, one of his old crew, had brought him a kilt with his family’s tartan, so that Tony would be able to move around and behave as though he wasn’t touched by the curse, since they didn’t count as pants. Tony’s almost cried. (He was also quite aware that scots did not give the right to wear their tartan to just anyone. He had the right to feel fucking emotional, okay?)

He had good people. 

However, he couldn’t really prance about in tartan everywhere, even though his eccentric billionaire reputation wouldn’t suffer all that much from it. 

And there was an insidious, angry part of his heart that didn’t want the other Avengers to know of this new loophole. Didn’t want them to dodge the retribution inflicted upon them. 

He could still remember Clint’s wry words, offhand and cruel. ‘So you’re completely useless.’

He hadn’t thought one needed to be useful to deserve respect, but then, what did he know? He wasn’t a team player, after all. 

Perhaps that was the reason he hadn’t been recommended for the Initiative. 

“Tony, you’re moping. Come on, leave the bottle I’ll make you tea. Or coffee, if I manage to operate your machine.” 

Tony blinked up, finding Bruce there, looking down at him with worried eyes. 

Right, socialisation. Being nice to friends. 

“Are you my friend, Bruce?” The words slipped out without him even meaning to, raw and vulnerable and sad. 

Bruce looked back at him, steadily. He recognized the trick, the too closed question that left him unable to dodge, especially with the curse still hanging over them. But he couldn’t blame Tony for it, not with the footage he’d seen of his last confrontation with the others, not when he found him slumped on his couch surrounded by empty bottles after Jarvis had called him. 

“Yes, Tony. I’m your friend.” 

There wasn’t an ounce of smoke in sight. 

“We should stop meeting this way.” 

Loki was laying on the edge of the party deck, clad in leather from head to toe. He didn’t have a staff, or a helmet, but Tony recognized him instantly. He didn’t know how, though. Not with the way his brilliant green eyes were swaddled in bandages, and the rest of him slumped in a way that didn’t really match with the Asgardian’s usual proud swagger. 

Perhaps it was the smoldering pants, and the smell of singed flesh that Tony could feel from where he was. 

“We are not meeting, Stark. You just happened to come across me.”

Tony frowned down at Loki’s prone form, the resignation etched in his face, the red symbols on the cloth over his eyes. “What happened to you? Do you need help?”

Loki scoffed. He turned his face to the side without saying anything. 

“I see.” Tony supposed that was an answer in itself. “Let me get back inside, for a minute.” 

Loki was still there when Tony came back. He hadn’t moved, not even to shift away from the now freezing breeze. 

“Here,” Tony threw a skirt at him. It was one of Pepper’s, but he was sure she wouldn’t mind. “That way you won’t be spreading soot everywhere.” 

Loki sighed, as though he couldn’t be bothered, “This fire does not produce waste, Stark.” 

“I’m aware. I was just being nice and trying not to tell you that you stink.” 

Loki sighed, a truly depressing sound that Tony would have grumbled about more if he hadn’t spent the previous evening getting better acquainted with the bottom of a bottle or five. Then he fingered the cloth that Tony had thrown at him, looking for its edges, trying to figure out its shape. 

Tony took pity on him, “It’s a skirt, Calimero. Put it on and remove the pants. No pants, no fire. It’s a bit less drastic than whatever you’ve done before.”

 But Loki made no move to do so. 

“Removing the fire will not remove the lie, Stark.” 

Tony sighed, apparently they would be having this conversation. “Of course it doesn’t. But sometimes there are lies we don’t want to face, and sometimes we need those lies to function. What’s eating at you so much that you can’t shut it off?”

Loki grimaced, as though even thinking of it was too painful to bear, before words were torn from his lips, almost against his will, “I am a lie, Stark. There is no solving this by a pretty truth, there is no truth to be found.” 

Tony sat down next to Loki. It didn’t seem as though this would be a short conversation. “Alright, fess up. There’s no way I can understand the issue without you giving me at least a bit more context, and you know that.” 

Loki turned his face toward him, expression unimpressed. The white looked odd on him, out of place. Tony hated those bandages, and what they meant. “Was it sensory issues again?”

Loki shook his head, sighing. “I was being a child, thinking that not seeing the monster would make it go away. Make me safe from it. It was ridiculous.”

Tony frowned. “You’re not a monster, Loki.”

Loki laughed, a short, harsh sound that did not seem the slightest bit happy. “I know you think that, but it’s just because you don’t know the truth.”

Tony looked at his own pants, then at Loki’s. “Do you? Because I don’t think you’re just roasting yourself for shits and giggles.”

Loki seemed to curl on himself, as though Tony’s words had hit him like a blow. Apparently Tony had hit the nail on it’s head and driven it straight through Loki’s frozen and cracked heart. He almost felt bad about it, but if it was what it took to get Loki to open up, then he couldn’t regret it. 

“You’re right. I don’t.” Loki lifted a gloved hand, waving it in the air, gesturing vaguely. “This, this is not me.”

Tony frowned. “What?”

Loki gritted his teeth. “This skin. It was not the one I was born with.” 

As though that made any more sense. 

“Okay, if you say so. So what?” 

Loki scoffed, but it sounded more like a sob instead, “‘So what,’ you say, as though it doesn’t make my entire life a falsehood, nay, a ridiculous farce,” and Loki was at the butt end of it. “No, the true issue is what exactly lies beneath. Hidden, like a shameful secret, a disgrace.”  

Tony was really starting to hate this bitter smile of Loki’s. “So, you don’t like this other skin. But is it your true skin?” 

Loki turned silent at that. Too still, too quiet. When he spoke, the spite and fire was gone from his voice, leaving behind something small and scared, “No.” A pause, then “I had thought it would be, at first. I hadn’t wanted to try, to see it being true, so I didn’t look. But then I figured, that way I would know.”

Loki turned his head to Tony. He seemed small, suddenly. As though his usually ‘larger than life’ attitude kept people from seeing how young and lost he really was. But Tony wasn’t really that easily fooled. 

“I would have preferred not to know. At least I still thought there was something true about myself, even if it was the skin of a monster.” 

Yeah, Tony could understand that. 

Sometimes having a lie to believe in, or a painful truth was better than not knowing anything, to feel lost because all those painful truths that he’d been counting on were in fact unreliable. Tony had felt it, that terrifying sensation of vertigo. The sensation of having all his certainties torn from under him, of freefalling through his life without being able to trust anything he thought he’d known. 

Admittedly, he’d still known himself at that time, even if he hadn’t felt that way at the time. He’d trusted himself enough to be able to reinvent his identity around what he’d learned, and he was happy with what he’d made of that. It seemed as though Loki didn’t have that. 

“That,” Tony swallowed, searching for the right words, for something that might have helped him when he’d found himself in that cave, surrounded by his weapons, or paralysed on his sofa while his godfather ripped his heart from his chest. He didn’t find them. “Yeah. I get that.”

They sat together in silence for a while, before Tony asked, “Why didn’t you break  the spell, then? At least on yourself? Or even started to wear something other than pants? You’ve been burning non-stop for days!” 

Loki didn’t answer, but that was telling enough. Tony knew him enough by now to recognize his self-flagellation tendencies, and how sometimes they veered dangerously close to self-harm. 

Tony shook his head, “You need help, man.” 

Loki turned his head back to him, unimpressed, “Why do you think I am here?”

That gave Tony’s pause.

He’d thought for the longest time that Loki came to him as part of his self destructive streak. A way to both give himself up to his enemies, yet keep his pride and not simply surrender. But Tony had never actually attacked him, or called the cavalry. He’d offered him a drink, and Loki had left in a huff. Then the next time he’d actually accepted the drink. And after a while, their meetings had lengthened, and started to include conversation, and a surprising amount of honesty. 

Tony had thought that it was the clandestine nature of their meetings that made it easier for them to talk. Perhaps Tony had been wrong, then. 

“You’re aware that I’m probably one of the worst people to ask for mental health advice, right?” 

Loki sighed heavily, before raising himself up on his elbows. “I am not expecting anything from you that you are not already providing freely, Stark.”

Tony frowned. He’d never done anything more than listening, and offering his sympathy without judgement, but he supposed that even that had value. But how sad was it that Iron Man was the only person Loki was able to turn to to get a friendly ear?

“You know, when I found myself lost and unable to tell who I was anymore, I…” Tony thought of how to phrase it, “I said screw it and did what I wanted. Became what I wanted, and fuck all their definitions and expectations.”

Loki turned to him, intent. As though whatever Tony was saying meant something, compared to the drivel he’d been listening to, probably for his entire life. Tony knew how that felt, having people everywhere telling him who he was, how he was, how he should be. Some even had the gall to tell him what he did, as though Tony himself didn’t know it. And sometimes he hadn’t even done whatever it was that had been pinned on him. It didn’t matter, he was the rich white boy, he was the prodigy, Howard Stark’s son, the Merchant of Death, the Da Vinci of the century, none of it mattered. Names tagged on him, sticking to his skin like tar. 

He’d made the best of it, worn them like badges of honor and played along with the image that had been painted of him, until Afghanistan. Until Obie. Until he found out that the essential truths of who he was were in fact a lie. 

Yeah, that was something he’d have wanted to have heard at that time. That would have been useful. 

And with a little luck, it could help Loki with it too. 

“People will always judge you. They’ll always have something to say about the way you’re acting. Screw them. The only one who gets to define who you are is yourself. And no matter what you choose, there’s no way that that can be a lie. Not if it’s something that feels right. For you. Not them. Not even me.” 

Loki’s hands patted around; finding Tony’s shoes and moving up his leg, clutching the hem of his pants. It was unlit, of course it was. Tony believed that with all his heart, in fact he’d built his entire life on that belief. A new life, free from the weight of hostile gazes. More or less. The Avengers downstairs brought to mind the less. 

Loki gritted his teeth, a painful frown on his face before curling inward. He started shaking, a low, distressed keen escaping from trembling lips. 

Oh Tesla, Tony hadn’t wanted to make him cry. “Hey, hey, come here, it’s okay. Can I touch you, Lo? Can I come closer? Please don’t stab me, I’m squishy, okay?” Slowly, carefully, he approached the weepy bundle of godling, and took him in his arms. 

“I…” Loki’s voice broke, before starting again with a hiccup, “I don’t know who I am anymore.” The fire dwindled down into nothing, leaving them both shrouded into darkness and Loki started sobbing in earnest. 

And, as he felt Loki break to pieces against him, shaking and sobbing but still searching and finding comfort in his embrace, Tony understood that, perhaps they had something. Perhaps this was more than just two near strangers finding peace through the hushed honesty that came with the cover of the night. 

There was an understanding between them, something brewing. Loki had faith in him, confided in him, and he had a feeling this wasn’t something he did with just anyone. On the other hand, Tony felt free and unhindered by the need for masks and pretense that he had to keep up with anyone else.  

It could grow into something more, if only Tony allowed it to. 

And as he looked down at Loki laying so trustingly on him, he found that, perhaps, perhaps, he wanted it to. He wanted to see what they could create together. 

And more than anything, he wanted to see who Loki would choose to become. 

It was getting on Tony’s nerves. Wherever he walked, there were eyes following him, and granted Tony was used to it. But not within his own home, and not from people with whom he was supposed to be a team. 

“Okay, what the fuck is your problem?” 

Steve startled as Tony broke the tense silence between them, “I’m sorry, what?” 

The curse had been going on for nearly a week yet, and they’d spent most of that time avoiding each other, but sometimes, Tony did need to go through the common areas. If only not to feel like he was being shut off from a part of his own home. That level was supposed to be for the entire team, and to feel excluded from it left a bad feeling in his mouth. 

So. Maybe Tony had come there expecting a fight. Not looking for one, but not surprised if it would devolve into one. And perhaps it was deliberate that he did that while the curse was still in effect. 

There were quite a few ways to weaponize a lie detecting spell. And if Tony was an expert in anything at all, it would be weapons. He was a genius, after all. 

Loki had told him that the spell would remain for some time yet, before he left the tower. Tony wasn’t sure, but he thought Loki would make use of it to find a way to make himself feel like he was ‘not-a-lie’, whatever that would mean for him. He’d wished him the best success on his endeavor, but Tony had his own lies to ferret out; his own painful truths to face. 

“You avoid me, go out of your way not to talk to me unless it’s on the field, stand around like you have a broomstick wedged up your ass whenever we’re in the same room, and you’ve been sitting still for twenty minutes, staring at me whenever my back was turned. So, I’m asking you, Rogers, what is your deal?”

Steve sputtered, his face turning red and eyes falling to his cup. The coffee there was untouched, long cold. There might even be some guilt in America’s Best Boy Scout’s face. It promised to be good. 

“I don’t have ‘a deal’, Stark. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Star-spangled pants (kidding, those were regular jeans) started blazing with enthusiasm. 

Tony looked down at Steve’s disappointingly normal pants with a patronizing look, “Oh, really?”  It was almost as if he’d forgotten that there was currently a built-in lie detector in everyone’s wardrobe. 

Rodgers flushed with embarrassment, and really, he deserved to, after being caught out with a lie that terrible. 

“Do you want me to list more ways in which you snub me, before finally admitting to having something against me? Because I can,” Tony’s eyes narrowed, banked frustration he hadn’t allowed himself to feel coming closer to the surface, “I can talk about all the times you roll your eyes when I talk, that crossed off, closed off stance you take whenever I’m pointing out something you hadn’t considered before during team meetings, or the way you simply insist on finding something, anything wrong in every idea I suggest.” 

His smile turned cruel, biting, because he could just guess at what Steve was opening his mouth to respond with. “I have heaps of instances like these to pick from if you want to deny ever doing something like that. There’s nothing imagined or invented about the things I’m citing here, I could even show you the footage if you wanted to.” 

Steve shook his head, looking somewhere between stunned and caught out, “Listen, Tony, I think there’s some misunderstanding, here.”

Tony scoffed, leaning closer, “But I guess you don’t, since you can’t even seem to admit to shutting me out in the first place. Did you notice, though? I am not flaring up, here. Not even a spark. Can’t say the same for you, though.”

Steve gritted his teeth and averted his eyes. “What do you want me to say, Stark? I’m sorry, I should have been more polite?”

His hands clenched around his mug. Tony leaned back, dissatisfied. The fire still burnt away, it’s gentle crackle too loud in the tense silence that followed. 

Tony tilted his head to the side, looking down at the blonde’s seated frame, “I believe I already told you what I wanted, Rogers. I want to know what your problem is with me. And hopefully solve it, because, and let’s be honest here, living with someone who hates my guts and looks as though the fucking boogieman is here each time I come in the room is seriously getting tiresome.” A flicker of green licked the bottom of Tony’s pants at that last word. He rolled his eyes, “Tiresome, frustrating, and hurtful, there, happy?” The small flame disappeared, Tony turned back to Steve, expectant. 

Rogers was floundering, squirming as though he’d rather be anywhere but there. It was never a good feeling to be forced to face their own shit, Tony would know. But he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about putting him on the spot like that. 

Romanov, Tony understood. She’d come to spy on him at a time of his life where he wanted nothing more than to push everyone away and burn all the bridges he’d left. First impressions were longer lasting than one might think, and Tony doubted she’d change his mind about him anytime soon. 

Barton? Barton was a spy, of the same brand as Black Widow and Agent Agent. He’d probably heard the play by play of their various interactions over the years, and none of them were all too amicable. 

But Steve? Recently defrosted, all-american beefcake ‘I’m supposed to be nice to everyone’ Steve? Howard’s hero? 

“I…” Rogers gulped. “I don’t know, Tony.” 

Tony gave him a look. Looked down at the green flames still licking up his jeans. Looked back into those averted blue eyes. Steve really was a terrible liar, Tony probably didn’t even need the fire. But then, it also forced mister paragon to admit to his lies, which was probably harder to obtain. 

Rogers frowned, turned his head to the side, lips pursed, “Well. I… I just,” he shook his head, “I just don’t like you!” The words came out in a rush, and Steve flushed scarlet as he re realized what he said, but the fire had been snuffed out at his words. So he sighed, and leaned back, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you. It’s not that deep, Stark. I respect you, I can work with you, but I don’t have to like you. Sometimes people just… don’t get along.” 

Tony flinched back. It wasn’t what he’d expected, but then he didn’t know what he’d thought would happen. Some truths were hard to swallow, and learning that the man he’d idolized all his childhood disliked him for no reason hurt. But he’d known that already. 

“Right. I guess there’s nothing I can do about it, then.” He shook his head, dumping the remains of his coffee down the sink. It tasted bad anyway, he didn’t know what they’d done to the poor machine, but he could swear coffee wasn’t supposed to be that bitter.

Steve shook his head, blue eyes earnest, “I can’t ask you to stop being yourself just to try to please me. That wouldn’t be right.” 

Tony snorted at that, “Oh, you wouldn’t be the first. People don’t like me, and think they’re entitled to tell me how I should be behaving on a regular basis. Feel free to air out your dirty laundry and petty frustrations while I’m still willing to listen. With some hope, it’ll get out of your system and you’ll stop venting it out during serious discussions.” His gaze was frosty, “You wouldn’t want to compromise your judgement during critical battle situations, would you?”

Steve cringed. That was a low blow, but it was also a fair one to make. Steve had after all been the one to bench Tony and keep him from intervening during Loki’s latest attack, the one that had resulted in their current predicament. His argument had been that his way to engage with Loki made him compromised, and perhaps it did. Both Tony and Loki enjoyed their banter quite a lot during battle, moreso than any actual attempt at catching him, and that usually resulted in Loki calling off his illusions as soon as their verbal battle was over. 

Perhaps it stung the Avenger’s pride to be glossed over like that, but Tony rather thought it was much less disastrous than the opposite. 

It might be frustrating for the others, and it did help let a known villain remain free. 

But it was undoubtedly less disastrous than what had happened last time, and Tony highly doubted that the others would have had any more luck in catching Loki even without Tony being there to distract him. 

“I don’t think this is necessary.” But Steve’s pants betrayed the lie. 

Tony said nothing. He just waited, letting the silence get heavier and heavier between them. He hadn’t made his mark as a CEO by being unable to lead negotiations or getting people to talk, after all. 

Steve sighed, frustration heavy in his voice, “Fine, then.” His eyes dragged back to Tony, blue chips of determination. This was the gaze of a warrior going into battle. Tony was unimpressed. “I don’t like the way you walk, as if you own every room you walk into and you expect to have people at your beck and call wherever you go. I can’t stand the way you talk as if everything is a game and nothing actually matters, or how lightly you take things that for most people are a matter of life and death.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. Well, then. Was there even anything that Rogers didn’t dislike about him?

Rogers took a breath, frowning as though the next words were painful. “And I hate how much you look like Howard, and yet act nothing like him. How sometimes I could almost think he’s back, and then you do something that’s just so, so, so Tony-ish that it feels like a slap in the face each time. You, you’re just nothing like him.” 

Tony blinked, and then did it again. And then he laughed, and laughed, and laughed. He couldn’t believe it. But then, of course, he could. Of course his father would manage to still cast his shadow on him from beyond the grave. Dead for two decades, and people still compared them. And Tony still fell short.  

Unbelievable. 

“Well, believe it or not, not being like Howard Stark is something I’m actually proud of, Rogers. You may remember your old war buddy pretty fondly, but you never actually had to grow up with him, did you? Well, perhaps if it was you he’d have actually paid attention. Nevermind then. I’ll never be like perfect Rogers, and I’ll never be up to his standards either.” Tony’s lips pursed, his smile bitter. He knew what his next words would bring about, “It’s not like I want to, anyway,” Flames curled over the bottom of his pants, the smell of smoke acrid in his nose, but that was a lie he’d needed to tell, “Regardless, it’s not something I can aspire to, not if it means becoming more like Howard.” The flames died. Tony shook his head in morbid amusement. That truth would snuff out any of his potential regrets. 

Rogers looked back at him, stormy. “I won’t hear you disrespect him like that, Stark. Your father did more for this country than anyone has done before, and you’re where you are today because of everything he’s passed down to you. Do you think you would have managed to build Stark Industries from the ground up like he did? Do you think you could have enjoyed your parties and your whoring if he hadn’t been there? You should be grateful to have had someone like him as a father.”

Tony stared back at him, deadpan. There was something very cold and vicious waking up in his heart, and an old beast that he’d finally thought tamed after years of alcohol and drugs and death defying stunts roared back to life. He smiled, very calmly and very toothy. 

“I don’t believe you want to hear what I have to say about my old man, Rogers, so unless you want to be faced with some very unpleasant truths, I’m going to very politely ask you to renege your words and butt out of my private business.”

Tony was well aware of the effect this smile had on other people. He’d once had someone piss his pants because of it. But it was a well known fact that Captain America had all the survival instinct of a lemming on crack, and thought nothing more important than to ram himself straight against anything that pulled the red warning bells inside his brain. Pity that, Tony wasn’t in the mood to be merciful. 

“No? Does that stubborn look on your face means that you still think that Howard hung the moon and I should be grateful to him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stark,” Rogers tilted his chin up, challenging, “Why should I believe the testimony and judgement of someone as morally dubious as you? Howard was ten times the man you are, and nothing you say can make me think otherwise.” 

Tony scoffed. “You call me morally dubious and you put my old man on such a pedestal he’s untouchable? Man, you sure have double standards. Since you seem to want me to ruin that picture perfect image you have of him,” he sneered, “I suppose that you won’t care that the man was an alcoholic? That’s a thing I took directly from him. Bottles disappeared quite quickly when he was home, and new ones came in even faster. But, well, I suppose that’s not enough to sully the pure image of hero-worship you’ve built up in your head.” 

“You have some gall, to call anyone an alcoholic when you have more bottles in your private stash than most pubs I know, Stark,” Rogers started saying. 

Tony cut him off, “I wasn't finished,” his eyes narrowed, “And when I call him an alcoholic, I am not being petty or blowing things out of proportion. You know I am not lying Steve-o, the man was a drunkard, and he passed down the habit to his son, along with a casket-load of issues. He was a violent, cheating asshole, he was a neglectful dick who didn’t even know his son’s birthday, and an abusive sod who couldn’t abide his son to feel human emotions. In fact, he didn’t even have a son, he had a ‘creation’. An heir to inherit his company, who was never quite good enough for his impossible standards, no matter what he did.” 

Tony took a deep breath. He hadn’t meant to say all that. He hadn’t meant to make it about him. Too late now. 

“Of course, you don’t care about what he was like as a person, do you? You don’t give a damn about how shitty of a father he was. He did great things for his country and that’s all that matters to you,” he continued in an almost conversational tone, trying to distance himself from the too honest confessions he’d just blurted out, “You said he was a war hero, and you were right. He even participated in the Manhattan Project. Have you heard about it, since your defrosting? You must have been briefed on the ‘weapons you only need to fire once,’ right? Right. And after the end of the war, when no one needed weapons anymore and the factories were about to close their doors, well. Old Stark had to keep the business rolling, didn’t he? There were certainly people in the right places who heard exactly the right things to make sure the right sparks started at the right time. How lucky for Stark senior, wasn’t it?”

Steve snarled, almost getting out of his chair, “You’re lying!”

Tony stepped back, careful, cold. “Am I? Look at me carefully, Steve Rogers. Am I lying?” He scoffed, “Stark Industries had gone into business manufacturing death, and Howard never even thought to try to make something else out of it when the war ended. He prefered to live in the past, or to drag his vision of it kicking and screaming into the future. The war to end all wars must have been a nightmare to him.”  

He smirked with a callous and vicious twist of his lips,“He was just like you, in the end, always seeking war, and unable to fathom a world without it. Unable to reinvent himself after his first success. It devastated him, you know, when he lost his super soldier? He spent years trying to search for you, most of the year gone in some expedition or another. When he was there, his lovers even looked like you.” Tony shook his head, bitterness and humor blending together, “I learned not to wait for him for any school event, and celebrated my birthday with the help. As you do. They were the ones that raised me, after all.” 

Tony looked upward, mock-thoughtful, “Perhaps I should be grateful. That was less time for him to tell me what a disappointment I was. Imagine the irony, Howard telling me I wasn’t enough like Captain America, and Captain America telling me I’m not enough like my dad. You two deserve each other, really.” 

Tony rocked back on his heels, “Well, this was a charming discussion. By the way, Steve, to answer your questions. Yes, I could have done it without Howard. It would have taken longer, but my genius is my own, and there’s nothing he gave me that I couldn’t have earned myself except for trauma, alcoholism, and the crippling inability to emote my distress. And perhaps, without those things, I’d have had less need of ‘partying and whoring’ as you said. Food for thought.”

Then he left, without once looking back at Steve’s ashen face.

The first thing that Tony noted was that Loki’s hair was red. The second thing he noted was that Loki was inside his penthouse instead of out of the balcony. He’d removed his blindfold, clear green eyes staring at him with a steadiness he seldom saw. There might be freckles on his skin. It was new. 

And yet, there wasn’t a single doubt in Tony’s mind that this was Loki. 

“You’re planning something reckless.” 

That wasn’t what he’d planned to say first thing, but it was rather impossible to miss. Loki turned to him, his smile bright and mischievous, and somehow lighter than he’d ever seen it. There were some strange tattoos on his skin, graceful arches that flowed along his features, there and gone almost like tricks of the light, and a certain roundness to his shape, as though the edges had been filed away into something a bit more androgynous. Tony frowned, “Do I need to ask your pronouns?” 

Loki laughed, surprised and entertained, as though he’d suddenly done a cute trick. Tony’s mouth pursed. It was a serious question. 

Then Loki leaned close, pecking his cheek, before leaning back and winking, “Whichever you prefer, Stark. I’m sure you’ll do fine.” He sauntered off toward the elevator.

“Wait, Loki, where are you going?” 

Loki looked back over his shoulder, smirked, and sent him a two fingers salute before the elevator doors closed behind him. Tony shook his head. 

At least, he - they? - seemed better. 

Tony smiled. Perhaps he didn’t need that drink, after all.

Loki’s new skin felt strange. It was as though there was a small tingle all over him, magic dancing over his skin, flickering playfully, never letting him forget how this was his creation, this was of his own making. Himself, as he wished to be, as he had reinvented himself to be. 

It felt right.  

It had taken some trial and error before he’d achieved it. So many times he’d shifted a part of himself and found himself breathing the smell of burnt leather. But just because something was familiar didn’t make it right, and he couldn’t stand his former skin anymore. Odinson, a glamour crafted by an old king looking to add one more piece in his collection of stolen relics. 

Loki was no Odinson. But nor was he a Laufeyson, he had no connection to the Jotnar and the mere thought of being blue made his skin crawl. 

So he’d discarded those parts that didn’t not feel right, discarded and changed and shifted and shifted the essence of himself, of his shape until he finally felt good. Right. 

Like he looked like Loki.  

But this new self, the shape he’d created himself, thus reclaiming his own image, it felt comfortable. Looser, as though there was some long lasting tension in his limbs that had finally been released. 

But he also felt wild and dangerous. Not out of control, not mad; but instead connected to the eldritch energies of the universe, eddies and currents of mischief and chaos seeping through him. It felt strangely soothing, a constant flow of unpredictable power lulling him and energizing him in turn. 

In short, he was more powerful than he’d ever felt, freer even than he’d been when he finally broke loose of both Thanos’ and Odin’s yokes, and with a self-assurance he couldn’t even find the words to describe. 

He was himself, finally. 

Which made him wish to have the rest of his life his own as well. 

Which implied dealing with some annoying oafs who thought themselves entitled to his time, energy and affection. 

Jarvis was quiet as they went down to Thor’s level. Polite, perhaps even concerned, but still as thoughtful as he ever was. Loki let his lightly accented voice soothe him, and smile as he was complimented on his new appearance. 

He had made a good choice coming to see Tony and Jarvis first. Their implicit and absolute acceptance of the choices he’d made made it easier to stand there now, with self confidence as he faced his past. As he put down the first stone toward his future. 

“You can open the door, now, Jarvis. Thank you for waiting.”

“As you wish, Mixter Loki. May I say that I wish you the best in your endeavor?”

Loki chuckled, “You may. I appreciate the thought.” Just as he appreciated the subtle but notable change in address. Loki had not specified whether he prefered one or the other, mostly because that wasn’t a part of his change he was certain about, not quite yet. But the acknowledgement felt nice, and the implied respect even nicer.  

“I feel the need to remind you that both Sir’s and my door will remain open to you, no matter what happens during this confrontation.” 

Loki’s new features twisted, emotions crashing through him like a wave, gratefulness, appreciation, comfort, grief, because why couldn’t his family have been like that, and some more unnamed, nebulous things that he would need to uncover later. 

He clenched his eyes shut. He couldn’t afford to be distracted now, not before this. “Thank you, Jarvis, I will remember this.”

There was a silence. Jarvis was always deliberate in what he chose to express, Loki had noted, and his silences were more often than not as eloquent as his words. This time, however, it was a courtesy. It was just long enough time for Loki to be able to collect himself, to shove back all those pesky feelings, weaknesses and sentiments in some dark place in his mind to be dealt with another time. When he wasn't waiting behind Thor’s own door of his own volition, preparing himself for war. 

“I will open the door, now.”

It was yet one more delay, but after this, Loki was grateful for the warning. And the unspoken offer to back out of this with his pride intact. Neither of them had expected Loki’s emotional reaction after all. 

But Loki hadn’t come all this way to ‘chicken out’. “Please do.”

The elevator’s door opened, though there was no ping. Instead, a hall, opulent yet distinctly different from Asgard’s aesthetics. 

There was a living room, with something that could pass for a kitchen, though it didn’t seem to be in much use. Loki could guess why, Thor was neither capable of cooking nor compatible with cooking devices. It was probable that Jarvis either ordered him take-out, or that the thunderer would seek the hospitality of his shield brother’s table. 

Thor was not there however, and that meant Loki had to venture deeper still in his brother’s domain. Or not-brother, perhaps. Loki didn’t know, but much would depend on the outcome of today’s confrontation. 

In the end, he found Thor sat before the television, a rapt look on his face as he watched some sort of ranting priest speaking on a grand scale to an entire stadium full of lobotomized converts. Loki sighed. 

“Well, this explains a lot.” 

“Loki!” Thor swiveled around, his expression morphing into an idiotic stare as he found Loki standing behind him, lurking in the darkened corners of the room. He glanced back at the still preaching guru, before looking back guiltily at Loki. “Well, I was, hum, studying midgardian lore on redemption. This is, well, just a way to learn the local culture and adapt to the local customs… What did you do to your hair?”

Loki raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but Thor’s sweatpants (and since when did Thor even have those?) starting to crackle with curse-fire not even half a minute before opening his mouth was not it. “I do believe you might want to show a bit more honesty, there." 

Thor shuffled, fumbling with the remote for a bit, before frying the router out of frustration. 

Loki rolled his eyes. The oaf still hadn’t learned the value of moderation, had he? “Destroying the receiver won’t make me unsee you liquefying your brain with daytime TV, Thor. You better stop while you’re ahead, and tell the truth to put out that fire. I want to have an honest conversation with you, and we’ll make use of that curse to ensure each other’s honesty. Do you agree?”

Thor was already beaming, probably completely misunderstanding what Loki was trying to do. It didn’t bode well. 

“Of course, Brother. I was simply studying midgardian’s customs and beliefs about redemption in an attempt to better understand how to help you, but I no longer need it since you’ve come seeking me out.” And sure enough, that idiotic reason was enough to dispell the cursefire. Loki sighed. Thor came closer, arms spread, aiming to clasp Loki close, but Loki nimbly sidestepped him, “I am truly glad to see you. But I am confused, what happened to your hair? And you look quite different, I almost didn’t recognize you. If it weren’t for your voice and seidr, I would have thought you someone completely different!”

Loki pursed his lips, wondering how to phrase things in a palatable manner for Thor’s consumption. Then he wondered why he was even bothering. “That was rather the point, Thor. I look different because I feel different. This is who I want to be. This is what feels right to me.” 

Thor blinked, frowning. “You. Want to have red hair?”

Loki closed his eyes, counted to three, opened them again, “No, Thor. I want to have a skin that I have chosen for myself instead of the glamor imposed upon me by Odin. I want to be more than just male all the time, I want to be free to move and live as I please, I want to be myself, unrelated from Asgard or Jotunheim’s politics. And I will do that, whether or not you choose to accept me as your sibling.”

Thor shook his head, confused. “Brother,” Loki frowned, eyes glittering with green fire. Thor hesitated, before correcting himself, “sister?” 

Loki shook his head, but gave him points for trying, “Sibling.”

“Sibling,” Thor repeated, though he sounded a bit dubious. Dubious, but willing enough to humor Loki instead of trying to foist up his own views and moral judgements on him. “Sibling, you know I cannot let you free if you keep waging chaos and destruction on Midgard. The realm is young and they cannot face down Gods.” 

Loki was willing to admit to that but it was so far from the point. “I do not mind your little games with the Avengers. I do not mind having to battle with you, or even having to stop my games.” Loki paused, trying to figure out how best to articulate what it was that he really wanted. That he needed.  

‘ I said screw it and did what I wanted. Became what I wanted, and fuck all their definitions and expectations.’

“I want to be assured that you will no longer try to push me to fit the role I’ve had to play for all those centuries. I need to be sure that you see me as who I am, and not who you think I should be, or who you remember me to be, or whatever other image of me you keep talking at whenever you see me. I need to know that I won’t need to fight against you in order to be me.” He licked his lips, “Can you assure me of that, brother?”

Thor flailed a bit, over-enthusiastic and as reckless as usual, “Of course bro-sibling!”

His pants caught fire, and he blinked down at them stupidly. “I did not lie, though?”

Loki smiled, just the slightest bit bitter, “No, you made a promise without understanding what was being asked of you. That means you’re going to fail in upholding it. And, in fact, you already have gone against it, because you’ve just promised to see me from myself, but you are still comparing me to that image of me you carry in your mind, aren’t you?” 

Thor frowned, somber, “I do not understand.”

Suddenly, Loki couldn’t stop the frustration from spilling over, “Of course you don’t understand, you never understand. You’re you, and everyone is always praising you just for being yourself and doing what comes naturally to you. You’ve never had to struggle to be accepted for what you were because you were what was accepted. You became the standard by which I was judged, and always I fell short. Why? Because I am not you, Thor. Have never been and never will be, no matter what I do.” 

Loki took a breath, grimacing. “So I have stopped trying.” 

And if that sounded like ‘I have stopped trying to make you love me,’ then Thor didn’t need to know. 

Thor frowned, his mouth pursed. Loki would bet that he was gearing up to call him a liar blowing things out of proportions again. 

“Was that not what you wanted, bro- sibling?” 

Loki frowned. What was the oaf going on about this time? 

“Did you not wish to become a warrior and be recognized as one? Did you not wish to receive an Asgardian prince’s training?”

The words were challenging, yet not entirely accusing. There was doubt underneath, that Loki could only hear through his familiarity with Thor’s usual lack of uncertainty. 

Thus he took the time to think, just for a moment before giving his answer. 

“No. What I wanted was our father’s love. Our people’s respect. And I never received either.”

Thor glared. “Do not lie, brother. You did not hate the training fields, you did not dislike the taste of the fight. I remember hearing you laugh with the same glee when battling enemies than you do these days with your illusions.” Loki stared at him, green eyes cold. Thor’s eyes slid to the side, “Apologies, sibling. But I do not recant my words. You enjoy battle, you cannot convince me otherwise.”

Loki nodded, slow, deliberate. He needed to figure this himself as much as he needed to explain it to Thor, after all. 

“I didn’t dislike fighting, but I could not relish it the way you and your friends did, for my own preferred weapons were scorned both on the battlefield and the training grounds. I knew that no matter what I did I could never reach the proficiency you did in sheer strength and battle rage. I do not actually like bloodshed. I do not like charging ahead and letting the ‘better might’ win. I do not have might. I have skill, I have cleverness. This is my way to fight.” His smile turned sad, bitter, “What you call tricks.”

Thor didn’t understand, and Loki didn’t try to stop the irritation from coloring his voice. “Do you call the Widow’s combat ‘tricks’? Do you scorn her from working from the shadows and besting men using her cleverness? Do you look down upon Barton for preferring to fight from afar, watching and waiting before his strikes?” Loki’s eyes narrowed at Thor’s surprised face, at the seeds of hurt and comprehension he saw there, “Why then do these shield-siblings of yours get more consideration than I have ever received? Why do you praise them for acts that only earned me infamy?”

Thor did not have an answer to that, because there was no good answer to offer. There was no way to make that right. 

“So, no Thor. I did not want to keep going to the training fields to learn how to be a warrior like you, because I never could become one, and the more I tried to adapt to your style, the less I was able to be proficient in the arena. And you know that.”

Loki’s smile turned savage, “When I tried to play by your rules, I bit the dust and was mocked for it. When I played by my rules, I could have taken on the entire army, and be called dishonorable for it. Yet no one ever found it dishonorable to force a mage to discard his most potent weapon while you were allowed to swing Mjolnir about the field like a toy.”

Thor frowned, “You are biased, Loki.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Yet I am not lying.”

Thor scoffed, “And how would I know?”

Loki blinked. Of course Stark hadn’t spoken of their meeting. It was strangely heartwarming. “I am bound by the same curse as you are, oaf.”

“And why should I believe that, Loki? Why would you allow yourself to be bound by a spell of your own making? Why would the Liesmith subject himself to a truth spell?”

Loki bared his teeth, “Perhaps that, after being lied to all his life, the Liesmith was no longer able to find the truth. Brother.” And yet the scorn and spite and betrayal held within the word did not bring the fire to life. Perhaps because it did not inherently contradict the notion of brotherhood. A pity. Loki would have liked to see Thor’s face so crestfallen. Or perhaps it would have hurt Loki as well. 

He straightened. It mattered not, there was little left to speak about. Whether or not Loki loved him wouldn’t change whether he could count on him or his acceptance. “Regardless, if you are going to call me a liar each time you hear an unpleasant truth, there is nothing more for me here. I have no wish to speak to you any longer. Goodbye, Thor. I hope you enjoy your life.” 

“Wait, Loki,” Thor started running after him, “I am sorry! I did not mean to dismiss your words.” his pants caught fire. He grimaced. “I am sorry to have dismissed your words?” The fire disappeared. 

Loki looked at him, somber. He did not know what he had expected, but he knew now that he couldn’t count on Thor’s understanding. Not that he would never obtain it, because it was true that Thor had changed, been willing to listen more than he had before, to question himself and his prejudices. But there was a long way to go, and Loki couldn’t wait for him to catch up. Couldn’t put himself and his life on pause until Thor was ‘ready’ to see him as he was. It was sad, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. The only one who could change Thor was Thor. 

He should have known it already. He had told himself he would live his life for himself, free from the past, free from people’s view of him, so what had he come here to seek? 

Whatever it was he had not found it. 

“I forgive you, Thor.” His pants cast aflame, the first lie he’d spoken in their discussion. Thor’s expression fell, broken in a way he seldom got to see it, but as expected, Loki derived no pleasure from it. He left. 

“I like the red,” Tony tugged gently on the strands, before going back to carding his fingers through Loki’s hair. Loki hummed from his place on Tony’s lap, snoozing drowsily. There were a few empty bottles scattered around them, but less than there could have been, and it was better somehow to have someone on their side while commiserating about inconsiderate blonds. “Is it inconsiderate to say I will miss your previous look, though?”

Loki sighed, shook his head. “Not inconsiderate, no. I suppose I will miss it too, but there were too many things tied up with it. ‘Baggage’ I think is the midgardian saying. Perhaps once the wounds are less raw, my hair will become black again sometimes.” He smiled then, a bit of his maudlin lifting off, “But I like this new me. It’s comfortable.”

Tony smirked, tugged his hair again, “You’re comfortable.” Green fire flickered at the edge of his pants. Loki sent him a Look. 

Tony grimaced, “Well, maybe my legs are falling asleep.” 

Loki snorted, shuffling them until they both laid tangled together and his head rested on Tony’s shoulder. “You could have asked.”

“But I liked you there. It’s soothing to have you close.” 

Loki blinked, looked up at him, his green eyes glittering in the dim light, “Really?”

Tony smirked, “I wouldn’t lie to you, babe”, and his pants caught on fire at the jest. Loki snorted, and Tony shook his head, “Unless it slips out on its own, promise.” The fire didn’t die down, Loki raised his eyebrow. Tony pursed his lips, “Well, we all need small white lies sometimes.” The fire disappeared. “Do you think you’ll be keeping this curse for a long time?”

Loki hummed, thoughtful. “I don’t know. I have found that honesty can be nice sometimes. I’ll keep it for a while yet, I think. Sorry about your little white lies, but it’ll be terribly easy to see through them for a bit longer yet.” 

Tony hugged Loki closer, “I don’t mind,” he nuzzled Loki’s neck, breathing in the warm spices and sweet floral undertone, “Sometimes letting people know how I feel can be good too, I guess.”

“Oh?” Loki tried turning his head, but Tony clutched him closer, “And how do you feel?”

Tony breathed in, slowly, trying to muster up some courage, “Well. I think I like you. And I would like it if you came around more often.” 

Loki blinked for a time, rather incredulous that something like that ended up being true.

“Well, I… find myself enjoying your company as well?” But his voice was too hesitant, for all that he had not spoken a lie. 

Tony leaned back, enough for them to be able to look each other in the eye. His gaze was knowing. “You don’t believe it, do you?” 

Loki bit his lip, guilty. 

Tony huffed, cradling Loki closer once more, “Well then. I suppose that spell will have to stay up for a while. At least as long as it will take for you to believe me whenever I say it.”

“I guess I can do that.” 

Loki’s words were grudging, but he was smiling, and so was Tony. 

Out the window, the sun was rising on New York City. There would be villains, tricks, battles, board members. But, just for that moment, they were together, and there was peace. 

Loki had never been more grateful to a glitchy spell and All-Speak quirks. 

But that didn’t mean he would be going easy on them next time.