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Chapter Text

“Butter or sweet popcorn?”
Hands that had just burned a city had nothing on the glare Loki of Asgard sent towards the mortal holding a gaudy plastic orange bowl.
The mouth guard he had ripped from his face was still lying on the human’s wretched turquoise carpeting and Loki had pinned himself to the dust-bunny inhabited sofa as if it were the prison cell awaiting him back home.
“Not a popcorn guy, got it,” Don smiled nervously.
He scuttled away to the kitchen, all soft greys and wrinkled shirt and inoffensive aftershave.
The pathetic mortal was barely even afraid. He should be.
Loki was sweating down his back, soaked beneath the Asgardian leather and bruised all over. He could feel the cuts knitting together on his face, puckered and crimson where the Hulk had smashed his face into the floor of the Avengers infernal tower.
His crossed arms felt wooden and staples to his heaving chest.
What was he even doing here?
The fact the tesseract was missing was one unholy nuisance but the fact he was now in hiding, sheltering with a man who was pushing fifty, was down-right pathetic for a God.
“Y’know,” Don said from the other room, “I do have spare clothes if you…if you need them.”
For goodness sake.
This kindness was odious and foreign. It didn’t make sense.
Surely the clueless man had seen the destruction Loki had wrought upon New York.
Judging by the large grey box with a static screen and a flap labelled “video” though,maybe not. It wasn’t exactly the cutting age tech Loki had seen that pompous Stark use.
“Right, I’ve got water and grapes and…well, that’s it. I wasn’t expecting company, honestly.”
He was sheepish, scratching at his short neck and looking Loki up and down like he didn’t quite know what to make of proper, exquisite Asgardian armour.
“Cat got your tongue?” Don said.
Loki sneered at him, all teeth and no remorse. How long would he have to hole up with this human?
“Look,” Don’s face fell as he rounded a second-hand armchair and perched on the opposing guest sofa to Loki, “I know who you are.”
Loki’s muscles locked and he kept his face stone-set, dangerous and unapproachable.
The infernal man continued regardless.
“I’m not the most up to date guy, but it’s hard to miss a man on TV wearing gold armour, riding a monster when you’re heading down town.”
“I wasn’t riding a monster,” Loki corrected, unable to help himself.
The scowl on his face made the cuts pinch and the memory of burns crawling up his skin from Thanos’s hands…
Loki shuddered and gasped, attempting to swallow it.
“You okay…”
“Yes! I’m fine!” Loki snapped, “You humans, you’re so pedantic-“
“Loki,” Don said seriously.
Loki glared at him.
The softness with which he said his name felt like a red hot knife to his skin. What possible reason could a human being have for being so kind to him? Loki didn’t deserve it. He’d torn a city apart and the worst part was, the aching and tormented parts of him had enjoyed it.
He didn’t enjoy killing people. He enjoyed the fear and the explosions and the power. Loki couldn’t reflect on the grip Thanos had had on his mind because the reasonings and feelings attached were so entangled it could take months, years or millennia to unpack it all.
He was tired.
How many people had he killed, that were just like this silly man who was sheltering him and offering him sustenance?
“You're Thor’s brother right? Thor Odinson the avenger?” Don said.
Loki stared at him blankly, chest feeling tight.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Don pursed his lips, “And I’m making the assumption that you’re gonna be in a lot of trouble back home.”
“I don’t have a home,” Loki snapped.
Gods why the hell had he admitted that.
Don frowned again, deeper, aging his stupidly kind and patient face.
“Why…” Loki breathed through clenched teeth, “Are you not afraid of me?”
“Afraid of you?”
“Yes,” Loki growled, “You should be.”
“Hmm,” Don shrugged, “Maybe I should be, yeah. I was just expecting more maybe.”
That did it.
Loki rushed to his feet, the elastic band of his wits finally snapping. His armoured forearm slammed into the man’s chest and pinned him back to the wall, half sprawled over the sofa.
The human swallowed and Loki devoured his fear, staring Don down, eyes ablaze.
“Tell me now that you’re not afraid.” Loki sneered, “I dare you.”
Don raised his hands placatingly, a worthless olive branch in the face of Loki’s fury.
“Okay…okay,” Don said, “I’m afraid.”
Loki’s breaths came hard and fast; he had no control, no proper upper hand in this situation. This human was not afraid of him. He was lying through his teeth, mocking him.
This was not how it was supposed to be.
Loki was a threat, a malignant force that had demanded the Avenger’s intervention. Loki was a villain.
Why did a midguardian’s refusal to bow to his rage feel like a trap waiting to snap closed?
“Kneel,” Loki demanded.
“What-“
“I said kneel!” Loki snapped, pulling back from Don and looming over him like a disturbed and vengeful spirit.
He would not be carolled by a worthless human, he would not be pitied.
Don did as instructed and slid from the sofa to the floor, kneeling. His thick, hard-worked hands were still raised as if he had a gun pointed in his face.
Yet those eyes weren’t blown wide with terror. They were analytical and searching and Loki hated the way the human was looking at him, assessing him like a puzzle he was sure could be solved.
“What now?” Don asked, “Because I gotta tell you, my knees aren’t what they used to be. I might not be able to stand up again soon.”
Humour.
A desperate attempt to levy the thick and frightening atmosphere. Loki sniffed and looked down his nose at Don.
He was scared, he was just better at hiding it. Loki took it for what it was.
Inside his chest, Loki felt desperate and pathetic. He was playing for control against a single person.
His brother was sure to be on his trail, ready to drag him back to Asgard to face their father’s wrath.
He might even face a death sentence.
Frigga wouldn’t let that happen, would she? His mother…
Pieces of Loki started to crumble and fall apart as he paced the floor in front of the midguardian, silence suffocating him and the aches of burns long healed creeping back into his head.
“Loki?” Don said quietly, “Your skin…?”
Loki froze.
Carefully, he lifted his hands and saw the blue starting to bleed into the caucasian glamour he wore. His nailbeds were onyx, decorative warrior marks adorning his hands.
Loki turned sharply on his heels, stalked out of the room and slammed the door to a utility closet behind him.

…

Loki didn’t know for how long he wept, tears struggling to leave his eyes.
It was too much.
Falling from the bifrost, Thor’s screams, his father’s indifference.
Pain and torture.
Thanos’s dark smile as his children forced Loki to kneel.
Fire.
Biting his flesh and branding him, searing his Jotun skin.
His broken spirit had forced him to comply, no energy in his limbs to resist.
Madness.
Sweat on his brow, the rise of righteous indignation. The urge to kill.
Loki’s blue fingers knotted in his hair, pulling tight, grip strong enough to nearly snap the onyx locks from his head.
He didn’t hear the closest door crack open a few hours later.
Fire, burning, blood…healing, sweating, breathing…
Puny, worthless God…
No doubt Don would’ve contacted someone by now.
This was it.
Loki’s life would pitifully end, dragged by his brother from a closest in some middle-aged midguardian’s home, thrown into chains and then slain or imprisoned for the rest of his miserable days.

Don crept towards the utility cupboard. His heart thundered in his ears and blood rushed like rapids to every muscle, prepping him to sprint for his life.
He may as well have had a rabid bear in his closet.
Gingerly, he pushed down on the door handle and opened it, pulling it outwards towards him by an inch.
Loki didn’t lunge for him and gut him where he stood, so he pulled the door open a few more inches and peered inside.
Adorned in full armour, the Asgardian was wrapped around himself, shaking and making a strange noise that sounded akin to a dry weep.
His hands were still that perplexing, beautiful blue and Don carefully knelt down, knees clicking.
He’d never seen an alien up close before, much less crying in his house.
He pitied him.
What sort of monster hid like a scared child in an ironing cupboard?
Maybe he was an old fool, but the Loki he had seen terrorising New York held none of that malice and decadent cruelty now.
Don reached out, cursing himself for his lack of self preservation.
His fingers brushed Loki’s blue skin and the god froze, locking up like he’d been flash frozen.
Don pulled back, respectfully stuffing his hands back into his own space and plunking himself in the doorway.
He tucked his jeans-clad legs to one side, leaving a gap for Loki to flee through; he didn’t want to box him in like an animal and face a retort of teeth and nails.
“Why.”
“Huh?”
“Why did you touch me.”
“Oh…well, that’s typically how we humans comfort the afflicted.”
A single eye was visible, resembling an anger-fuelled gaze from an ancient painting.
Don noticed, in the warm light from his hallway, that Loki’s eyes were blood red, in stark contrast to his blue skin.
“Do all Asgardians have blue skin?” Don asked meekly, unable to help himself.
Loki didn’t answer, but there was an imperceptible shake of the head.
“Do you need some more time…in the cupboard?” Don said.
Loki ignored him again, with all the retaliation of a stone statue.
Don decided to stay sat, loosely propping himself up with one hand to the new carpet and the other on his hip.
He could do this.
There wasn’t really much choice other than admit to the authorities that he’d been harbouring an interdimensional fugitive.
So he stayed.

…

Loki moved woodenly.
Don was nowhere to be seen and Loki took the moment to navigate his way back to the living space.
A smell wafted from the kitchen and Loki sighed to himself.
On cue, the midguardian came into the room from the adjoining door and propped his hands on his hips.
“Feeling like you’re going to threaten me again or do you fancy something to eat?”
Was this man really still offering him hospitality after he’d thrown him against a wall?
“My tesseract-“
“Haven’t seen it. Sorry.” Don said truthfully, not betraying a lie in his stern body language, “So, dinner?”

…

“Best dress shirt I have,” Don chuckled, “You’re welcome, your majesty.”
Loki adjusted the deep maroon cuffs and surveyed himself in the red garb.
Not bad, if not his usual colour.
Loki sat down at the small dining table and prodded the food with a fork.
Sensibly, Don hadn’t given him a knife. Loki’s lips quirked at the corner, a soft peak of his mouth that felt foreign after so much suffering.
“What do you call this on midguard then?” Loki said, refusing to meet Don’s eyes.
“Beef brisket in red wine,” Don said proudly, “With new potatoes.”
Loki jabbed a piece and the meat fell apart against the metal of the fork, swimming in juices. He scooped the meat into his mouth and chewed carefully.
Delicious.
“If you’ve got nowhere to go,” Don said, “I’ve got a spare room. No charge.”
He laughed awkwardly and Loki heard his fork scrape his plate.
“Only rule is, no stabbing or throwing your host into a wall.”
“I’ve not tried to stab you,” Loki muttered into his food.
“There’s a first time for everything,” Don said, chomping his brisket and potatoes.
Loki glared at him over the glass of red wine the impossible human had poured for him. It was one thing having let Loki shelter in his home.
Now the incorrigible man had ordered a food delivery for them, stocking up as if he was expecting Loki to stay.
And what choice did Loki have?
He was entirely at the mercy of this man and any movement he made, any mistake, would be pinpointed and tracked by Stark and his brother.
And then it was all over.
“Are you not even slightly worried about having an otherworldly threat stay in your adjacent bedroom,” Loki said.
“Threat? Aw come on,” Don shook his head, “Y’know, you’re not that bad. You’re just a pussycat, all teeth and claws.”
Loki sat back, thoroughly insulted. Don had just compared him to a pet.
Don clocked his thunderous expression and the soft smile he returned to him was almost as bad as the pet name.
“No insult intended,” he said kindly, “You’re my guest, and you’re safe here.”
Safe.
Loki deflated.
His shoulders slumped and he poked at his fork. His Asgardian leather armour was domestically folded on the sofa in a vacuum-sealed bag.
How had he ended up in this situation?
What had he done to deserve this kindness?
He forked a potato and considered it before looking at his host, a foreign and painful sensation growing in his chest.
“…Thank you, Don.”
Don took a sip of wine and gave him a gentle, understanding look that felt like a punch and a desperately needed hug all at once.
“You’re welcome, Loki.”

Chapter Text

Loki slept in fitful states of fear and dead paralysis.
Within sleep, nightmares preyed on him, hunting him for sport. The demons and troubles of his past were predators with gaping maws, baying for his blood and finding places to sink their teeth into his psyche.
Bed covers that should’ve been a comforting wrap to lull him to rest were constricted around him, feeling like Thanos’s titan fist clenched around his neck.
The mad man had seized him by the throat at first they had met, his purple, thick fingers making a twig of Loki’s brittle neck in an unforgiving grasp. One wrong move and Loki would have been no easier to snap than a worn branch.
In the thick of his memories, Loki sweat through his donated bed clothes, the cold dampness making fabric stick to his skin and strengthening the feeling of being trapped.
“What a puny excuse for a so-called God,” Thanos had grinned at him, “Where did you come from little one?”
Loki could still feel the rasp of his constricted breath as he had tried to answer, hitting the stone floor of the meteorite he had landed on as Thanos cast him aside like a piece of garbage.
The children of Thanos had leered down at him, enjoying the show with an insatiable glutton for torment twinkling in their eyes.
None of them looked remotely human, even if they were humanoid in shape. There were cyborg parts and dark war paint across sallow skin, noseless faces and pitless eyes darker than the onyx of deep space.
Loki was alone and he was prey, surrounded by the sharks of a wider universe far beyond his palace.
As the first hot poker, glowing with heat, made a reappearance in his night-drawn memories, Loki gasped himself awake.

The bedroom was dark and unfamiliar, painfully ordinary and not enough to calm him down.
Loki was disorientated, vision blurred from sleep and eyes crusty with the thick matter of sleep gluing his eyelashes together.
His breaths came too thick and too fast and there was a penetrating artificial light that cut frightening shapes into the walls of the room.
A television.
He swept his sweat-slick hair from his forehead and tried to settle his chest but the laboured draw of breath could not be tamed.
On the screen was an image of himself, flanked by monstrous forms. He was dripping in gold, a mad smile on his face. Earth’s ‘mightiest heroes’ were on his trail, a news reporter recounting the grisly details of several deaths that had occurred as Loki led an army of despotic creatures to raze the city.
Loki slammed his eyes shut, gripped the hair at his temples and begged for oblivion.
What cruel trickery was this?
To wake up from a torment only to be refreshed of his crimes.
Feeling as if he was being suffocated inside of a small box, he scrambled from the bed and ran to the door, pulling it open.
The hallway was dark, a single amber light signalling a bathroom at the end of it.
Loki stumbled into the living room, knocking into furniture as he went.
He had no sense of direction and no clear directive; he needed to go somewhere, yet there was nowhere to welcome him.
This tiny box where he had awoken was the size of his current world, a world in which he had to exist if he didn’t wish to face judgement.
“Loki?”
A sleep-laden voice called to him.
Loki was thick in the throws of a full-scale panic and didn’t recognise the voice at first.
He heard footsteps behind him and in his mind, there were claws reaching out for him.
Something behind him was going to tear into his back again, or brand him with heat so agonising he would beg them until his tongue bled from being trapped too long between his teeth.
“Loki, hey, slow down. What’s got you spooked?”
Loki was trying to get into what he thought was the kitchen but it was the utility cupboard.
The ironing board that had been stashed hazardedly at an angle clattered to the ground. The noise jarred Loki, sparking the frayed ends of his nerves like they were torn wires.
“Let me out,” he gasped, “Let me out of here, I beg of you!”
Loki stumbled backwards, so fast that his feet ran him straight back into the solid oak of another door and he turned, scrambling for the handle.
The footsteps were getting closer and Loki broke into the kitchen, lunging for the counter.
A solid wooden block with deep grooves held multiple kitchen knives and Loki seized the largest one, yanking it free and brandishing it like a sword.
He would cut his way out if he had to.
“You gotta put that down-“
Loki, eyes ablaze, grabbed a fistful of a man’s shirt and pushed him into the doorframe, raising the knife to his jugular.
Slowly, grey cropped locks and salt and pepper facial hair became recognisable and Don’s face came into focus.
Loki seethed.
He’d snuck up on him, he was plotting something.
“Do you think you’ve made a mistake yet?” Loki said through his teeth, panting harshly. Don didn’t flinch against the cold of the kitchen knife. He stayed perfectly calm, the sweat running down his back invisible to the wild eyes of Loki.
“If you’re going to kill me, make it quick,” Don said quietly, “Please.”
Loki’s eyes narrowed, breathing laboured with rage.
“Why are you so stubborn, you foolish man,” he sneered, “A God has a knife to your throat and you don’t even flinch! Is this some death wish? Is your human life so boring and pathetic that this is the most exciting thing to happen to you in the last two decades?”
“I’m smart enough to know when death is inevitable,” Don swallowed subtly, mouth drying out despite his dissociation, “So no. I’m not afraid.”
Loki couldn’t comprehend it.
It felt as though the mortal had pushed his hand through his chest and snatched the words from behind his heart.
Loki had felt that inevitability, that realisation that death would claim him when he had fallen from the bifrost.
It had swallowed him whole when he had slipped straight into Thanos’s clutches.
To see his own resignation mirrored back to him felt like a cruel slap, a curt hit that rocked him backwards.
He moved the knife away from Don’s throat, lying it flat between his palm and Don’s chest.
The point glinted in the artificial light of the kitchen bulb, the blade threateningly still close to Don’s collarbone. “You are wearing out my patience,” Loki managed to say through his teeth.
“I’m not holding you hostage,” Don replied earnestly, “I’m not going to tell the avengers about you, or where you are.”
“And why would you do that?” Loki glared. “…I really don’t need the paperwork,” Don laughed, nerves alight around his weak joke.
Loki snarled and pushed away from him. The knife clattered to the floor and Loki heard it skid as Don presumably kicked it across the room out of reach.
The man really did have no survival instincts; had Loki been in the same position, he would have taken the knife and ran his assailant through.
Loki paced the space like a prowling lion, unsettled and thirsty for blood.
“You’re free to leave,” Don said, his voice small, “If this isn’t working for you.”
“What?” Loki spun around.
“I can’t find the Tessa-thing for you but you’re not obligated to stay,” Don sighed. Loki’s muscles strained against the force of his scowl.
“I don’t have anywhere to go,” Loki said under his breath.
“Then…do you wanna leave the violence here, and tell me what scared you so much you almost gutted me? You looked like you were being chased,” Don sighed.
“It’s not your concern,” Loki growled, “You should worry about yourself, mortal. You’re absolutely atrocious at it.”
Don looked at him as if he were about to discipline a difficult coworker. Loki’s anger bubbled precariously beneath his skin.
Don had his hands propped on his hips.
“It is my concern because it’s sent you into a violent rage under my roof. You need help, it’s okay to admit that,” Don said.
“What is this? An intervention?!” Loki barked a crass laugh.
“Keep your voice down, I’ve got neighbours,” Don replied sharply.
Loki squeezed out another laugh that resembled a hiss. A manic grin on face, he cocked his head at Don.
“Noise complaints are the least of your concern right now. You were five seconds away from being slain,” Loki said.
Don blew out his cheeks in an exasperated sigh. Loki glowered at him, daring him to defy him the terror he needed to see.
He was woefully devoid of power, having been caught not once, but now twice, at his most vulnerable.
By a midgardian!
“It’s not about noise. You wanna get us in shit, go ahead and shout. But if you want a shot at not getting detained again, you’ll shut up.”
“…How dare you.”
“You heard me,” Don stared at him, “Shut up.”
“You speak to me like some wretched authority but you are nothing. NOTHING!” Loki seared him with his rage.
Don brushed off the blast of fearsome rage like he’d been whispered at.
“You finished?” he deadpanned.
Loki seethed, knuckles clenched and anger causing a tempest in his chest. His ribs ached against the pressure of his emotions and he feared he’d collapse once the adrenaline deserted him.
He had half the mind to flee into the dark of the night and never be seen again. Anywhere he could go would be better than being levelled by the apathetic pity of a pissed off human man.
Loki took a step back as Don started to approach him, almost tripping into the coffee table.
“What are you-“
Don crossed the room after a brief hesitation and his hands were unbearably warm on Loki’s wrists, trapping him. It was a soft grip that Loki could’ve easily overpowered, yet he found himself rooted to the spot, muscles shaking with residual angst.
Don pressed his thumbs to a pressure point in Loki’s wrists that had a strangely profound effect.
Loki didn’t know what to say or do; his mind quieted and his focus was drawn inexplicably to kind blue eyes warming up to him again as he failed to lash out.
“See? I told you you’re safe here. Now you can talk to me and we can forget the incident with the knife for now, alright? Just calm down,” Don said.
“You have the survival instincts of a blind rat,” Loki breathed.
Don, not to anyone’s surprise, shirked the insult by laughing, “Good one.”

…

It was 4.10am in the morning and Don came back from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of coffee, decidedly having given up on sleep.
It appeared he had some common sense, because from his spot on the sofa, Loki saw him remove the block of knives and vanish out of a back door, coming back without Loki’s chosen weaponary.
When Don came back, he sat beside Loki, keeping a respectful gap between the two of them after his gentle intervention earlier. Loki had replayed the feeling of human thumbs reassuringly pressing into his wrists and the grounding, consuming calm that had followed it.
Humans were weak, fallible and breakable in comparison to him, to be ruled. Yet this man’s touch had rooted him to the earth.
Was this a glimpse at what having a friend could be?
Don didn’t touch him then, but he sipped his coffee, maintaining a calm and gentle eye contact.
“What’s on your mind?” Don said.
Loki shook his head, “You couldn’t begin to comprehend it.”
“Try me, I’m listening.”
Was this the first time someone had deigned to ask Loki what ailed him?
It felt foreign, as if the mortal was trying to operate on him and peel the secrets from his mind. His leg jiggled restlessly and he decided to stare into the atrociously garish pattern of Don’s rug.
“I’m a God that came down to rule you all as a benevolent lord, and you’re asking me what ails me whilst we sip this strange bean brew?” Loki muttered, “This is ludicrous.”
“And yet, here we are,” Don punctuated the sentence with a potent yawn, “Go for it, your highness.”
Loki sat in abject silence, unsure how to proceed. Don looked at him, watching softly with tired, sleep-heavy eyes. He could so easily be overpowered and left to die if Loki wished but he found that the urge to put a blade between the man’s ribs was becoming a distant, tasteless desire. The longer the man sat waiting for him to begin his tale, the calmer Loki began to feel.
The sensation felt like being suffocated in an enclosed box but if he poked, maybe tested the waters, could it be freeing?
Could he trust a human to take a piece of his mind and not smash it into dust?
”I…I don’t like hurting people,” Loki’s voice escaped as a barely audible whisper.
“Huh?” Don murmured.
“I don’t enjoy hurting people,” Loki said shortly, tense again after repeating himself.
Once he started, however, he couldn’t hold back.
Words flowed from him like a gushing faucet, his pain spilling out of him.
“I use it… as a shield. To be feared, is to be respected. On Asgard, I was…I’m not like my brother, the pontificating, hammer-throwing hero you see cavorting about on television. I’m not good. I’m a conduit of chaos and death. Moulded to be this way and not…I’m not strong enough to break free of it.”
Don blinked at him, infernal searching eyes combing his face.
“I don’t see that,” Don said quietly, “It takes strength to admit weakness.”
”I am weakness,” Loki whispered, “My rage and my cruelty is a pathetic attempt to inspire fear. It’s what I know how to do, it is who I am now.”
”What I’m hearing,” Don said, “is that you weren’t always this way. You were made, not born, to be this way.”
If only that were true, Loki thought, his Jotunn heritage blasting through his mind. He saw Laufey’s eyes as he had killed him, all to impress Odin. He saw his own skin turning blue, revealing his true nature as he had connected with the tesseract and stripped away his mother’s spell.
Whatever this human saw in him was shallow, basic assumptions. Of course he would look for the good in a monster. Humans were incapable of accepting how cruel and dark the world could and always would be. They always wanted better, wanted more for themselves.
In a way, they were closer to Loki than he would like to admit.
“I don’t know why you have shown me the kindness that you have,” Loki said, “”I do not deserve it.”
”If we can agree to no more stabbing and I won’t sneak up on you…we can start over,” Don said.
“I didn’t stab you,” Loki shook his head.
“Okay, champ. No more ‘almost stabbing’, okay? Deal?” Don said, blinking away as another yawn attacked him.
Shockingly, Loki felt a small smile blossom onto his lips.
“I can’t promise anything,” Loki said, “The night time is not the best time for me.”
“I’ll keep my nose outta your business, but you know where to find me,” Don nodded, “And just for the record?”
”…yes?”
”Everyone can have a second chance,” Don replied kindly, “I think you just need to be brave enough to accept that.”
Loki parted his lips, wanting to respond but failing. His silver tongue dried up in his mouth as he was given an affirmation so precious he had to cradle it straight against his heart.
Don was unaware of the effect of his words because he was drifting off, fighting against his drooping eyelids. Loki simply sat and watched as Don fell back into slumber, half-slumped into the back cushion of the sofa.
Loki sat, adrift in the gentle stream of his quietened thoughts, enjoying the ride. When he eventually decided to try and sleep again, he stood carefully, tip-toeing around Don to grab the crochet throw that the man had piled messily into the corner of an armchair.
Loki laid it across Don’s lap and quickly left the room. This time, he locked himself into the guest bedroom and prayed to whatever forces may listen that he would stay where he was, and Don could sleep safely until morning, unscathed.

Chapter Text

The note came through from under the door whilst Loki was sat up - as he had been for a good hour - staring at the blank TV screen. 

He slid off of the bed and picked up the scrap piece of notebook paper, peering in the dim light at the scrawl on the page. 

‘Eggs for you on the table. No knives! Hope a spoon will do. D.M’

Loki had half expected a smiley face to punctuate the end of the message but assumed he hadn’t earned such a thing yet. Shame for his actions in the early morning stuck to him like tar and he grappled once again with the baffling notion that he was still being offered such abject kindness such as morning sustenance. 

He crumpled the note and decidedly slipped it into his pocket. 

Before he opened the door, he rested a palm against the cool wood, grounding himself with the chilly bite of morning air sticking to the room from the vented window. 

What should he say to the man? 

What would be appropriate since he had attacked him, not once but twice, and was now essentially a live-in fugitive? 

Beyond the door, he could hear Don pottering about, the crackle of a radio from the other room and the bassy tunes of him humming along. 

Feeling as though he was awaiting judgement, Loki unlocked the door and padded into the living room, bare feet tiredly feeling the scratch of old carpet against his skin. 

Don sensed him before he saw him. 

“Morning,” he said brightly. 

Loki was silent, consciously moving himself through the living room to lean against the door frame to the kitchen, where Don would be able to see him from the corner of his eye. 

The mortal was buttering toast, ladling his own scrambled eggs onto the toast as if nothing was wrong, nothing was different about his domestic routine.

“Your eggs and toast are on the table, as per the note,” Don glanced over his shoulder and smiled, the expression small and wary, yet warm. 

He wasn’t so clueless after all then; Loki found he didn’t like the flicker of fear buried in Don’s blue eyes now. It made his chest ache. 

“Thank you,” Loki said quietly. 

“No bother,” Don said, “Just so you know, I’ve still gotta work. So…yeah. You can have the run of the house. Unless of course you want to move on, which I understand if you do…”

“Do you want me to leave?” Loki asked. 

“I didn’t say that,” Don turned around fully, abandoning his eggs on toast to lean back against the counter.

Loki wondered if he looked as vulnerable as he felt. It disgusted him to be this pitiful, rooting around for confirmation that he could remain as a guest in a human’s home because the alternative was a prison cell, or some den in the woods. 

“Go have your breakfast,” Don said patiently, “I don’t have to leave for another hour yet, so we’ve got time.” 

We. 

As if they were roommates. 

Loki nodded and left to perch on the chair at the small dining table. It had been expertly cleaned and wiped down from their dinner the night before and Loki looked down at the eggs on his plate. 

There was a sunny side up egg and a slice of toast with a hefty helping of buttercup yellow scrambled eggs. 

Two different kinds? 

“In case you didn’t like one version, I did both,” Don said as he sat down opposite Loki, “Y’know, because we just met yesterday…I didn’t really know which…” 

He trailed off as Loki looked up at him, spoon loose in his grip. That small smile reappeared on his face; it was more confident, the man seemingly flustered as Loki parted his lips, unable to comprehend the hospitality. 

“Do you not like eggs?” Don seemingly couldn’t bear the silence. 

“No, it’s not that. I do. I’m very grateful,” Loki said, words stumbling over each other.

“What’s up?” Don asked. 

Loki spooned the yolk of his egg and it bled yellow across the ceramic plate, touching the crust of the toast. He watched it bleed and sighed through his nose. 

“It’s dangerous for you, to have me here,” he mumbled at the plate. 

“Huh?” 

“I said it’s dangerous for you to have me here,” Loki looked up sharply, his voice struggling not to break, “I am not the sort of person you should keep around, especially when you live alone.” 

Don shrugged. 

“No, don’t do that,” Loki shook his head forcefully, “You need to be sure, Don. Are you sure you can risk this?” 

Don took a heaping mouthful of eggs, chewed and swallowed as he thought over his answer. It was the most tense few minutes Loki had endured in the last twenty four hours. 

“I’ve told you multiple times,” Don sighed, “You’re welcome here, Loki. And I know there’s loads of stuff you can’t tell me; stuff about your past that most likely drove you to do what you did last night. So if we can move past that, it’s all good.” 

“I’m the villain of my story,” Loki said heavily, “There is no other truth.” 

“That’s not how I see it,” Don said. 

Loki teared up. 

Of all the places he could’ve ended up, the tesseract brought him to someone willing to give him a chance. 

Their conversation from the early morning came back to haunt Loki and he started to eat his eggs slowly, savouring each bite and soaking up the normality. Sitting with a human and enjoying food, with no rush to escape or royal responsibilities to get to, was an experience that was wrapping him in a warmth so satisfying, he felt as though he had found something he had been missing for years. 

He sipped the tart orange juice Don had laid out for him, ignoring the artificial sweeteners and followed the man with his eyes as Don tidied away his plate, in a routine all his own. 

Loki was still at the table when Don remerged from his bedroom, clad in his work gear. He was dressed in a grey get up with blues and green splashing colour onto his mundane work clothes. 

Piranha watersports. 

Oh good lord, he was a salesman. 

“Wipe that smile off your face,” Don laughed good-naturedly, “You’d be surprised actually. Jet skis are a vehicle I can see someone like you really getting your teeth into. The rush of the wind, the thrill of the ride-“ 

Don’s face flushed as he realised he was running off onto a tangent all his own and Loki gifted him a more genuine smile. The gesture did nothing but colour the man’s face further and Loki tilted his head, curiously. 

“Uh, yeah. So anyway, I’ll see you after work. Help yourself to lunch,” Don gestured to the kitchen, in the vague direction of the fridge and freezer, “Just don’t go outside if you can help it. We’ll…work out a way to keep you out of trouble later on, so you don’t end up a prisoner in my house, okay?” 

Loki nodded and was lost as to what to say. 

Don lingered in the middle of the room, having lost track of his things and Loki pointed to the sofa where a satchel was slung haphazardly over the arm, halfway to spilling its contents onto the floor. 

“Thanks,” Don laughed, “Okay, I’ll see ya later, Loki. Don’t break anything or go through my room. Other than that…uh…go crazy.” 

Loki’s face pinched. 

“Turn of phrase,” Don corrected and gave him a mundane little wave. 

Loki watched him leave, gently whispering after him, “See you soon, Don.” 

…

Loki couldn’t help himself. 

Not five minutes after Don had left for work, Loki bolted from the table, eggs finished up and toast crumbs on his plate, and began rooting through the cupboards under the VCR and television. 

He happened across photo albums immediately and sat on the floor, pulling them out to have a good look through. 

The white album piqued his interest first and he opened it to find wedding photos, one of them stained by a brown liquid that could’ve been coffee or whiskey, who knew? 

Don was in a very flattering suit, the woman next to him draped in ivory fabric. 

Loki looked around the living room; the only photos adorning the walls were of Don and older humans, most likely his family. The wife in the photo made no appearances in Don’s living space and was obviously absent. Loki thought to himself that had she been here, Don would not be getting away with harbouring an Avengers-level threat. 

She had a demure smile in the photo, serious but content. 

Loki flicked through the album and found that his stomach twisted sadly as he came to the realisation that Don was truly alone. 

No wife, none of the family members who celebrated with them lived here. 

Did Don feel as alone as Loki did? 

They both had families, yet it seemed they were similarly distanced, left to walk their paths alone. 

Of course, there was the distinct difference that Loki was from another realm and he had caused a chasm so great between himself and his brother that he feared it would never be fixed. 

Don hadn’t invaded a city. 

Did humans live lonely lives, when things as bad as he had done weren’t in the equation? 

Loki put the wedding album back. 

It left him with a sad, sour taste in the back of his mouth; he knew he couldn’t bring this up with Don, asking him about the ending of such a union would constitute a definite violation of boundaries. 

With Loki’s assessing, clever gaze, he’d noted that the man hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring when they first met. 

Loki stacked all of the albums and shelved his curiosity for later. Listlessly, he wandered around the house, pausing at the back door to look out into the yard. There was a scorch mark where he had landed in Don’s backyard and no glimmer of blue from the tesseract. 

What would he do if he found it? 

It being missing must be a blessing in disguise; there was every possibility that the Avengers might be able to trace its energy signature. 

Eventually, Loki decided to return to his guest bedroom and peruse the channels on the Midgardian flat-screen. Don appeared to put his guests above himself, the fancier contraption an absolute Hel to work out as Loki fought with the convoluted remote. 

As he finally managed to select a live channel, he was met again with his own face, blasted across a new headline. 

A severe looking woman with a cutting bob of sterile platinum blonde hair read from the auto-cue, a hint of ire coating her voice. 

“As it stands, inter-dimensional fugitive Loki Laufeyson is still considered at large. Armed and extremely dangerous, this man should not be approached at any cost and any sightings reported to local police or the Avengers tip-line. Tony Stark and Thor Odinson have been approached for comment after the fugitive was allowed to escape, but no comment has been authorised for print at this time.”

Loki looked down into his own lap, turned off the screen and lay back on the bed

Chapter Text

Don spent his entire shift ruminating about his unlikely roommate.
He’d certifiably gone mad in his isolation, allowing a stranger into his household. Nevermind that; Loki was a fugitive, hunted by the Avengers for murder and invasion.
“I’ve lost it,” Don muttered to himself, dragging his hands down his face.
“What’s that?” Randall peered over at him from where he was closing the cash register for the day.
“Nothing,” Don waved a hand at him lightly, “Just got a headache.”
Loki was unpredictable, volatile.
Don had had two close brushes with death allowing the man from another realm to lodge with him and it was a pressing, nagging voice at the back of his head that kept yelling at him in his sister’s voice to find this ‘tesseract’ and send the man on his way.
He could not tell Michelle about this.
No way.
Scratch that, no one could know. He would end up top of the FBI most wanted, top of the Avengers list for traitors to humanity.
What am I doing?
Don gathered his things and rubbed at his face again. Unhelpfully, Randall was walking in the same direction as they were parked close together and he just kept talking.
Usually, he had all the time in the world for his good-natured boss but not today.
Today he needed to get home and check on his guest.
If Don was truly honest with himself, there was no way he was going to give Loki up. A trustworthy, steadfast instinct that lived in his gut told him that it was the right thing to do to protect the strange man.
He had been broken and cowed, hiding in Don’s closet, cringing from him in a blind, sweaty panic during the early hours. That wasn’t the attitude of a conqueror.
It was the mindset of a traumatised victim.
“-so yeah, if you’re feeling run down, you have some holiday left to claim if you need the time off. Remember, you get paid as well, you’ve worked here long enough,” Randall was still speaking and Don hadn’t been listening whatsoever.
“Huh? Oh…okay, yeah. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea,” Don said softly, scraping an excess of sleep that had managed to stick to his lashes throughout the day.
“I can call Brian in to cover, he owes me a favour,” Randall said and clapped Don on the shoulder.
Randall was a good man.
He had a thick head of hair at nearly sixty years old and crooked glasses that slipped down his long sloped nose. He wouldn’t have been out of place in a quirky office sitcom.
“I appreciate it,” Don sighed, “I’ve just got a lot going on. It’s been tough since Michelle moved away with her kids.”
“I get that bud,” Randall smiled sympathetically, “I’ll email you through the holiday confirmation and I’ll see you after that okay? Get some rest. You deserve it.”
Randall departed, clicking the button on his fob for his car to unlock with a chirpy little beep.
Don gave him a tired wave and made for his own car, slumping into the front seat with a gusty sigh and hoping to god or whatever was out there that Loki hadn’t been dragged away or gotten a hold of something pointy.

…

Loki felt hands shaking him.
He was disoriented, sweat slicking his palms. Something tickled the skin of his hands that wasn’t perspiration but felt like slick blades of something…maybe grass?
He was outside?
As he tried to move, a psychosomatic pain lanced down his back.
It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real…
“Loki?! What the hell are you doing in the garden?” someone’s panicked voice was hushed and ranting at him in fear, “Can you hear me?!”
Loki grasped blindly for the person, eyes scrunched shut. He couldn’t feel blood dripping down his back, just the burn of a pain that no longer existed. Pain that should’ve been a distant memory but was revisiting him like an unpleasant, repeat offender breaking back in to torment him.
“Loki…here, grab my shoulder, I can lift you-“
Loki found a handful of fleece that replaced the wetness of the grass. The man bleating at him had said he was in a garden.
Not a ship…thank the norns, he wasn’t on that ship.
Slowly, he peeled his eyes open. His vision was bleary, as if he’d been sleeping. That had been what he was doing. He had laid down to try and get an extra length of sleep under his belt but then…
The nightmares.
That was it.
How he’d ended up outside was still a mystery but now there was a strong, warm arm around his waist and someone huffing as they half-carried his dead-weight back towards the back door.
“…Don?”
He focused his vision, taking in the silver of neatly brushed hair and a moustache bunched with stress. A blue eye, rife with worry, swivelled to glance at him and Loki commanded his legs to work, relieving Don of the burden of dragging his tall and lithe form back into the house.
He allowed himself to be arranged onto the sofa like a torn ragdoll being propped up and Don perched beside him, the loss of his human warmth making Loki feel as if he’d been plunged into an ice bath in its absence.
“What the hell were you doing out there?” Don murmured, “I just got back from work and I couldn’t find you and you were just…flat out on the lawn?”
“I don’t know,” Loki said quietly, staring into Don’s carpet to avoid his worried gaze, “I don’t remember.”
Don sighed softly.
“Have you even eaten since I’ve been gone?” Don questioned.
Loki shook his head.
Don slapped his knees and made to stand, “I’ll whip you up something now-“
“No,” Loki looked up sharply and immediately softened his tone as Don appeared shaken by the sharpness of his tongue, “I mean…I will make something. You have done more than enough for me already.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Don said, standing fully.
“Don,” Loki said, “I need to earn my keep here. You’ve just been out, earning your way. I must do the same.”
Don’s lips perked slightly, his shoulders slackening from where his stress had forced them towards his ears.
“Come on, I’ll help you,” Don said.
Loki rose stiffly and they walked into the kitchen together. Amusingly, although it jabbed Loki with a noticeable prick of shame, Don reached for the knife block that wasn’t there when making to cut the fluffy farmer’s load of bread from his bread bin.
“Ah, right,” Don laughed awkwardly.
He instead reached for a drawer and pulled out a blunt butter knife, hacking messily at the loaf instead.
Feeling useless as he hovered, Loki perused the fridge and delicately handled a packet of salami and a tub of olives. A nugget of warmth settled in his belly as Don gave him a small smile.
It was so strange and peaceful, just the sounds of Don quietly breathing as he buttered the bread and the sound of a dog yapping from a neighbour’s house nearby.
Loki couldn’t remember the last time he had been surrounded by such gratifying, wholesome quiet.
Aiming to be as helpful as he had meant to be, Loki poured himself some more of the cloyingly sweetened orange juice and watched as Don sliced the olives into curious little discs that he bedded atop the salami within the snug, poorly cut slabs of bread.
“Bon appetite,” Don said as he presented the sandwich on a small toast plate for Loki.
Loki felt his eyes burn.
An idea flashed through his mind, distracting him from the embarassment of tearing up over a sandwich of all things and he flicked his wrist.
In a flash of green, the kitchen was devoid of mess, the butter knife materialising in the sink, the crumbs non-existent and the food packets returned to the fridge.
Don stared dumbly at the immaculate counter and then back to Loki, several times before he managed to speak.
“Was that…”
“Magic,” Loki murmured, “I don’t know if the media managed to capture any of my exterrestrial talents on the midgardian news.”
A bewildered laugh bubbled out of Don’s chest and he propped his hands on his hips, regarding Loki with a stunned expression. Loki had been half-convinced that the use of his seidr might have finally frightened the man away but Don looked…amazed.
“You’re really something,” Don said, “Funny as well. And I don’t think you know that.”
Loki felt the muscles of his face pull. Before he could register it, he was giving Don a full, bright smile.
“Can your magic cut grass too?” Don chuckled.
“If I’m so inclined,” Loki smirked, “I’m sure it can.”
“Maybe I’ll consider mapping out how you can ‘earn your keep’ then,” Don smiled back, “Considering I own the house, there’s no need for rent.”
“Ah, flexing home ownership,” Loki said, “Now that’s very human.”
Don used his index finger to slide the plate closer to Loki.
“Eat up, space man,” he said kindly.

…

Don kept an eye on Loki as the sorcerer napped on his sofa, face hidden in the crook of his elbow.
He passed by a couple of times, noting that Loki still had cuts and the odd bruise on his face from New York.
He was markedly calmer, resting, his breaths slow and even.
Don considered him quietly, feeling a gentle peace at his decision. Loki looked entirely different to the man on the news. He looked far more human.
Don smiled to himself.
Delicately, he tucked his crochet blanket over Loki’s curled up form and an eye cracked open sleepily, alert even in slumber.
“Are you okay?” Don murmured, hand paused where he had been releasing the blanket.
“Mhm,” Loki replied, his eye falling closed again.
Don’s smile grew and he gave Loki’s shoulder a light pat. Loki murmured something unintelligible and sighed, deflating like the stress was being drained from his body.
“You’re okay,” Don whispered.

…

Avengers Tower

“What am I looking at here?!”
Tony Stark threw his hands up, pacing around the table that was scattered with papers. Bruce Banner rubbed at his temples, exhaustion rolling off of him in waves whilst Natasha Romanov dutifully scanned the pages.
Steve Rogers and Thor Odinson spoke in hushed, rushed tones that betrayed palpable levels of stress. Steve, the calmer one, patted Thor on the shoulder.
“Traces of the tesseract,” Natasha sighed, “It’s somewhere in America, but we’re struggling to pin it down.”
“Well he can’t have gotten far then, if the tesseract is still on Earth,” Tony began to pace like a caged beast, “Which is great news for us of course.”
“You need to sit down, Tony,” Bruce said tensely.
“I don’t have the goddamn time to sit down when we have a megalomaniac loose on Earth and the entire weight of the American media bearing down on us like flies descending onto shit,” Tony said.
“He’s right,” Clint appeared with a steaming mug of tea, “You only just survived Thor shocking your heart back on. Sit.”
Tony threw himself down into the chair beside Natasha, scraping a hand across his sweating brow.
“Don’t even think of messaging Pepper,” he jabbed an accusatory finger at Bruce, “I’m fine.”
Bruce held his hands up.
“You need to stop blaming yourself,” Natasha levelled her kind, cool eyes onto Bruce, “It wasn’t something we could’ve predicted. We don’t know why Tony’s heart malfunctioned.”
“Yeah, but it can’t have helped that the big green guy had a meltdown over a set of stairs…”
“Bruce, it’s done. Forget it,” Tony waved a hand, his voice taking on a milder tone, “We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
Steve and Thor joined them at the table, Thor’s aura pulsating with angst.
“My brother will be a tricky one to catch,” he huffed, “He’s probably using all manner of trickery to blend in and escape justice.”
“Can your people help? Can we theoretically ‘call in the troops’?” Tony asked him.
Natasha, Clint, Steve and Bruce all looked at Thor expectantly. The God of Thunder shook his head.
“I think it’s best if we keep Asgardian presence to a minimum,” he said, “Loki has done enough damage to the reputation of our people; I can’t imagine we should expect mortals to take kindly to more of us.”
Natasha regarded him sadly and he looked away. In her mind, she considered her own family’s checkered past and her own wrongdoings.
“My brother is my responsibility,” Thor pushed his shoulders back, “So the hunt for him is my burden to bear.”
“You’re not doing this alone,” Steve interjected, “Family…is a tricky topic. You can’t be expected to handle this all by yourself.”
“So what are we doing then?” Tony sighed softly, “Because Nick Fury has been absolutely blowing up my line.”
“First we track the tesseract to a state, and then we go from there,” Clint offered, “We have to have a specified area to at least start making calls before we mobilise.”
“Let’s just hope he’s not causing more chaos while we work,” Natasha sighed.

…

Ohio

Tucked up on an old sofa, clothed in a human’s spare shirt and joggers, and buried under a crochet throw, Loki Laufeyson had the best sleep he had managed in years.
His slumber was dreamless, other than a small glimpse of what he thought was a familiar voice, gently asking him something he couldn’t unpick through the gentle darkness of a nightmare-free rest.
He hummed to himself, paying no mind to the bleary image of grey hair and blue fleece and returned to the quiet embrace of sleep.