Cut Ch9: Feral Loki

“Loki, my sweet sibling, not that I am not delighted to see you after so very long, but it is hardly dawn,” Bryn said in her native Asgardian as she sat up, sleep mused, in her bed.

She rubbed the crust from her eyes as her senses gradually came to her. Loki sat very still at the end of her bed in naught but the long-sleeved tunic she had left in Tony’s room the night before. He reeked of sex and mixed scents, but underlining that was a fear and panic and aggression unusual for him, and—most worryingly of all—she could feel the chaotic hum of his seiðr. It felt frantic, unfocused, as if it would lash out at the slightest provocation.

“Loki?” she said more softly, crawling towards him, reaching out.

He flinched at her touch and snarled, spinning about on his knees to face her. One of his eyes was a deeper blue than the other, but both held a strange amber sheen to them. She had noticed it in the meeting, thought it an affect of Tony’s blood. Now she wasn’t so sure. Those eyes didn’t seem to recognize her.

Bryn bit her bottom lip and cursed her blood. Despite having Jötun ancestry, she was only a quarter and could not make the soothing sounds necessary, nor could she alter her scent, she merely had a sharper nose than other Asgardians. She tried to think. There were only two here able: Bruce, who was untrained and therefore unreliable, and Thor, whose history with Loki could push whatever this was negatively.

“Loki,” she tried again, this time speaking Jötish and keeping her hand low as she once again reached out. “It’s Brynhild, your elder sibling—your Brébré.”

Something in Loki seemed to click at the nickname, the familiarity between Jötun nestmates and their habit of forming a chirp-like name for their siblings: Lolo, Didi, Blybly. It had warmed Bryn’s heart when the trio had included her, gifting her the name Brébré, and pulling her into their furs whilst they were on a hunt in Jötunheimr.

Loki whined, low and distressed, but as soon as she touched him the sound turned into a vicious snarl, and Bryn found herself thrown from the bed. She rolled, crashing into the dresser, trinkets and crafts made by Eirlys falling to the floor.

“Miss. Bryn, do you require assistance?” JARVIS inquired.

Growling, Loki looked for the source of the voice.

“Lockdown my room, Yarvis, and have wizards send for Helblindi,” she managed to order before Loki sent out a pulse wave of seiðr that knocked out communications.

“JARVIS, what’s going on? I thought you said Bryn had it handled,” Tony said as he rushed through the upper floor of the penthouse and down to the first floor where Bryn’s room resided, currently locked down.

“A miscalculation, Sir,” JARVIS said in an unusually apologetic tone. “Mx. Loki has cut off my surveillance of the room, but before that, Miss. Bryn had me request Dr. Strange send for someone called Helblindi.”

“Who the fuck is that?” he asked, reaching the bottom of the stairs just as the elevator opened for Barton, Romanoff, Frigga, and Thor of all people to flood his home. “JARVIS, you’re slacking.”

“What’s going on?” Bruce asked, stepping out of his own room.

Tony sighed, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know.”

“Why has the Valkyrie sent for Helblindi?” Thor demanded as he led the invasion into Tony’s living room.

“I don’t know!” Tony’s shout was punctuated by a particularly harsh snarl from Bryn’s room and a heavy thud. Tony rushed to the door. “Loki? Bryn?”

There was a high-pitched whine followed by a crashing sound.

“K-keep talking,” Bryn grunted through the door.

“Loki, baby, what’s wrong?” Tony asked. Bruce came up beside him, his friend’s eyes looking a little acidic. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Does Hulk sense anything?”

“Pain and fear,” Bruce murmured, then let out a strange wobblily noise, almost like a croon. He blushed, surprised at himself.

A soft, broken keen replied, cut off by a low growl.

“Sweetheart, we’re here,” Tony said. “I’m here, and so is Brucie bear and your sister, Bryn.” He looked behind him, thought for a moment, then added, “Barton’s here too.”

“Hey, Boss!” Barton called out, moving to joint them at the door. “We got the door covered. You’re safe.”

“Well, it is easy to distinguish who is pack and who is not.”

The trio at the door spun around to face an easily seven-foot tall Jötun with sweeping, snow-white hair bedazzled in gems and metal beading, and a pair of thick, bull-like, black horns. With a wave of their hand, those who were still in Tony’s living room vanished in a glittering cloud of frosted periwinkle blue.

“You must be Helblindi,” Tony said, standing firm before the door.

The Jötun gave him a calculating look before bowing their head. “Indeed. I am Lolo’s first nestmate.” They paused. “Sibling, I believe is the term you use. Helblindi Fárbautabarn of Fárbauti Clan.” They took a deep breath. “And by your scent, you are their bondmate?”

Tony’s brows furrowed. “No? I’m Tony Stark, and this is Bruce Banner and Clint Barton.”

A snarl and another crash jarred the door, followed by Bryn shouted something in a language Tony didn’t know. Helblindi’s eyebrows shot up, then their eyebrows lowed as their eyes narrowed, glaring at Tony as Bryn continued through what sounded like an exhausting wrestling match within her room. Finally, they sighed as if exasperated.

“I see,” they said. “What a mess, but you three will have to make do. At least you’re marked.”

“Marked?” Barton asked.

“Lolo, whether consciously or not, it seems, has marked the three of you as packmates…” They looked between the three of them, then their eyes widened slightly. “You know nothing of the Jötnar, do you?”

“Not a thing,” Tony said.

Helblindi mumbled something that was clearly a curse. “The time for in depth explanation is later. I do not know current events, but BréBré’s brief tale is not good for any sírenu, let alone one who has been without pack or anchor for as long as Lolo. They are on the cusps of going feral and need to be stabilized. Where is their nest?”

There was a heavy pause, then Tony said, “They don’t have one. Loki showed up a few days ago from who the fuck knows what torture. The house we used to live in the last time they were here got destroyed about fifteen years ago.”

“Fifteen years? So, your mating is not recent?”

 Tony blushed and shook his head. “We’ve a daughter, but Loki doesn’t really remember. Their mind’s been fucked with.”

“The situation is more critical than I imagined,” Helblindi murmured as there was a harsh thud against the door, cracking it.

“Any time guys!” Bryn croaked.

“Very well, Barton and Banner, bring Stark’s and the cub’s bedding to the open room over there,” they pointed to the living room. “Do not yet bring the cub, wait until we have calmed Lolo.”

The two nodded, then rushed upstairs.

“Stark, we are going to enter the room. As nestmates BréBré and I can help calm Lolo, but you must bring them to submission.”

Tony gapped. “Why me?”

Helblindi bent low to be at eyelevel. Their crimson eyes hard and piercing. “Because you are the one with my elder sibling’s cum scent staining your skin.” They snapped their teeth and stood to their full height. “Do not think of this as a domination, but as a sírenu’s test that their mate is strong enough to protect them, even from themselves.”

And with that, Helblindi grabbed Tony by the bicep and walked him through the locked door. The room was utterly annihilated, furniture cracked and broken, as Loki and Bryn wrestled and scratched at each other like wild animals. Bryn was covered in blood and bruises, but still looked in better shape than Loki, who had opened up their wounds from yesterday. Yet, that wasn’t what consumed Tony’s notice—it was Loki’s right eye, which was the electric blue of the scepter’s hold.

“Shit,” Tony cursed, grabbing a piece of broken furniture and, before anyone could stop him, whacked Loki in the side of the head with it. Loki’s head snapped to the side, followed by the rest of their body as they dropped unconscious onto the bed.

“Stark!” Helblindi snarled as Bryn cried out “I kill you!”

But Tony just threw the door open and rushed for the room. “JARVIS, is the scepter still active?”

“It has continued to admit a low frequency since it’s installment in your vault, Sir,” JARVIS informed him as he took the elevator down to his workshop.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Your priorities were on Mx. Loki and the children, and did not inquire about the scepter or Tesseract.”

“Yeah, well, next time we’re housing hostile weapons, make sure to note if they’re still fucking on!” Tony spat, jumping out of the elevator as soon as the doors were wide enough and zooming across his workshop.

He had a top-of-the-line vault of his own creation installed in the very back where he stored projects he didn’t want anyone gaining access too, old arc reactors, Eirlys’s paperwork—and now alien weapons. He sped through the various security procedures as quickly as possible and finally made it into the vault that only he and JARVIS had access to, and skidded to a halt before the scepter that was sat on a bench glowing faintly.

Not knowing what else to do, Tony picked it up, feeling a strange prickling in his hand, and smashed the crystal portion of the scepter against the edge of the table. A wave of power ricocheted through the room, slamming him into one of the cabinets and knocking down deadened arc reactors from old suits.

Tony shook his head, feeling something warm and wet running down his temple. “JARVIS?”

“The scepter is no longer producing any kind of energy signal, Sir.”

Sighing in relief, Tony went to stand, and his hand came into contact with a small, yellow stone. It was warm to the touch, and when Tony picked it up his own racing thoughts quieted. Frowning, he set it on the table.

“J, scan it.”

There was a pause, then JARVIS said, “It is admitting a low energy signature. There are initial similarities to the scepter’s, but it is a different one as a whole.”

Tony moved it to a lockbox and placed it on a shelf in the vault a few feet away from the Tesseract. “Keep an eye on it, J. If it does anything remotely funny, I want to know. Otherwise, we’ll look into it later.”

“Of course, Sir.”

After locking his vault back up, Tony took a moment to just sit and breath, because—Fuck. He ran a hand through his hair, uncaring that he smeared the drying blood from his temple. He was exhausted and he hadn’t even been up an hour. Shit, he hadn’t even had a goddamn cup of coffee yet. He looked across the workshop at the coffee pot, contemplated making a pot.

The elevator dinged, drawing his attention to the Jötun that had to bend to exit it. Despite their earlier growl, Helblindi seemed calm and serene now.

“Your specter child has informed us of the situation and what you have done,” Helblindi said, walking through the workshop with such elegance it was as if they were floating.

Tony’s brow furrowed. “Specter? You mean JARVIS?”

They nodded and then gestured to the nearest chair. “May I?”

“Go ahead,” Tony said with a sigh.

Helblindi’s lips twitched as if to smile as they sat and looked at him. “You are preparing for a scolding. Be gladdened that BréBré sent for me and not BlyBly. It will not come. A berserkur’s rage knows no bounds, but the ísblóði are always tempered by the sea.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Which is why I have suffered your cramped little box and made my way down to your lair.”

“Just tell me if Loki is alright?” Tony said as he got up and went about working his coffee machine. The strange way Helblindi spoke required coffee, lots and lots of coffee.

“Asleep, for the moment,” they said, watching him. “What do you brew?”

“Coffee. It’s delicious. Helps me think. Want a cup?”

“A Midgardian delicacy? I shall try it.”

There were a few moments of silence as Tony went about fixing two cups. The only conversation being if Helblindi liked things sweet or bitter, and Tony ended up leaving the Jötun’s coffee black. Once they were both armed with steaming cups, Tony retook his seat.

“This is indeed delicious,” Helblindi decided quietly after a moment.

“Probably the best thing Earth produces,” Tony proclaimed.

“Why do you call it that? Earth. Is it not extremely bias? Is earth not your word for land, for soil, dirt. What of the beings of air or water?”

Tony thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Suppose you have a point. What does Miðgarðr mean anyway?”

“It is a reference to your position within the Nine. You are in the middle. Miðgarðr has often been seen as a crucial gateway between the upper and lower realms, and whomever holds power over it reigns supreme.”

“Why’s that?”

“A fault in the Bifrost,” Helblindi revealed easily enough. “The upper realms—Ásgarðr, Vanaheimr, Álfheimr—hold all the might, the armies and technologies, but the lower realms—Jötunheimr, Múspellsheimr, Niðavellir, Svartalfheimr, and Niflheimr—well, we have all the rare resources and metals required for such things. And Miðgarðr? Miðgarðr is the connection point. The Bifrost must land, even for the briefest of moments, in Miðgarðr to move from the upper to lower or visa versa.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Why tell me this? Why let me know how important we are?”

“Because it is my understanding that Lolo has made you Regent of Miðgarðr, and they have done much over the centuries to keep you free of Óðinn’s tyranny, to allow this realm to grow and evolve as it chooses. Now, it is up to you to either continue in your ignorant neutrality or rise to stand beside your protector.”

Tony tilted his head. There was something about Helblindi’s tone that made it seem like there was a double meaning to their words. “This isn’t what you originally came to talk to me about,” he said instead, finishing his coffee. “Want another cup?”

“Yes, please.”

Tony took their cups to refill them.

“And you are correct. My elder sibling is proud and ill, and Brynhild, though much loved and accepted in our nest, is not fully learned in our ways. My younger sibling is our clan’s laird, and I am needed at home to keep their temperament cooled, so I regretfully cannot remain. Therefore, you must learn and advise this wayward pack of misfits accordingly if Lolo is to have hope of recovery.”

He returned with the cups. “What about Frigga?”

It was slight, but for a moment Helblindi let a small growl slip out. They took a deep breath and blew on their coffee. “My aunt may be well meaning, in her own way, but never forget that she is Vanir-born and has lived the majority of her life in the luxury of Ásgarðr.”

Tony frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“Loki’s mamma, my sire, Laufey, sent them to Ásgarðr when they were barely over five hundred and a half moon-lives—comparatively a six- or seven-year-old to a Midgardian—alone, all because of a vision from the Norns when we were on the cusps of war with Ásgarðr, our greatest enemy.

‘Laufey and Frigga are sisters, raised upon the same culture, the same ways and traditions—ways and traditions that are not very different from that of Ásgarðr. Now, if one sister is willing to sell her child thusly, what do you think the other will do for the same goal? Supposed freedom from Ásgarðr that they are too cowardly to take for themselves.”

Sighing, Tony set his coffee down. He rubbed his jaw, frustrated. Upset. Was anyone going to tell him anything good about Loki’s life?

Helblindi set their cup down too. “This is not what I wished to discuss, however.” They took a deep breath and sighed heavily. “Let us save the sinister plots for Loki to unweave, they always favoured knotwork more than I.” They gave him a small smile. “I came down here to talk of the Jötun Temperament or Nature, it has also been referred to as our dynamics, but I feel that word less fitting. You have, no doubt, been informed of our reproductive singularity?”

“That you’re all of one reproductive gender that can both sire and bear? Yeah, I know that much,” Tony said, retaking up his coffee.

They nodded. “Indeed. Yet, we are not all the same. Other realms and species attempt to force biases upon us and our ways, but though there are differences between the three temperaments that I will tell you about, the Jötnar do not discriminate between them. Each has their purpose to the clans’ overall survival, and no singular temperament outranks or is better than another. We balance each other out. That is the way Ymir made us.”

They paused to sip their coffee. “You have likely heard the term ‘berserker’ as a vulgar slur to a mindless, raging beast, but to the Jötnar a berserkur is an honourable warrior whose blood heats quickly and fiercely, giving them strength in battle to defend their clan and survive the harshest of blizzards. They are the largest among us, physically powerful, and have the least capacity for seiðr—and yes, they do tend to have hotblooded temperaments when they feel their clan, but especially their pack or bondmate, is threatened.

‘Their opposite are those, such as myself, the ísblóði. Our physical strength and seidr capacity is relatively average, but we are known for levelheadedness and being extremely logical. The ísblóði make up the majority of the Jötnar population, and it is because of us that there is a myth of frostbite with a single touch of Jötun skin. Our body temperatures tend to run significantly cooler compared to our berserkur siblings.

‘The temperament you need to be most aware of is the sírenu. Loki’s nature. Sírenu are rare, extremely capable in seiðr, and more likely to become feral outside of a pack. They are sacred to our fólk, treasured, cherished. A sírenu must feel loved, needed, wanted, safe, otherwise they will spiral out of control and destroy everything.”

Tony’s brow furrowed, his thoughts moving quickly as he began moving pieces into place. “When you say destroy everything…?”

“I am not ignorant of your Midgardian bombs, Tony Stark, and I can assure you that a normal sírenu would be the equivalent.”

“And someone of Loki’s caliber?” he said slowly.

“Planetary destruction.” Helblindi sipped their coffee casually, as if they did not just drop an atomic bomb in Tony’s lap. “Or Ragnarök, which ever you prefer.”

Wait.

More pieces clicked into place.

“JARVIS, according to our mythology, who causes Ragnarök?”

“Would you like the simple or complex answer, Sir?”

“Just give me a name, J,” he snapped.

“Loki.”

Tony’s shoulders fell as understanding dawned on him. Laufey had seen Ragnarök, and had sent her own child as a living bomb to Ásgarðr in the hopes of destroying Óðinn, hadn’t she? What? Why? All because of some vision? Because some all powerful being told her to?

“Religion is a terrifying thing, is it not?” Helblindi murmured, finishing their coffee.

Tony gritted his teeth. “And who do the Jötnar worship?”

“We thank Ymir for our creation and make our own damn way,” they said, setting their cup down firmly and standing. “Loki is powerful, smart, stubborn, and strong willed. They are a survivor, the best of us all, and you will have to be equal to that if you wish to become their bondmate and anchor. If you are not up for challenge, then stand down and find someone who is, and quickly. I know not how much time my elder sibling has.”

“I failed Loki once, I won’t do it again,” Tony said, standing to meet Helblindi’s hard gaze—a difficult task considering the Jötun had two feet on him, but Tony didn’t back down from the challenge.

“Good, then get your arse upstairs and into that nest,” they said in a low, unheated growl, a smile playing on their lips.

Cut Ch9: Macabre Loki

“Loki, elsku systkini mín, ekki það að ég sé ekki ánægður að sjá þig eftir svona langan tíma, en það er varla dögun.”

The familiar words washed over Loki. They tilted their head, looking at the woman on the other side of the bed as she rubbed crust from her dark eyes—the golden chestnut hair, tattoo and scar-covered skin. They took a deep breath, scenting the air, tasting it on their tongue. She smelled of leathers and metals, comforting, safe… yet her words, her words were Asgardian. Pain. Evil. Bad.

They hissed softly as they felt a pressure against their temple, closing their eyes.

“Lolo? It’s me, Brébré.”  

Chirp-chirp. Memories of childish giggles in a nest of furs, pelts, and overstuffed pillows; of running through jewel-coloured caverns and playing in shimmering hot springs; of dancing, of spinning round and round, as fast as they all could, until they tumbled into a tangle by the fire.

Loki trilled and chirped, scenting the air, yet they could not find the fresh evergreen or the salt of the midwinter sea that told them their nestmates were nearby. They whimpered, looked around, but their vision was unclear. The woman was close enough to distinguish, but not much more. The pressure became a sharp pain. Stabbing, digging deeper. Their whimper became a high-pitched whine.

Something dark appeared in their peripheral and they flinched, scattering off the nest. Pain shot through their body, and they collapsed with a yelp.

“Loki!”

The wooden floor vibrated as the woman jumped down beside them. Loki snarled, scurrying back, pressing themself against a corner of the room. Their limited vision swayed. Their mind felt heavy, thoughts becoming thick, slowed, but their instincts were still sharp. They bared their fangs. A low, warning growl rumbled in the back of their throat.

The woman’s eyes—blue Æsir eyes—widened, and she lowered herself until she was flush with the floor. “Yarvis, lockdown my room and have wizards send for Helblindi. Tell them Lolo’s feral.”

“Right away-”

With a rumbling snarl, a wave of deep sapphire seiðr shot out of Loki.

“JARVIS, what’s going on? I thought you said Bryn had it handled,” Tony said as he rushed through the upper floor of the penthouse and down to the first floor where Bryn’s room resided, currently locked down.

“A miscalculation, Sir,” JARVIS said in an unusually apologetic tone. “Mx. Loki has cut off my surveillance of the room, but before that, Ms. Bryn had me request Dr. Strange send for someone called Helblindi.”

“Who the fuck is that?” he asked, reaching the bottom of the stairs just as the elevator opened for Barton, Romanoff, Frigga, and Thor of all people to flood his home. “JARVIS, you’re slacking.”

“My apologies, Sir.”

“What’s going on?” Bruce asked, stepping out of his own room.

Tony sighed, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know.”

“Why has the Valkyrie sent for Helblindi?” Thor demanded as he led the invasion into Tony’s living room.

“I don’t know!” Tony’s shout was punctuated by a particularly harsh snarl from Bryn’s room and a heavy thud. Tony rushed to the door. “Loki? Bryn?”

There was a high-pitched whine followed by a crashing sound.

“Loki, baby, what’s wrong?” Tony asked. Bruce came up beside him, his friend’s eyes looking a little acidic. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Does Hulk sense anything?”

“Pain and fear,” Bruce murmured. He tilted his head, his brows crinkling. “And a hell of a lot of aggression.” He then let out a strange wobblily noise, almost like a croon. Bruce blushed, surprised at himself.

A soft, broken keen replied, cut off by a low growl.

“Sweetheart, we’re here,” Tony said. “I’m here, and so is Brucie bear.” He gestured to Bruce, who flushed more and made another weird animalistic noise.

There was a trilling coo and scratching low against the door. Tony knelt to be closer to it. “Loki? Baby, what’s wrong? Is Bryn in there with you?”

Several long inhales sounded close to the door, followed by a low growl.

“Stark, press your hand against the crack of the door,” Barton said as he knelt beside him. “Let them sniff you. Banner, you too.”

Tony arched a brow at the man, but did as instructed, Bruce following suit. The strange inhales repeated on the other side of the door.

“The circus had a pair of wolves,” Barton said by way of explanation. “Jötnar are supposed to have superior noses, right?”

A soft trill rung out on the other side of the door, followed by a whine.

“Happy,” Bruce murmured, “Distressed.”

The door rattled, then cracked, and with a harsh growl it splintered as it blew outward and the three of them fell backward, unconscious. Loki stood within the broken doorframe in Jötun form—but it was wrong, it lacked the power and majestic from before. Loki’s antlers were significantly smaller, tiny even, and their eyes… their eyes were not crimson, but electric blue speckled with a dark amber that was gradually becoming closer to the colour of rotted, drying blood.

“Brother, what ails you?” Thor asked, stepping forward.

Loki slowly turned to him, their gaze cold, uncaring, and their upper lip twitched in a low snarl, their breath showing in a whispered cloud of frost and ice.

Frigga came to Thor’s side. “Loki, dear-”

“Mommy?” Eirlys called out from stairs on the other side of the room.

With a sharp growl and a wave of their hand, Loki floated the three prone bodies up the stairs, then moved to block the path.

“Clint!” A redhaired woman rushed forward, but froze at Loki’s snarl. They snapped their teeth and bared their fangs. The woman raised her hands, palms up and lowered her gaze. Her scent was of fear and panic. “Please,” she said, “Don’t separate me from Clint.”

The words… they were not Asgardian, but they understood them. A Midgardian language. The pressure in their mind was painful, but they knew, somehow, they knew Miðgarðr to be safe. They stepped forward, towering over the tiny Midgardian woman, and parted their lips, allowing their cool breath to wash over her as they scented the air. She shivered with gooseflesh but did not back down. This woman was strong, a warrior, smelling of gunpowder and spice, yet there was an undertone of something floral and soft to her, but most importantly she carried the scent of cedar and pine and sugared sweets, of the one their mind claimed Hawk. Mates perhaps?

They held out their clawed hand, palm up. The woman looked at it for a moment before placing her hand upon theirs. They pursed their lips, then corrected her mistake, turning her hand so that her palm faced up, before leaning down and nipping the fat of her palm, drawing blood. She hissed, but did not pull away as they gave her a temporary Mark, allowing a bit of their seiðr to brand her skin.

“Brother-”

“I am not your brother!” they roared, forcing their voice to come out, rough and guttural, as they pulled their newest packmate behind them. Ice formed along the floor and walls.

“Loki, my son-”

Loki snapped their teeth. “And I am not your son, Æsir.”

The pair of Æsir looked upon them with wide, shocked eyes. Loki stomped their bare foot upon the ground, creating a thick wall of ice, cutting off the threat to their pack.

“Mommy?”

They turned and scooped up their cub with a soft, purring trill. Scenting her, they nuzzled her neck, chin, and hair. They could feel her tiny fingers running through their own locks in a returning pet. Protect. They must protect their barn, their pack, protect what was theirs.

“Mommy, is everything okay? Is Daddy okay?” their cub asked, then repeated the question in Jötish.

Loki closed their eyes at the sound of the words. Jötish spoke of safety, of home, of clan. Yes, they would take their pack to Jötunheimr. They would take them home.

“They’re alive, just unconscious,” Red said, she was knelt next to her mate, checking each of their pack over in turn. Her movements were sharp and efficient. Loki approved.

“Mx. Loki, may I ask-”

Loki growled and ice covered the surrounding surfaces, the walls, ceiling, and floor. They did not trust the voice they could not place. It was too similar to the Norns and, therefore, dangerous, a threat they would not allow.

“So, what’s the plan, Loki?” Red asked.

They kissed their cub’s temple and looked around. Jötunheimr was their preference, especially with the pressure in their head and the uneasy feeling beneath their skin, but they did not have enough seiðr to transport their whole pack, and no one was getting left behind.

There was a banging on the ice wall behind them, where they had left the Æsir. They snarled softly at the attempt, knowing the wall was thick, it would hold. Yet, they still let their seiðr fortify the wall even more, let it cover the remainder of the rooms, securing everything.

“Make nest,” Loki said, finding words more difficult than they should be. “Rest.”

“Alright, let’s get to it.”

*    *    *

An infant’s gurgles, bright blue eyes, and a crippled form. Yet, she holds him dearly, singing a sweet lullaby.

Tony awoke slowly. The tender image gradual to fade from his aching head. He blinked a few times to clear his vision. The bed he was in felt like his, soft and broken in just right, but the room was foreign, covered in glistening ice and snow. The bed was unexpectedly full too. Practically buried under a mound of furs and blankets, Tony found himself snuggled against Barton, with Eirlys nestled between himself and Bruce. What the hell was going on?

“JARVIS?” he called out.

“He’s been blocked,” Romanoff said, and Tony sprung up to find her sat on the bottom of the bed.

“Blocked?”

“Loki froze all the speakers and cameras.”

Tony frowned and looked about the room, not spotting their resident Jötun.

“They’re not here. Stepped out maybe half an hour ago after determining this room was safe.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “Safe? From what? The Chitauri-”

Romanoff raised her hands to cut him off. “Not as far as I’m aware. However, something is obviously wrong with Loki. They’re eyes are blue, like before, but also flaked with an amberish brown colour that I noticed at the meeting yesterday.”

“The scepter, what happened to it?” he asked.

“Ms. Potts and Colonel Rhodes had it ‘secured,’ that’s all they would tell us, along with the Tesseract.”

That likely meant it was in his vault below the tower. Only Pepper and Tony had access to that, even JARVIS couldn’t open it without one of them physically present.

“My impression is that, whatever is going on in Loki’s head, their priority is the safety of those in this room,” Romanoff added.

Tony raised a brow at that. “Including you?”

She pursed her lips and showed a bite mark on her palm. “I had to persuade them and pass some sort of test, I think. They seemed particularly hostile toward Thor and Frigga, toward the concept of Æsir.”

“Alright. Bryn?” he asked, checking on his daughter. Eirlys appeared to merely be asleep.

“Haven’t seen her. She never came out of that room.”

“Shit, alright. I need to get to the scepter. I don’t know about the amber, it showed up after they first drank my blood, but we know that the link with the Other is through the scepter.”

“And how do you plan on doing that? Loki blocked the only path down with a solid wall of ice. Besides, they’re out there somewhere, and I doubt they’ll just let you go if they don’t think it’s safe.”

Tony smirked. “Who do you think designed this tower?”

Without waiting for her response, he slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake anyone—both Barton and Bruce had bandages on their heads. As soon as he was out from the furs he swore, it was fucking cold. How was Romanoff managing just sitting on top of the bed? Shit. Shivering, he caught the sweater Romanoff tossed as she gave him an unimpressed look.

“My mother was Italian; we’re built for warmer climates!” he griped, hurrying the sweater on as he made his way out of the room.

The hallway was even colder, covered in more snow and ice, darkening the windows and creating haunting shadows across the floor, and somewhere in the distance was an infuriatingly familiar drip… drip… drip… Did Loki have the same dream, the same nightmare? Had they shared once again? Had Tony somehow managed to dreamwalk unaided when Loki was caught in the throws of a tormented memory? Was that the trigger to all this?

Cautiously, Tony made his way through the upper floor of the penthouse. In the kitchen pantry there was a hatch to the roof. If he could make it there, perhaps he could use his phone to access JARVIS and therefore the wizards, and then have Strange portal him down to his workshop. Destroy the scepter and perhaps that would cut the link between Loki and the Other. It was his working theory for now, at least.

Stepping into the kitchen, Tony came to a halt. Risi had had such a love for the kitchen, always cooking and baking everything from scratch, loving the feeling of the ingredients in her hands. Loki stood at the island counter, still in only the tunic with the long sleeves rolled up, their long hair falling out of its plaiting as they rolled an oddly pinkish dough out that made a strange crunching sound with each pass. Slowly, Tony came around to the counter, careful not to step on any of the shattered dishes or splintered wood that littered the floor after Loki apparently annihilated his kitchen.

“Hey, sweetheart, whacha making?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light and steady as he noticed that Loki’s hands were bloodied and torn up from the broken glass rolled inside the dough.

Loki trilled softly. Their eyes were vacant yet filled with tears. “M-must feed cub.” They wiped the tears from their cheek, smearing blood across their pale blue skin. “Must provide.”

“You’re a good mama.”

Loki preened.

“I think that’s ready to bake, don’t you?” he asked, picking a pan off the floor and setting it on the counter. They nodded and set the bloody dough in the pan, then Tony put it in the oven. He started the timer, but never turned in oven on. “Forty-five minutes should do, what d’you think, hun?”

They hummed. Their bare feet stepping on shattered porcelain plates as they looked around the kitchen, their bloodied hands in front of them as they picked at their wounded palms. Tony watched them for a moment, watched as their eyebrow twitched and as their scepter blue eyes darted from one side of the room to the other.

“Babe, what is it?” he asked, taking a step closer.  

Closing their eyes, they touched their right temple, and hissed, “Hurts.”

“Your head?” Another step.

“Pressure.”

Tony stood beside them now. “Baby, do you want to go down to my lab? JARVIS and I can scan you-”

Loki growled, their eyes opening in a narrow glare, the pupils covered in that strange amber sheen, but Romanoff was right, it was darker, a reddish brown, like rotted blood. Instead of backing off, Tony stepped closer, running his hands soothingly up and down Loki’s biceps.

“Shh, it’s alright. We’re not going to hurt you, Loki.”

They bared their impressive fangs despite leaning into his touch, snarling.

“Do you not like JARVIS?” he asked. “He’s my son, like your Fenrir.”

The snarl cut off. Loki’s eyebrows furrowed and their bottom lip lowered in a cute little pout.

“I created him,” Tony continued, then gestured to one of the frozen speakers in the ceiling. “He doesn’t have a physical body, but speaks and sees through the devices I’ve installed throughout the tower and in my other electronics. He’s called an artificial intelligence, AI for short.”

“Have… have I hurt him?” Loki asked in a preciously small voice.

Tony shook his head. “No, just blocked him from accessing these rooms.”

Loki looked up at JARVIS’s devices hidden throughout the room. They were placed strategically so that JARVIS had zero blind spots within the tower, including in Tony’s personal quarters—even bathrooms. Some might call him paranoid, but after Obie and the Ten Rings, Tony had had too many encounters to take any risks, especially with Eirlys. Tony could respect privacy, but that didn’t mean an AI had to.

“He…” Loki bit their bottom lip, hesitant.

“What is it?” Tony asked gently.

They bent low and whispered, “He is not with the Norns?”

Tony shook his head. “No, only atheists and Midgardians here.”

“I cannot fight it much longer,” they said, stepping away from Tony, the broken dishes crunching under their feet. “You said I’m a good mamma?”

Tony frowned. “The very best.”

They ran their hand along their lower stomach, where that jagged scar was hidden by their tunic. “Sif is a lucky woman.”

“Who’s Sif?”