Notes: I LOVE JACK ATLAS: I'm glad I didn't disappoint!

Serpent Prince: You flatter me(: Thanks for reading.

ratchetsfangirl: ah, well, I hope I didn't disappoint with the Thor curiosity here, and I'm privy to Cap and Loki confrontations as well(;

So. This chapter wasn't exactly what I had planned on it being, but I mulled over it for a very long time until this came out. It turned out to really be somewhat of the world's longest interlude between chapters to allow me to gather thoughts on the continuation of the actual plot line. With school having started and all of that fun stuff, it gets hard for me to sit and write out chapters and thoroughly think over plotlines and the likes. Hopefully this doesn't disappoint anybody(;

"Is this what you call a family?"

The room crackled with a heated energy still resonating from the elder god's hammer.

Loki managed to keep his face painted with delicate colors of apathy despite the rapid increase in heart rate. Despite how he presses himself harshly in to the back of the couch as if that would add distance between the two. Despite the sudden anxious pain that washes over his joints, muscles twitching against the instinct to flee. He wraps slender fingers protectively around the kitten's midsection, feeling as the feline digs its claws in to his thigh. He pulls it closer to his torso as it emits a low hiss towards the fairer. For a fleeting moment, he smiles inwardly at the small animal's preference.

Thor continues forward, his face contorted in some sort of vile mixture of pain and rage. The trickster fights the urge to flinch against it, pulling his lips thin against his pale face. Instead, he lifts one dark eyebrow towards his not-brother in response to his shouting.

"A talented liar, indeed!" Thor practically spits at him, posture tense and shoulders squared as he moved closer to the couch.

The edge of Loki's lip lifted just barely, breaking his façade of apathy to allow a bit of disgust to seep through, reminders of Asgard sliding through his mind like a flip book or a stop motion film – jagged and disorienting and oh-so-slow. Of the Odinsleep. Of Frigga's misplaced belief and heart shattering realization. Of his patricide and attempted genocide. "So I've been told."

"Do you take me for a fool?" Thor's voice cracked just lightly against his boiling anger. His hand gripped tightly against Mjolnir, knuckles white from the force as he stared down the younger.

Loki tilted his head to the side slightly in mock consideration, curling his brow as if to reply a curt yes. His self preservation, on the other hand, instructed him to keep his mouth closed.

His lack of response clearly only served as a barb to the thunderer. "You come to Midgard to feign repentance and earn the trust of me – of us – by spinning well constructed lies with your silver tongue! And to think, brother, I thought you changed. All the while an elaborate ruse to keep Asgard's heir from realizing the Mad Titan wreaks havoc upon his land!"

Through years of schooling his emotions in to complacency, of being able to hide his inner turmoil even to himself, the words shouldn't have struck such a sharp chord as they hit his ears. Asgard – the only place he'd dared call home. Where he was raised, and where, later, his overwhelming need to prove that he was not more a stranger than Thor, led him to attempt to exterminate an entire race for this place to which he was so deeply rooted.

He tried to open his mouth, to speak protest to the god before him, but found his tongue once more stilled by the curb-plate of his bridle. His bright eyes widened, bringing pale hands to his face, slender fingers curling around and clawing at the muzzle in an attempt to remove it from his form. An unquenchable and sudden fear rose up through his being, his hands involuntarily shaking as his desperation heightened. He could feel his body shrinking in around him, as if once more becoming a small child beneath the lumbering thunderer. He looked up through dark lashes, watching the god that towered largely above him, his shadow looming overhead, casting dark, menacing, angular patterns along the otherwise bland walls. He could feel his breath catch in his throat, chest rising and falling rapidly as he scrambled backward in an attempt to find his not-brother's gaze; the room now seemed overly small, shrinking around them as the red and blue clad being's body curled up, serpent-like, around the ceiling to accommodate itself to the ever shrinking space, dirty blond hair hanging around his darkly shaded face in strings. There was a sharp howl of malicious laughter as Loki found himself stumbling backwards, landing not-so-gently on his back, brows furrowing a bit in discomfort. Starting faintly, then becoming steadily louder, Loki could identify the sound of clinking chains, the metal heavy against the stone floor. He slid himself away from his not-brother's distorted figure, rolling on to his side like some kind of animal. He tried desperately to slide away, to turn himself over, to remove himself, but to no avail, feeling the pinching metal close definitively over his wrists and ankles, pulling him at an angle until he was no longer on his side in an attempt to get off of his feet, but was instead splayed against the floor, arms and legs stretched out to his sides, cuffs chained fast against his limbs, bridle tightening against his face.

He writhed against the floor, twisting his wrists and pulling as hard as he could against the chains, feeling as the warm blood once more graced his pale flesh. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to scream against the curb-plate of the bridle, only to find familiar barbs pressing against his tongue. He could feel the hot tears as the welled up in the corners of his eyes, and tried hard to hold them in, to blink them away, and to stay focused on the serpentine figure before him. He drew a shuddering breath through his nose, emerald eyes scanning the room for his not-brother's face. He was greeted once more with the sharp edge of that maniacal laughter that so closely attempted to resemble Thor's. There was more, though. A symphony of laughter, followed by heavy footsteps, grew ever closer to Loki's stationary form. The footsteps subsided, and the younger opened they eyes he didn't realize he had so steadfastly held shut. He was greeted with four plus his brother – Sif, Hogun, Fandral and Volstagg- their figures equally as distorted as his brothers as they glared down with him, malicious mirth evident in their gleaming eyes.

"Look at him."

"Writhing in pain. Giving up so easily."

"Trying to run away from his problems."

"Typical."

"I knew he could've never actually been my brother."

"Never be your equal."

"Not good enough."

"Too weak."

"Such a disgrace."

"Why did the All-Father pick you?"

"The runt of the litter."

"Not even your own father wanted you."

"Left you there to die."

"You should've died."

Loki looked around frantically; he looked around with a sorrowful anger, grinding his teeth as best he could. He tried to scream, the barbs of the curb-plate piercing in to his tongue. He cared not, the blood a welcome, coppery tang as it swirled in his mouth. The cuffs around his wrists and ankles bit in to flesh as his muscles tensed and his body arched in to the rage.

"Have we struck a nerve?"

More laughter from them. More screaming from Loki.

"Look at the weakling struggle."

He thrashed in an attempt to lash out at them, his slender fingers balling in to tight fists, nails digging in to palms. His anger-fueled shouting was growing in volume, now a dull roar behind the branks around his mouth. He attempted to throw himself at their continued taunts, his body momentarily leaving the ground, only to be restricted by the chains that pulled tighter, his body slamming in to the linoleum below once more.

"Disgusting."

"Unwanted."

"Unworthy."

"Bastard."

"A silvertongue and a lie-smith. A thief and a murderer. And outsider. You should've died in the icy halls of Jotunheim like you were meant to. The All-Father was a weak fool to take pity on such as you; you who are unworthy to walk in the same halls – nay, breathe the same breath – as the Aesir. You who are a vile waste of life, and you who were unwanted by even the lowest of monsters ––"

Loki allowed his screaming to die down as each word was driven in to the pulsing grey matter in his scull. He allowed his body to still, his senses to dull as each insult struck a chord His brows quirked just lightly, a combined feeling of sorrow and acceptance tapping at the nerve-endings in his body, allowing a numbness to take hold of his limbs as his not-brother spoke the unspoken truth that had lingered in the air for so long.

"— I will not be so weak as my predecessor."

Loki met his gaze, watching the piercing blue eyes for just a moment, his own green dulled over lazily as he watched Thor's hand tighten against his mighty hammer, drawing it from its hilt. He could feel his heart racing once more, but fought against the urge to scream, an unknown presence seeming to hold his shoulders with a soothing strength. His eyes followed to Thor's face as the hammer was brought above the blond's head, the stance lingering longer. Thor's lips broke in to a sinister smile, ever growing as his lips seemed to gruesomely split, the corners of the smile reaching to his ears, the flesh splitting open with a rotten, repulsive ripping noise to reveal rows and rows of crimson-stained, glittering teeth, much akin to a shark. Loki could feel his own eyes widen, and, against better judgment, he felt his bones rattle with another scream – a protest – as his not-brother brought the hammer down with a terrifying force upon his head.

Screaming. Tony could hear screaming of an unfamiliar variety. As an afterthought, he found it kind of sad that he had a variety of screaming he was used to. He sat up in his bed, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand; rubbing with a determined ferocity as he swung his legs over the side of his bed. The floor was cold against his bare feet, but he fought against his instinct to recoil, instead, he stood up and allowed his full weight to hold his feet against the cool tile. He shuffled forward, digging around until he found a pair of sweatpants to pull over his bar legs, not bothering with a shirt. Running a hand through his sloppy mane, he glanced towards the ceiling with his morning-hazed brown eyes, yawning, "Talk to me Jarvis."

The living room. There seems to be problems with Mr. Laufeyson, sir.

Tony just stared at him for a moment. Problems. Mr. Laufeyson. Screaming. He felt a frown tugging at his lips. "What the fuck…" he growled angrily, thrusting himself through the threshold of his room and in to the hallway. He moved determinedly, each step heavy as he hurriedly made his way towards the living room. The god had been here, what, a day? Two days, tops, and he was already doing what he did best. Tony would not hesitate to sic Bruce on him, not one bit.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting. Maybe it was Loki throwing furniture. Or perhaps he was expecting him to be stabbing Bruce, or throwing Steve from a window. Maybe he was even expecting Loki and Thor to be going at eachother on the balcony. But he can assure you that whatever it was that he was expecting he did not find.

What he did find was Loki and Steve, albeit a far cry from anyone being thrown from a window. Loki lay on the floor while Steve tried hard to hold him down, though he was doing somewhat of a botched job, the god throwing him heavily off balance every so often as he writhed next to the couch. Tony furrowed his brows, and began to move forward, catching Steve looking back at him with somewhat of a panic written on his features. Tony curled his brow, kneeling down next to Loki and taking hold of his left arm, pressing against the shoulder firmly to try and keep it to the ground. The combined efforts of the two seemed to do a better job at keeping him subdued, though his body still convulsed and rippled beneath them, staccatoed with screams. Tony placed his free hand against Loki's wrist, holding his arm out and away from his body, and leaning most of his own body weight against the god's side and upper arm via his knees.

"Do gods have seizures?" Tony questioned through gritted teeth as he adjusted the grip he had on the quaking being beneath him.

"I…I don't know." Steve drew in a deep breath and once more look at Tony, his brows knitting together in concern. "I'm not exactly an expert on god-like behavior."

Tony nodded, glancing back down at Loki, and then again to Steve, "And where is our resident specialist?"

"Thor? I couldn't find Thor. I looked, but I didn't want to leave him alone in case…" he glanced back down, another shout ripping from the god's lips. "In case anything happened."

Again, Tony agreed on that point. The wrath of Thor is not something he was looking forward to experiencing on this side of forever. "Right. And Banner?"

"I asked Jarvis to ask for him. He hasn't shown yet." Steve looked around, blond hair disheveling just slightly. "Obviously." He added at the end, for emphasis.

There was stillness for a moment, Steve watching Tony while Tony watched Loki, the tremors seeming to have subsided. Even after Loki seemed calm for a moment the two sat with their weight atop him, unsure of what to do now. Tony knew what he wanted to do; he knew what he needed to do. He needed to find Thor and get a medical history of their mischievous house guest here. He needed to find out if this was something that has happened before, or if this was perhaps some side-effect of some sort that the Avengers would find themselves headfirst in the ramifications of, because, really, they always find themselves with the short end of the stick with this guy.

After a moment, sure that they seizure – or whatever had just happened – was over, Tony once more rested his gaze in to Steve's. "Go find Banner," he finally sighed, glancing from Steve's blue eyes to the door behind him. He rolled his lips a bit, and then looked down once more to the god below him. He was sure there was something that Banner could do with this, be it providing something as simple as ibuprofen, or give some long winded expression about impending brain damage. Perhaps, somewhere, subconsciously, he wanted Bruce in the room in case Loki came up swinging, in which case the Hulk would be there for moral support.

Steve hesitated for a moment before he finally offered a nod, removing himself cautiously from where he was crouched beside the god's splayed out figure. There was another moment of hesitation in which he watched the quick rise and fall of Loki's chest, and then Tony, before he turned on his heel and headed towards the elevator that would take him to Banner's residential area.

Tony watched as the super soldier exited the room, and allowed his posture to slump a bit, glancing down at the Loki-skin rug that lay flat on his floor. He curled his brow at him, shaking his head just a bit, releasing his grip on his wrist in time for another tremor to writhe its way over the god, a muffled cry escaping his lips in the form of "No!" There was a sharp intake of breath on Loki's part, and then the god rolled on to his side, right arm wrapping around his midsection as he practically curled in on himself, head nudging hard against Tony's knees. If there was a single, muffled sob in to Tony's lap afterword, the man of Iron wasn't telling.