Chapter Text
As embarrassing as fainting could be to the usual individual with a healthy amount of dignity and self-worth, it did prove a valuable tool for entertainment and information to the average archangel unburdened by such restrictions. An unconscious body slumped in a heap on the ground of a dingy alley was hardly threatening. Most people, especially those who took the liberty of pronouncing themselves “heroes,” would react with pity to such as sight, and this was a fact Gabriel relied on with relish for quite a few of his “lessons.” However, there were also the occasional human dumpsters who see a limp body as an invitation, and too many times Gabriel had awoken tied down to a table, already minus a spleen and two kidneys. Those “lessons” usually then deteriorated into improv and were the most fun exercises by far. If someone takes three of your organs, isn’t it only fair you take three of theirs?
Therefore, when Gabriel awoke from his latest rendition of damsel in distress—now with gender bending for the modern audience, ‘cause male damsels are PC—he sent out a bit of his grace to assess the situation.
The sterile white setting was expected—white walls, white sheets, white rails on the bed—and the handcuffs binding him to each of the rails were also understandable to a certain degree. Unknown man equals unknown danger. Even the most kind of heart who would call for an ambulance at the sight of an injured stranger couldn’t and shouldn’t vouch for the stranger’s character or state of mind.
But the familiar blonde oaf fast asleep in a plastic chair that squeezed his massive figure in an unusual and fascinating embrace next to the bed was an unwelcome surprise. Yay for brotherly support, but WTF to the logistics of the situation. Thor was supposed to be in Asgard doing princely things, not pretzeled in Midgard.
Pushing his grace further out, Gabriel mentally groaned when he recognized the building he was in: Stark Tower, recently rebranded as Avengers Tower. Because he couldn’t be picked up by an average Joe. Nooo, the people his possessed meat sack had tried to annihilate found his injured meat sack in a shady alley and rescued (?) him. Now he was in their lair. He’d been caught. Odin was going to shit adorable kittens.
Gabriel opened his eyes and shifted slightly to look at Thor, then winced and clutched his side. Right. He’d been stabbed. As soon as he’d let his grace out it had taken care of the wound, but he could still feel the poison coursing through his veins. Whatever it was, neither his grace nor his magic wanted to go near it. He’d have to manually purge it out of his body once he escaped his audience. And that included both Thor and whoever had access to the half dozen cameras in the room, all pointing at him. Only one of them was obvious, but the hum of electricity permeating the entire tower wasn’t enough to drown out the other recording devices. Although the growing headache was starting to make him despise his divine hearing.
Just as Gabriel was calculating how to make a graceful exit without grace, the (white) door to the medical room slid open. A man with a familiar goatee walked in, shadowed by two figures so quiet and slick they must have been professional spies. One of their pairs of eyes was brown, not blue, and it was awesome.
Thor jumped awake at the entrances, his eyes immediately focusing on his brother.
“Loki! You’re awake! Thank the Norns, I thought—”
“Hold it, Tall, Blonde, Lightning On,” Goatee—Tony Stark, Iron Man, owner of the building they were in—held up his hand. Thor, surprisingly, sat back down and quieted. “Remember what we agreed? I do the talking; you do the puppy-dog eye thing. Otherwise, you can join Shield and Wings in the penalty box. No access to the fugitive. Capiche?”
After putting Thor so masterfully in his place, the wonderful human scoffed at the remaining plastic chairs, leaned against the rails of the bed, crossed his arms and turned to Gabriel. The angel held his breath, ready to be impressed.
“So Reindeer Games, before we get into the list of SHIELD-approved interrogation questions, which will probably warrant a change of scenery, I’ve gotta ask: what was with that B-rated horror film special effects reject that came out of you a few weeks ago? Couldn’t cut it in Hollywood so you went with an independent agency and ended up almost taking over the world? I mean really, black smoke? I’ve thrown up a lot of questionable substances in my time, but you took it to a whole new unnecessary level.”
Gabriel blinked slowly at the human. “You’re literally my spirit animal.”
“... Um, what? Is that an Asgardian thing?”
Shit. Wrong reality. Or time. It was hard to say how far the Internet culture had deteriorated at this point. It was a distinct possibility half of his vocabulary was unintelligible to them. Usually he took this into account when speaking, but now... “Yes. It’s specifically a sorcerer thing, so Thor wouldn’t know about it either. Yeah… yeah, that sounds good. Really believable. Totes true.”
Tony narrowed his eyes at the wounded god. “... Right. Okay. Next question. Why do you sound like a suburban teenage girl texting? I mean, the whole ye old dialect from before was kind of grating in a condescending, sexy way, but at least it made sense.”
“Uh-huh, sorry about that. I think the poison is still messing with me. Makes the personas hard to keep track of. Like, which Loki am I, ya know? Am I still a janitor, or did the Winchesters already figure out that disguise? All right, I’ll stop talking now.”
Thor frowned, latching onto the one thing he could discern from Gabriel’s ramblings. “You’ve been poisoned, brother? How did this happen? Who dared harm you!”
“Point Break, am I going to have to put you in time out?”
“But—”
“That’s enough, boys.” The red-haired spy—Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow—made her presence known. “As enlightening as this discussion may be, we should move it elsewhere. Loki seems healed for the most part; we’ll transfer him to an unoccupied room, preferably in the basement. This should be done in one of SHIELD’s interrogation rooms, but Steve and Sam already brought him here and I don’t want to move him more than necessary. Everyone alright with that?”
Although there was no dissension, no one immediately spoke up in agreement. Thor looked uncertainly at Tony, who looked displeased at the Widow but offered no alternative, and the other spy continued to stare blankly at Gabriel.
As the current God of Mischief and whatnot, Gabriel felt it his duty to end the silence.
“... So, my Asgardian articulation is sexy, huh?”
Tony twitched. “Sometimes nonsense just flows out of my mouth. It’s incurable.”
“No, no, I’m glad to know, really. Maybe one day I can work like an upstanding citizen. As a phone sex operator.”
“... I’d pay.”
“Shut up, Nat.”
“I’m uncomfortable with this line of conversation concerning my brother.”
“Bite me, Tony.”
“That’d cost extra.”
“Shut up, Reindeer Games. That isn’t even the right line of work and… just shut up. I need to go build something.”
Once the billionaire left, Gabriel decided to circumvent another awkward silence.
“I can be ready for an interrogation in, like, soon. Just need to use the washroom for a bit because Father knows how long I’ve been laying here.” Gabriel transformed the plastic chair on the side of the bed opposite from Thor into a wheeled office chair, broke the handcuffs, rolled himself onto the chair, and used his feet to push off the railings towards a door to what he assumed was a lavatory.
The Widow narrowed her gaze at Gabriel’s retreating form.
“Those cuffs are supposed to suspend magical abilities.”
Gabriel paused with his hand on the door. “Oh. Aww, that’s adorable. Really, cute. We’ll have to work on your defenses against magic, but this is an endearing first attempt.”
He opened the door, wheeled himself in, and then shut it behind him, leaving his brother, the Widow, and the still-silent second spy. The chair proved useful for the following three hours he spent bent over the toilet, expelling the poison from his body.