Avengers Fic: "Shadow Puppets" (Captain America, Loki, PG-13), 1/3
Hey, remember this story I was talking about writing all the way back in August? Well, it finally happened. Guess sometimes miracles really are possible.
Title: Shadow Puppets
Characters: Steve Rogers, Loki, Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Darcy Lewis, Agent Coulson, Thor, mention of others, original characters
Rating: PG-13 for violence, supernatural elements, mature themes, mention of child abuse
Length: 25,750 words
Notes: Set in the same universe as Kill all the pretty lies, Building a Playlist For a Friendship, and a burning in your heart. Even though it's not out for another month, this story is so AU for Avengers.
Summary: When Captain America meets a troubled young boy, he ends up seeking help from an unlikely source, a former enemy. But will Loki's aid be enough to solve the mystery? And is Steve going in over his head by trusting him?
Steve kept the shield at the ready half-raised in his arm, gloved fingers tight in the strap beneath it, breath coming heavy as he ran.
His footsteps made no sound where they hit against the alien terrain. All was an eerie void of silence, save for the huff of his breathing and the steady pounding of his heart in his ears. There was no hum of traffic, no call of wildlife, not a single noise to cut through the haze.
He didn’t try listening for the thing that followed him.
Steve made a swift path back through what passed for forest, zigzagging around thin toothpick trees, his boots finding easy purchase on the flat dry ground. He made his way higher, trying to head towards the direction he first came. He tried not to disturb the underbrush, what little there was, in order to avoid slowing himself down.
Here and there was a rumble behind him, a crash, as what pursued wasn’t nearly so careful.
He broke the last cover of trees. A glance around to survey his surroundings revealed nothing: he was alone - at least for the moment.
To his left was the way he’d originally come, terrain he was now familiar with but knew to be hazardous and slow-going. To his right was what looked like swampland, potentially easier to travel but at present still unknown.
Steve paused, trying to think.
Behind him there suddenly came a loud, gurgling roar.
He quickly made a choice and dashed right.
There was a mud-filled ditch at the outright that he leapt over. A thicket of plants was brushed out of the way with an easy motion from his shield.
There was a break in the trees and nothing in front of him but a stretch of dark brown muck. He took advantage of the opening to look back over his shoulder.
No sign of what was after him, but he knew it had to be there. It had no place else to be except-
His thoughts skidded and then slammed to an abrupt halt as the ground gave way beneath him. His breath broke in a half-voiced yell, startled, as he sank down up to nearly his armpits.
Wrong choice, he thought with grim, certain apprehension.
Steve tried to react quickly. He shrugged the shield up higher, onto his arm near his shoulder, and reached forward with both free hands trying to get purchase. But the dirt gave way beneath his fingers like clay.
He sucked in air slowly, carefully, knowing the worst thing he could do when faced with quicksand or a sinkhole was panic. But even though he was barely moving he could still feel himself sinking, the ground pulling him under bit by bit.
The earth was trembling; shaking, he realized, from the tread of the massive predator behind him as it approached its now trapped prey. Steve leaned forward, the side of his face pressed against the mud - the smell of it filled his nose and specks of it clung to his eyelashes as he stretched out one arm as far as it could go, fingers clawing desperately, futilely at ground they slid right through.
From somewhere overhead - nowhere and everywhere at once - came the sound of a mildly amused laugh.
Steve’s head jerked up, eyes searching even though he already expected to see nothing. In this, at least, he wasn’t disappointed.
“Loki!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, a mixture of demand and plea.
For a long moment he waited for the response that did not come as his thoughts raced, confused and angry and intense. What happened to my backup? What happened to covering me, if I needed it?
Just when he was starting to think there’d be no answer at all, there came a low murmur at his ear, filled with detached mirth.
“What’s the matter, Captain?” Loki’s voice asked. “I thought you trusted me.”
The beast was close enough now that Steve could hear each individual step as it stalked toward him, the heave of its breath; that he’d no doubt see it clearly if he cared to turn around.
The mud was sucking at his skin, dragging him down hard enough he was trapped. He wasn’t escaping this on his own. His arms felt heavy from fighting and he could barely move his covered legs at all. The soil caked his pores where it still lay against his face on one side.
Steve closed his eyes for just a moment, as he tried to remember how he’d gotten himself into this, how this whole thing had even began.
*
It was a quiet day at the base - which translated into meaning no current missions, no ongoing global catastrophes which required the team’s assistance, no big experiments they were needed on standby for when they went potentially horrifically wrong.
A reprieve was always a nice thing, once in a while, and best taken advantage of while the getting was good. But Steve hadn’t felt like making any plans. He figured he would just relax around the base, maybe work out or do some sketching.
Besides when he was with his teammates, or other people he’d met through SHIELD, he didn’t really go out much.
His not-plans were interrupted however by a surprise message from Agent Coulson.
Steve still hadn’t quite got a handle on texting, or really just about anything to do with his ‘cell phone’, but he could read ones he received easy enough. Like every communication he’d ever gotten from Coulson it was brief and to the point.
“Request meeting in 30 min. Lower level 4, corridor G. Will give details there.”
Steve frowned, puzzled, but he went without giving it a second thought. That level was for the science teams; Bruce’s lab was a few hallways over. But corridor G…if memory served, that was living quarters. Little spaces usually no bigger than a hotel room, where employees could stay overnight.
He found Coulson waiting for him at the end of the corridor, in the middle of the hall with hands folded in front of him. The agent’s own version of standing at attention.
Steve nodded in greeting and resisted the urge to give a salute.
“Captain,” Coulson greeted in his calm monotone, “thank you for arriving so promptly.”
Steve nodded again. “You wanted to see me?”
“I should start by saying this isn’t exactly official business.” Coulson shifted to one side a little, gesturing for Steve to move closer so he could speak more quietly. “It’s more of a personal favor, on behalf of someone who’s been a longstanding employee of the Initiative.”
Steve took a surreptitious glance around. No one appeared to be actively eavesdropping but there was the usual foot traffic. Gossip could fly pretty fast around the base. He followed Coulson’s lead.
“I’m listening.”
Coulson gave a slight motion with his head. Steve tracked the movement with his eyes and realized he indicated a middle-aged man with black hair and glasses, standing in front of a closed door a few feet down.
He wore the standard white coat and plastic badge of a SHIELD scientist, and had his head ducked with fingers pressed over his mouth. He looked anxious, like he was restraining himself from pacing the floor.
“Dr. Mitchell has been with our division since before it was even made public,” Coulson explained. “He’s with R&D. Hardly a mover and a shaker, but he does good work. All in all a commendable employee.”
“And right now he’s in trouble,” Steve guessed.
“Not him,” Coulson corrected, softly. “His son, Gregory. Eight years old, an only child; the doctor and his wife brought him to us after they ran out of other options.”
Steve froze. “What’s wrong with him?” A frown formed, even as his stomach tightened. “Just what exactly is it that I’m supposed to do here?”
“I think it’d probably be best if I let the doctor explain it himself,” was Coulson’s response to both questions, subdued and precise.
There was a request in there - unspoken, nonspecific, but a definite request all the same. Not an order. And somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind, he was aware he could take a pass on this, and Coulson would accept that and possibly never so much as think twice of it. That most people might not even blame him for choosing to not get involved.
Except for him it wasn’t about making a choice. Where he stood there was one answer.
Steve had never signed up to be a hero, in the war or after, but once he found himself in the part he took it seriously. And he knew that didn’t only mean fighting the big battles. It meant doing whatever he could, no matter how small.
He cleared his throat. “Sure,” he told Coulson. “I’ll talk to him.”
Coulson nodded and stepped aside.
As Steve walked towards Dr. Mitchell the man raised his head, it looked like meeting Coulson’s eyes quickly past Steve’s shoulder. Whatever he saw must have reassured him; his gaze shifted rapidly to meet Steve’s.
“Dr. Mitchell.” Not sure what else to do, Steve offered his hand for a shake.
“Captain Rogers. I…thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me.” The scientist briefly gripped Steve’s hand in both of his, a distracted and nervous but heartfelt gesture.
“Agent Coulson tells me there’s something you’d like to have my help with, involving your son,” Steve gently prompted. “He said you’d be able to tell me more details.”
“Yes.” Dr. Mitchell took a moment to compose himself before he continued to speak. His words were purposeful and adamant as he built to something. “Greggy…he’s a good boy. Always has been. Likes to play with other kids, likes to go outside…I can’t say he’s never gotten into a trouble, but he’s a little boy - no one would think to expect that. For the most part, he’s happy. Normal.” Dr. Mitchell’s expression turned stricken. “But the last month or so, something’s changed.”
Steve had been listening the whole time patiently, silent. “Go on.”
“He’s stopped eating. Stopped sleeping.” The scientist gave a hopeless shrug. “It’s like he’s done a complete one-eighty. He’s become so withdrawn. He hardly ever talks, and what little he does say…it never makes any sense to us. It’s like he’s pleading for help but we can’t understand from what. He cries all the time.” The man’s voice was becoming thick, strained like he was on the verge of tears himself. “A few weeks ago my wife noticed he was cutting himself - curling his fists so tight he was leaving marks with his fingernails.”
He stopped again to recompose himself. Steve didn’t do anything to hurry him.
“At first we hoped it was just some phase,” the father eventually managed, “but after that, we knew we needed to get some kind of help. We took him to see doctors, psychiatrists…”
The despairing expression on the man’s face made it clear it hadn’t done any good; that they were still without concrete answers.
“We were afraid someone might be…hurting him,” Dr. Mitchell said in a painful, specific way. “But there were no physical signs. And Greggy’s been asked if anyone’s ever touched him.” He moved his hands in a helpless gesture. “The people we took him to were completely at a loss to explain what’s causing all this.”
Ducking his head again he fiddled with his glasses, the action seeming like it was a distraction. “I finally brought him here because I know SHIELD has access to resources unlike anywhere else. They drew some blood to screen for genetic abnormalities, and an expert in child psychology is coming to look at him later this afternoon.”
The inside of Steve’s mouth had gone dry. He moved his tongue around to get some moisture surreptitiously as he could before he started to speak.
“I’m very sorry to hear about all this, Dr. Mitchell,” he told him, “but I have to admit, I still don’t understand the part where I come in. What is it that you think I can do to help?”
Dr. Mitchell gave a faint, subdued smile. “Ever since the team started showing up on TV regularly, my boy has always been a huge fan of the Avengers,” he explained with a note of brittle, silent laughter. It was the sound of a man who knew he was grasping at straws. “And Captain America is his favorite. He used to beg me to take him into work with me, just so he could meet you.”
Steve nodded in understanding. There was a familiar feeling in his chest - both touched and overwhelmed, the same way whenever he was reminded just how much he could mean to some people.
“You’re thinking there’s a chance that he might open up to me more than he did with anybody else.”
“At the very least, seeing you might cheer him up a bit,” the doctor added. “He could use it. I can’t remember that last time I’ve seen him smile.” Then as if suddenly afraid to hear the answer, he started to backtrack, “I know - I’m sure you’ve got a very busy schedule, and much more important things to do. I just hoped-”
“No,” Steve cut him off. “Don’t worry about it. Right now, doctor, there’s nothing more I’d rather do.” He met the man’s gaze with the most reassuring smile he could offer under the circumstances. Nodding toward the door behind them he asked, “This is the room he’s staying in?”
“Yes,” Dr. Mitchell replied, looking overcome with gratitude.
“I’ll be back in five.” When the doctor started to protest, surprised, Steve stopped him with a self-effacing sort of grin.
“Hey. Even for a fan, it’s not really meeting Captain American if he’s not in uniform, right?”
*
He had been to see sick kids before - cancer wards, disaster victims, children stuck in the hospital with no one to visit them for Christmas. Steve knew how to smile and talk to them in a way that’d be encouraging without seeming pitying. It was always nice to think he might’ve managed to cheer them up a little bit afterwards.
But you could get good at something without ever really getting used to seeing it. Little boys and girls as hurt as, or worse off than, injured men he’d fought alongside back in the day was no exception.
Gregory Mitchell didn’t have any broken limbs or beeping monitors hooked up to him. He was wearing pajamas his parents must have brought in with him, green and gray with dinosaurs. His hair was black like his father’s, a few stubborn cowlicks sticking up here and there. He had the pale pasty complexion of someone who’d been sick for a very long time, with chapped lips and puffy bags under his eyes.
He sat huddled in the middle of his tiny hospital bed. There was a band-aid inside his elbow where his blood had been drawn: patterned with the stars and stripes of Captain America’s shield.
Steve smiled at him gently from beneath his cowl. “Hey there. You must be Gregory.”
The boy gazed up at him silently for a beat.
“Are you really Captain America?” he asked at last in a warble. “Not just some guy dressed up like him, like the one that came to my friend Billy’s birthday party.”
Steve had to repress a chuckle, incongruous as it was.
“Uh huh,” he assured him. “I’m the real deal.” He reached for a nearby chair. “It’s nice to meet you, Gregory - or would you like me to call you Greggy instead? Your dad tells me that’s what you want everyone to call you.”
Greggy sucked in a breath, never taking his eyes off him. “Yeah.”
“He said, you’ve been asking him if you could meet me for a pretty long time now,” Steve added with a faint grin.
“I have all the action figures they put out of you. Even the special really cool one you have to send in the tags from the other boxes to get in the mail. Which means I had to get two different Hawkeyes. But that’s okay, because I traded one of the kids on my bus for two Twinkies and a bag of marbles.” Even with the cloud hanging over him the kid brightened as he discussed clearly a favorite subject. “And, once in art class I painted a picture of the time you fought the Armadillo, and the teacher put it on the middle of the board and gave me an extra sticker.”
“Wow, that’s really neat. You know, art was probably my favorite subject, way back when I was in school,” Steve told him. “What about you, do you like art a lot?”
Greggy’s face closed off again, and he shrugged, turning self-conscious. “It’s okay. I don’t…really like school a whole lot anymore.”
“Why not?”
Another shrug. “Just ‘cause.”
When that non-answer trailed off into silence it seemed like it was time to get to the heart of the matter. Steve shifted in the chair, trying to get himself comfortable; the suit was made for running and fighting in, not sitting down.
“Hey, you know, your dad also told me that you haven’t been feeling well lately. That he thinks there’s something bothering you.” He leaned forward, hands folding together as he gazed at the boy earnestly. “It sounds like he and your mom are really worried about you.”
The boy didn’t say anything in response. He hunched further in on himself and sucked in an uneasy, frightened breath. His eyes didn’t meet Steve’s. They didn’t even look in his direction.
“Greggy,” Steve tried again, firm as he could without being intimidating. “You know if you have a problem, your mom and dad can’t help you if they don’t know what it is, right? And that’s all they really want to do. Figure out what’s wrong, so they can make it better.”
The boy mumbled something, but Steve couldn’t catch it. He leaned forward a little. “What was that?” he asked gently.
“They can’t help me,” Greggy repeated. He kept gazing in the same direction before dropping his eyes downward as he hugged his arms across his chest. “None of these people they take me to can, either. They can’t see him. How can they make him go away if they don’t even know he’s there?”
Steve’s attention was already on him, undivided, but somehow this strange statement made him focus on him even more. “Who’s there, Greggy? Who are you talking about? Who’s scaring you?”
The boy lifted his head, staring into Steve’s eyes piteously as tears started to well. “The bad teddy bear,” he cried.
Steve took a quick glance around the room. There were no teddy bears; there wasn’t even anything bear-patterned or bear-shaped. He looked back at the boy with a concerned frown.
“What teddy bear?” he pressed. “What do you mean?”
“He’s always there,” Greggy moaned. “He says mean things to me, and he won’t leave me alone. I can’t make him stop no matter what I do or say. It only gets worse when the lights go out. And if I fall asleep, he makes my dreams scary.”
He looked up at his hero with begging and unhappiness written into every line of his small face. “Can you make him go away? Please? You stop bad things from happening all the time. So you can get rid of him, right?”
Steve set the back of his teeth as he tried to keep his expression from showing too much, even under his mask. I don’t think so. I don’t know. I’m not even sure what you’re talking about. I’m sorry.
No.
But even completely at a loss, he wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that be the answer. Not here. Not with a little kid. Not with someone who needed, was outright pleading for his help.
“I’ll do what I can, Greggy.” Tentative, he reached out a hand, and then with more assurance rested it on the boy’s shoulder. Gave him an encouraging squeeze. “I’m going to try to help you. I promise.”
Greggy sniffled and nodded but didn’t smile back at him. And even as he was trying so hard to project confidence onto the kid, Steve felt absolutely none.
Instead all he could do was wonder what he was getting himself into.
*
Hours later Steve still hadn’t changed out of his costume. He leaned against the wall in the corridor down from Gregory Mitchell’s room, cowl pulled back, watching Dr. Mitchell and his wife as they waited outside to hear what the child psychologist had to say. Waiting himself for - he didn’t know what.
But then, the Mitchells probably didn’t either.
Mrs. Mitchell was a short woman with light hair in curls that were coming undone. She’d taken her coat off and kept it folded in her arms, wrinkling it where she clung to it tightly.
Some parents, Steve had seen, would turn on each other when their child was in trouble, blaming each other so they’d have something to pin their fear and frustration on. The Mitchells seemed to be going in the opposite direction. They clutched at each other, staring at one other’s faces as if terrified to be alone.
There was the sound of footsteps from behind him. Steve didn’t care to look up, but then he heard Tony’s voice.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Hey Tony,” was Steve’s listless, automatic greeting. He never turned his head.
“I just got a new car. And, before you even say anything, here; let me show you a picture.” Tony moved so he was at Steve’s side, already raising one of his little electronic devices and tapping at the nonexistent buttons on its screen. “Believe me, you’ll understand why.”
“Show me later.”
“I’m serious, Steve, you gotta see this - sports car, of course, with a custom paint job and a convertible top. But what really makes this baby, is the engine. You know, I might even let you borrow it sometime. I mean that.”
“Tony…” Steve squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. “That’s nice and all. But right now I’m just really not in the mood.”
Tony dropped his hand, the carefree smugness from his face, and also the act. “I heard about the kid,” he told Steve, more somberly.
“Okay,” Steve said tiredly, because that didn’t really surprise him, “so what, you appointed yourself to come down and try to cheer me up?”
“Hypothetically. That was my best case scenario. I would’ve settled for being a distraction,” Tony replied without hesitation. Steve let out a breath, shoulders dropping. After eyeing him sideways for a moment, Tony continued, “So let me ask you something. Is it just that this one asked for you personally, that you’re getting yourself so worked up about this?”
“That’s part of it,” Steve muttered, trying to find the right words. He paused. “Have they gotten you to do any of the safety talks yet; going around to the schools-?”
“Uh, no,” Tony cut him off adamantly, flat. He gave a strained chuckle. “Kids…really aren’t my thing.”
“Well I’ve done them,” Steve replied.
“Yeah. I can see you doing that,” Tony remarked. “Warning all the elementary-schoolers to stay away from the hard stuff, and go to class; teaching them the importance of putting on proper safety gear before they decide to run with scissors-”
“To tell a parent or a trusted adult if someone is hurting them, or making them do things they don’t want to,” Steve interrupted.
Tony fell silent; after a beat, Steve continued. His eyes went to the floor. “I’m not saying warning them about what’s out there is a bad thing, it’s just…when I was growing up, even when I was an adult, back - before, we didn’t have to deal with this sort of thing.”
Tony cleared his throat. “People didn’t talk about this sort of thing,” he corrected, specifically. “I’m not even going to get into the supreme irony of me trying to give you a history lesson, Steve, but if there’s one thing I do know it’s that the worst in mankind doesn’t need a boost to express itself. We never really learn how to do anything new; we just find the technology to do it better.”
When Steve still didn’t say anything, the other man nudged him in the arm, moving so he’d be more in his friend’s line of sight.
“Hey. When I was a kid?” Tony indicated the direction of the room Gregory was in. “You started acting up in that exact same way, you stood as a good a chance getting labeled a troublemaker as somebody trying to figure out what the story was. Sure; it’s depressing as can be to know about it, but all that means is the information is more widespread. These aren’t new problems, just ones that everyone’s learned to identify, so it’s easier to try getting help where it’s needed.”
“I guess,” Steve had to concede. It was still kind of hard to see things that way, though.
The door to the boy’s room opened, and the psychologist slipped out. Both the parents turned on him at once, all silent anxiety.
Steve held his distance and watched, and even Tony stayed quiet where he was still at his side, evidently as caught up in he was as observing the strange tableau.
“I’ll have one of the nurses give him a sedative tonight,” the man was saying. “I think a good night’s rest for him at this point could make a significant distance.”
The parents exchanged a worried glance, Dr. Mitchell holding to his wife by her arms. “Do you have any idea what the problem might be?” he asked beseechingly.
There was a moment of silence and Steve didn’t even realize that he was holding his breath, that he was on pins and needles, until the expert started speaking and he felt a hole form in his gut.
“I’m afraid, right now, I can’t tell you more outside of what you already know.”
Mrs. Mitchell suppressed a tiny sob, dropping her face into her hand. Dr. Mitchell rubbed her shoulder absently, glancing at her before back at the other man with a tight-lipped frown. “What exactly does that mean?”
The psychologist moved his hands as he spoke. “Well, for starters Gregory’s displaying a lot of the symptoms we’d expect to see in a victim of physical abuse. But when questioned about it he denies anything ever happened, and not in the way typical of a child frightened of their abuser. According to what I have in his file, there was never anyone you suspected?”
Both parents shook their heads as Mrs. Mitchell managed to choke out, “No.”
His manner was soft-spoken and concerned while still very frank. “The problem I’m having really is that I’m seeing too many different markers without enough concrete evidence. With no indications of assault or bullying, his behavior could be diagnosable as the beginning signs of paranoid schizophrenia, depression, or even a particularly extreme episode of bipolar disorder - but he’s at least a few years too young for when those conditions usually start to manifest.”
Mrs. Mitchell gave a numb sort of nod, while her husband asked, strained, “Is there anything you can tell us?”
“I’m not giving up,” the doctor assured him. “I’d like to talk to your son again over the next few days. Spending more time with him will give me a more accurate idea of what’s going on. If possible I’d also like to speak with you and anyone who’s had repeated contact with him, to see if there’s anything else that might come up.”
“Anything you need,” Dr. Mitchell said.
“You told me before that you think Gregory’s condition has been going on for a few months. Do you think you could be more specific?”
The parents exchanged a glance, silently comparing notes. “It started at the beginning of August?” Mrs. Mitchell guessed. “Yes, it must have been, because that’s right after when Rumiko left.”
“A Japanese girl that stayed with us over the summer,” Dr. Mitchell explained for the psychologist’s benefit. “I went to college with her father - we’ve stayed in touch over the years. Rumiko was supposed to come to the States as an exchange student this fall, but it was cheaper for her to fly in early, so we agreed to put her up until her host family was available.”
“This was a teenage girl? Were there any problems while she was staying with you? Did she seem to have any difficulty dealing with Gregory?”
“Oh no, on the contrary,” Mrs. Mitchell said, “she was a big help to have around, Greggy adored her. When he first started acting up, I thought he was just upset she was gone.” Her face fell. “God, you don’t think Rumiko did anything, do you? She was always so good with…”
“We’re not jumping to any conclusions yet; just keeping all the bases covered,” the psychologist did his best to soothe her. “It sounds as if this girl had a lot of time alone with your son, though, so I’d like to talk to her anyway. See if there’s anything she might have noticed.”
“I can get you the contact information for where she’s staying now,” Dr. Mitchell told him, playing with his glasses as his voice grew stiff.
The psychologist nodded. He started asking more questions, carefully herding the couple away - no doubt to take them somewhere private, probably see if he couldn’t get them to sit down and try to relax.
Steve shut his eyes and pressed a hand to the side of his temple. He couldn’t begin to imagine what the Mitchells were going through, how he’d feel. He felt stressed out enough listening to what he already had.
“So I didn’t quite catch all of that,” Tony said quietly, breaking the silence, “but I’m guessing it wasn’t exactly good news.”
Steve belatedly remembered his sense of hearing was much better than most people’s. “No,” he confirmed. “It wasn’t.”
He didn’t say anything else. Tony shifted so that he was leaning against the wall a bit, his weight on his shoulders and upper back. With a calculating expression he took in Steve’s face.
“You promised this kid you were going to help him, didn’t you?” He sounded like he was actively trying not to be exasperated.
“I promised I would try.”
“Of course.” Tony’s eyes wandered away before meeting Steve’s again, open and intense. “What do you want me to tell you, Cap? You know you can’t win them all. Especially when it comes to things like this. Punching bad guys in the head is one thing, but this…it’s a little out of our jurisdiction.”
“It shouldn’t be,” was the only thing Steve could say in response to that, staring at the floor, frustrated.
He felt his fingers compulsively working into fists. There was a line of tension going all the way from his neck downwards, every muscle tightened.
Between the war, the life he’d lived ever since he got thawed out, sometimes it felt like the only problems he knew how to solve involved hitting things. And when he came up against anything else he was stopped short. Helpless. Like Tony said: it was out of his expertise.
That wasn’t the way he wanted things to be. He just didn’t know if there was any way around it.
Tony had maintained a companionable if somewhat awkward silence this entire time, but suddenly Steve heard him break it with a clearing of his throat, and a short terse sound.
“Speaking of guys we could stand to have an excuse to punch a few more times,” Tony muttered, ducking conspiratorially, before straightening and dropping his arms. “Here comes trouble.”
With a bemused frown Steve looked up.
Walking down the corridor from the opposite direction was Loki. Immediately Steve drew in a breath.
“What is he doing here?” Tony demanded in a low voice, never taking his eyes off the approaching figure.
“Visiting his brother,” Steve assumed. “Isn’t that why he always shows up?”
Even as he said the words out loud, they were a reminder to himself. As of several months ago Loki wasn’t the enemy anymore - or at least he wasn’t supposed to be. Steve wouldn’t make a move on him unless he acted first.
“Uh huh. Remind me again how is it a guy who literally tried to kill us so many times I stopped bothering to count, is allowed clearance to walk through here without a care in the world?”
“Family member. Thor vouched for him.” Steve’s expression was between mirthless smile and grimace. “The director knew it’d be a waste of time trying to keep him out, since he could probably teleport his way in anyway. Take your pick.”
Tony made a sound of concession that wasn’t without a fair amount of aggravation.
There wasn’t much other traffic in the hall. Loki had to see the both of them. But his expression was a detached, perfect blank of calm. Though he was looking in the right direction he never focused on Steve or Tony, but neither did he pointedly look away. Probably them being there was a coincidence; it didn’t seem likely Loki had come looking for them. He was acting as if they were invisible.
“I don’t care what Thor says,” Tony was saying. “I know his heart’s probably in the right place, family values and all - but I don’t think somebody like that can turn over a new leaf. Do you?”
“Not my call to make,” Steve responded.
It wasn’t much of answer, he knew. But that was about the extent of thought he was willing to give to the whole situation. Thor swore that Loki had given up on sowing chaos and was trustworthy now. There was nothing SHIELD could really do to hold him, especially if his elder brother wouldn’t cooperate in the attempt.
And so far, there’d been no signs of Loki returning to his old ways. He stayed clear of Earth a lot, and when he was in the neighborhood there was never a peep out of him.
If it was all a con, to try and make everyone think he was behaving, then Loki was certainly playing the part.
Steve wasn’t gullible. He certainly didn’t trust Loki completely, not even close. But if the guy really wanted a second chance he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was all anyone deserved.
“I know you’re going to say I’m a cynic but-” Tony began.
“You are a cynic,” Steve interjected, factually. His eyes continued following Loki as he walked closer. He couldn’t even tell at this point if it was instinct or sheer curiosity.
“Not all of the time.”
Steve’s mouth twitched. But before he could listen to whatever Tony was about to say or formulate a response, he spotted something. Loki had stopped walking, staring intently at something instead of looking straight ahead.
He was standing directly in front of Greggy Mitchell’s room.
There was no one nearby to stop him as he went to the door and threw it open, disappearing within.
“Tony,” Steve said sharply, already tensing to move. The other man stopped talking but Steve didn’t have a chance to explain.
There was a muffled concussive burst from inside the room, a flash of green that Steve had come through experience to associate with Loki’s magic. They heard the boy cry out loud in fear.
Steve, Tony, and several orderlies and security personnel rushed towards the room.
There was a smell like ozone. One corner of the room’s floor was charred where the blast had landed. The boy was curled up in his bed, trembling, hands clutched over his head and sobbing.
Steve tried to get close, but there was already a nurse trying to calm the kid down. He was in such a state of panic there was probably nothing Steve could do.
Instead he whirled around, looking for the problem’s source. Tony reached to grab his arm but Steve shook him off.
Two members of the security team had herded Loki up against the wall, grabbing and pushing him as far back from his intended victim as they could. Loki’s expression was visibly annoyed but he made no effort to resist them.
“What did you do?” one of the men demanded, getting in Loki’s face. “What did you do to him?”
Steve was glad he asked. The question was on his lips but he was so tense he didn’t think he could get the words out.
“Nothing,” Loki answered, blunt but detached. He brushed off one sleeve, making a distasteful look as a guard went to put hands on him again and he pulled easily out of the way. “To him, nothing.”
His shoulders moved in what it took Steve a moment to realize was an understated shrug.
“Get him out of here,” Tony ordered.
Loki let himself be escorted outwards, giving the personnel a lofty look of disdain all the way. As soon as he was gone Tony turned his back on the door, apparently all too eager to put the Asgardian out of his mind.
“Are you okay?” he asked Steve, looking closely at him. “Hey. Steve, look at me. Are you okay?”
Steve breathed in and out in a forced, steadying manner. He looked back at the nurse still trying to calm the boy.
“No,” he answered honestly.
Gregory Mitchell was quiet now but Steve could tell by looking at him he was still crying.
*
Steve didn’t sleep well that night. He spent the better portion of several hours staring up at the ceiling with hands folded behind his head. He couldn’t get what had happened out of his mind, but there was one question he kept coming back to in particular.
Why?
“Who cares ‘why’?”
The next morning Clint watched him with heavy incredulousness, as Steve blundered his way through getting the computer he’d been supplied with by SHIELD set up to play video.
“This is Loki we’re talking about,” Clint continued with a scoff. “Who knows why he does anything? I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t know his own motivations.” He stood with back against Steve’s doorframe, crossing his arms as he got comfortable. “The guy’s the poster-child for criminal psychopathy. He’s seriously damaged goods. Not much of a surprise that something like this happened. It was bound to eventually, right?”
“Him going off on one of us, or deciding to go after his brother with an axe, is the kind of thing I could see happening eventually,” Steve responded without looking up. He thought he had the right program - now it was just a matter of getting it to load without crashing or accidentally wiping his hard-drive.
He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but the guy they’d sent up from the tech department the last time had been incredibly unhappy about it.
“Going after some random target on a whim, that’s another story.”
“Isn’t the dude supposed to be the embodiment of chaos, or something like that?” Clint asked, unconvinced.
Steve shook his head. “It still doesn’t add up to me. Loki’s done a pretty bang-up job of staying in our good graces so far. He falls off the wagon, and instead of taking advantage of the situation to steal one of the weapons we’ve confiscated or mess with our security system…he wastes it trying to smoke some kid he’s never even had contact with before, right in front of me and Tony?”
The computer beeped in an encouraging way, and what looked like the right image was up on the screen. Steve sighed, and turned his head towards Clint over his shoulder.
“Loki might be crazy, but he’s also smart. And that sounds like one of the more bone-headed schemes I’ve ever heard.”
“I’ll give you that,” Clint admitted. He handed over a round silver disc - Steve held it with what he knew was overdone care, but he couldn’t help it. It seemed so fragile. “But you really think looking at the security feed is going to help any?”
“I just want to see what happened,” Steve told him, inserting the disc gingerly, frowning. “No one even bothered asking Loki to explain himself before they told him to clear off. It’d be nice to have some answers.”
“Good luck with that,” Clint said, completely flat. “I gave up on concrete answers when it came to Loki after the first time we fought the guy.”
With a few taps on the keyboard - and a few hints from Clint - a black and white but very clear recording of the inside of Gregory Mitchell’s room started playing. There wasn’t much to see: the boy was sitting on his bed, in about the same place Steve had last seen him, not doing anything, and then the door opened and Loki came in and tossed a ball of magical fire around.
“Satisfied now?” Clint asked blandly. “Because, not that you care, but requisitioning that footage wasn’t exactly easy-”
“What is he looking at?” Steve muttered. He barely heard Clint. The entire time his eyes had been glued to the images on the screen.
“Say what?”
“Loki. Watch.” Steve rolled the recording back and started it over, pointing at the screen. “He comes in, he doesn’t even look at the bed…”
As he narrated, the recorded image of Loki re-entered the room and sure enough, his head didn’t even turn in Gregory’s direction. If Steve didn’t know better, he might’ve even said Loki didn’t know the boy was there.
“It looks like he’s just watching the corner,” Steve concluded. The Loki-image swiftly threw out an arm and a small contained explosion burst in one end of the room. “And that’s the spot he throws the fire in, immediately after.”
“So what?” Clint said, shrugging.
“So, what is he looking at?” Steve repeated. “There’s nothing there. It’s an empty spot in the room.” He shook his head absently as he tried to think. “Did you get the recording from outside the room as well?”
“Yeah, it’s on the same disc under a different file name. If you bring up-” Clint cut himself off, leaning over Steve to type at the keyboard past him, impatient. “Here, I’ll just do it for you.”
“Uh, thanks,” Steve offered, trying not to sound too sheepish. And, he was certain, failing.
“Hey, it’s cool.” Clint moved back again with a perfectly peaceable expression on his face. “Look at it this way: as long as we’ve got Thor around, you’ll never be the most technologically-impaired member of the team.”
Steve gave him a disapproving look but couldn’t think of much to say in response. Shaking it off as good-naturedly as he could, he turned his attentions back to the security feed.
The camera outside of the room was somewhere overhead - and it still unsettled and amazed Steve a little, how many cameras modern tech could place in one area and how well it could conceal them. Of course, the base was a classified government location, so maybe it wasn’t exactly surprising it was strung up just about every spare inch with extra security.
As he and Clint watched, the recording showed Loki start to walk past the door and then come to an abrupt halt, his head swinging to look at the still-closed door.
“It looks like something got his attention,” Clint observed in a murmur, starting to get drawn in by the puzzle too, albeit begrudgingly. “Did the kid make a noise, or something?”
“No. Me and Tony weren’t that far away - neither of us noticed anything. Go back to the tape inside.”
Steve wasn’t even trying to feign competence anymore. Clint obligingly clicked back over to the first recording. Again they watched as Loki burst into the room and - far as either of them could see - proceeded to use his magic to attack an empty corner.
“Well. I officially don’t get it,” Clint said, shifting back again. “You’re right in that it doesn’t look like he’s going after the kid, but I couldn’t begin to tell you what he is doing.”
Steve didn’t respond. Instead he put his face closer to the screen, eyes narrowing, as he played back the footage once more.
“What?” Clint demanded. “Do you see something?”
“No,” Steve murmured, “but I think I might be in the minority.”
Wordlessly he pressed the tip of one finger to the computer screen, where now he had the image paused. He traced the path where it looked like the frightened boy was staring before Loki had come in the room.
It went straight to the same seemingly empty corner the sorcerer had cast his flames at.
“Clint, let me ask you,” Steve mused out loud, “if you were stuck in a room with something that had you absolutely terrified, where would you sit?”
“Uhh, I dunno. About as far away from it as I could possibly get?” Clint guessed.
Steve traced the same line again. The boy was sitting in the middle of his bed - which was in the exact opposite corner of the room as where the fire had started.
“Exactly,” Steve concluded.
*
After the incident yesterday, most people would’ve taken the hint and gotten as far away from the base as they possibly could.
It didn’t surprise Steve all that much when after a little bit of poking around he found Loki sitting alone in the cafeteria.
There was a book he was holding in front of him half-upright with one hand, the bottom of its spine carefully balanced on the table. The cover looked ancient, leather-bound, covered with faded archaic symbols that by design seemed inherently sinister. To his left was an untouched lunch tray filled with red and green gelatin cubes, and with his free hand Loki made a lazy gesture, causing them to float a few inches in the air and swirl in a circle.
As Steve approached he didn’t look up from his reading. It was only after the other sat down across from him that he lifted his eyes, taking him in with a cool expression.
“Well now, what’s this,” Loki commented. “Have you come to join the long list of people who’ve told me off for my insolent behavior yesterday?”
“Actually, no.” Steve placed his hands in front of him, fingers laced, and squared his shoulders. He met Loki’s eyes evenly. “You see, the thing is, I don’t think you were trying to hurt the kid. In fact, I think you might’ve been trying to help him.”
Loki’s eyes seemed to flash, though with righteousness, mirth or something else altogether there was no telling. In any case Steve had successfully gotten his full attention. The gelation plopped back down and Loki closed his book, resting both hands atop the cover, long fingers spread flat.
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” Steve insisted, not balking in the face of Loki’s seeming indifference. “I think there was something in that room that only you and that little boy could see. Whatever you did yesterday didn’t really have anything to do with Greggy, did it? You were trying to scare the thing off.”
The corner of Loki’s mouth turned slowly in a wry smirk.
“Every single other one of your cohorts seems convinced that I just, oh, how did they put it? ‘Went psycho’ on the child.”
“Yeah, well. Did you even try explaining yourself?” Steve guessed, unsympathetic. “Or did you just stay quiet and let everyone form their own conclusions without letting them know your side of the story?”
Loki’s smirk disappeared, tightening into a frown. “No one was interested in my side of the story. No one ever is. If I’m to remain cast in the role of villain then so be it. I care not what your people think of me.”
“It’s one thing to be scapegoated, but don’t you think you’re kind of bringing it on yourself if you don’t even try and deny it when you get blamed?” Steve demanded. He scoffed lightly, continuing, “I’m not going to say that people around here aren’t going to be suspicious of you for a long time. But you’re not gonna win any pity if you don’t even try to help your case.”
Somehow, without moving a muscle, Loki’s posture had turned rigid, his face angry and dark. “I am not interested in pity,” he said, hollow.
“Fine.” Steve straightened in his seat, doing his best to hide how much Loki’s glower had shaken him. “You don’t want to be liked - that’s your call. But I think you know something, about what’s going on with that kid. And I want to know what you know.”
When Loki didn’t say anything, only stared at him passively, Steve spelled it out further: “I need your help.”
“Really?” Loki drawled, an air of detached mirth coming into his voice. “Now that’s different. The champions coming to me for advice.” He paused, minutely. “What’s in it for me?”
“Come on. There was nothing in it for you yesterday, far as I could tell,” Steve said tersely in return. He leaned in a bit, his voice lowering as he looked Loki dead in the eyes.
“You put on a good show of being a sociopath, but I’m not buying it,” he told him. “I’ve seen the real thing in action too many times. I know what that looks like. You’re no bleeding heart - but there’s empathy in there, somewhere.”
When Loki declined to respond, simply continuing to give him the same empty, cold stare, Steve showed his hand and went for the honest entreaty.
“Look, I promised this kid that I would do whatever I could to try and help him. No one else can even begin to tell what’s going on. You might be the only shot I’ve got at figuring this out, at being able to save him before he winds up in a rubber room somewhere. I know that you know something. That so far, you’re the only person who’s come anywhere close to understanding any of this.” Steve paused, taking a breath before he finished, urgently, “Now I’m asking you to tell me, please; what’s going on with him?”
The entire time Steve had been speaking Loki had watched him unblinkingly, with no sign of emotion on his face to show whether or not Steve had been getting through.
Finally, as the other wound down, he turned thoughtful.
“That’s the thing,” Loki remarked. “I’m not entirely sure.”
“There was something in that room with him, wasn’t there? Something that you could see that was somehow invisible to the rest of us,” Steve pressed. “What was it?”
“There’s not one name for it that you would recognize,” Loki informed him, dismissive. “It’s a being from another dimension.”
Steve stared at him, riveted.
“Their natural state is something beyond the physical, composed out of pure energy,” Loki continued. “Your ancestors would have called them demons or evil spirits. They feed on negative emotions, in particular fear. They can’t be seen by any eyes but those of their victims.”
“Or somebody that’s in-tuned to magic, like you are,” Steve added.
“Yes.” Loki gave him a faintly amused smile. “Compared to the reaction I usually get from most mortals, you’re awfully accepting of a magical explanation.”
Steve shrugged quickly. “I pretty much lost the basis for questioning things the day I saw Johann Schmitt get scattered into little pieces across the universe,” he observed, laconic. “So, you’re sure what you just described to me - that’s what this thing is?”
“I’ve never actually seen one in person before. They’re as rare to find on my home realm as they are on yours. But I’m completely certain.”
“But what’s it doing here? I mean, why has it attached itself to this kid?”
“That’s the part I don’t understand.” Loki leaned back, pensive. He spoke in little more than a murmur, contemplating aloud. “These creatures cannot get into this dimension on their own. There’d have to be a rift between worlds, a small tear betwixt realities through which they could enter. It can happen, but it’s rare, and if it was recent I would’ve sensed it.” His eyes rose again to meet Steve’s. “The only other possibility is that it was summoned.”
“Summoned?” Steve felt his nerves unsettle as he compulsively pictured every scene of dark mass rituals to call up the Devil that pop culture had ever thrown at him. “Gregory Mitchell is eight, you don’t think he could have-”
“He wouldn’t have had to do it himself,” Loki cut off his indignation with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But even if the creature using him as its focal point happened by accident, I would still expect that the boy had to be nearby when it occurred.”
“The Mitchell family didn’t strike me as big into summoning evil spirits. Especially ones that could accidentally latch themselves onto their kid.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
When Steve gazed at him incredulously for a full fifteen seconds, Loki relented with, “No matter who initiated the ritual, odds are that the boy saw or heard something as it happened. Even if he doesn’t know or understand what it was.”
“You’re saying we need to ask him about it?” Steve tried, concerned. “Is that completely necessary? If you already know what this thing is-”
“It has bound itself to the child’s soul,” Loki declared. “I drove it away temporarily with my assault, but it will be back. It has its mark on him. He serves as its tether to this world.”
He folded his hands, chin resting on the back of his fingers, lids hooded as he gazed at Steve with all the prophetic blankness of a crystal ball in his deep, inhuman green eyes.
“Even now without being present it has its claws in him, feeding on his anxiety and unhappiness. It dominates his dreams at night. So long as it exists, it’s only purpose is to make him scream. His torment is its sustenance. And the only way to free him of it is to find and unravel that threads that bind them together.”
Steve needed a moment to shake off the chills that sudden burst of grim hyperbole had inflicted.
“So, does this mean you’ll help?” he finally asked Loki, once he’d re-gathered his wits.
Loki gave another amused smile, thin though it was.
“I must admit I’m curious. And as you so stubbornly pointed out, doing what I can in this instance costs me nothing.” He nodded, expression growing roguish. “My aid is yours for the taking, Captain, if you’ll have it - that is, if you trust me.”
“Thor and your other friends say you’re not a menace anymore,” Steve replied without hesitation. “So long as you haven’t done anything to prove otherwise, I see no reason not to give you the benefit of the doubt.” He started to get up from the table. “Oh, one thing though.”
“Yes?” Loki tilted his head to watch him, making no move yet to rise himself.
“It’s Steve,” he told Loki, earnestly. “Not Captain America. Not Captain Rogers, or anything else. If you and I are gonna be working together on this, just call me Steve.”
Loki’s expression was unreadable as he took the other in for a moment, scrutinizing.
“Alright,” he finally conceded.
Steve stretched out his arm, hand offered for a shake. He wasn’t particularly surprised when Loki stared at his open palm at first before reaching past it to grasp forearms in a warrior’s salute. Understanding the gesture, Steve returned it.
He couldn’t tell whether he had a good feeling about this. But he settled for not having a bad one.
*~*LINK TO PART 2*~*
Title: Shadow Puppets
Characters: Steve Rogers, Loki, Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Darcy Lewis, Agent Coulson, Thor, mention of others, original characters
Rating: PG-13 for violence, supernatural elements, mature themes, mention of child abuse
Length: 25,750 words
Notes: Set in the same universe as Kill all the pretty lies, Building a Playlist For a Friendship, and a burning in your heart. Even though it's not out for another month, this story is so AU for Avengers.
Summary: When Captain America meets a troubled young boy, he ends up seeking help from an unlikely source, a former enemy. But will Loki's aid be enough to solve the mystery? And is Steve going in over his head by trusting him?
Steve kept the shield at the ready half-raised in his arm, gloved fingers tight in the strap beneath it, breath coming heavy as he ran.
His footsteps made no sound where they hit against the alien terrain. All was an eerie void of silence, save for the huff of his breathing and the steady pounding of his heart in his ears. There was no hum of traffic, no call of wildlife, not a single noise to cut through the haze.
He didn’t try listening for the thing that followed him.
Steve made a swift path back through what passed for forest, zigzagging around thin toothpick trees, his boots finding easy purchase on the flat dry ground. He made his way higher, trying to head towards the direction he first came. He tried not to disturb the underbrush, what little there was, in order to avoid slowing himself down.
Here and there was a rumble behind him, a crash, as what pursued wasn’t nearly so careful.
He broke the last cover of trees. A glance around to survey his surroundings revealed nothing: he was alone - at least for the moment.
To his left was the way he’d originally come, terrain he was now familiar with but knew to be hazardous and slow-going. To his right was what looked like swampland, potentially easier to travel but at present still unknown.
Steve paused, trying to think.
Behind him there suddenly came a loud, gurgling roar.
He quickly made a choice and dashed right.
There was a mud-filled ditch at the outright that he leapt over. A thicket of plants was brushed out of the way with an easy motion from his shield.
There was a break in the trees and nothing in front of him but a stretch of dark brown muck. He took advantage of the opening to look back over his shoulder.
No sign of what was after him, but he knew it had to be there. It had no place else to be except-
His thoughts skidded and then slammed to an abrupt halt as the ground gave way beneath him. His breath broke in a half-voiced yell, startled, as he sank down up to nearly his armpits.
Wrong choice, he thought with grim, certain apprehension.
Steve tried to react quickly. He shrugged the shield up higher, onto his arm near his shoulder, and reached forward with both free hands trying to get purchase. But the dirt gave way beneath his fingers like clay.
He sucked in air slowly, carefully, knowing the worst thing he could do when faced with quicksand or a sinkhole was panic. But even though he was barely moving he could still feel himself sinking, the ground pulling him under bit by bit.
The earth was trembling; shaking, he realized, from the tread of the massive predator behind him as it approached its now trapped prey. Steve leaned forward, the side of his face pressed against the mud - the smell of it filled his nose and specks of it clung to his eyelashes as he stretched out one arm as far as it could go, fingers clawing desperately, futilely at ground they slid right through.
From somewhere overhead - nowhere and everywhere at once - came the sound of a mildly amused laugh.
Steve’s head jerked up, eyes searching even though he already expected to see nothing. In this, at least, he wasn’t disappointed.
“Loki!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, a mixture of demand and plea.
For a long moment he waited for the response that did not come as his thoughts raced, confused and angry and intense. What happened to my backup? What happened to covering me, if I needed it?
Just when he was starting to think there’d be no answer at all, there came a low murmur at his ear, filled with detached mirth.
“What’s the matter, Captain?” Loki’s voice asked. “I thought you trusted me.”
The beast was close enough now that Steve could hear each individual step as it stalked toward him, the heave of its breath; that he’d no doubt see it clearly if he cared to turn around.
The mud was sucking at his skin, dragging him down hard enough he was trapped. He wasn’t escaping this on his own. His arms felt heavy from fighting and he could barely move his covered legs at all. The soil caked his pores where it still lay against his face on one side.
Steve closed his eyes for just a moment, as he tried to remember how he’d gotten himself into this, how this whole thing had even began.
*
It was a quiet day at the base - which translated into meaning no current missions, no ongoing global catastrophes which required the team’s assistance, no big experiments they were needed on standby for when they went potentially horrifically wrong.
A reprieve was always a nice thing, once in a while, and best taken advantage of while the getting was good. But Steve hadn’t felt like making any plans. He figured he would just relax around the base, maybe work out or do some sketching.
Besides when he was with his teammates, or other people he’d met through SHIELD, he didn’t really go out much.
His not-plans were interrupted however by a surprise message from Agent Coulson.
Steve still hadn’t quite got a handle on texting, or really just about anything to do with his ‘cell phone’, but he could read ones he received easy enough. Like every communication he’d ever gotten from Coulson it was brief and to the point.
“Request meeting in 30 min. Lower level 4, corridor G. Will give details there.”
Steve frowned, puzzled, but he went without giving it a second thought. That level was for the science teams; Bruce’s lab was a few hallways over. But corridor G…if memory served, that was living quarters. Little spaces usually no bigger than a hotel room, where employees could stay overnight.
He found Coulson waiting for him at the end of the corridor, in the middle of the hall with hands folded in front of him. The agent’s own version of standing at attention.
Steve nodded in greeting and resisted the urge to give a salute.
“Captain,” Coulson greeted in his calm monotone, “thank you for arriving so promptly.”
Steve nodded again. “You wanted to see me?”
“I should start by saying this isn’t exactly official business.” Coulson shifted to one side a little, gesturing for Steve to move closer so he could speak more quietly. “It’s more of a personal favor, on behalf of someone who’s been a longstanding employee of the Initiative.”
Steve took a surreptitious glance around. No one appeared to be actively eavesdropping but there was the usual foot traffic. Gossip could fly pretty fast around the base. He followed Coulson’s lead.
“I’m listening.”
Coulson gave a slight motion with his head. Steve tracked the movement with his eyes and realized he indicated a middle-aged man with black hair and glasses, standing in front of a closed door a few feet down.
He wore the standard white coat and plastic badge of a SHIELD scientist, and had his head ducked with fingers pressed over his mouth. He looked anxious, like he was restraining himself from pacing the floor.
“Dr. Mitchell has been with our division since before it was even made public,” Coulson explained. “He’s with R&D. Hardly a mover and a shaker, but he does good work. All in all a commendable employee.”
“And right now he’s in trouble,” Steve guessed.
“Not him,” Coulson corrected, softly. “His son, Gregory. Eight years old, an only child; the doctor and his wife brought him to us after they ran out of other options.”
Steve froze. “What’s wrong with him?” A frown formed, even as his stomach tightened. “Just what exactly is it that I’m supposed to do here?”
“I think it’d probably be best if I let the doctor explain it himself,” was Coulson’s response to both questions, subdued and precise.
There was a request in there - unspoken, nonspecific, but a definite request all the same. Not an order. And somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind, he was aware he could take a pass on this, and Coulson would accept that and possibly never so much as think twice of it. That most people might not even blame him for choosing to not get involved.
Except for him it wasn’t about making a choice. Where he stood there was one answer.
Steve had never signed up to be a hero, in the war or after, but once he found himself in the part he took it seriously. And he knew that didn’t only mean fighting the big battles. It meant doing whatever he could, no matter how small.
He cleared his throat. “Sure,” he told Coulson. “I’ll talk to him.”
Coulson nodded and stepped aside.
As Steve walked towards Dr. Mitchell the man raised his head, it looked like meeting Coulson’s eyes quickly past Steve’s shoulder. Whatever he saw must have reassured him; his gaze shifted rapidly to meet Steve’s.
“Dr. Mitchell.” Not sure what else to do, Steve offered his hand for a shake.
“Captain Rogers. I…thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me.” The scientist briefly gripped Steve’s hand in both of his, a distracted and nervous but heartfelt gesture.
“Agent Coulson tells me there’s something you’d like to have my help with, involving your son,” Steve gently prompted. “He said you’d be able to tell me more details.”
“Yes.” Dr. Mitchell took a moment to compose himself before he continued to speak. His words were purposeful and adamant as he built to something. “Greggy…he’s a good boy. Always has been. Likes to play with other kids, likes to go outside…I can’t say he’s never gotten into a trouble, but he’s a little boy - no one would think to expect that. For the most part, he’s happy. Normal.” Dr. Mitchell’s expression turned stricken. “But the last month or so, something’s changed.”
Steve had been listening the whole time patiently, silent. “Go on.”
“He’s stopped eating. Stopped sleeping.” The scientist gave a hopeless shrug. “It’s like he’s done a complete one-eighty. He’s become so withdrawn. He hardly ever talks, and what little he does say…it never makes any sense to us. It’s like he’s pleading for help but we can’t understand from what. He cries all the time.” The man’s voice was becoming thick, strained like he was on the verge of tears himself. “A few weeks ago my wife noticed he was cutting himself - curling his fists so tight he was leaving marks with his fingernails.”
He stopped again to recompose himself. Steve didn’t do anything to hurry him.
“At first we hoped it was just some phase,” the father eventually managed, “but after that, we knew we needed to get some kind of help. We took him to see doctors, psychiatrists…”
The despairing expression on the man’s face made it clear it hadn’t done any good; that they were still without concrete answers.
“We were afraid someone might be…hurting him,” Dr. Mitchell said in a painful, specific way. “But there were no physical signs. And Greggy’s been asked if anyone’s ever touched him.” He moved his hands in a helpless gesture. “The people we took him to were completely at a loss to explain what’s causing all this.”
Ducking his head again he fiddled with his glasses, the action seeming like it was a distraction. “I finally brought him here because I know SHIELD has access to resources unlike anywhere else. They drew some blood to screen for genetic abnormalities, and an expert in child psychology is coming to look at him later this afternoon.”
The inside of Steve’s mouth had gone dry. He moved his tongue around to get some moisture surreptitiously as he could before he started to speak.
“I’m very sorry to hear about all this, Dr. Mitchell,” he told him, “but I have to admit, I still don’t understand the part where I come in. What is it that you think I can do to help?”
Dr. Mitchell gave a faint, subdued smile. “Ever since the team started showing up on TV regularly, my boy has always been a huge fan of the Avengers,” he explained with a note of brittle, silent laughter. It was the sound of a man who knew he was grasping at straws. “And Captain America is his favorite. He used to beg me to take him into work with me, just so he could meet you.”
Steve nodded in understanding. There was a familiar feeling in his chest - both touched and overwhelmed, the same way whenever he was reminded just how much he could mean to some people.
“You’re thinking there’s a chance that he might open up to me more than he did with anybody else.”
“At the very least, seeing you might cheer him up a bit,” the doctor added. “He could use it. I can’t remember that last time I’ve seen him smile.” Then as if suddenly afraid to hear the answer, he started to backtrack, “I know - I’m sure you’ve got a very busy schedule, and much more important things to do. I just hoped-”
“No,” Steve cut him off. “Don’t worry about it. Right now, doctor, there’s nothing more I’d rather do.” He met the man’s gaze with the most reassuring smile he could offer under the circumstances. Nodding toward the door behind them he asked, “This is the room he’s staying in?”
“Yes,” Dr. Mitchell replied, looking overcome with gratitude.
“I’ll be back in five.” When the doctor started to protest, surprised, Steve stopped him with a self-effacing sort of grin.
“Hey. Even for a fan, it’s not really meeting Captain American if he’s not in uniform, right?”
*
He had been to see sick kids before - cancer wards, disaster victims, children stuck in the hospital with no one to visit them for Christmas. Steve knew how to smile and talk to them in a way that’d be encouraging without seeming pitying. It was always nice to think he might’ve managed to cheer them up a little bit afterwards.
But you could get good at something without ever really getting used to seeing it. Little boys and girls as hurt as, or worse off than, injured men he’d fought alongside back in the day was no exception.
Gregory Mitchell didn’t have any broken limbs or beeping monitors hooked up to him. He was wearing pajamas his parents must have brought in with him, green and gray with dinosaurs. His hair was black like his father’s, a few stubborn cowlicks sticking up here and there. He had the pale pasty complexion of someone who’d been sick for a very long time, with chapped lips and puffy bags under his eyes.
He sat huddled in the middle of his tiny hospital bed. There was a band-aid inside his elbow where his blood had been drawn: patterned with the stars and stripes of Captain America’s shield.
Steve smiled at him gently from beneath his cowl. “Hey there. You must be Gregory.”
The boy gazed up at him silently for a beat.
“Are you really Captain America?” he asked at last in a warble. “Not just some guy dressed up like him, like the one that came to my friend Billy’s birthday party.”
Steve had to repress a chuckle, incongruous as it was.
“Uh huh,” he assured him. “I’m the real deal.” He reached for a nearby chair. “It’s nice to meet you, Gregory - or would you like me to call you Greggy instead? Your dad tells me that’s what you want everyone to call you.”
Greggy sucked in a breath, never taking his eyes off him. “Yeah.”
“He said, you’ve been asking him if you could meet me for a pretty long time now,” Steve added with a faint grin.
“I have all the action figures they put out of you. Even the special really cool one you have to send in the tags from the other boxes to get in the mail. Which means I had to get two different Hawkeyes. But that’s okay, because I traded one of the kids on my bus for two Twinkies and a bag of marbles.” Even with the cloud hanging over him the kid brightened as he discussed clearly a favorite subject. “And, once in art class I painted a picture of the time you fought the Armadillo, and the teacher put it on the middle of the board and gave me an extra sticker.”
“Wow, that’s really neat. You know, art was probably my favorite subject, way back when I was in school,” Steve told him. “What about you, do you like art a lot?”
Greggy’s face closed off again, and he shrugged, turning self-conscious. “It’s okay. I don’t…really like school a whole lot anymore.”
“Why not?”
Another shrug. “Just ‘cause.”
When that non-answer trailed off into silence it seemed like it was time to get to the heart of the matter. Steve shifted in the chair, trying to get himself comfortable; the suit was made for running and fighting in, not sitting down.
“Hey, you know, your dad also told me that you haven’t been feeling well lately. That he thinks there’s something bothering you.” He leaned forward, hands folding together as he gazed at the boy earnestly. “It sounds like he and your mom are really worried about you.”
The boy didn’t say anything in response. He hunched further in on himself and sucked in an uneasy, frightened breath. His eyes didn’t meet Steve’s. They didn’t even look in his direction.
“Greggy,” Steve tried again, firm as he could without being intimidating. “You know if you have a problem, your mom and dad can’t help you if they don’t know what it is, right? And that’s all they really want to do. Figure out what’s wrong, so they can make it better.”
The boy mumbled something, but Steve couldn’t catch it. He leaned forward a little. “What was that?” he asked gently.
“They can’t help me,” Greggy repeated. He kept gazing in the same direction before dropping his eyes downward as he hugged his arms across his chest. “None of these people they take me to can, either. They can’t see him. How can they make him go away if they don’t even know he’s there?”
Steve’s attention was already on him, undivided, but somehow this strange statement made him focus on him even more. “Who’s there, Greggy? Who are you talking about? Who’s scaring you?”
The boy lifted his head, staring into Steve’s eyes piteously as tears started to well. “The bad teddy bear,” he cried.
Steve took a quick glance around the room. There were no teddy bears; there wasn’t even anything bear-patterned or bear-shaped. He looked back at the boy with a concerned frown.
“What teddy bear?” he pressed. “What do you mean?”
“He’s always there,” Greggy moaned. “He says mean things to me, and he won’t leave me alone. I can’t make him stop no matter what I do or say. It only gets worse when the lights go out. And if I fall asleep, he makes my dreams scary.”
He looked up at his hero with begging and unhappiness written into every line of his small face. “Can you make him go away? Please? You stop bad things from happening all the time. So you can get rid of him, right?”
Steve set the back of his teeth as he tried to keep his expression from showing too much, even under his mask. I don’t think so. I don’t know. I’m not even sure what you’re talking about. I’m sorry.
No.
But even completely at a loss, he wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that be the answer. Not here. Not with a little kid. Not with someone who needed, was outright pleading for his help.
“I’ll do what I can, Greggy.” Tentative, he reached out a hand, and then with more assurance rested it on the boy’s shoulder. Gave him an encouraging squeeze. “I’m going to try to help you. I promise.”
Greggy sniffled and nodded but didn’t smile back at him. And even as he was trying so hard to project confidence onto the kid, Steve felt absolutely none.
Instead all he could do was wonder what he was getting himself into.
*
Hours later Steve still hadn’t changed out of his costume. He leaned against the wall in the corridor down from Gregory Mitchell’s room, cowl pulled back, watching Dr. Mitchell and his wife as they waited outside to hear what the child psychologist had to say. Waiting himself for - he didn’t know what.
But then, the Mitchells probably didn’t either.
Mrs. Mitchell was a short woman with light hair in curls that were coming undone. She’d taken her coat off and kept it folded in her arms, wrinkling it where she clung to it tightly.
Some parents, Steve had seen, would turn on each other when their child was in trouble, blaming each other so they’d have something to pin their fear and frustration on. The Mitchells seemed to be going in the opposite direction. They clutched at each other, staring at one other’s faces as if terrified to be alone.
There was the sound of footsteps from behind him. Steve didn’t care to look up, but then he heard Tony’s voice.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Hey Tony,” was Steve’s listless, automatic greeting. He never turned his head.
“I just got a new car. And, before you even say anything, here; let me show you a picture.” Tony moved so he was at Steve’s side, already raising one of his little electronic devices and tapping at the nonexistent buttons on its screen. “Believe me, you’ll understand why.”
“Show me later.”
“I’m serious, Steve, you gotta see this - sports car, of course, with a custom paint job and a convertible top. But what really makes this baby, is the engine. You know, I might even let you borrow it sometime. I mean that.”
“Tony…” Steve squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. “That’s nice and all. But right now I’m just really not in the mood.”
Tony dropped his hand, the carefree smugness from his face, and also the act. “I heard about the kid,” he told Steve, more somberly.
“Okay,” Steve said tiredly, because that didn’t really surprise him, “so what, you appointed yourself to come down and try to cheer me up?”
“Hypothetically. That was my best case scenario. I would’ve settled for being a distraction,” Tony replied without hesitation. Steve let out a breath, shoulders dropping. After eyeing him sideways for a moment, Tony continued, “So let me ask you something. Is it just that this one asked for you personally, that you’re getting yourself so worked up about this?”
“That’s part of it,” Steve muttered, trying to find the right words. He paused. “Have they gotten you to do any of the safety talks yet; going around to the schools-?”
“Uh, no,” Tony cut him off adamantly, flat. He gave a strained chuckle. “Kids…really aren’t my thing.”
“Well I’ve done them,” Steve replied.
“Yeah. I can see you doing that,” Tony remarked. “Warning all the elementary-schoolers to stay away from the hard stuff, and go to class; teaching them the importance of putting on proper safety gear before they decide to run with scissors-”
“To tell a parent or a trusted adult if someone is hurting them, or making them do things they don’t want to,” Steve interrupted.
Tony fell silent; after a beat, Steve continued. His eyes went to the floor. “I’m not saying warning them about what’s out there is a bad thing, it’s just…when I was growing up, even when I was an adult, back - before, we didn’t have to deal with this sort of thing.”
Tony cleared his throat. “People didn’t talk about this sort of thing,” he corrected, specifically. “I’m not even going to get into the supreme irony of me trying to give you a history lesson, Steve, but if there’s one thing I do know it’s that the worst in mankind doesn’t need a boost to express itself. We never really learn how to do anything new; we just find the technology to do it better.”
When Steve still didn’t say anything, the other man nudged him in the arm, moving so he’d be more in his friend’s line of sight.
“Hey. When I was a kid?” Tony indicated the direction of the room Gregory was in. “You started acting up in that exact same way, you stood as a good a chance getting labeled a troublemaker as somebody trying to figure out what the story was. Sure; it’s depressing as can be to know about it, but all that means is the information is more widespread. These aren’t new problems, just ones that everyone’s learned to identify, so it’s easier to try getting help where it’s needed.”
“I guess,” Steve had to concede. It was still kind of hard to see things that way, though.
The door to the boy’s room opened, and the psychologist slipped out. Both the parents turned on him at once, all silent anxiety.
Steve held his distance and watched, and even Tony stayed quiet where he was still at his side, evidently as caught up in he was as observing the strange tableau.
“I’ll have one of the nurses give him a sedative tonight,” the man was saying. “I think a good night’s rest for him at this point could make a significant distance.”
The parents exchanged a worried glance, Dr. Mitchell holding to his wife by her arms. “Do you have any idea what the problem might be?” he asked beseechingly.
There was a moment of silence and Steve didn’t even realize that he was holding his breath, that he was on pins and needles, until the expert started speaking and he felt a hole form in his gut.
“I’m afraid, right now, I can’t tell you more outside of what you already know.”
Mrs. Mitchell suppressed a tiny sob, dropping her face into her hand. Dr. Mitchell rubbed her shoulder absently, glancing at her before back at the other man with a tight-lipped frown. “What exactly does that mean?”
The psychologist moved his hands as he spoke. “Well, for starters Gregory’s displaying a lot of the symptoms we’d expect to see in a victim of physical abuse. But when questioned about it he denies anything ever happened, and not in the way typical of a child frightened of their abuser. According to what I have in his file, there was never anyone you suspected?”
Both parents shook their heads as Mrs. Mitchell managed to choke out, “No.”
His manner was soft-spoken and concerned while still very frank. “The problem I’m having really is that I’m seeing too many different markers without enough concrete evidence. With no indications of assault or bullying, his behavior could be diagnosable as the beginning signs of paranoid schizophrenia, depression, or even a particularly extreme episode of bipolar disorder - but he’s at least a few years too young for when those conditions usually start to manifest.”
Mrs. Mitchell gave a numb sort of nod, while her husband asked, strained, “Is there anything you can tell us?”
“I’m not giving up,” the doctor assured him. “I’d like to talk to your son again over the next few days. Spending more time with him will give me a more accurate idea of what’s going on. If possible I’d also like to speak with you and anyone who’s had repeated contact with him, to see if there’s anything else that might come up.”
“Anything you need,” Dr. Mitchell said.
“You told me before that you think Gregory’s condition has been going on for a few months. Do you think you could be more specific?”
The parents exchanged a glance, silently comparing notes. “It started at the beginning of August?” Mrs. Mitchell guessed. “Yes, it must have been, because that’s right after when Rumiko left.”
“A Japanese girl that stayed with us over the summer,” Dr. Mitchell explained for the psychologist’s benefit. “I went to college with her father - we’ve stayed in touch over the years. Rumiko was supposed to come to the States as an exchange student this fall, but it was cheaper for her to fly in early, so we agreed to put her up until her host family was available.”
“This was a teenage girl? Were there any problems while she was staying with you? Did she seem to have any difficulty dealing with Gregory?”
“Oh no, on the contrary,” Mrs. Mitchell said, “she was a big help to have around, Greggy adored her. When he first started acting up, I thought he was just upset she was gone.” Her face fell. “God, you don’t think Rumiko did anything, do you? She was always so good with…”
“We’re not jumping to any conclusions yet; just keeping all the bases covered,” the psychologist did his best to soothe her. “It sounds as if this girl had a lot of time alone with your son, though, so I’d like to talk to her anyway. See if there’s anything she might have noticed.”
“I can get you the contact information for where she’s staying now,” Dr. Mitchell told him, playing with his glasses as his voice grew stiff.
The psychologist nodded. He started asking more questions, carefully herding the couple away - no doubt to take them somewhere private, probably see if he couldn’t get them to sit down and try to relax.
Steve shut his eyes and pressed a hand to the side of his temple. He couldn’t begin to imagine what the Mitchells were going through, how he’d feel. He felt stressed out enough listening to what he already had.
“So I didn’t quite catch all of that,” Tony said quietly, breaking the silence, “but I’m guessing it wasn’t exactly good news.”
Steve belatedly remembered his sense of hearing was much better than most people’s. “No,” he confirmed. “It wasn’t.”
He didn’t say anything else. Tony shifted so that he was leaning against the wall a bit, his weight on his shoulders and upper back. With a calculating expression he took in Steve’s face.
“You promised this kid you were going to help him, didn’t you?” He sounded like he was actively trying not to be exasperated.
“I promised I would try.”
“Of course.” Tony’s eyes wandered away before meeting Steve’s again, open and intense. “What do you want me to tell you, Cap? You know you can’t win them all. Especially when it comes to things like this. Punching bad guys in the head is one thing, but this…it’s a little out of our jurisdiction.”
“It shouldn’t be,” was the only thing Steve could say in response to that, staring at the floor, frustrated.
He felt his fingers compulsively working into fists. There was a line of tension going all the way from his neck downwards, every muscle tightened.
Between the war, the life he’d lived ever since he got thawed out, sometimes it felt like the only problems he knew how to solve involved hitting things. And when he came up against anything else he was stopped short. Helpless. Like Tony said: it was out of his expertise.
That wasn’t the way he wanted things to be. He just didn’t know if there was any way around it.
Tony had maintained a companionable if somewhat awkward silence this entire time, but suddenly Steve heard him break it with a clearing of his throat, and a short terse sound.
“Speaking of guys we could stand to have an excuse to punch a few more times,” Tony muttered, ducking conspiratorially, before straightening and dropping his arms. “Here comes trouble.”
With a bemused frown Steve looked up.
Walking down the corridor from the opposite direction was Loki. Immediately Steve drew in a breath.
“What is he doing here?” Tony demanded in a low voice, never taking his eyes off the approaching figure.
“Visiting his brother,” Steve assumed. “Isn’t that why he always shows up?”
Even as he said the words out loud, they were a reminder to himself. As of several months ago Loki wasn’t the enemy anymore - or at least he wasn’t supposed to be. Steve wouldn’t make a move on him unless he acted first.
“Uh huh. Remind me again how is it a guy who literally tried to kill us so many times I stopped bothering to count, is allowed clearance to walk through here without a care in the world?”
“Family member. Thor vouched for him.” Steve’s expression was between mirthless smile and grimace. “The director knew it’d be a waste of time trying to keep him out, since he could probably teleport his way in anyway. Take your pick.”
Tony made a sound of concession that wasn’t without a fair amount of aggravation.
There wasn’t much other traffic in the hall. Loki had to see the both of them. But his expression was a detached, perfect blank of calm. Though he was looking in the right direction he never focused on Steve or Tony, but neither did he pointedly look away. Probably them being there was a coincidence; it didn’t seem likely Loki had come looking for them. He was acting as if they were invisible.
“I don’t care what Thor says,” Tony was saying. “I know his heart’s probably in the right place, family values and all - but I don’t think somebody like that can turn over a new leaf. Do you?”
“Not my call to make,” Steve responded.
It wasn’t much of answer, he knew. But that was about the extent of thought he was willing to give to the whole situation. Thor swore that Loki had given up on sowing chaos and was trustworthy now. There was nothing SHIELD could really do to hold him, especially if his elder brother wouldn’t cooperate in the attempt.
And so far, there’d been no signs of Loki returning to his old ways. He stayed clear of Earth a lot, and when he was in the neighborhood there was never a peep out of him.
If it was all a con, to try and make everyone think he was behaving, then Loki was certainly playing the part.
Steve wasn’t gullible. He certainly didn’t trust Loki completely, not even close. But if the guy really wanted a second chance he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was all anyone deserved.
“I know you’re going to say I’m a cynic but-” Tony began.
“You are a cynic,” Steve interjected, factually. His eyes continued following Loki as he walked closer. He couldn’t even tell at this point if it was instinct or sheer curiosity.
“Not all of the time.”
Steve’s mouth twitched. But before he could listen to whatever Tony was about to say or formulate a response, he spotted something. Loki had stopped walking, staring intently at something instead of looking straight ahead.
He was standing directly in front of Greggy Mitchell’s room.
There was no one nearby to stop him as he went to the door and threw it open, disappearing within.
“Tony,” Steve said sharply, already tensing to move. The other man stopped talking but Steve didn’t have a chance to explain.
There was a muffled concussive burst from inside the room, a flash of green that Steve had come through experience to associate with Loki’s magic. They heard the boy cry out loud in fear.
Steve, Tony, and several orderlies and security personnel rushed towards the room.
There was a smell like ozone. One corner of the room’s floor was charred where the blast had landed. The boy was curled up in his bed, trembling, hands clutched over his head and sobbing.
Steve tried to get close, but there was already a nurse trying to calm the kid down. He was in such a state of panic there was probably nothing Steve could do.
Instead he whirled around, looking for the problem’s source. Tony reached to grab his arm but Steve shook him off.
Two members of the security team had herded Loki up against the wall, grabbing and pushing him as far back from his intended victim as they could. Loki’s expression was visibly annoyed but he made no effort to resist them.
“What did you do?” one of the men demanded, getting in Loki’s face. “What did you do to him?”
Steve was glad he asked. The question was on his lips but he was so tense he didn’t think he could get the words out.
“Nothing,” Loki answered, blunt but detached. He brushed off one sleeve, making a distasteful look as a guard went to put hands on him again and he pulled easily out of the way. “To him, nothing.”
His shoulders moved in what it took Steve a moment to realize was an understated shrug.
“Get him out of here,” Tony ordered.
Loki let himself be escorted outwards, giving the personnel a lofty look of disdain all the way. As soon as he was gone Tony turned his back on the door, apparently all too eager to put the Asgardian out of his mind.
“Are you okay?” he asked Steve, looking closely at him. “Hey. Steve, look at me. Are you okay?”
Steve breathed in and out in a forced, steadying manner. He looked back at the nurse still trying to calm the boy.
“No,” he answered honestly.
Gregory Mitchell was quiet now but Steve could tell by looking at him he was still crying.
*
Steve didn’t sleep well that night. He spent the better portion of several hours staring up at the ceiling with hands folded behind his head. He couldn’t get what had happened out of his mind, but there was one question he kept coming back to in particular.
Why?
“Who cares ‘why’?”
The next morning Clint watched him with heavy incredulousness, as Steve blundered his way through getting the computer he’d been supplied with by SHIELD set up to play video.
“This is Loki we’re talking about,” Clint continued with a scoff. “Who knows why he does anything? I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t know his own motivations.” He stood with back against Steve’s doorframe, crossing his arms as he got comfortable. “The guy’s the poster-child for criminal psychopathy. He’s seriously damaged goods. Not much of a surprise that something like this happened. It was bound to eventually, right?”
“Him going off on one of us, or deciding to go after his brother with an axe, is the kind of thing I could see happening eventually,” Steve responded without looking up. He thought he had the right program - now it was just a matter of getting it to load without crashing or accidentally wiping his hard-drive.
He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but the guy they’d sent up from the tech department the last time had been incredibly unhappy about it.
“Going after some random target on a whim, that’s another story.”
“Isn’t the dude supposed to be the embodiment of chaos, or something like that?” Clint asked, unconvinced.
Steve shook his head. “It still doesn’t add up to me. Loki’s done a pretty bang-up job of staying in our good graces so far. He falls off the wagon, and instead of taking advantage of the situation to steal one of the weapons we’ve confiscated or mess with our security system…he wastes it trying to smoke some kid he’s never even had contact with before, right in front of me and Tony?”
The computer beeped in an encouraging way, and what looked like the right image was up on the screen. Steve sighed, and turned his head towards Clint over his shoulder.
“Loki might be crazy, but he’s also smart. And that sounds like one of the more bone-headed schemes I’ve ever heard.”
“I’ll give you that,” Clint admitted. He handed over a round silver disc - Steve held it with what he knew was overdone care, but he couldn’t help it. It seemed so fragile. “But you really think looking at the security feed is going to help any?”
“I just want to see what happened,” Steve told him, inserting the disc gingerly, frowning. “No one even bothered asking Loki to explain himself before they told him to clear off. It’d be nice to have some answers.”
“Good luck with that,” Clint said, completely flat. “I gave up on concrete answers when it came to Loki after the first time we fought the guy.”
With a few taps on the keyboard - and a few hints from Clint - a black and white but very clear recording of the inside of Gregory Mitchell’s room started playing. There wasn’t much to see: the boy was sitting on his bed, in about the same place Steve had last seen him, not doing anything, and then the door opened and Loki came in and tossed a ball of magical fire around.
“Satisfied now?” Clint asked blandly. “Because, not that you care, but requisitioning that footage wasn’t exactly easy-”
“What is he looking at?” Steve muttered. He barely heard Clint. The entire time his eyes had been glued to the images on the screen.
“Say what?”
“Loki. Watch.” Steve rolled the recording back and started it over, pointing at the screen. “He comes in, he doesn’t even look at the bed…”
As he narrated, the recorded image of Loki re-entered the room and sure enough, his head didn’t even turn in Gregory’s direction. If Steve didn’t know better, he might’ve even said Loki didn’t know the boy was there.
“It looks like he’s just watching the corner,” Steve concluded. The Loki-image swiftly threw out an arm and a small contained explosion burst in one end of the room. “And that’s the spot he throws the fire in, immediately after.”
“So what?” Clint said, shrugging.
“So, what is he looking at?” Steve repeated. “There’s nothing there. It’s an empty spot in the room.” He shook his head absently as he tried to think. “Did you get the recording from outside the room as well?”
“Yeah, it’s on the same disc under a different file name. If you bring up-” Clint cut himself off, leaning over Steve to type at the keyboard past him, impatient. “Here, I’ll just do it for you.”
“Uh, thanks,” Steve offered, trying not to sound too sheepish. And, he was certain, failing.
“Hey, it’s cool.” Clint moved back again with a perfectly peaceable expression on his face. “Look at it this way: as long as we’ve got Thor around, you’ll never be the most technologically-impaired member of the team.”
Steve gave him a disapproving look but couldn’t think of much to say in response. Shaking it off as good-naturedly as he could, he turned his attentions back to the security feed.
The camera outside of the room was somewhere overhead - and it still unsettled and amazed Steve a little, how many cameras modern tech could place in one area and how well it could conceal them. Of course, the base was a classified government location, so maybe it wasn’t exactly surprising it was strung up just about every spare inch with extra security.
As he and Clint watched, the recording showed Loki start to walk past the door and then come to an abrupt halt, his head swinging to look at the still-closed door.
“It looks like something got his attention,” Clint observed in a murmur, starting to get drawn in by the puzzle too, albeit begrudgingly. “Did the kid make a noise, or something?”
“No. Me and Tony weren’t that far away - neither of us noticed anything. Go back to the tape inside.”
Steve wasn’t even trying to feign competence anymore. Clint obligingly clicked back over to the first recording. Again they watched as Loki burst into the room and - far as either of them could see - proceeded to use his magic to attack an empty corner.
“Well. I officially don’t get it,” Clint said, shifting back again. “You’re right in that it doesn’t look like he’s going after the kid, but I couldn’t begin to tell you what he is doing.”
Steve didn’t respond. Instead he put his face closer to the screen, eyes narrowing, as he played back the footage once more.
“What?” Clint demanded. “Do you see something?”
“No,” Steve murmured, “but I think I might be in the minority.”
Wordlessly he pressed the tip of one finger to the computer screen, where now he had the image paused. He traced the path where it looked like the frightened boy was staring before Loki had come in the room.
It went straight to the same seemingly empty corner the sorcerer had cast his flames at.
“Clint, let me ask you,” Steve mused out loud, “if you were stuck in a room with something that had you absolutely terrified, where would you sit?”
“Uhh, I dunno. About as far away from it as I could possibly get?” Clint guessed.
Steve traced the same line again. The boy was sitting in the middle of his bed - which was in the exact opposite corner of the room as where the fire had started.
“Exactly,” Steve concluded.
*
After the incident yesterday, most people would’ve taken the hint and gotten as far away from the base as they possibly could.
It didn’t surprise Steve all that much when after a little bit of poking around he found Loki sitting alone in the cafeteria.
There was a book he was holding in front of him half-upright with one hand, the bottom of its spine carefully balanced on the table. The cover looked ancient, leather-bound, covered with faded archaic symbols that by design seemed inherently sinister. To his left was an untouched lunch tray filled with red and green gelatin cubes, and with his free hand Loki made a lazy gesture, causing them to float a few inches in the air and swirl in a circle.
As Steve approached he didn’t look up from his reading. It was only after the other sat down across from him that he lifted his eyes, taking him in with a cool expression.
“Well now, what’s this,” Loki commented. “Have you come to join the long list of people who’ve told me off for my insolent behavior yesterday?”
“Actually, no.” Steve placed his hands in front of him, fingers laced, and squared his shoulders. He met Loki’s eyes evenly. “You see, the thing is, I don’t think you were trying to hurt the kid. In fact, I think you might’ve been trying to help him.”
Loki’s eyes seemed to flash, though with righteousness, mirth or something else altogether there was no telling. In any case Steve had successfully gotten his full attention. The gelation plopped back down and Loki closed his book, resting both hands atop the cover, long fingers spread flat.
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” Steve insisted, not balking in the face of Loki’s seeming indifference. “I think there was something in that room that only you and that little boy could see. Whatever you did yesterday didn’t really have anything to do with Greggy, did it? You were trying to scare the thing off.”
The corner of Loki’s mouth turned slowly in a wry smirk.
“Every single other one of your cohorts seems convinced that I just, oh, how did they put it? ‘Went psycho’ on the child.”
“Yeah, well. Did you even try explaining yourself?” Steve guessed, unsympathetic. “Or did you just stay quiet and let everyone form their own conclusions without letting them know your side of the story?”
Loki’s smirk disappeared, tightening into a frown. “No one was interested in my side of the story. No one ever is. If I’m to remain cast in the role of villain then so be it. I care not what your people think of me.”
“It’s one thing to be scapegoated, but don’t you think you’re kind of bringing it on yourself if you don’t even try and deny it when you get blamed?” Steve demanded. He scoffed lightly, continuing, “I’m not going to say that people around here aren’t going to be suspicious of you for a long time. But you’re not gonna win any pity if you don’t even try to help your case.”
Somehow, without moving a muscle, Loki’s posture had turned rigid, his face angry and dark. “I am not interested in pity,” he said, hollow.
“Fine.” Steve straightened in his seat, doing his best to hide how much Loki’s glower had shaken him. “You don’t want to be liked - that’s your call. But I think you know something, about what’s going on with that kid. And I want to know what you know.”
When Loki didn’t say anything, only stared at him passively, Steve spelled it out further: “I need your help.”
“Really?” Loki drawled, an air of detached mirth coming into his voice. “Now that’s different. The champions coming to me for advice.” He paused, minutely. “What’s in it for me?”
“Come on. There was nothing in it for you yesterday, far as I could tell,” Steve said tersely in return. He leaned in a bit, his voice lowering as he looked Loki dead in the eyes.
“You put on a good show of being a sociopath, but I’m not buying it,” he told him. “I’ve seen the real thing in action too many times. I know what that looks like. You’re no bleeding heart - but there’s empathy in there, somewhere.”
When Loki declined to respond, simply continuing to give him the same empty, cold stare, Steve showed his hand and went for the honest entreaty.
“Look, I promised this kid that I would do whatever I could to try and help him. No one else can even begin to tell what’s going on. You might be the only shot I’ve got at figuring this out, at being able to save him before he winds up in a rubber room somewhere. I know that you know something. That so far, you’re the only person who’s come anywhere close to understanding any of this.” Steve paused, taking a breath before he finished, urgently, “Now I’m asking you to tell me, please; what’s going on with him?”
The entire time Steve had been speaking Loki had watched him unblinkingly, with no sign of emotion on his face to show whether or not Steve had been getting through.
Finally, as the other wound down, he turned thoughtful.
“That’s the thing,” Loki remarked. “I’m not entirely sure.”
“There was something in that room with him, wasn’t there? Something that you could see that was somehow invisible to the rest of us,” Steve pressed. “What was it?”
“There’s not one name for it that you would recognize,” Loki informed him, dismissive. “It’s a being from another dimension.”
Steve stared at him, riveted.
“Their natural state is something beyond the physical, composed out of pure energy,” Loki continued. “Your ancestors would have called them demons or evil spirits. They feed on negative emotions, in particular fear. They can’t be seen by any eyes but those of their victims.”
“Or somebody that’s in-tuned to magic, like you are,” Steve added.
“Yes.” Loki gave him a faintly amused smile. “Compared to the reaction I usually get from most mortals, you’re awfully accepting of a magical explanation.”
Steve shrugged quickly. “I pretty much lost the basis for questioning things the day I saw Johann Schmitt get scattered into little pieces across the universe,” he observed, laconic. “So, you’re sure what you just described to me - that’s what this thing is?”
“I’ve never actually seen one in person before. They’re as rare to find on my home realm as they are on yours. But I’m completely certain.”
“But what’s it doing here? I mean, why has it attached itself to this kid?”
“That’s the part I don’t understand.” Loki leaned back, pensive. He spoke in little more than a murmur, contemplating aloud. “These creatures cannot get into this dimension on their own. There’d have to be a rift between worlds, a small tear betwixt realities through which they could enter. It can happen, but it’s rare, and if it was recent I would’ve sensed it.” His eyes rose again to meet Steve’s. “The only other possibility is that it was summoned.”
“Summoned?” Steve felt his nerves unsettle as he compulsively pictured every scene of dark mass rituals to call up the Devil that pop culture had ever thrown at him. “Gregory Mitchell is eight, you don’t think he could have-”
“He wouldn’t have had to do it himself,” Loki cut off his indignation with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But even if the creature using him as its focal point happened by accident, I would still expect that the boy had to be nearby when it occurred.”
“The Mitchell family didn’t strike me as big into summoning evil spirits. Especially ones that could accidentally latch themselves onto their kid.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
When Steve gazed at him incredulously for a full fifteen seconds, Loki relented with, “No matter who initiated the ritual, odds are that the boy saw or heard something as it happened. Even if he doesn’t know or understand what it was.”
“You’re saying we need to ask him about it?” Steve tried, concerned. “Is that completely necessary? If you already know what this thing is-”
“It has bound itself to the child’s soul,” Loki declared. “I drove it away temporarily with my assault, but it will be back. It has its mark on him. He serves as its tether to this world.”
He folded his hands, chin resting on the back of his fingers, lids hooded as he gazed at Steve with all the prophetic blankness of a crystal ball in his deep, inhuman green eyes.
“Even now without being present it has its claws in him, feeding on his anxiety and unhappiness. It dominates his dreams at night. So long as it exists, it’s only purpose is to make him scream. His torment is its sustenance. And the only way to free him of it is to find and unravel that threads that bind them together.”
Steve needed a moment to shake off the chills that sudden burst of grim hyperbole had inflicted.
“So, does this mean you’ll help?” he finally asked Loki, once he’d re-gathered his wits.
Loki gave another amused smile, thin though it was.
“I must admit I’m curious. And as you so stubbornly pointed out, doing what I can in this instance costs me nothing.” He nodded, expression growing roguish. “My aid is yours for the taking, Captain, if you’ll have it - that is, if you trust me.”
“Thor and your other friends say you’re not a menace anymore,” Steve replied without hesitation. “So long as you haven’t done anything to prove otherwise, I see no reason not to give you the benefit of the doubt.” He started to get up from the table. “Oh, one thing though.”
“Yes?” Loki tilted his head to watch him, making no move yet to rise himself.
“It’s Steve,” he told Loki, earnestly. “Not Captain America. Not Captain Rogers, or anything else. If you and I are gonna be working together on this, just call me Steve.”
Loki’s expression was unreadable as he took the other in for a moment, scrutinizing.
“Alright,” he finally conceded.
Steve stretched out his arm, hand offered for a shake. He wasn’t particularly surprised when Loki stared at his open palm at first before reaching past it to grasp forearms in a warrior’s salute. Understanding the gesture, Steve returned it.
He couldn’t tell whether he had a good feeling about this. But he settled for not having a bad one.
*~*LINK TO PART 2*~*