Loki Misses the Asgardian Prison System

Chapter 135

Steve wasn't lying: they really did make little signs pointing him to his room. And they're cute signs, too. They're obviously handmade, and though the only name on them is his own and not that of the artist, they're clearly made by different people.

Some people put a lot of effort into theirs. There are some marker-outlined arrows perfectly shaded with different colored pencils and others with fancy designs in them. Then there are the ones with less effort, like one that's quite literally just a hundred or so little arrows drawn in pencil pointing the same way or the single black arrow with the words "GO HERE" written in capital letters beneath it.

He finds himself taking the time to look at each and every one of them. There must be dozens of these arrows pointing him through the Compound, and even with nine people or so here to make them, it couldn't have been a quick process. They put a lot of time into this. He can put the time into looking at them.

There's one arrow that he just knows Thor made. The arrow is colored green, and there are yellow horns poking out of it — a strange start already, but very Thor-ish to make. Surrounding the arrow are seven little figures: each of the Avengers, each attacking the Loki arrow in their own way. Thor is striking it with Mjolnir. Steve is hitting it with his shield. Tony is blasting at it. Clint is shooting an arrow. Natasha is just kicking it. The Hulk is smashing it. And then — possibly Loki's favorite part — little Bruce is standing in the bottom corner in his lab coat with his clipboard and not doing anything.

He carefully removes the picture from the wall, and he folds the tape over the edges to preserve the design beneath it. He wants to take this one with him. There are a lot of arrows that he really likes, but this one he really wants to keep with him – a memento of his not-quite-friends to keep with him when they're gone.

As he's following the signs, he ends up catching sight of the kitchen. It's not quite on the way to his room, but it's very close to it. He's only had two meals today, and it has been quite a while since he ate...

He takes a detour. He doesn't bother turning on any lights. His eyes have adjusted well to the dark. A glance at the stove says it's roughly 3:30 in the morning. It explains why everything is so quiet. Even by his standards, this is late, and he's learned to stay up pretty late to enjoy the final hours of the day in peace.

He opens the fridge, and he's surprised to see that it's far less full than the one in Avengers Tower. It doesn't even have fruit. What kind of fridge doesn't have fruit? Somebody better be going grocery shopping soon.

He's about to do his default move — ditch the idea of a real meal in favor of eating the ice cream that this freezer better have — but then he sees the leftover steak from this evening. Objectively, he'd say he likes ice cream more. If he could only eat one for the rest of his life, it would be ice cream. But he has so much ice cream and genuine home-cooked meals are so rare that he decides he would much rather eat the steak tonight.

He pulls out the leftovers and plops them on the counter. He looks around the room, but he has absolutely no idea where the plates are. He opens a few drawers, but when he strikes out with those, his magic opens them all at once. He pulls out a plate, uses a fork to put a piece of steak on it, and—

What's that?

He freezes, listening to the noise down the hallway. It's so quiet, he's not fully sure he hears it at all. He certainly can't place what it is.

It's Clint.

Loki tenses at the sight of the Avenger. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be able to get his food in peace. Nobody was supposed to be in the kitchen at 3:30 in the morning.