A Kind Of Magic

Chapter 5

Half an hour later, Loki was happily munching on a turkey sandwich, spitting out the occasional dab of fat onto Tony's immaculate tile flooring. Thor was nursing a bruised shin from accidentally telling Natasha that she should be the one to cook something for the hungry child.

Tony and Clint barely had time to warn the Thunderer as Natasha struck like a python, before calmly walking away from the petrified men.

"I have to send a report; Fury wasn't impressed with your absence this morning," she said, stepping into the elevator and glaring down at the three men. She certainly looked intimidating with her stony eyes narrowed, strong arms folded against her chest. "Try not to poison Loki with your cooking."

In the end, Tony had just called the local Delly, ordering a whole host of different fillings and grains the little trickster might enjoy.

"I still fucking hate you," Clint hissed darkly into the child's ear, eyes narrowed and waiting for the proverbial chink in Loki's armour to reveal itself. Just a flicker of recognition, anything at all, would be enough. Instead, the trickster regarded the archer with mild curiosity, still munching steadily on his sandwich.

"You have pretty eyes," he commented idly, lifting a hand to gently trace his willowy fingers across Clint's crinkled brow. "So much sadness-,"

Tony jumped a mile when he heard an absurdly loud yell from the living room, throwing his robotics onto the counter to see what was going on. Oh God- what if Clint was right? What if Loki was trying to kill them? What would they-

"Stop it! Let go of me, LET ME GO!"

Thor cruelly shoved Tony (who was apparently moving too slow for the God's liking) out of the way, the hair on his neck bristling with anticipation. It was fair to say that neither the Thunderer nor the Philanthropist expected to see Clint hovering in the air, his butt attached to the ceiling fan by a golden chain.

"Loki, you little shit- I mean it... LET ME DOWN!"

"Not until you apologize!" The child spat fiercely, weaving his hands in a pentagonal motion to make the rope grow smaller. The fan grazed the top of Barton's head. "You tried to hit me too! Why are you mortals so aggressive?"

Tony stifled hysterical laughter at Loki's vocabulary and intense scrutiny. Were the children of Asgard really this advanced? He supposed the kid looked four in mortal years, but was most likely in his early 200's.

Thor, however, looked to be in no mood to jest. He was glaring at Clint with enough fury to make iron melt.

"Is it true, Friend Clint?" he snarled, his fingers tightening marginally on Mjolnir. The archer's eyes widened and he struggled fruitlessly against the rope suspending his ass in the air. "Did you try to harm my little brother?"

"Oh, give over Thunder-brain!" he groaned, shooting Tony a warning look as he pulled out his phone. "He's a murderer! He fried my fucking brain and suddenly it's all forgiven? Just because he's just a stupid fucking kid?"

"I am not a murderer," Loki hissed, his bottom lip trembling with anger and frustration at the horrid accusation. Thor had forgotten just how much Loki had been susceptible to his emotions as a young one. "Taking one's life is horrid! Why would I do that? I didn't do that, did I Thor?"

The pleading glint in Loki's eye forced Tony to look away. The Thunderer wished he could.

"Thor?" the child repeated again, his hands wavering with the strain of holding even the most simplistic of spells.

Tony snapped a picture of Clint before it failed, preparing to use it as blackmail material (and some serious brownie points from Natasha).

"Let him go, little brother," Thor said softly, holding his hand outwards for the pale child to grasp. But Loki did not fall for it, his gaze hardening before returning to the whimpering archer. "Loki-,"

"He'll keep hurting me," Loki pouted, his eyes regaining their childish fascination and curiosity, like life around him was an interesting fairytale or science spec. "I see it, he is angry and hurting, so he'll keep hurting me."

"Alright, enough of this bullshit!" Tony Stark called with false joy, clapping his hands and almost tripping over a wad of fat in front of the settee. Thor caught him without looking in the clumsy billionaire's direction. "Who's up for a game of charades, huh? Poker, maybe? Ooh, I hacked into Coulson's porn collection last night, and I'm telling you, that man has some interesting fetishes-,"

"What is this porn you speak of?" Loki asked quietly, his interest piqued, releasing his hand in a fluid criss-crossing motion. Clint's body slammed onto the carpet like a potato.

"Oh-uh," Tony mumbled uncertainly, flickering his eyes to the Thunder God who looked just as confused. "It's, well- you know what? Never mind,"

"I don't- I don't feel so good," Loki whispered, bringing his little palms into his chest. His tiny face was contorted in discomfort and mild fear. "Thor? My tummy hurts."

"He's not allergic to Asgardian food, is he?" Tony asked, alarmed. He ignored Clint's glare of dizzy accusation as he gently removed Loki's hands from his chest. They were swollen and purple across the fingertips. "Thor, buddy, you might want to take a look at this."

Thor moved like his namesake, crossing the room and kneeling beside Tony and his brother in mere seconds. Even Clint's interest was piqued, his features contorted in pain from the fall and slight trepidation.

"Tjorôk? Brother, your magic!" The Thunderer gasped, clearly alarmed at the sight. He cradled Loki's hands in his considerably larger ones. "How did this happen? Have you not been utilising your correct technique?"

"What?" Loki whimpered, completely at a loss. What was Thor speaking of, Tjorôk? Loki had never heard of that ailment in his short life!

"This isn't going to correct itself on its own," Thor grumbled gravely, stumbling to his feet.

Tjorôk was an ancient ailment in Niflheim, which had quickly spread to Asgard after the wedding of Odin Borson and Frigga Njörðrdottir. It was a curse made to stifle the Lady Freyr's seidr, which quickly grew out of control and attacked the magic wielders of both realms. Loki hadn't even tried to protect himself from it, believing he was invincible, and had to take two gruelling years of respite from magic to nurse his body back to health. But he had been seven hundred years of age when that had happened to him. He knew why, how and when to practice his magic without damaging himself.

Now, Loki was four years old... and was about to go through it all again, too young to understand what was happening to him or how he was supposed to stop it.

"Thor-,"

"I am sorry brother," the Thunderer breathed, resting his palm upon the youngster's head and watching with sorrow as he crumpled bonelessly to the floor.