Mischief

Chapter Twenty- Admissions and Frost Giants

"Shsisgha!"

"I'm sorry?"

"GAFSTDUS!" Quill screamed, firing his pistols. Loki continued to regard him blankly. Whatever strange language the mortal was speaking, he was unfamiliar with it. Then again, the mortal was a whole new kind of idiot, so it might not even be a language at all. Loki suspected the latter to be true.

He lounged nonchalantly near the cargo bay door, picking his nails with a gleaming silver knife, watching the battle unfold. The tree creature was amusing to watch, the small plant unleashing great deals of damage on the frost giants. The tattooed oaf was roaring and waving his swords around, trying to be intimidating- and failing, miserably. The rabbit had some kind of high-power laser machine gun, mowing down his enemies in a frenzy. The green-skinned woman- Gamora, he recalled- and Yondu were probably the most useful. They killed their foes in well-timed, thought out attacks. Not just randomly acting and hoping for the best.

Stark suddenly soared into scene in his gold-titanium-alloy suit; Loki was still unsure why he called himself the 'Iron' Man. The battle turned slightly, but the ragtag bunch were still losing. Loki rolled his eyes. Must he do everything himself? They were supposed to be protecting him, were they not?

He waved his hand dismissively, conjuring a small snow storm and sweeping the jotuns over the side of the cliff. All save one, who he tied up in chains he conjured, adding a gag for good measure. Another wiggle of his fingers and the giant was floating into the cargo bay, dumped unceremoniously on the hard metal floor. The others turned to stare at him.

"What? I'm a sorcerer, what were you expecting?"

"I dunno. Maybe for you to pull a gun out a hat and start firing?" the rabbit dared to speak to him. Loki curled his lip in disgust, turning and stalking back to his room. These mortals should watch what they say. Loki was home now. His home, his kingdom. His army.

————————————————————

The jotuns tumbled down the hillside. From the plateau, the decline had looked like a straight drop to the valley below, but it was actually a steep slope curling to the bottom of an icy ravine- painful, but not lethal.

They skidded to a stop, blue-black blood oozing from scrapes, glaring at each other. Eight of them, scattered together, ice warriors that had somehow been bested by a seven year old boy.

"What happened?" one of them hissed.

"He was not human," growled another.

"I agree. I smelled jotun blood in him," rasped a third.

"It's obvious," a fourth spoke, the largest of the group. "He's the Prince." Disbelief coursed the groups' veins.

"Heresy!" cried the firsts jotun. "The Prince is dead! Stolen by Asgardians! You know this, Kushan!"

Kushan growled. "I do. Tell me, did he not look Asgardian, in his fine cape and armour? Yet he summoned frost and snow and swept us aside as if we were nothing! Can you not feel it, in your blood? The call of the Prince! He is returned to us!"

"Then we must return him to Laufey," the smallest of the group spoke. A female. "He will want to see his son."

"You are right, of course, Gagen. We will go to the King immediately."

"You would tell him you found him, but didn't have the nerve to retrieve him yourself? How do you feel he would see that?" Gagen laughed, like ice on steel. Kushan raised a frosted eyebrow.

"Are you suggesting we fetch the Prince ourselves?" he narrowed his eyes. "That would be... favourable for us. The mortals are weak. The Prince is the only true threat, and he is but a boy. Easily subdued."

"It is decided then," Gagen nodded. "We will kill those pathetic mortals, and bring our Prince home."

————————————————————

"Captain?" Peter hovered anxiously at the threshold of the elder man's room, fiddling with his sleeves. "Can I talk to you?"

Steve looked up, taking in the teenagers nervous posture, his fiddling hands. "Sure, kid, come on in." Peter wandered in, approaching Steve and playing with his blue duvet. Steve sat on the bed, piercing blue eyes trained on the kids' restless ones.

"Peter," he said softly. "Talk to me." Peter swallowed.

"Well, now Mr Stark's in space, I just... I feel like someone else should know," he murmured, eyes trained on the duvet still.

"Know what?" Natasha emerged from the bathroom, startling both men. Steve was utterly taken aback. What was Natasha doing in his shower? The assassin shrugged, smirking at the sly grin Peter shot between the two of them. Steve shook his head, returning his gaze to the kid.

"I... er, I'm the, er," he cleared his throat. "ImtheSpiderman."

For a second, Steve couldn't quite process what he'd said. Then,

"What?!"

"I know."

Steve whipped his head round to stare at Nat. "You knew?" Nat stared back disbelievingly.

"You didn't?"

"How'd you already know?"

"This kid materialises into Tony's life the same time Spider-Man did. Parker's far better at fighting than he lets on. They're both from Queens. Plus, he and Tony are always muttering together. It was pretty obvious."

"I, but," Steve spluttered. He turned back to Parker. "Seriously?"

"Mr Stark said not to tell anyone!" the kid protested defensively. Steve rubbed his eyes.

"Okay, okay. Don't tell anyone else- we don't want Tony getting all... Tony... on us," he decided. "That means you too, Nat." The assassin glared.

"I know how to keep a secret, Steve. It's literally my job."

"Alright," Steve stood, heading for the door. "And Nat," he added, turning. "Use your own shower."

A/N: two chapters in two days? Surely not! Yet it's true! You're welcome my dudes.

(Second) Question of the Week:

Who's your favourite Avenger and why?

This is a big one, I know. Love to hear from you. Don't forget to vote, comment etc. Stay frosty 🤘🏻