Chapter Text
The first time Steve Rogers set eyes on Loki of Asgard, (was it only two years ago? It seems so very much longer..) the god was power personified, a glittering nightmare in green and gold, with a kneeling throng at his feet.
The second time, when Steve had personally made sure their 'guest' was secure in the Hulk's prison, he had noticed the dark circles under Loki's eyes, the unhealthy pallor of his skin, and the exhaustion beginning to show beneath the arrogant posturing and the savage taunts.
The third time, they were all there to witness Loki's defeat in Stark Tower. Unable to stand, barely able to sit upright, the Trickster had seemed resigned, almost relieved that it was over, and if any of the others had heard the scrape of broken bone or seen him blanch with pain as they dragged him away, they showed no sign of caring.
The fourth time, gagged, cuffed and still bearing the marks of his encounter with the Hulk, Loki stood hollow-eyed and alone, before the Tesseract transported him and Thor back to Asgard to face whatever punishment Odin had in store for his treacherous adopted son.
And now. . Loki kneels on the floor of Stark's penthouse, only feet away from the spot which previously bore the imprint of his beaten body. And that beating, as violent as it seemed back then, appears as a boyish scrap in comparison to what has subsequently been done to him. The god is barefoot, and the light clothing he wears makes him appear barely half-dressed amidst the armoured splendour of his Asgardian gaolers. There are four of them surrounding him, each holding a chain, the other end of which is attached to a collar around Loki's neck, enabling them all to keep their distance. Loki's hands are manacled in front of him, and as he sways weakly forward, he puts them to the ground to steady himself. The fingers are bent and bloody, and they shake visibly with the effort of supporting him. Loki's head is bowed low, not in humility, Steve guesses, but because he lacks the strength to raise it. His jet-black hair falls forward over his face, and slivers of bone-white skin show through the wet strands, but those aren't the colours which concern Steve. There's too much red. It covers the god's torn clothing in streaks and gouts, it drips from his hair onto his splayed hands, and puddles of it glisten on the white tiles behind him. All evidence points to the fact that Loki has been beaten, stabbed, whipped, burned and throttled, and those are just the marks that show.
OK, it's not logical, thinks Steve, but if there's a pattern here, and he lets the guards take Loki away with them, then what condition will the god be in the sixth time they meet? Of course he deserves to be punished, nobody's arguing that, but this isn't punishment, this is vengeance and cruelty and it makes Steve sick to his stomach.
I don't like bullies, I don't care where they're from.
Odin asks his question again, and for some reason everybody turns to Steve for an answer. Well, he is the oldest, not that any kind of experience would prepare someone for this. He looks around at his friends, then down at his fallen enemy. He thinks carefully on the words, on the implications, on everything this could mean for him, the team and for Loki. And then, because he simply has no other choice, Steve Rogers says yes.