Flightless (LokixReader)

Chapter Eleven

(Your Pov)

After that little skirmish with the team, you were indeed allowed freedom. Well- as much freedom that comes with roaming about the tower. Loki had shown you to your room at the insistence of the others, who seemed to want absolutely nothing to do with you. Of course, why would they? You were a strange not-human who was keeping secrets from them. Why would they ever trust you?

Maybe that's why your room ended up across the hall from the hurt prince. Prince of what, you didn't know. But between the 'kings of old' and royal rooms you saw in his memories, you could only assume the position.

A small- very small- part of you wanted to guess Loki's heritage to be of Asgard. He was obviously the brother of Thor, who in the brief meetings you've seen of him, carried himself all too much like the soldiers which took your family. A warrior with no heart. You couldn't forgive Asgard for that. Not so easily over a couple centuries. No doubt the brothers were from off-world, but if they were from Asgard?

You'd have to get out of here as soon as you could.

"And that's why pop stars should have psychiatric evaluations every 6 months!" A sudden burst came from the end of the table, belonging to none other than Clint. Why... Why were they discussing pop stars? How had the conversation even turned to that subject?

"But you can't blame one person for another's mistakes." Tony piped in, as the Avengers sat around the Kitchen- whether that be by bench stool, table chair, or sitting atop the fridge- eating breakfast a couple days after your release. "Take Nirvana and AC|DC. They're both rock bands, but act completely different from one another."

Just before Clint could argue his point once more, Natasha butted in. "With so much money they could afford to see a therapist or counselor if they wanted to. But since they don't, chances are they wouldn't like one assigned by higher powers."

"But... Justin Beiber needs to be regulated. And people that act like him." Clint groaned, drawing a small chuckle from the others. Even you, who quieted your laugh to keep the boundaries in tact. You haven't reached out over these days to the team, and neither have they. You were the fresh meat, and it was only polite to introduce yourself slowly into their ranks. In the pause you itch your wound, which has scabbed over now, especially since you injured it during your nightmare. Just as another round of pointless comments start. With the results out of their hands, however, the topic turned once more. This time, to the question if oil and water might mix... ever. And how.

From there it continued to jump around, as you sat silently enjoying your french toast. The team at least knew how to cook some decent meals. Today was the first day the princes left on their 'quest' from the king, whatever that may be. It seemed the team didn't care much, as long as Loki didn't kill anybody else. Although, as promised, the dark prince did gain some magical freedoms once again. At least while on the missions, teleporting the brothers wherever it is they must go.

You were relieved with the other-worlders out of the tower. Loki seemed to know the most about magics and aliens, and all other matters that might give away what you are. And if they were brothers, you doubted it'd be long before Thor found out: someone who could probably best you in a strength match.

At least, while you were human, anyway.

"But haven't you scientists found some way?" Steve chuckled, sipping on an orange juice. "Like... molecularly, or something? Don't tell me over 70 years no one has tried to put the two together." You itch your scab once again, the skin around it becoming more inflamed after each day. It's as if you were allergic to magic- although that made absolutely no sense.

Tony sighed. "You'd have to rearrange the atoms, and in doing so you'd end up with a new substance. Unless you use an emulsifier..."

"But-"

"Boys, it's called cake." Natasha rolled her eyes, stopping this madness. Starting a new one when you start choking on a chuckle. "Oil as butter, then water, sugar, eggs- there's other ingredients; but in the end it's mixed as one. Scientists have been doing it for years, they're called bakers."

With the team laughing from a mix of embarrassment and humor, you can only join them. Until the itching of your shoulder starts to break off flakes of skin. Blood substituted for dried scabs and more flesh.

What- what was going on?

You glance up, finding the team oblivious to your sudden panic. Whatever was going on, you couldn't let them help. Not yet, not so soon after being released.

"Thank you for breakfast." You mutter the words, sure no one heard you over the new argument. Jumping off your stool to rush to your bathroom, hoping this is just a normal human thing. That somehow you just scratched the normal scab too hard with your normal human nails. As if skin peeling away from your wound in clumps was ordinary.

With the door shut and locked, and barely anyone even noticing your disappearance, you tug off your shirt to look in the mirror. "Please be nothing~" You whisper, looking at what remained of the cut and burn from the Chitauri gun, all that time ago.

But instead of skin, or blood, or a scab- shiny circles stared back at you.

But not... circles. Mismatched shapes of a body rusty from creating such things.

Dragon scales.

"Shit."

Shit to all the shits to have ever been shitted.

This was bad.

And yet, how? How did this even happen? The scales were a shining gold, too yellow to be hidden against your skin tone. The material of the scales was too rough to be covered with make up. If you even owned any, as such things were overlooked when you moved in, under the promise of a shopping trip- though it seemed that wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

The scales covered the wound in place of the old scab, laying flat against your skin. Hell- it looked like they were in your skin, as if you peeled it back there would be more.

You were turning back.

Into a dragon.

At the Avengers' tower.

Was there a word stronger than fuck?

You glance around the bare bathroom for anything that could help. You hated to think you could scratch or cut away the dragon skin- especially since you knew such actions would be impossible. As a dragon, nothing could pierce your skin. It was strong enough to withstand anything short of a broadsword. But a human with a dragon's skin?

You sigh deeply, running a hand over your face. This would explain why your wound didn't hurt anymore, and why the skin had become both so inflamed and irritable. Your body was taking on your dragon qualities again.

You should've seen this coming. Between the extra strength and stamina during the fight, to suddenly being able to use magic...

Magic. It was the only way you could cover up your wound. If there was such a spell, anyway. Some sort of illusion or to just... turn the scales to flesh. Though without doing so much as a teleportation yet, you doubted if you could handle such things on your own. How does one even do a spell in the first place?

As your mind runs through possible scenarios, an idea suddenly hits you.

The princes were out of the tower. Leaving spell books and mage tools unprotected, valid enough that you could teach yourself to perform one. You'd be careful, of course- and only one spell. You could even copy the page, just in case this happened again. Returning it before anyone was the wiser.

No one would catch you, surely. You'll be fine.

Definitely.

It was only stealing one spellbook.