My Best Friend's the God of Mischief // Peter x Loki

crying angel

Loki's issues continued. Peter tried to help him, keyword being 'tried'

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"Wait a minute," Tony stopped Thor's rampage, literal rampage because it seemed the furious God of Thunder could barely hold himself back from killing everyone in the line of his vision after having learned - in glorious details - what Quentin Beck did to his brother. "So you mean to tell me none of that was real," Tony went on. "That the Fish Bowl wasn't actually here but it was all Loki's nightmare? He - he conjured his nightmare into being because he couldn't wake up after you drugged him? Wow," Tony seemed lost. Lost and spooked and... angry, sure, but there was something else; pain, perhaps. Sympathy. Peter couldn't exactly pinpoint.

Or, as a matter of fact, they were all lost and didn't really know how they felt. After Loki woke up, the army of Quentins disappeared into thin air like they never existed. Moreover, the mess they - the Quentins - caused in their wake; the holes on walls and floor, fire and smoke; all magically turned back into its original shapes. Or to short it up, there was zero evidence of the fight ever took place here. Everything was just as neat as it had been before. Peter remembered - that vase had been knocked over creating a mess in the floor, now it sat beautifully once again on the table.

"And why would I have to drug my own brother in the first place," Thor shot back, still mad beyond maximum. His words were phased like a question, but they all knew it wasn't. "You knew, Stark. You knew what that lunatic did to Loki. You chose not to tell me. Or, you chose to hire that fuck in the first place. He was using my brother to get to you. He wouldn't have touched Loki at all if you had been smarter and saw all the red flags and not hired him to begin with." If there was anything other than rage in Thor's voice, it was the feeling of being betrayed by a trusted friend.

"Thor," Steve hovered a hand over Thor's chest in an attempt to block him if
Thor were to lunge forward and attack. (Steve knew better than to make any physical contact with Thor when, right now, there was hardly any difference between his Asgardian friend and a rabid dog.) "It's not Tony's fault. He couldn't have known,"

Thor growled. Then, then Thor did what no one had expected; he slumped (more like fell) down to the couch with his face buried in the palm of his hands. Defeated. Whatever fire had been fueling him less than a minute ago, gone. Now he only looked defeated. Tired. And sad. "No, you're right. It's my fault," Thor said, still not lifting his head up. "I should've known. Should've protected him."

"Look, it's not anyone's fault, all right?" Bruce spoke up. He had been so quiet these whole time that his abruptly speaking startled the team at least a little. "If anything it's his fault."

"Bruce's right." Steve said, sounding just as exhausted.

"So what's now?" After a brief moment, Thor did look up. His bloodshot eyes met Tony. "If you want him out, I understand. But then I'm out too. I still have my house, Loki and I can live there,"

"What?" Tony seemed... puzzled. The whole thing had been giving him a migraine that he was having a difficult time processing words and stuff.

"No one's kicking anyone out, right, Tony?" Steve, if sounding a little defensive of Loki, looked at Iron Man.

"No... no, jeez. No, of course, I'm not kicking him out just because he had a nightmare." A nightmare that could've killed them all, but Tony wasn't that kind of person, and he knew it wasn't Loki's fault.

Speaking of Loki. He had been unnervingly silent it was so easy to ignore his presence in the room with them. So easy to forget Loki was here as they talked about him over his head as if he weren't. Loki, small and fragile, seemingly trying to make himself as invisible as possible as he pressed his back against the cushion of his loveseat, body curled into a tight ball. In his hands held a cup of hot cocoa that May gave, though it appeared he hadn't touched the drink at all. (What if he was afraid they would drug him again?) His empty, unseeing eyes glued to the wall as though he were in his own little world where he hadn't heard what was being said about him.