Steve wasn't lying: they really did make little signs pointing him to his room. And they're cute signs, too. They're obviously handmade, and though the only name on them is his own and not that of the artist, they're clearly made by different people.
Some people put a lot of effort into theirs. There are some marker-outlined arrows perfectly shaded with different colored pencils and others with fancy designs in them. Then there are the ones with less effort, like one that's quite literally just a hundred or so little arrows drawn in pencil pointing the same way or the single black arrow with the words "GO HERE" written in capital letters beneath it.
He finds himself taking the time to look at each and every one of them. There must be dozens of these arrows pointing him through the Compound, and even with nine people or so here to make them, it couldn't have been a quick process. They put a lot of time into this. He can put the time into looking at them.
There's one arrow that he just knows Thor made. The arrow is colored green, and there are yellow horns poking out of it — a strange start already, but very Thor-ish to make. Surrounding the arrow are seven little figures: each of the Avengers, each attacking the Loki arrow in their own way. Thor is striking it with Mjolnir. Steve is hitting it with his shield. Tony is blasting at it. Clint is shooting an arrow. Natasha is just kicking it. The Hulk is smashing it. And then — possibly Loki's favorite part — little Bruce is standing in the bottom corner in his lab coat with his clipboard and not doing anything.
He carefully removes the picture from the wall, and he folds the tape over the edges to preserve the design beneath it. He wants to take this one with him. There are a lot of arrows that he really likes, but this one he really wants to keep with him – a memento of his not-quite-friends to keep with him when they're gone.
As he's following the signs, he ends up catching sight of the kitchen. It's not quite on the way to his room, but it's very close to it. He's only had two meals today, and it has been quite a while since he ate...
He takes a detour. He doesn't bother turning on any lights. His eyes have adjusted well to the dark. A glance at the stove says it's roughly 3:30 in the morning. It explains why everything is so quiet. Even by his standards, this is late, and he's learned to stay up pretty late to enjoy the final hours of the day in peace.
He opens the fridge, and he's surprised to see that it's far less full than the one in Avengers Tower. It doesn't even have fruit. What kind of fridge doesn't have fruit? Somebody better be going grocery shopping soon.
He's about to do his default move — ditch the idea of a real meal in favor of eating the ice cream that this freezer better have — but then he sees the leftover steak from this evening. Objectively, he'd say he likes ice cream more. If he could only eat one for the rest of his life, it would be ice cream. But he has so much ice cream and genuine home-cooked meals are so rare that he decides he would much rather eat the steak tonight.
He pulls out the leftovers and plops them on the counter. He looks around the room, but he has absolutely no idea where the plates are. He opens a few drawers, but when he strikes out with those, his magic opens them all at once. He pulls out a plate, uses a fork to put a piece of steak on it, and—
What's that?
He freezes, listening to the noise down the hallway. It's so quiet, he's not fully sure he hears it at all. He certainly can't place what it is.
It's Clint.
Loki tenses at the sight of the Avenger. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be able to get his food in peace. Nobody was supposed to be in the kitchen at 3:30 in the morning.
Clint rubs his eyes as he steps into view, and even after he takes his hands away, he's still awkwardly squinting. He yawns, lazily covering his mouth with his hand. He walks toward the cabinets, and Loki watches him uncertainly. Are they just going to ignore each other? He supposes it makes sense. That's what they've always done. He'd just kind of assumed they'd at least acknowledge each other before they did it.
But then Clint looks at him, and his eyes go wide. "Oh. Hi. You're — hi."
Loki smiles awkwardly, although admittedly, he's not sure Clint is awake enough to see it in the dark, so he raises his hand in an equally awkward wave.
Clint just stares at him for a few moments. Loki clasps his hands in front of him and does his best to avoid the archer's gaze while he processes this.
"Are, uh..." Clint clears his throat, and he sounds as uncomfortable as Loki feels. "Are you okay? Nobody's really seen you in a while, and..." He lets himself trail off.
"I'm alright," Loki says. "Thank you." Clint is the last person he would expect to ask him about his well-being. He really must have them worried if even Clint is asking about him. He didn't mean to do that. He wasn't trying to hurt anybody else. He was just trying to protect himself.
"Okay, good," Clint says. Needless to say, the awkwardness has not waned. He glances at Loki's plate, then looks back at the god. "Thor said he was going to bring you steak earlier. Did he not...?"
"Oh, no, he did," Loki says. "I just thought I'd have more before I went to bed – unless that's not..." He trails off awkwardly. There are a lot of incomplete sentences in this conversation, he's noticed. They're either not saying enough or they're saying too much, and he's not quite sure which one it is.
"Yeah, no, have at it," Clint says. "It's up for grabs."
"Thank you." He'd assumed as much, but he's also talking to Clint, and he could see Clint telling him off for it just for the sake of doing it, and he'd put it back if it meant avoiding a fight. But it seems Clint is pretty content avoiding a fight, too, tonight. He doesn't expect this unspoken peace treaty to last long, but he'll make the most of it while he can.
They both go about their business after that. Clint grabs a cup and fills it with water from the fridge, and Loki goes to put his food in the microwave, but then he pauses. He'd like to think this is what he's supposed to do. He'd assumed it was, enough so that he'd already planned to do it. But if he's wrong and steak isn't reheated in the microwave, he'd like to not make that mistake in front of anyone.
So, reluctantly, because it's slightly less awkward than fucking up, Loki asks, "Do I microwave it, or...?"
"Yeah, you can microwave it," Clint says.
"Thanks."
So he puts it in the microwave for 30 seconds, knowing full well that he'll likely have to add more time once those 30 seconds are over, but at least it shouldn't be overcooked.
Clint puts his cup in the sink. It seems that was all he came out for, because he looks up at Loki and says, "I'll see you later."
Loki gives him a small smile and a nod, and Clint responds with a small smile of his own.
Clint goes to leave – the same way the arrows tell him to go to reach his own room, which is slightly nerve-wracking but Thor told him that he has his own wing so it can't be too close to the other Avengers – but he pauses just before he goes. He turns back around to look at the god, and Loki braces himself for the worst.
"You know, Steve's been pretty upset since you disappeared," Clint tells him. "If you just want to talk to him and at least tell him you're okay, I think he'd really appreciate that."
Loki sighs. "Goodnight, Barton."
Clint nods, his disappointment clear in his expression. He must think that Loki's answer meant no. It might have. He's not sure yet.
"Goodnight, Loki."
Clint leaves, and Loki has the kitchen to himself once more. Thank god for that. He really just wants to eat his steak in peace.
So that's what he does. Once his steak is heated to his liking, he sits down at the table, Thor's little Avengers arrow lying in front of him, and enjoys his late-night-early-morning meal. It doesn't take long. He didn't take a very big piece of steak; just enough to keep him comfortably full throughout the night.
And then he's back to following the arrows. There are some more cute ones on the walls, but he doesn't trust himself to find his way to or from his bedroom again without these arrows up, so he doesn't take any beyond the one he already holds. Maybe he'll ask Thor if he can have them all once he knows his way around the Compound. He'd like to hold onto them.
And finally, he reaches his own wing of the building. It's not very big. It's certainly not as big as his floor in Avengers Tower was. But he never had a use for all the space he had in the Tower, anyway, so maybe this is better.
There are signs on a few of the doors. The first door on the right is labeled, "Spare bedroom," with hand-drawn pictures of Mjolnir scattered across it. It must be for Thor, then, he reasons. Is Thor in there now? It's not labeled as his bedroom, but it's clearly made for him. Confused, Loki slowly turns the handle and pokes his head inside.
Thor is not, in fact, in the spare bedroom. He could be, though, if he wanted to be. There's a perfectly made bed in there, and, more interestingly, in front of it, there's a TV. Loki makes a mental note of that. He has his own TV just down the hall. This is exciting already.
The next labeled room he finds is the bathroom, and, given that he's been outside for the last 12 hours, he should probably use it. He doesn't expect much as he steps inside. It's a bathroom, for god's sake. There's nothing in bathrooms. Except that there is.
The closet door in the bathroom is open, and he's met with lines of soaps. There are dozens in there, filling the whole closet. There's a shelf for hand soap; a shelf for body wash; a shelf for shampoo; even a shelf for conditioner, and Loki doesn't know what that is but suddenly he's very excited to try it. Then there are the towels – a whole shelf of towels, mostly for the shower but a few for his hands, too. He's excited to look through all of this, but for now, he just takes one of the many different scents of hand soap and a hand towel, then closes the closet door.
He puts the hand soap on the sink countertop, and the towel, he hangs from the metal ring next to it. That's what it's for, right? He'd assume? Probably? Not that it matters: this is his bathroom. It's in his wing of the Compound. The only other person who's likely to use it at all is Thor, and he wouldn't know if the metal ring is not, in fact, a towel holder.
He'd had no plans when he decided to take a pit stop in the bathroom to look under the sink, but, because the closet was so exciting, he wants to do it. He takes his bathroom break, washes his hands with this really good watermelon-scented soap, and dries them on the fancy green towel. Then, with that taken care of, he looks in the cabinets under the sink, and he has things. There are dozens of rolls of toilet paper, each wrapped individually in paper. There's a razor blade with a few extra razors – which he doesn't really need because he doesn't need to shave, but he appreciates the thought. There's deodorant, there are toothbrushes, there's toothpaste. He feels like he's died and gone to Valhalla.
Is it embarrassing to be this excited about toiletries? It's probably embarrassing to be this excited about toiletries, isn't it?
When he's done with the bathroom, he goes off to find his room. It's at the very end of the hall, just as it had been in the tower, and he knows it's his room because of the abundance of signs on the door. It looks like everybody made their own for the final destination. Just the thought of that makes him smile.
What happened when he was outside? Did somebody gather all the Avengers at the kitchen table and tell them they weren't allowed to leave until they made at least five arrows, ignoring the grumbling they got in return? Or was it an eager crowd, ready to flex their art skills (or lack thereof, in some cases)? Did somebody tell them they all had to make a sign for his room, or could they just not decide who got to do it? He wishes he could have seen it. He almost wishes he could have been there, though that would have defeated the whole purpose.
He opens his door, and though he's sort of assumed, given the state of the bathroom, that his bedroom would be more interesting than it was in Avengers Tower, he hadn't expected it to look like this. His bed is perfectly made, with a green comforter on top that puts a smile on his face. It even has matching pillows on top, though, perhaps more interestingly, there's a stuffed bear sitting on it – one that looks to be wearing clothes suspiciously like Thor's armor. He'll check that out when he goes to bed.
More exciting than the comforter – and perhaps more exciting than anything else he's seen so far – is the television in front of his bed. He has his own television. He'd thought it was cool to have a TV down the hall, but to have one in his room? He can watch Night at the Museum from the comfort of his own bed whenever he wants!
He looks in the TV stand, and he's pleased to find DVDs of just about every movie he could ask for. His Owen Wilson collection is there, and the Disney movies he's grown so fond of share the same shelf. They know him well, it seems. Maybe he's just too tired to think of one they've missed, but he really does feel like every movie he might want to watch is already here.
He looks around the rest of the room. There's a desk against the wall, with a comfortable-looking spinning chair in front of it. The only things on the desk are a stack of paper and some writing utensils, but Loki can fix that. He conjures his box of belongings he brought with him – and it's rather embarrassing that he can fit them all in this box his Secret Santa gifted him his Taylor Swift merchandise in – and he pulls out his typewriter. He hasn't used it in a long time. He'd nearly forgotten he had it; it's been sitting idle for so long, it had nearly become part of the decor. But he brought it with him regardless, and he's glad he did. There's nothing better to put on his desk than his typewriter. (And how exciting is it to call all of this his?)
He looks at his new bookshelf thoughtfully. He can't tell if he's read any of the books on it. From this distance, he's not sure if it's a collection of his favorites like the DVDs or a collection of new books to choose from, and that sounds like a problem for future him to solve. He can check them out when he puts his books from the tower away in the morning.
For now, he just takes his CD player out of his travel box and puts it on top of the bookshelf. The wire can just barely reach the nearest outlet, but it works. He stacks his Taylor Swift CDs next to it. He brought the other CDs Tony gave him, too, but he'll probably just shove those in the closet later. He doesn't like them very much. He never listens to them.
He's too tired to do any more unpacking right now — and it shouldn't take more than 15 minutes to do it in the morning, anyway — so he pushes the box aside and takes a look at the other potentially interesting things before he goes to bed, just so the thought of them doesn't keep him awake all night.
There's a little fridge in the corner of his room. That's definitely interesting. He didn't know people put fridges in their bedrooms. Do they put fridges in their bedrooms? Is he the only one with one? He has no idea. He opens the fridge, and he's greeted with the sight of fruit. Just fruit, filling the fridge in little plastic containers, with two plastic water bottles on the side. He'd rather have a freezer of ice cream, but he likes this.
He's almost looked at everything. Now it's time for the two big cardboard moving boxes. There's a note taped to them, but the writing is so small that he hasn't been able to read it from a distance. He plucks the note from the side of the box and holds it up.
"You've been on earth for a few years now. I think it's about time you got a wardrobe upgrade."
In smaller letters underneath, there's a disclaimer reading, "You don't need to keep any of this. I'll take back anything you don't want. I just figured you might want some normal clothes."
Loki almost doesn't open the box. He's far too tired to look through all of this right now. For all he knows, it could take hours. But this looks like Tony's writing – though he can't be too sure; he hasn't seen him write anything in a while – and that means there's a solid chance this whole thing is a prank, and once again, it will keep him up all night if he doesn't know. So he opens the top box, just long enough to see what's in it.
Clothes.
It's just clothes.
Huh. Maybe it's not a joke.
And now, last but not least, what is either going to be the best or worst part of his night: the big gift bag in the middle of the floor.
He sits down cross-legged in front of it and turns it around, searching for a tag. The "From" part is cute. It's Pepper's name written first, and a little plus sign below it. Then it seems she gave it to Tony, because he signed his name beneath hers, and below that "Pepper + Tony" he wrote, in very small letters, "Pepperony, if you will." Loki chuckles to himself. That's such a stupid joke.
But what really gets his attention is the "To" part, because it doesn't say his name like he would have expected. Instead, it's designated, "To: Sylvie." It would make him wary about opening it if the Pepperony joke didn't put him in such good spirits. Pepper wouldn't give him something to mock him, and if Tony was, he wouldn't have made such a dumb, wholesome joke to go with it. It has to be something nice.
He removes the tissue paper, and out falls a homemade card. He picks it up to look at it. The front has a poorly drawn picture of a stick figure in a dress dancing underneath a disco ball, and Loki can't decipher that for the life of him, so he just ignores it and opens the card up.
"Welcome to Avengers Compound!
"We hope you like your new room! You have snacks in the fridge, DVDs in the TV stand, and some new books in the bookshelf so you shouldn't be too bored, but if you need or want anything else, let us know!
"We don't have any parties planned here and we won't even think about it unless you're on board with it, so don't worry about that. But if Sylvie ever wants to make a reappearance, this is for her!
Pepper and Tony both sign their names at the bottom, though it seems the note itself was from Pepper, if the handwriting (and the general air of not-assholeyness) is any indication. He puts the card aside and pulls out the rest of the tissue paper until all that's left is the gift inside.
It's a dress.
He pulls it out carefully. Something about it gives him the idea that it's expensive, and he doesn't want to somehow mess it up. He stands up and holds it out in front of him to get a better look. His first thought is that it's long, which goes against the Sylvie dress code, though he realizes that's not entirely true when he sees the thigh-high slit. And with the plunging neckline, it's clear to him that they do pay attention. And, of course, it's green, which only makes it better.
He brings the dress to his closet and hangs it up. He doesn't care that he'll never have the opportunity to wear it now that everyone knows that he's Sylvie. He's not letting it get wrinkled in this bag. It's too pretty for that.
Going back to the bag, he finds two pairs of shoes. One is just an ordinary pair of somewhat-glittery heels – perfect for this dress, he'd say – but the other is far more interesting to him.
They're tap shoes.
Just like Natasha's.
He pulls them out and sets them down in front of him, and only then does he realize there's a note in the shoes, too. He unfolds the little piece of paper to read it. It's in Tony's handwriting, which makes sense. He can see this being a joke of a gift, even if he does like it.
"For when Sylvie's ready for another tap lesson from Nat."
He smiles to himself and tucks the note back in the shoe. He'll put these in the closet, too. The heels, he likely won't ever wear, but the tap shoes... That could be fun. Not today – probably not any time soon – but one day. He's sure he'll put these tap shoes on at least once in his life, even if it's a hundred years from now.
He picks the bag up, ready to fold it up and put it aside, but it's still not empty. He reaches in to pull out the last few things it holds. There's a fancy silver rhinestone hairpiece, and then there's a necklace, what looks to be just a single green gem on a silver chain at first glance, but the gem, he realizes, is attached to the chain by a little silver snake. He smiles. They know him well.
He puts those on top of his bookshelf with his CDs, then folds up the bag and puts it and the tissue paper aside. Ordinarily, he'd throw something as useless as tissue paper out, but he doesn't seem to have a trash can. He should steal the one from the bathroom tomorrow. (Or he could ask Thor to ask Tony or Pepper to get him one? He wouldn't usually ask them for anything, but they did tell him to in the card...)
Speaking of which, he should put the card somewhere safe. He doesn't really have a safe place for it, though – or the arrow he took down, which is no longer in his hand. When did he even put that down? And, more importantly, where did he – it's on top of the fridge. He grabs that and puts it in his Avengers Tower box, where he puts the card from Tony and Pepper as well. This is now a box of things that are not his problem at the moment.
And now, it's finally time to go the fuck to sleep. It has to be at least four o'clock by now. He's tired. He needs to sleep.
(Shit, does he have a clock in here? He definitely needs a clock. He'll lose his mind if he can't track the passage of time. He didn't even think to bring the one from the tower. Maybe he'll have to ask Thor to talk to Tony after all.)
He sits down in bed and picks up the stuffed bear. It's definitely supposed to be Thor. It even has a little stuffed Mjolnir attached to its little stuffed hand with an elastic. Also tucked into that elastic, though, is another note, because why wouldn't Loki have to do all this reading at four-ish-o'clock in the morning?
He takes the note out, sits down comfortably on his bed, and puts the Thor bear in his lap while he reads. He skips to the bottom just to see who it's from – Tony, apparently. Thankfully, this note is typed, because deciphering his notes in the lab is always a hassle and he can't imagine having to read all of this in his handwriting.
"Loki,
"First of all, hi. I'm printing this before we all move in, so I have no idea how the flight over went. I'm just going to assume that by the time you're reading this, it's still been a very long time since we've had a conversation, so 'hi' feels like the right thing to start with. I hope you're doing okay. I hope you like your room. I hope you're not silently cursing me out for deciding we should move.
"I've written and rewritten this a million times, and I think I'm just going to make this as concise and to-the-point as possible, because, frankly, if you wanted the pleasantries, you'd be out with the rest of us and I wouldn't be writing this anyway.
"I tried to make sure you have everything you need. I probably forgot some very stupid things. Please tell me. I know you can't leave and get things for yourself, so don't feel bad asking me to do it (or asking Thor to ask me or writing it down and slipping a piece of paper under the door or whatever you're comfortable with).
"Some little things in case you didn't notice them: there's soap and towels in the bathroom closet and toilet paper and a toothbrush and little things like that under the sink. There are a couple extra sets of bedding on the top shelf of the closet in your room if you want to change it up. There's a folded-up hamper under them, so if you ever want someone to do your laundry, just throw everything in the hamper and leave it outside your door (or someone can show you where the washing machine is and how to use it).
"I know you didn't like FRIDAY back at the tower, so I disconnected the sensors in your wing of the compound. Please don't blow them up. I promise, they don't work. And if you ever decide you do want FRIDAY around, let me know and I can reconnect everything. It's up to you.
"And I just want to say that I'm sorry. There's a lot of shit I should've done better and I didn't. I didn't realize until I was setting everything up here that there was so much I didn't give you in the tower, and I should've been better about that. And I probably could have been less of an asshole about that Ultron thing. It wasn't my idea not to tell you that we had your scepter, but it was my idea to use it to make Ultron without telling anyone, and, in hindsight, that wasn't my best play. I know you and that scepter have a complicated past, and I get why you freaked out, and I'm sorry. Try not to strangle me again, and I'll try not to make any more murder bots. Deal?
"That's about all I've got for you. If you have any questions, let me know. I speak for all of the Avengers when I say we hope to see you out and about soon, but there's no pressure if you'd rather stay in your room. We'll keep bringing you food as long as you want us to. Enjoy your new home, and I'll hopefully see you later.
"T. S."
Loki folds the note back up and tucks it back into stuffed Mjolnir's elastic band. He can't deny that this was sweet. He hadn't expected anything like this. He certainly hadn't expected an apology. He really must have the Avengers worried if he got an apology out of Tony Stark.
He sits his little Thor bear in front of him and looks down at it with a frown. This wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was. The Avengers weren't supposed to care that he disappeared. They never wanted him here, anyway; Odin just threw him here and didn't let anybody say no. He'd assumed the Avengers would find it strange for a week or two, but then it was supposed to get better. They were supposed to be relieved that he wasn't bothering them anymore. But it's been how long? A month? More than that? And they're still worried about him.
He groans and lies down, his head narrowly missing the headboard as he does. He just wanted to get this over with. He wanted to stop while he was ahead; to sever these ties now by choice instead of letting death swoop in at the least opportune time and take them from him. He thought that maybe he could lessen the pain, but it still hurts every time he hears Steve try to talk to him from outside his room. It still hurts to hear Snowflake mewing from the hallway. It still hurts to see this; to see how much they care and how much they're willing to do for him.
And now it sounds like they're hurting, too. He's hurting them by staying away from them. And he could easily stop. He could easily change his mind and go back to spending his days with them if he wanted to – and a part of him does want to. He's missed spending time with them. And if Steve is as upset about this as it sounds... He was the first non-AI friend Loki had on Earth, back before even Thor came to tolerate him again. Steve was there for him when literally nobody else was. He doesn't want to do this to his friend.
But if he does that, all of this will be for nothing. It will be like this never happened. They'll still die one day, and it will still catch him unprepared, and he'll still grieve their deaths for years – decades, even; centuries – after it happens. He just doesn't know if he can put himself through that.