Take Your Tiny Hands Into Mine

5

The large, winged object came shooting down at Loki.

The part that looked suspiciously like wings slapped him in the chest and he fell all the way down, crashing into large branches and twigs that snapped under the his weight and the force.

He was desperately clinging onto the figure who was wearing the wings, while the branches scratched his face and tore through his leather clothes.

They hit the bottom, both groaning.

"What the he–"

Loki placed the spells on him hastily and covered the guy's mouth.

"Are you trying to get us killed?" Loki viscously asked, trying to ignore the feeling of wet blood oozing out of his face.

"Hey, get your refrigerator hands away from me. And what do you mean?

"What do you mean?"

"You've got cold hands."

"Alright... you see that beast?"

Loki pointed to the Frost Beast. T'Challa had already scraped it's eyes out with his sharp claws and Quill was shooting into it's ears with his weapon.

"To blind and deaf it!" Quill screamed over the roaring and thrashing creature, smiling to Loki.

"This is luck, your fate should've been much worse."

T'Challa and Quill approached the pair.

"We've got to get out of here."

Loki gripped his ribs and gave out a little pout.

"My bones had just been mended."

"And I broke them again?" The winged man asked curiously, but Loki noticed his wings had already disappeared.

Impressive; for Midgardian technology.

T'Challa grabbed Loki's one shoulder and Quill took his other, together they hauled him up.

"Dude, you should really lose the armor."

Loki huffed. "I cannot. Where would I possibly store it?"

"He said, lose it. Man, he means to tell you to drop it and let's go!"

The beast started to growl louder.

.
.
.

The only logical reason that lead to Quill not complaining about Loki's cold hands earlier was because the area where the beast and Quill had both come from was freezing.

Loki was unbothered but the other three men were shaking.

He sighed when the winged man—who he later learned that he was named Sam and a friend of Captain Rogers—had asked for warmth, or to go back.

"I apologize. I would offer you something but I cannot use my magic. I can feel it getting stronger as we walk this way."

The ground changed to blue, and so did the sky.

"What! Whoa," Sam had paused to put in his input. "It's cold and blue in here, like that monster. Maybe you spawn wherever you died? Or where your birthplace was?"

Loki shook his head.

"I died in space, and I'm sure you three died on Midgard–" they all furrowed their eyebrows in confusion, "Earth, sorry. And if the birthplace idea was true then I would spawn here..."

Loki practically mumbled the last part.

"Man, you'd never think that the guy who destroyed New York as a hobby would go on a peaceful walk with you and help you-"