My fault (The true story of Ultron and a buncha chaos)

That was surprisingly easy

POV: Loki

Thor had handcuffed me to my desk. I wonder if I would always be handcuffed to furniture now, like some kind of pet you had to keep from running away. Honestly, what more am I to these Midgardians. This Doctor Strange was the brightest I'd met, not counting the Spiderling, who was bright in a different way.

I'd finally gotten used to the lack of falling. It gave me memories of letting go of Thor's hammer and just putting my whole story on pause to watch Asgard get smaller and smaller. It'd been a mix of relief and sorrow to be away from all of them, most of the sorrow being for Mother and most of the relief from Odin. Thor I'd had mixed feelings about. I wonder how long I'd tried to guess who would even care. Odin would've had to pretend, obviously, but I know Mother would've felt at least a little pain. Maybe Thor had thought of me when bashing in the heads of an invading army and bashed harder. Whether in anger or happiness, I guess I'll never know.

I realized I was doing absolutely nothing worthwhile sitting here, so I took a paperclip from my desk and started fashioning it into a lockpick. I wasn't very good at picking locks, since I normally relied on whoever it would be chaining down an illusion instead. Of course, this is just as good a moment as any to practice.

The lock is particularly stubborn, and being a self-taught lock-picker I obviously couldn't pick it very easily. I absentmindedly fidget with the paperclip, not expecting it to click the handcuffs away like it does in a few seconds.

Oh. Of course when I don't need it to happen, it does. I don't know what to do but I decide to leave, locking the door behind me. Anyone walking past might assume I'm just sitting in there reading, since anyone walking past wouldn't know I hadn't let myself open a single book Mother got me since a couple nights ago.

I walk down the stairs to the living-room looking part of the tower, laden with a bookshelf or two, a few chairs, a coffee table, and a TV mounted to the wall. I finger the spines of the books, the hard plastic covers so different from the leather-bound tomes I am used to. They all seem to be about confidence or hard work or some other trait I've seen so much in someone I know. If I read a book about how to be more confident I would probably burn it after cringing over the whole thing.

I finally allow myself to just sit down and stare at the ceiling. Light and shadows alternate the space like people walking past an open door when you're half asleep. 

"Jarvis, is Thor around?" I asked, looking back at the doorways.

"He's in his room down the hallway to your left, sir," he answered. I got up, thanking him, and walked to where he indicated.

"Brother? Brother do you- oh," I said, opening the door to see him asleep in his cape and armor. Mjolnir lay in a corner, and I couldn't help but try and lift it. It'd probably be easier for me to pick up a semi-truck.

Of course, I can't just let up a chance like this. I move an extra cape and a jacket off his desk, find nothing, and open his drawers as quietly as possible. Tony did stock them with office junk, so I find staples and a hole puncher and- here we go.

I uncap the sharpie as quietly as possible and get on my knees to be level with Thor's face. He's still out cold.

"Loki'd," I whispered, writing on his forehead. I then put everything back the exact way I found it. Hopefully the Avengers know how to take a joke and don't tell him it's there.

I walk into the hallway, closing the door behind me as silently as possible, which if anyone can, it's me. Centuries of practice have gotten me far.

I'm going to walk back to the living room when Steve and someone I haven't seen before walk up the stairs and notice me. I'm not sure whether to be worried or surprised. The new guy has a metal arm with a red star on the shoulder, and a backpack slung on his back, mostly empty.

"Oh. Hello-" I said, resting my hand on the wall behind me. No doors in either direction, at least not close.

"You're Loki?" he said, stepping backward into a self-defense stance. Wow, real subtle.

"Yes, I am," I answered, straightening up and crossing my arms. A knife sure would be nice in this situation.

"This is Bucky!" Steve said, putting his hand on his shoulder. Bucky shrugged him off, still holding my gaze warily. I grinned in a way I knew put everyone off.

"Well, don't let me keep you wait-"

"Oh, hey Mr. Rogers!" Peter turned the corner on the other side of the hallway, papers and folders in hand. "And-"

"Bucky," Bucky added, glancing back at me.

"Mr. Bucky! You have a metal arm! That's so cool! Anyway, could you help me study? I have my social studies test tomorrow and-" Peter ranted, repositioning his papers.

Bucky looked hopelessly confused and looked back and forth between me and Peter. Steve looked a bit lost as well.

"I can help you study, Spiderling. I'll make tea," I said. He smiled and I walked past them all to the kitchen to turn on the kettle. Bucky winced as I passed him, and Steve said he'd help Peter as well, and Bucky would too. What an interesting group...