Chapter Text
“Mister Loki!”
Without turning to face the boy, Loki rolled his eyes and pressed his thin lips together. When he finally did turn, he forced a smile.
“I believe I asked you to call me just Loki.”
“Sorry, Mi— just Loki! I mean — Loki!”
Grinning, Peter caught up with him and fell into step at his side.
“What do you want? And why aren’t you in school?” Loki frowned.
“Classes are over, so I came by the compound — and then I saw you. Can I ask you something?”
“No.” Loki turned and continued down the bright corridor.
“How old are you?” Peter followed.
“Old.”
“But how old?”
“Old. Drop it.”
“Loki!”
“Drop it.”
“Come on, how old?”
“I said drop it!”
Their harmless bickering carried them all the way into the kitchen.
“Is that how you talk to a kid?” Tony called from the table, sounding annoyed.
“Hi, Mister Stark!” Peter chirped, plopping into the chair across from him.
Tony gave him a friendly smile. Ignoring the complaint, Loki headed for a cabinet, opened it, and peered inside. He snorted.
“Who drank all the coffee again?”
“Take a wild guess.”
Loki smirked.
“Barnes probably eats it by the spoonful,” Tony said, taking another sip from his mug.
“That shaggy menace is going to get it.”
Tony let out a short laugh.
“Shaggy,” he repeated with a grin. “I’ll remember that.”
Throughout the brief exchange, Peter watched them closely, his gaze darting between the two, smiling to himself. Tony flicked him a glance, and the boy immediately straightened up.
“Is that tea?” Loki asked, trying to peer into Tony’s mug.
“No. Yes. You’re not getting any,” Tony muttered.
“Give it here. I’m thirsty.” Loki stepped closer, hand outstretched.
“No.”
“Stark!”
Loki snatched the mug from his hands, took a quick gulp — and choked.
“Don’t tell Pepper,” Tony said, pulling a guilty face.
“Good cognac,” Loki coughed, smirking. “Can barely taste the tea.”
Tony took the mug back.
***
“Loki!”
“At this rate I’m going to start stuttering.”
“So how old are you?”
It had become a habit. There was no more “hi” or “hello” from Peter — his entire world seemed to revolve around Loki’s age now. He tried to be sneaky, slipping the question into conversations out of nowhere, as if by accident — but really, what chance did a Midgardian teenager have of outwitting the God of Mischief? He even tried whining, but Loki would simply stop responding altogether, forcing Peter to switch tactics. None of them worked. Nothing could crack the younger Odinson’s composure.
Unlike certain other people.
“I ran some calculations…” Peter muttered, surrounded by textbooks and notebooks.
He was sitting in the common room, attempting to do homework amid the usual chaos: Natasha and Bucky were playing cards, Steve watching them with interest; Clint and Wanda were trying to watch TV, but their argument over channels was on the verge of turning into a scuffle — Wanda kept flipping channels with magic while Clint protested and grabbed for the remote; Stephen had conjured up a beer for Thor, who sat there grinning broadly as he watched the scene unfold; Loki muttered under his breath that he could make his brother a far better drink than that sorcerer and went back to his book, stretched out in an armchair with his long legs extended.
“So,” Peter went on, assuming anyone was listening, “if you convert Loki and Thor’s age into human years, then it turns out that—”
“What did you just say?” Loki snapped, dropping his book onto his lap with a sharp smack.
Peter looked up at him. Everyone else in the room turned to stare at Peter as well. He smiled.
“What the hell?” Loki went on, turning to his brother. “Thor. Was this your big mouth at work?”
Thor smiled and nodded.
“The boy asked. I answered.”
Loki hurled the book at him; it bounced harmlessly off Thor’s broad shoulder.
“Don’t you dare say another word!” Loki snapped, turning back to Peter.
“Oh no, go on!” Natasha exclaimed.
“Yeah, keep going!” Clint chimed in.
“Please,” Steve added with a nod.
Loki clenched his jaw.
“If you convert Loki and Thor’s age into human years, then Loki would be about sixteen or seventeen…”
The room exploded with laughter. Natasha’s cards flew out of her hands and scattered across the floor; Steve nearly snapped the back of the couch as he threw himself against it; Wanda’s spell fizzled, leaving the TV channels flickering wildly.
Loki bolted out of the room before Peter even finished saying “sixteen.”