Chapter Text
Steve stumbles into his room, his exhaust evident. His hair is matted and tangled and his clothes are crumpled and stained. He kicks off his worn Adidas shoes and proceeds to his dresser. He pulls out a few cents of spare change from the apron that he wears and drops the coins into a tin can that lays in the front of the top drawer. The front of it reads “Restaurant Fund” in his neatest handwriting. He sighs down at it, knowing that the meager change won’t do much to help him achieve his - and his father’s - dream. But his father is gone now.
Steve pulls a folded piece of paper from the drawer. He sets it down beside the tin can full of change and unfolds it, smoothing out the creases as he goes. It’s the same picture that he remembers his father showing him of the beautiful restaurant when he was younger. He smiles down at the poster and traces his fingers over the blue sharpie writing that says “Steve’s Place”.
“Don’t you worry, dad,” Steve says, “we’ll be there soon.” He brushes a finger over a picture of his father. He promised his father when he was younger that they’d have a restaurant, and that’s a promise he plans on keeping whether his father is here or not. He knows that’s what he would want and it will most definitely make him happy. He grins down at the picture, tears filling his eyes, before collapsing on his bed and falling straight to sleep.
It feels like he’s been asleep for mere minutes when his alarm clock screams shrilly at him. He
pokes it with his toe before dragging himself out of bed and throwing on one of the few outfits he has. He brushes his hair and teeth before running out of the door and hopping on a trolley that passes by his house.
He arrives at work a little later than he usually does, which makes his boss more than a little unhappy. He serves the food with all the smile and charm he can muster, keeping the picture of the restaurant in his mind. The more tips he gets, the faster he can get out of there and get his own restaurant.
* * *
Loki Odinson laughs maniacally as the guy that had asked for some more hair on the top of his head to grow back. The man had immediately been ecstatic, which is to be expected when dealing with Loki’s magic, but it completely backfires on the man. As he approaches a pretty woman, hair sprouts from every pore on his body, making him look more like a wolf than a man. The woman shrieks and scurries away, causing the man to look at himself in the reflective glass window beside him. He screams at it, very similar to the woman’s, and sprints away, presumably to keep everyone around him from looking at him.
* * *
Tony Stark stands on the bow of the boat, smiling at the crowd with dazzling white teeth. Cameras lights flash as Tony steps down the ramp that connects the boat to the dock. He takes long strides to reach the dock, grinning the whole way. There’s an air of arrogance that follows him around that makes the guys jealous and the girls swoon. His devilish good looks may help a little bit, too.
The girls rush to greet him as he approaches the dock, each hoping desperately for a chance with the notorious Prince Tony Stark of Maldonia. He laughs with them - a deep, throaty sound - that makes them all sigh dreamily. He struts away from them, waving goodbye to them as he goes.
* * *
Steve rushes around the diner as quickly as possible, serving the plates that are stacked up on his tray and handing the checks out to finished customers. Around noon-ish, Steve spots a familiar group gathered around a table.
“Steve!” his good friend, Bucky, calls out, “Come dancing with us tonight. It’ll be fun!”
Sounds of agreement come from the rest of the group.
“You guys know I have two left feet,” he tells them, “Besides, I’m taking an extra shift tonight to try to get some extra money for-”
“Your restaurant,” Bucky cuts him off exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. “Working is all you ever do nowadays. Come on out and have fun for once. Maybe we could even meet some nice girls…” he trails off, wiggling an eyebrow.
Steve feels a blush creep up his neck. Bucky knows how helpless Steve is when it comes to girls. Or - not that he’d ever tell the manly Bucky - guys, in his case. He was always somewhat small and scrawny when he was little but he grew a lot since then. He’s filled out enough so that he’s no longer lanky, but he’s still not used to the way that girls look at him. It never happened when he was smaller, but it sure does happen a lot now. He can’t say that he minds it much, it just makes him feel like he’s not in his own skin sometimes.
“Sorry guys, maybe next time,” he informs them. He really does need to get back to work.
He starts to walk away from his friends when he hears someone mutter “told you he wouldn’t come”.
Steve sighs. He supposes that it’s not often that he goes out anymore and he can’t blame them.
‘You have to work to make your dreams come true, and that star there will just help give you a step in the right direction,’ his father’s words ring in his head. He sure as hell hoped that he was working hard enough to make his dreams come true.
He really doesn’t need to go out that bad anyway.
“You’re still moping around about that restaurant?” his boss, Phil Coulson, asks him. He laughs at Steve’s weary nod. “How close are you?”
Steve rolls his eyes. Coulson’s always been pretty blunt, he supposes.
“Where are my flapjacks?” Steve asks, avoiding the question completely. Phil chuckles and stacks the flapjacks on a plate and sets them on Steve’s tray.
“You’ve got about as much chance of getting that restaurant as I do of winning the Kentucky Derby!” he chortles.
Steve glares at him before stomping away to give table number 8 their flapjacks.
“Mornin’, Mr. Romanoff,” Steve greets as Natasha’s father strides in the door. “Congrats on being crowned king of the Mardi Gras parade.”
“It caught me completely by surprise,” he informs him. Except, really, it hadn’t. He’s been crowned king for the past five years.
Steve laughs good-naturedly and sets down some freshly baked pastries in front of him. It’s his usual. Mr. Romanoff tells him to keep them coming until he passes out when Natasha comes bursting through the door.
“Steve, Steve, Stevie, Stevie!” she cries when she enters. “You won’t believe it!” She plops down beside her father. “Tell him, daddy, tell him.”
“Oh, right. Well, Prince Tony of Maldonia is coming to New Orleans!” he smugly says.
”Isn’t that just wonderful? He’s too handsome. Tell him what you did, daddy,” she squeals.
“Right, well I-” he starts until Natasha cuts him off. She’s apparently too excited to wait for her dad to finish his sentence.
“Dad invited him to the Masquerade ball tonight!”
“And he’s staying at our house as our personal guest,” her father continues.
Steve can’t help but feel a slight pang of jealousy. Prince Tony Stark is a pretty handsome man, and he wouldn’t mind getting to see him up close. The problem about guys like him is that they’re usually snooty, spoiled brats that don’t know how to handle themselves when they’re denied something that they want. Steve’s about the opposite of that and he doesn’t think he can handle someone of that caliber.
“Well, that’s just swell, Natasha. My mama always used to say that the quickest way to earn a man’s heart is through his stomach,” he says with humor laced in his tone. He pats the big belly of Natasha’s father and he laughs along with Steve.
“Steve, you genius. I’m going to need about a hundred of your delicious baked goods for the ball tonight. Will this cover it?” she questions, handing him a few hundred dollars.
“This should be just fine, Tasha. This’ll cover it!” He hugs the money to his chest. He can put the down payment on the restaurant he’s been looking at with all these bills!
“That’s great, Stevie! Well, we best be going now. Bye!”
Natasha and her dad both stand before strutting out the door.
Steve smiles after them before telling Phil that he’s taking his break. He rushes to the building that he plans to establish his restaurant in and puts the down payment on it, thanking the two men as they leave. He studies the run down building and pictures the transformation that it’ll undertake when it becomes a restaurant.
“I have a present for you, my boy,” his mother calls from behind him. Steve turns around excitedly, spotting the wooden brown pot in his mother’s hands. There’s a silky red bow wrapped around it. Steve smiles, tears gathering in his eyes, remembering those special nights when they’d all gather around the pot and make the best darn gumbo soup ever known to man. He misses those nights.
“Thank you, mama,” he stutters out. He can’t tear his eyes away from the pot full of memories to meet her eyes. He wraps her in his arms and hugs her tightly, sniffling quietly.
“I know,” Sarah murmurs knowingly in his ear, “I miss him too.”
Steve pulls away from her and wipes his eyes with the back of his jacket’s sleeve.
“Well now, why don’t you open the door?” his mother asks. He nods and pushes open the blue doors to reveal a dank and destroyed building. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Doesn’t it just make you want to cry?” he questions her, a smile playing at his lips.
“Yes,” she replies hesitantly. It’s obvious that she feels no need to cry whatsoever.
He explains what his plan is - where the kitchen is going to go, where he’s going to place the tables, and points to the ceiling where a giant chandelier will go - while he strides around confidently.
“You really are your father’s son,” she determines. Steve chuckles at that.
They discuss Steve’s father a bit more before the discussion takes a turn for the worse.
“It’s a shame that you’re working so hard. I just want you to be happy and meet your beautiful princess one day; I want you to find love.”
Steve decides that maybe this is a good time to tell her. She deserves to know.
“Prince Charming, mom. Maybe it’s time for me to find my Prince Charming.”
Her eyes widen dramatically before understanding settles in. She grins warmly up at him.
“Prince Charming it is.”
* * *
Edwin Jarvis charges down the street with Tony Stark’s luggage tucked under his arm like footballs. He spots a crowd forming a little way’s further and assumes that that’s where Tony is. As he gets closer, he can hear the faint sound of music. Tony, for sure.
He pushes his way through the crowd, muttering insincere apologies as he goes. He’s really just in a rush to get to Tony. He’s a famous Prince that everyone adores, there’s bound to be people who want to harm him, jealous people. In fact, there’s been attempts on his life before and some of them nearly succeeded. He’s determined to never allow Tony out of his sight, but it just makes the boy try to escape him even more. He wants to be free, Jarvis knows, but it’s only for his own safety. Tony doesn’t seem to realize that.
He manages to break through the swarm of people and get to the front of the crowd where Tony sings and strums his guitar, cackling with a boy who dances around like he has ants in his pants. His perfected carefree and charming mask is most definitely slipped on. Jarvis still notices the way that Tony’s eyes widen a fraction when he gets bumped unexpectedly by a fan or the way that his eyes reflect something similar to a cornered animal. The last kidnapping had taken a toll on him and he doesn’t think that he’ll ever see those bright chocolate eyes the same ever again. At least, not as innocent as they were before. There’s something cold lurking beneath the surface, but Jarvis doesn’t ask. He knows that he needs time and time is something that Jarvis has.
“Oh, jazz music, Jarvis. It was born here. Have you ever heard something as astonishing as this before?” Tony asks his butler - or, as he calls him secretly, keen protector - as Jarvis nears. “Dance with me, J!”
Tony swings Jarvis around in circles while Jarvis sputters nonsense at him.
“Drinks are on me, everyone!” Tony suddenly announces. The crowd that had formed cheers and claps their hands.
“And how do you plan on doing that?” Jarvis questions him suspiciously. “With the magic money that you pull from thin air, or from your nonexistent job?” He points to a man scooping horse poop from the streets. Tony grimaces.
“Fair enough. Let’s dance again, J!”
It ends with Jarvis managing to get his bulbous head stuck in a tuba and them toppling to the ground after trying to extricate him. Then, a mysterious man with bright green eyes behind a long black mop of hair’s shadow casts over them.
“How are you gentlemen doing?” the man asks with an - what is it, english? - accent.
The man hands Tony a purple business card that reads “Doctor Loki, Tarot readings, charms, potions, dreams made real”.
“Dreams made real?” Tony wonders aloud.
Loki slings an arm over Tony’s shoulders, guiding him down the street and through an inky alleyway. Jarvis trails closely behind them.
“Jarvis, this good man just read my palm,” Tony notifies.
Jarvis inspects the man, spotting a newspaper tucked behind the man’s back.
“Do not trust this man,” Jarvis mutters just loud enough for Loki to hear him. Loki hisses and steps closer to the pair.
Tony flinches away and hunches in on himself as if prepared for a physical blow. When Jarvis tells him not to trust a man, Tony listens. He doesn’t want the whole ‘captured’ situation to ever happen to him again, let alone get Jarvis involved.
“Don’t you question me, you powerless human. Don’t you dare,” he spits.
Loki snaps his fingers, making a series of candles burn bright with flames. A purple door seemingly appears from nowhere and Loki drags Tony and Jarvis inside. Tony smiles uneasily at the man and tells himself to keep control of his emotions. A panic attack right now won’t help him or Jarvis right now.
Loki forcefully pushes the pair into a set of chairs stationed around a table. A heaviness settles on them - not exactly painful, but nearly there - and keeps them stationed in their seats. Tony’s eyes flash for a moment, thinking of the pain and the dampness of the cave, before he compresses the sight away and forces himself to concentrate on his breathing.
Loki sits down in front of them, pulling out an odd deck of cards that Tony is sure he’s never seen before. And really, that’s saying something, because Tony is a certified genius. He knows everything.
“Take three cards and I’ll look into your future,” he tells them. His eyes contain a crazed look and Tony’s sure that if he doesn’t oblige, something bad will happen to him. He smiles at the man, the most authentic smile he can muster, and takes three cards. He’s learned from an early age that angering the crazy people isn’t a good decision (Howard’s fist’s against his small body). He shakes the thought away and takes three cards, gesturing for Jarvis to do the same. Jarvis is his top priority as of right now, he needs to make sure that he’ll be all right.
“Now you, Tony, come from across the sea. You come from three long lines of royalty, am I correct? You have an eccentric lifestyle, but your funds are low and mum and dad cut you off, did they?” Loki hums with feigned innocence.
Tony knows that if he was able to move, he would have recoiled from those harsh words. Mum and dad never really cared enough to give him the time of day, let alone money.
“Something called an arc reactor has taken the last bit of money from you? I do quite wonder what that is…”
Tony’s hands instinctively reach for his chest, but he finds them unable to move in his lap. Weird. Loki barrells on.
“You just want to be free, but you’re unable to do anything without any money. I see a whole lot of green in your future.”
That earns a grin from Tony. Money really is an issue with him. He wants to pay Jarvis more for all he has to put up with, but he can’t afford to. He wants to do many things, but the money holds him back very effectively.
He proceeds to tell Jarvis about his past, present, and future. About how Jarvis was always pushed around for his whole life; how, if he was married, he’d be pushed around by his wife, too; and about how, in his future, he’d be able to be the man he’d always wanted to be.
Tony frowns. Has he been one of those people that pushed Jarvis around. He assumes that he is and that makes him more than a little upset. Everyone leaves him, including his mother and father, and he knows that it’s his fault. Maybe he pushes Jarvis too hard and Jarvis will end up leaving him too? He can’t handle the thought of another one he loves leaving him.
The last card that Loki hands Jarvis isn’t facing Tony, so he can’t see it. He does notice the way that Jarvis’s eyes widen comically at the sight of it, but he doesn’t flash Tony the card’s face for even just a split second.
It makes Tony feel very uneasy.
“Now, won’t you boys shake a poor sinner’s hands?” Loki questions the two. Jarvis takes one of his hands easily and Tony thinks that - if Jarvis trusts this man all of a sudden - maybe he can too? But then the remembers the unsettling feeling that he got when Jarvis was looking at that card. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea. But, before he knows it, his hand is reaching up to shake Loki’s hand without his permission.
Tony grunts in surprise, his lips curling downwards at the sight of his hand touching Loki’s.
A pair of green snakes with blazing red eyes wrap themselves around his body, productively keeping him glued to the chair.
Suddenly, a puff of green smoke settles across the whole room like fog rolling over a lake. A glowing skull mask appears on Loki’s face, making his eyes reflect a putrid purple color. He laughs menacingly, pulling a palm-sized mask with fangs from mid air. Loki holds it to Tony’s finger and the mask bites him, making it well up with blood. His blood fills the clear lines of the mask and turns it a crimson red color.
He feels his body shrinking and the snakes loosening around him, and the next thing he knows, he’s lying on the cold cement ground. The last thing Tony remembers before the darkness engulfs him is that Loki’s spell must have come undone because he can finally move on his own again.