Fragmented Thoughts - Chapter 1 (Reader)

Pain throbs through your brain like someone is shooting your forehead over and over again. You gasp, the sudden pain waking you. You sit up, holding your head in your hands. You hear shooting noises, flashes of blue light dancing through your vision, screams and men in metal fighting, the faces of the creatures, the smell of burnt grass...
A blue bolt of light flashes and you scream, curling away from it. Nothing happens. Slowly, your head comes back to the silence of reality. It was all just a dream...just a strange dream...
You open your eyes. You're lying in a soft white bed, its sheets neatly splayed across you. The room is airy, two floor-to-cieling window panes illuminating the room with rays of golden sunlight. Above you a fan silently whirls and cools the room, and the pale blue walls give you the feeling of being at the beach. Against the far wall stands a white wooden dresser, and next to it, a small bathroom and closet.
This isn't your room. You needed to get out of here. You look down - your clothes are bloody, torn up, and dirty. Eugh. You look around and on the white dresser is a light pink polo shirt and blue skinny jeans. Whoever picked the outfit was into fashion...but this isn't your style. You shrug and walk over, grabbing the clothes and heading into the bathroom. If you're going to escape, might as well be clean when you do it.
You look into the mirror and wash out your face. A couple scrapes streak across your left cheek, and you have a bruise above your right eyebrow. There was still a slight throbbing in your right temple, and you have a nice long scrape across your right arm. Wonderful. You use one of the towels to clean off your body and you change into the new clothes. They feel a little tight and itchy, and the collar of the polo shirt bothers you, but you don't have much of a choice...or do you? Quickly, you grab the collar and rip it off, and then using the hair brush, scrape at the knees of the skinny jeans until the pale skin of your knees are exposed. You tussle with your hair and pin it back behind your ears. No makeup or hair stuff. Oh well. Pleased with your appearance - for now - you head out of the room.
Now, to get out of here. Cautiously, you pull at the handle on the door. It's unlocked. So at least you aren't a prisoner. You turn the handle and pull and the door opens. No alarms go off, no sudden camera sounds. So you're not being watched. Quietly, gently, you step out and close the door behind you. You're now standing in a hallway with a set of stairs leading to what looks to be a small bar and balcony overseeing a city landscape. Hmm, not a bad place. You like this. You head over to the far side of the hallway, where a set of stairs lead up and around the corner. You hesitate. Where do those stairs go...?
With a lump in your stomach, you proceed up the staircase, your footsteps slow and loud on the glass of the steps. You feel like you're going on forever before you finally reach another room. This one is a kitchen with a living room set up with a stereo system. In the kitchen, a figure in a black leathery sleeveless shirt is hunching over into the black metallic refrigerator. You cautiously step forward, trying to muffle your footsteps.
"No need to try and be quiet, kid," the figure says. You stop dead. The figure pulls his head out, his hands holding a plastic-wrapped plate with something meaty. His skin is light, his face covered in worry lines and his eyes a light blue. His hair is blonde with a slight cowlick in the front. He licks his lips, eying the meaty frozen food with the hunger of a starved wolf.
"Where am I?" you ask.
"Stark Tower," the man replies. "Don't worry, you're safe here. Well, as safe as any of us are." The man looks up. "Have you met with the others yet?"
"Not really," you say. "Others? There's more than you?"
"Well yeah, there's six of us," he says. "Here, they're all in the game room a couple floors down. Come join us."
You shook your head. "I don't know..."
"She's scared...I don't blame her, after running into those things and having no recollection of what happened after."
"I'm right here," you say frustratingly.
"Huh?" he looks at you, confused. "Well yeah, you are. So let's go."
He walks past you, not even looking back, his eyes fixed to the plate in his hands. You begin to wonder if he drools like a wolf too. You follow him to an elevator inside a small corridor of the living room.
"JARVIS, open the doors," the man says to thin air. "I'm takin' the lady to Stark and the boys."
"As you wish, sir," comes a heavily accented male voice. The elevator doors open, and the man steps in. You kind of stare for a moment, bewildered.
"Well, come on," the man urges.
"The elevator just spoke."
"Yes, the entire tower does. Come on."
"The tower SPEAKS!?"
"COME ON!"
You rush inside the elevator, scared. What was this. This was way weird.
The doors close, and you feel the machine begin to move under your feet.
"I'm Hawkeye, by the way," the man turns to you. He smiles warmly - or at least, what you guess is warmly. "Nice to meet you."
"Cool. My name is-"
"We already know," he interrupts. "Stark's been tracking you for some time, with Loki's help of course. Your powers haven't exactly gone unnoticed."
What!? "You've been tracing me? My powers? What?"
The elevator came to a stop, and Hawkeye's smile widened. The doors opened and Hawkeye walked through, humming some kind of tune. You heard gunshots and a bunch of male voices shouting at each other from around the corner. Slowly, you step out of the elevator, turning to look around the corner. Three men are sitting on a white couch, XBox controllers in hand, screaming at each other - or the TV, whichever - and one is leaning over the top, also screaming. Another man is sitting in a lounge chair, reading, while one woman - a very curvacious woman, you notice - is watching them, laughing.
"Laaddiiieesss!" Hawkeye croons, "I brought meat-stuffed biscuits!"
"I call first dibs next round!" one man says. He's wearing a red shirt that says "BAZINGA!" with some kind of blue glowy thingy underneath. He leans over, ripping the plastic wrap off the plate and taking two of the meaty things from it. The other man - a smaller, darker-skinned man with black curly hair - grabs one and begins to chew. The third - a buff, totally hunky man - gets up and walks over to the plate, his eyes sparkling at the sight of the food. His hair and eyes made you flash back to the dream-thing you had, where you saw him dressed in that silver metal with the cape on. Now he has a simple gray muscle shirt with teal luau-patterned shorts on.
"Thor, don't hog it all, you big lunk!" the one with the BAZINGA shirt says, trying to push the big guy out of the way. The man - Thor - just laughs, his hands full of the meaty stuff.
"You men are such pigs!" the lady across the room laughs. The man that was leaning over the couch reaches over and grabs a couple for himself. You look over to the one sitting in the lounge chair - he hadn't moved at all since you last looked at him. But you remember his face. Those eyes...stunning green eyes, jet-black hair, the dark green outfit...
"Brother, come have some!" Thor yells over his shoulder.
"I'd rather not," the man sitting on the lounge chair responds with a monotone voice. "I'm not too fond of human cuisine."
He said "human" as if they were disgusting cowpatties.
"Oh! You're here!" the BAZINGA-shirted man says, finally noticing you. His face was scruffy and his hair was a mess. He walks over and pats you roughly on the back. "We thought you'd never wake up!"
"I did, so tell me where I am," you say with a serious tone.
"You're in my home," the BAZINGA-shirted man says. "I'm Tony Stark." He points to the large hunky guy. "That food-hogger Thor," he points to the dark-skinned man with black curly hair,"that's Banner," he points to Hawkeye,"that's Cliff," he points to the man who was leaning over the couch,"that's Steve," he points to the woman,"that lovely lady is Natasha," and he points lastly to the man on the lounge chair," and Mr. Anti-Social over there is Loki."
Loki. Loki. You like that name. You look him over. His ebony hair is brushed back into a messy ponytail, his face carved but gentle. His eyes are stunning, his body slender but toned. He doesn't look up from his book, or move an inch, but replies to Tony's comment with,"if you Midgardians weren't so disgusting, I wouldn't be."
"Oh, lighten up," Tony jokes. "You're the God of Mischief! So be so!"
"Wait a second," you say, stepping back. "You didn't tell me what's going in. Why am I here? What's up with me? What happened? What were those things? Why are you guys here? Why-"
You feel your mouth being pushed closed by some kind of pressure. You can't seem to open it back up. Alarmed, you look around and spot Loki standing up, one hand raised with its palm to you as if to say "stop". His eyes burrow into you, and you feel as if you want to run, but you're fixed in place.
"We can't answer all your questions at once," Loki says. He lets his hand drop, and the pressure on your jaw dissipates. You roll your jaw around, a little frightened. This guy had the power to make you shut up.
"You're here because you're different," Natasha began. She steps closer to the group, her dark heels clicking on the floor. "You have special powers that other people don't have."
"Like what?" you ask. "I can spell big words? I can smell water?"

"Not exactly," Steve interrupts. "You're different because you have superpowers. You're a superhuman."