Chapter Text
May 4, 2012
New York
Loud explosions are cracking all around as the Chitauri is fiercely besieging the city. Amidst the chaos, the sun is blinding. Warm on the skin. The air is smokey but that’s not the only reason why Loki cannot breathe—
Roughly, Thor pushes him backwards until his back hits a hard surface. Loki gasps. Pain. So much pain. His mind is dizzy, hazy. Thor knocks the Scepter out of his hand. It flies high, spinning around in the air. During its descent, it plummets a few feet away, its silver blades sinking into the ground with a sharp clank. It stays there in a vertical position, shining in the daylight.
Voices scream inside his head. Loki is also screaming inside his head. He needs that Scepter. Without it, he’s nothing. Weak. He cannot disappoint.
“Stop it, Loki!” Thor’s voice, like thunder, catches Loki’s attention. He is grabbed violently, as Thor is shoving him out of frustration. “Stop this madness! This isn’t you!”
Oh, but I am… Am I not?
Loki feels so fractured. Broken. His mind is filled with memories: promises of sweet, sweet death. It never arrives. Only pain. He gasps.
“Even if I did,” Loki murmurs, "He will be coming. You cannot defeat Him…” he says, a sprinkle of resignation saturating his tone. A little bit of fear. “You’d be a fool to even try. He can kill you in ways you could not ever imagine possible.”
Why is he saying that? It’s not like Thor cares—he’s always been stupid and reckless.
“We can,” Thor steps even closer, close enough for Loki to sink a blade in between his ribs. Wouldn’t be the first time. His witless oaf of a brother even makes it easy: leaving an opening for Loki as if volunteering to be stabbed. Mjolnir hanging in his hand idly, Thor lifts his other arm up and places it on Loki's shoulder, trying to persuade him with words of childlike romanticism. “We can win, Loki. If you and I fight together! Asgard and all of Midgard’s mighty warriors—”
Loki snorts, “Your new friends…”
“Midgard is more than what you think,” Thor says, that quaint softness seeping in his features. That Scientist, Loki thinks with contempt. With a twinge of jealousy.
“Does not appear to me as such…” he mocks, trying to provoke his brother to continue the fight. Loki craves it. War and pain. It makes him forget about his own misery. “This planet is weak, and so are you!”
Thor’s face twists into a pained expression. “What happened to you? What did they do to you?“
Oh, so you can see me now, brother? Perhaps a little bit late for that…
Loki grins, “I’ve been enlightened. Made stronger and given a new purpose. I shall and I will be glorious!”
“Is that what you want?” Thor challenges him. “To rule ill and cause suffering? Did my brother really die then?”
“You really attempt to appeal to my humanity with a false family?! That blatant lie?” Loki spits, feeling a small knife in his palm. It’s cool and heavy.
“It was not a lie to me,” Thor says, eyes shimmering earnestly. His anguished, nostalgic demeanour makes Loki freeze. The voices in Loki’s brain are muffled by Thor’s words: “I always thought the world of you. I always wished to fight by your side and die with you on the battlefield so we could enter Valhalla together,” he lifts his arm up, holding Loki’s head and smiling. “You are my brother, Loki. No matter what anyone says. No matter what you think. I care for you. I don’t want us to fight. I don’t want to lose you, again. Neither does Mother and Father—”
Loki just laughs out loud because… why did all of this madness have to happen for Thor to just acknowledge him like that!? Warmth is seeping into his cold insides but he cannot let himself be fooled. What Thor is sputtering is just for children. Loki is not a child. He knows what the real world is like outside of a shiny, golden palace. Thor’s idiocy is probably just a means to an end, anyway. He’s just trying to manipulate Loki until his new friends sneak up behind his back. Perhaps they’re already there…
“I told you once, I never was your brother,” he argues. The knife is no longer in his hands. Just pain. Heavy, heavy pain. “But even if I had foolishly thought so, that pathetic, weak clown had died when he had fallen off the Rainbow Bridge countless full moons ago.”
A tear falls from Thor’s eye. Loki’s eyes are welling with tears, too, cascading down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t go and save you. With the Bifrost destroyed, I couldn’t…” That is a great attempt to get to Loki, even for an idiot like Thor. His brother is truly excelling with his act: he appears all emotional. Loki is impressed. “So what do you say?” Thor is pressing, “Because innocent people are dying at this moment, and we need to do something now—“
Loki points a finger at him, “You need to do something. I don’t care about this planet, or its people. I would rather burn it down to pieces just to make you suffer as much as I did!” He is shouting, provoking. To no avail, it seems.
Why is he not fighting me!?
“I’m sorry, Loki,” Thor says, “that you have suffered so much without me even noticing. I hadn’t been just with you. I have not supported you as much as you had needed. I wish I could ask the Norns to re-twine the shape of our destinies, or that I would be able to rewrite the stars myself, but I cannot.”
“Shut up!” With a burst of rage, Loki lunges forward fervently. He shoves Thor and pushes him backwards. Thor doesn’t even try to defend himself. It’s humiliating. He’s still not taking Loki seriously. Loki keeps hitting him until Thor falls onto his back. He crouches down with the momentum, one knee on the ground, supporting his weight. He’s pushing down on Thor with one hand. He conjures a dagger in his other hand, raising it high. It’s cold and heavy. His hand is trembling.
“Then do it. If it gives you peace, I’ll take the blow for you, brother.” Thor says, like the absolute idiot that he is. He lets go of Mjolnir and he’s just waiting to be struck. Like a helpless fish on the cutting board.
Loki can feel tears pooling in his eyes. Even under Thanos’ ruthless training, he remained a weak, pathetic, mewling quim. He lets out a choked sob.
Whole body shuddering, Loki stands up. Killing Thor like this is far from glory. He doesn’t even wish to kill him. He’s just…so angry. So abandoned. Alone. In so much pain.
He walks toward the Scepter. Looking around, he gazes at the city again: down below on the ground and airborne the Avengers are fighting relentlessly. A group of delusional fools.
Behind him, Thor gets on his feet. Awaiting. Perhaps he’s just looking for the perfect opportunity to strike. Waiting for his friends to join. Magnetised, Loki reaches for his only weapon and reclaims it.
Thanos’ Scepter is heavy in his hand, trying to get into his mind like a worm, a constant buzz of intrusion, forcing him to subdue. Loki…is so exhausted from all this. He’s tired of fighting. Tired of surviving.
If Thor really wants to swing his axe of mercy, Loki wouldn’t even resist at this point.
It does not come, even when Loki actually longs for it. He looks back at Thor, tears inevitably falling. He’s still a child after all.
“It’s futile to resist,” he whispers, hand trembling on the handle of the Scepter. Even if all of Midgard had been setting up an army of soldiers with unique skills, they couldn’t ever win. Loki knows. He’s tried several times, before they had broken him in. He had actually given in on his own, just so the torture would end. Dying hadn’t meant rest and peace if he would have always been brought back. Time and time again, like an endless loop of agony. Loki thinks he deserves it, though.
“Your best option is to surrender,” he says, exasperated. “You’ll live in peace. All He wants is to restore balance in the universe. He’s doing this for us.”
“Balance?” Thor scoffs, walking closer. “Does balance and justice look like this to you?”
Following Thor’s gesture, Loki looks around at the city. Long enough to see, to realise what he had caused. All that destruction. The screams. He doesn’t enjoy this. But no one can defeat Thanos.
Thor is still reaching for him, clinging to someone who doesn’t exist anymore—never existed truly—expression both tormented and hopeful. Glad.
Loki closes his eyes. The fog in his head is growing thick and dark but flashes of light flicker through the madness. The Tesseract, the Mind Stone… they aren’t even worth it. They’re never giving Loki what he truly wishes for. Loki is merely a pawn. Even if Thor thinks otherwise.
“We can do this, brother. Together. Please!”
Eyes still closed, memories appear in Loki’s mind. Of his childhood. Mother, Thor, Odin— the King of Asgard hadn’t always been so disapproving of him. Loki had been trying to forget about all of those faint, fond memories because he had been so hurt. They’re…happy memories. Loki longs for them.
Mum… Like a comforting embrace, Loki can feel her in his mind. Soft and warm. Her voice is kind, gentle: Come back home, my darling son.
Thanos’ Scepter is heavy in his hands… Loki grips on it firmly. It’s not his anymore. It’s now Loki’s. And he will not be a pawn in someone else’s chess game.
He opens his eyes. For the first time in years, he smiles at Thor, genuinely. Thor smiles back, arm reaching out to call for Mjolnir.
Loki decides, if Norns have been weaving the threads of his pathetic life so he has to die today, for good, he’d rather die alongside his brother. In a fight, like their ancestors, as an equal. That’s what he’d always wanted anyway.
“I don’t think your new friends will welcome me in this playfield,” he smirks, walking up to the edge of the rooftop. They need a plan before this whole city crumbles to ashes and dust. Before Thanos arrives. Thor and all of Midgard don’t know what’s coming for them. Who is coming for them. For Loki. For a traitor.
Loki is still shaking. Apart from that, he’s just as stubborn as he’d always been. Resilient. Determined, Loki concentrates—his Mum is still present in his mind, kind and supporting—and he banishes them all from his head. It’s kind of funny how Thor hasn’t even got a clue about the battle inside Loki.
“You’re familiar with that saying of second chances…” Thor offers with a small smile. “Midgardians are unbelievably hopeful. And forgiving.”
Loki scoffs but his mouth quirks into a grin. He missed this so much: being with his brother. Even when he is still an idiot.
Loki guesses, he doesn’t really need to worry about the consequences of his terrible actions that he’d done until now— He’ll probably die an earlier death anyway. Loki isn’t afraid of death anymore. He welcomes it. He will die an Odinson, of Asgard. Not the monster of Jotunheim. Not a mindless puppet, strangled in strings.
Nodding at Thor, they leap off the building, back into the fight…
***
November 4, 2012
New York
Loki opens his eyes, trying to banish the memory of both the past and the recurring nightmares from his mind. His ears are ringing. The buzz of the bizarre metal cabin carrying him upright makes his headache worse. He’s feeling sick. And yet, this is not the time to be weak, even if he’s the weakest he’s ever been. It’s actually a miracle he’s even here now. Alive.
Thanos had not appreciated Loki’s betrayal even when he expected it. What he did not expect at all was to lose. An assembled force of Asgard and Midgard had defeated the Mad Titan and his army. They had won but New York had fallen. The costs had been too high and countless lives had been lost. After several months, its people are still trying to recover.
And that’s why Loki is here now, in an elevator that is taking him up high, in the rebuilt Stark Tower, which is also hosting a charity ceremony to aid the victims of the siege.
How idiotic. It’s just another useless parade.
After the battle ended, Loki had been taken back to Asgard. Even if his Mother had welcomed him with tears of joy and a warm hug, Odin had not been so sentimental. Loki had expected to be either executed or sent to the dungeons for the rest of his life. The Allfather had other plans.
Loki had been stripped of his magic, reduced to a mere mortal. Although he hadn’t been banished to Midgard, like Thor had been before, he’d been forced to return. He had to right his wrongs.
As if he could…
Thor may have sung cloying odes of Midgard and its people, accolades to their generosity and forgiveness but it had not applied to Loki.
Accurately, Loki expected as such.
With a ding that’s entirely too loud and unpleasant, the elevator doors open. An automated voice is instructing Loki. It’s so absurd! Loki rolls his eyes out of pettiness. He takes a deep breath and steps forward, the guard Odin assigned to him following close behind. He’s not ready to mingle. At all.
Out of the many, many people in the giant, fancy hall, Loki is met with the Avengers. Of course.
“All eyes on you, mad Shakespeare,” Tony shows a wry smile. “One bad haiku, and your pompous royal ass is blasted from the party.”
“I am stripped of my powers if you are so concerned. No more than a pathetic, weak Midgardian commoner,” Loki snarks, the corner of his mouth curving into a cocky smirk. “How can you even exist like this!?”
“Y’know,” Tony chuckles sarcastically, “for someone who’s so arrogant, you get your ass beaten too much.”
“Oh, I think your arrogance is on par with mine,” Loki remarks. “Perhaps even exceeding it.” He has no other choice than to be cooperative. That doesn’t mean he won’t make fun of Thor’s idiotic friends. He’s still the God of Mischief after all. Even if he’s been put on a leash. Or volunteered, to be precise.
“Okay, boys,” Natasha steps in between them, “this is a fundraising gala. Let’s not make it into a testosterone race.” She then turns to Loki. “Have you apologised to Clint and Coulson, by the way?”
“A god does not apologise,” Loki retorts with a smirk. His bravado and cockiness all fake. Even if Loki is no more than a helpless quim now, he will keep his dignity. Or what’s left of it. Honestly, it’s just a pathetic attempt at protecting himself. He will not show weakness in front of the enem—these annoying creatures.
Talking about the spy in front of him now: Loki actually likes her. She may appear delicate and fragile but she’s witty and adept. Not that Loki would ever say that out loud. He’s simply observant. Analysing and reading people, trying to find their weaknesses and strengths comes to him naturally. It’s how he’s survived all this time.
And for what? To pay for his crimes. Never achieving salvation.
“Thought, I heard you say you were just a human now, like us,” Banner adds. For an insult, it sounds polite and quiet, although it’s not lacking venom. Loki just rolls his eyes. He won’t admit but these people… they’re thrilling to tease. They’re also just buffoons but they are surprisingly more capable than Loki had thought.
“Please, I am above you all. Even now.” It’s nothing but a lie. Inside, Loki is nothing but the opposite. These Midgardian clothes—black trousers, suit jacket with a simple white dress shirt—feel wrong on him. Almost as heavy as his guilt. Around his neck, the dark green tie is suffocating him.
“For a foolish second, I thought I was gonna hate you less, but you’re still an asshole,” Barton mocks.
They all walk away and disappear into the crowd. Loki doesn’t miss them. It’s only Steve Rogers who stays.
“So… is it really all rainbow and magic where you come from?” He awkwardly asks. Loki scoffs in response and walks away.
Of course, his witless oaf brother can only make witless oaf friends. At least, they’ve got humour. Loki respects that. Or how they aren’t that bad in battle— But Loki really doesn’t want to dwell on that. If anything, he wants to forget it all. The problem is that he cannot.
Perhaps he’ll get himself a flute of cheap Midgardian alcoholic beverages. It can’t hurt as much as the gravity of his own misdeeds, burdening down on his chest like a vice. No glory.
Sometimes, more often than not, Loki wishes he had died in that battle… Perhaps that would have been enough for salvation. Or if not, he wouldn’t have to struggle and suffer anymore.
***
Loki loves attention. He’s craving it. Now, he’d do anything to be able to get out of here. There’s too many people here. Too loud, too many eyes on him. Scathing. Loki isn’t even offended. He hates himself, too. He’s just waiting for this ridiculous event to end… He will have to be of service and clean up for sure—Allfather’s orders—but even that would be better than just standing here on the sidelines. (He had gravitated toward the nearest wall hoping that he could recover from his looming panic. It didn’t work.)
It’s so evident that he doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t belong anywhere.
And then, among the buzzing-vibrant crowd that’s moving like shoals of fish, Loki spots him.
Short, silver hair that glimmers under the artificial lights. Shining, like a cluster of stars. He’s wearing a black suit that’s clearly not fit for his form—he still appears oddly stunning. He’s holding a flute of champagne, chatting. Seems like a common Midgardian man, with an apparently awful fashion sense. His brown necktie is simply atrocious.
Loki can’t take his eyes off of him.
The man slightly turns his head, and Loki can now get a better glimpse at his face: he’s not young—in Midgardian sense—but age has not tainted his beauty yet. If anything, he’s purely handsome. Glowing. Like a pulsar. Even from where Loki stands, he can see that the man has bright blue eyes. They shine with an absurd amount of kindness. Warmth. He appears quite gentle, too. Soft. Clearly not a warrior. Just another weak, naive, foolish mortal. His smile is extraordinary, though.
Absurdly, Loki feels drawn to him. His heart is beating unreasonably wild, as if musicians were hitting their drums in a tight, marching cadence. Padam, padam, padam. If Loki were bold enough to follow the rhythm, it would lead to him.
Instinctively, Loki takes a step forward— then he remembers who he is. Where he is. Why he’s even here in the first place. Not for this. Whatever this is that has come over him. He’s not like this. At all.
(Or if he were, well— He could surely not handle that man. For a simple mortal, he’s burning so bright—Loki would catch on fire, and inevitably be incinerated if he dared to get closer. And Loki does not like heat.)
He takes a flute of champagne from a servant, and downs it all. He takes another.
Perhaps he should flee. Even if he’s stripped of his magic, he still knows the secret passages between the Nine Realms. Not to escape his responsibilities—Heimdall would see him right away and alert everyone. Getting punished or sent to the dungeons, or to Hel itself would still be better than this meaningless existence. A constant struggle of yearning for more whilst also never being enough.
Loki takes a sneaky glance at the guard that Odin sent to escort him—as if Loki had been so terrified of a Midgardian ambushing him… If anything, Loki would be grateful. (If only it were true anyway. Loki is aware of the real reason Odin had assigned a chaperone for him: to keep the monster of Jotunheim under control. Clearly, all of these people give Loki too much credit. He’s not that threatening or powerful.)
Drinking all those thoughts away with a gulp of this weird, sparkly, bubbly liquid, Loki hands the empty glass to a servant. He’d go for another but a plan is forming in his head. This guard is actually going to be too easy to trick.
“I need to use the bathroom,” he grins at him, eyelashes fluttering a little. “Unless you want to join me?” This always evokes the same reaction.
Giggling, Loki turns around, heart hammering with joy of another successfully executed mischief (it’s so rare that he can, lately), when he crashes into someone—
Naturally, Loki would be yelling by now, berating and mocking. He’s a god, even without his powers. How dare a simple mortal walk into him!? (Even when Loki was the actual culprit, he will just blame it on the other participant. They should have paid attention on Loki’s behalf anyway!)
Except, he can’t find his words because it’s the same man he was gawking at just minutes ago.
Norns! Those eyes are even prettier up close…
“Hello,” the mysterious stranger beams. Voice barely above a murmur. So soft, so gentle. A balm in this awful world.
He can’t be real. And even if he is, I am clearly improper for him.
Loki is simply too stunned to react. The man—as Loki suspected—is lacking a few inches compared to Loki himself. His cheeks appear rosy, and that warm, kind smile Loki witnessed just earlier is on his face now, directed at Loki. Evidently, it’s so bright it’s able to render a god speechless… It’s also making Loki want to do things he should never wish to do. Not here. Not now. Not to this mortal. Not ever.
He swallows and briefly looks away, attempting to collect himself and put his Silvertongue into good use—conversing—when he notices the pin on the man’s suit jacket. An orange clock and an acronym of three letters.
“You are from…the TVA?” Loki asks, brows furrowed. It’s ridiculous, how his heart skips a beat.
Gods, why is he so aghast now? So… disappointed?
Even if Loki didn’t care for Midgard, he’d be an idiot not to be familiar with the well-known organisation: the Time Variance Authority—they’re set out after dangerous criminals. Like Loki himself. Most probably, they’re only here to monitor Loki now. Just an animal in a cage.
Like an old friend, anger seeps into his bones. Sweltering. Bitter. Oddly, Loki feels betrayed. He can barely hear what the man is yapping about in front of him now.
“Well, yes. I’m Agent Mobius, by the way,” he holds out a hand to shake. “I'm actually a big fan of yours.” He says with a smile. It’s not warm. It’s not kind. It’s…offending. A blatant mockery. Loki clenches both hands into tight fists by his sides.
“Excuse me,” he shows a brilliant fake smile, then turns toward the guard. Leaning in, he murmurs, “Can you get rid of him for me?”
Without taking another look at the… enemy, or waiting for the guard’s response—Loki is well aware that he wouldn’t comply to such a request—he just walks away. He needs to calm down before he makes a scene. Or maybe he should… He yearns for a fight now. Haven’t these agents, TVA and SHIELD alike, only come here for Loki?
Well, he could put on one Hel of a show for them if they’re so keen on seeing one performed by an infamous and heinous villain. Loki is more than welcome to deliver. It’s unlike him to be virtuous anyway. He shouldn’t pretend and delude himself that he could have an ordinary life, with a maudlin happy ending. Loki is not meant for that. He is not foolish to think otherwise.
Because no matter what he does, deep in his very core, Loki of Asgard will remain the same. And the Nine Realms will not forget. Or forgive.
But most of all, Loki cannot forget, or forgive himself, either.
***
Paralyzed, Mobius is just standing there in the crowd, surrounded by lively chatter whilst his heart is stupidly aching. That rejection—although he should’ve expected it but he was still silly enough to be hopeful for a different outcome—hit him harder than any blow during his embarrassing Hunter years. Cut deeper than any razor.
Still, he can’t take his eyes off of Loki. He’s just staring at him; hungry eyes following the prince’s every movement as he’s walking further and further away, until his tall form disappears in the mass of people.
Well, this didn’t go in the way I hoped it would…
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