Summary:
Loki has been banished on Earth and is eventually diagnosed with Leukemia. Now he has to cope with his rapidly changing life while fighting a possibly incurable disease.
The Avengers don't know, and more importantly, Thor doesn't know. No one has knowledge of the Trickster god's presence on Midgard. Will Loki keep his condition under wraps or will he seek help and safety from his once-brother?
(Take place roughly a year after the Chitauri.)
Story details:
OCs will be avoided when possible.
Canon pairings used.
Set in MCU movie-verse.
Warnings:
Light swearing. I will not overuse bad words, but some occasions call for some emphasis.
Disclaimer:
I do not own any characters that you may recognize.
My medical terms and descriptions are only based off familial experiences, and so they may vary from the more accurate documents.
See the end of the chapter for author's notes.
~o0o~
Loki stormed into his apartment, slamming the wooden door shut. Stalking into the kitchen, he threw a bundle of papers on the marble counter. The simple, black print stood out boldly against the scattered sheets, almost mockingly.
He dropped heavily into a chair, grabbing a paper at random, reading the message over and over until it was ingrained firmly in his mind.
The god turned mortal had spent well over a year on Earth as penance for his crimes against Midgard, and had been living his life in a shoddy apartment building.
True it was not as grand or extravagant as his life on Asgard, but here it was simple and pleasant and he could come and go where he pleased, as he pleased. Of course, such a calm could never last for someone like him. It all came crashing down on this one fateful morning when the doctor told him that he was diagnosed with cancer.
Cancer.
Loki Laufeyson had been diagnosed with fucking leukemia.
He sat still for a solid minute, letting it truly sink in.
"You have leukemia" the doctor had said, as he blinked his green eyes owlishly, soaking in the meaning of the doctor's words.
"What?" He had asked dumbly.
"Leukemia, it's a progressive disease where the bone marrow, including blood-forming organs, produce increased numbers of immature or abnormal leukocytes." The doctor explained slowly, polite sympathy etched on his face like a mask. Loki stared at him, feeling the sudden urge to beat the man into submission; to make him say that it was a prank, a cruel lie that wasn't true.
But it was.
Or maybe it wasn't.
He couldn't even tell the difference anymore.
Sneering to himself, he tossed the paper back on the counter. The Norns were never that kind. The dark-haired trickster clenched his shaking fists, resting them on the cool marble.
Just as quickly as his anger flared up, it simmered down as if someone had doused cold water over a burning fire.
Loki had never imagined he would be affected by some Midgardian affliction (despite the fact that now, he too was one of them.), so it caught him by surprise when he woke up one morning to find his nose damp and his throat sore. He remembered the tiredness that had followed months after, and the unexplainable bruises that began constantly marring his pale skin.
He shuddered involuntarily thinking about it.
Chemotherapy would begin in two weeks; just enough time for him to process the information and make arrangements for work. The man had suggested calling another person to accompany him if he wished for assistance.
He didn't.
(Although it wasn't as if he truly had anyone to ask anyways, not that anyone would necessarily need to know.)
Thor needs to know, a small voice nagged at him. He would want to know.
But Thor didn't even know that Loki was here.
He just didn't have a level of awareness for these things. If Thor did find out, he would would probably be furious that knowledge of Loki's presence on Earth was withheld from him. He scowled at the prospect of showing unavoidable weakness, his lips curling down disdainfully.
The oaf would want to be there for his little brother, he thought to himself bitterly, in fact, Thor'd eagerly jump at the chance if it meant helping Loki. Perfect, golden Thor who was loved by all and could do no wrong.
He could never understand what he was dealing with.
(What he had dealt with in the past.)
But as long as he avoided the blonde god as he had been doing over a year now, he would never know, and he planned to keep it that way.
No doubt Heimdall had already seen the morning's turn of events and would alert the Allfather as soon as the occasion presents itself. All of Asgard must be weeping with joy.
Loki was fine with that.
(At least that's what he told himself, while ignoring the small twinge of hurt.)
His thoughts drifted aimlessly. Having spent more than enough to time integrating himself into society, he was well aware of the possibly lethal disease, and how unforgiving they were on frail human bodies. Loki has recalled that it was an…. unpleasant experience, at the very least, while the chemotherapy worked against the leukemia.
If it works. If it doesn't work you'll surely die alone. The voice was back, and Loki realized with a pang, and it was right. Is that what you want? To be alone?
He didn't know what he wanted. Everything felt horribly short and fleeting right then, but it was just as well.
If there was a possibility he was going out, he would do so with dignity, what little he had left.
~o0o~
Author's Note:
Review and tell me what you think! It really helps motivate me to work more.
I'm hoping to upload chapters at least once a month, maybe once every two weeks depending on how busy my schedule is.
Thank you for reading!