AN: written because I'm having a rough time and I need some fluff...This will get fluffy. Part 1 of 4 I hope.
Unbeta'd and copied over from my Ao3 so sorry if there are any formatting issues! Feedback is my life blood, lyrics from 'I want to be well' by Sufjan Stevens , enjoy!
To think that I would die this time
Isolated in the room where the bed rises
Photographic ordinary people are everywhere
Extraordinary histories, ordinary histories, ordinary histories
I.
Loki wakes up laid out on a soft white bed in a spacious apartment in the middle of Manhattan.
It takes a moment for him to remember why he's here and for a few minutes he lies spread-eagled on the satin sheets, staring blankly up at the ceiling and wondering where it all went wrong.
Eventually he sits up and glances around. The bedroom is sleek and cosy and modern all at once, one wall is floor to ceiling windows and judging by the pale light pouring through the shuttered blinds its early morning. There's a row of bookshelves lined with Midgardian books and Loki can't help but smirk as he runs a finger along their spines, this must have been his mother's touch. He crosses the room to rifle through the closet; it's mostly plain things, denim jeans, shirts, tee-shirts. He's dressed similarly, a plain white tee and slightly loose blue jeans, his hair is shorter too.
He runs a hand through it and misses it's length.
There's a pile of papers on the bedside table, passport, birth certificates, school records; Loki Odinsson, they say. Odinsson.
He's not sure how he feels about that (given that it's a meaningless name because Loki Odinsson doesn't exist anymore, not to anyone) He sighs, drops the papers back onto the surface and drifts out in to the hall.
The bathroom is across from his room, sleek and clean and fancy, just like the bedroom. The living area was down the hall, spacious kitchen area, balcony (with a nice view of the newly refurbished Avengers tower, he notes with a smirk) There's a small television and a few comfy looking couches, another bookshelf. Everything is warmly coloured, homely, cheerful.
Loki resists the urge to break everything (misses the tingle of magic at his finger tips)
There's another door along the corridor and Loki frowns at it. He has a bathroom, a bedroom, a living-kitchen-dining area; he had no need for another room. Maybe it was added optimistically; maybe they want Loki to turn into the perfect family man. He sniggers at that. Love has never been in his vocabulary and at the thought of children something twists painfully.
His children are all gone, dead or banished.
He leans against the closed door of the mystery room and wonders if they exist anymore. The Allfather had wiped all memory of Loki from Asgard and Midgard and all the other realms he could. Loki didn't exist. Did his children blink out of existence too? His hand wanders briefly to the cool metal handle, traces it, pushes it down, pauses.
Let's go.
There's a sense of magic about the door, he'll open it one day, but not today.
II.
He spends most of the first week wondering around the city, there are whole chunks that are missing, buildings that have been blown apart but no one seems to remember why.
To them it is just the remnants of some nameless terror that the Avengers saved them from.
To Loki its evidence he still exists.
He spends hours in tiny book shops, in clothing stores and coffee shops, he visits zoos and parks and aquariums, he learns all there is to learn about Midgard and there is so, so much.
He drifts through the streets, nameless, faceless.
In the evenings he stumbles back up to his apartment, flashes a smile at his neighbour (she has an obvious crush on him) and curls up in silence.
Some nights he thinks of Thor and home and family. Some nights he thinks of his magic, his power, his anger. Some nights he feels Thanos' thick hands on him. Some nights it's like he's a ghost. Like when he's in this room, in this flat he just ceases to be real.
Most nights he leaves the window open and drifts to sleep with the gentle roar of the city beneath him, constantly in motion and alive.
It keeps him grounded.
He still hasn't opened the door to the spare room.
III.
He takes the job at the coffee shop for no reason in particular.
Maybe it's to reassure himself that he's still real.
The owner smiles politely and butchers his names a couple of times before Loki sounds it out to him, "Low-key Odin-son." It's not that difficult but Loki has learnt that with Midgardians you have to be patient.
"That's interesting," Mr Irvine says. "Scandinavian?"
"Yeah, my parents moved over here from Norway when I was four," the lie feels good in his mouth, slips out easily. He's been building a life for himself these past few weeks, chopping and changing and honing and polishing until it's perfect.
"Must have been a bit of culture shock," Irvine remarks flipping through Loki's resume. "Says here you just moved down from Alaska."
Loki added that himself. It gives him an excuse to ask for help.
"Why'd you move here? Sick of polar bears and ice?"
Loki smiles, "Just fancied a change."
The coffee shop is nothing special; a quiet little joint in the Lower Manhattan, a ten minute walk from Loki's apartment. The staff are kind and he gets to know them well. There's Laura, the grad student from Canada working to pay her way through business school, Henry the genius who graduated from MIT but wanted a simpler job, Mrs Varonsky mother of two who's working three jobs to pay off her divorce and Hester, newly married, working hard to put down a deposit for a house.
For the first few weeks he tries to keep his distance; they're below him, puny things with a tiny intellect and the lifespan of moths. But then he burns himself at work and it doesn't heal quickly. It hits him like a knife driven through his gut, hard and fast.
Is he human now?
Laura babies him and wraps a cool towel around the burn and smiles kindly, "It happens to the best of us, Loki. It's not too bad, should heal in a few days."
The ice feels familiar but his skin doesn't turn blue.
Loki stares at her for a few seconds. He wants to shout at her but then he realises that she has no idea what this means for him, she can't possibly comprehend what it is to be a god one minute and a human the next. He blinks.
"Thank you," the words feel clumsy in his mouth.
She grins, "No problem, Lo."
Things get better after that.
He works a shift every day. Gossips with Laura on Mondays and Wednesdays, talks science with Henry on Tuesdays, listens to Mrs Varonsky's stories about her kids on Thursdays and giggles with Hester on Fridays. He goes on a few dates with his neighbour, Sasha, but she's too soft for him, to clingy, he lets her down easy and they stay friends. On the weekends he wanders around the town builds himself new identities for each new person he meets. Sometimes he's a grad student, sometimes he's a dropout, once or twice he's an engineer at Stark Enterprises (he wonders what Stark would think if he heard that) He babysits Mrs Varonsky's sons, Dimitri and Ivan on occasion and falls in love with them, he's always loved kids.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
It takes him a few weeks to realise that he's happier than he's ever been.
He's not a prince, there are no expectations, there's no Thor to be overshadowed by, no Heimdel watching his every move (well, he reflects, there probably is but he doesn't need to think about that here) He doesn't need to be Loki Odinsson, God of lies and trickery, prince of Asgard, second heir to the throne, or Loki Laufeyson, abomination, angry beyond reason, desperate for something to stop the hurting.
He's not different. He's not a monster. He's not a freak. A misfit. A weirdo.
He can just be Loki.
Just Loki.
And he thinks that might be all he's ever wanted.
Doesn't open the spare room.
IV.
He makes it his first few months without running in to any of the Avengers which is an achievement considering Captain America, Iron Man and that beast Hulk are currently staying in the same part of the city as him.
He sees them on TV occasionally, Stark mostly but occasionally Rogers will be on talking about patriotism and shuffling uncomfortably (Laura almost swoons the first time he's on TV in the coffee shop) He doesn't know if Thor's on Midgard, not that his brother would recognise him if he was.
He's not sure how that makes him feel.
His luck runs out one quiet Wednesday morning when he and Laura are lounging about discussing their futures (well Laura's sort of bullying Loki into it) "Come on, Loki, there must be something you want to do! You can't just stay working here the rest of your life!"
The shop is mostly empty so it's not like they have any work to be doing. "Why can't I?" he asks with a smile.
Laura rolls her eyes, "You're too young to stay here forever. How old are you anyway? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?"
"Twenty-six," Loki answers automatically (he's memorised Odin's birth certificate for him).
"See! That's way too long to work here for the rest of your life! Don't you want a family, a nice house? You could go back to school, maybe, you're clever, Henry says so."
Loki smiles, "A family would be nice but honestly I'm just happy with what I've got right now."
They're interrupted by the twinkling of the bell that indicates a new customer. Laura looks up and squeaks, elbowing Loki, "It's him, Loki, it's him."
Steve Rogers walks across to them awkwardly, hands fiddling with his wallet. Loki's done his research; he's seen pictures of Rogers pre-serum, a scrawny kid with kind blue eyes. Now he still looks the same, just a little bigger, a kid in his father's suit. He expected some anger, maybe even hatred, but there's nothing, no burn of loathing in his chest.
"You do it," hisses Laura, "I can't serve him."
"Laura," he says.
"No, please Loki, for me?"
He sighs and steps up, plastic smile slipping into to place. "Morning sir, what can I get you?"
(Behind him Laura ducks into the storeroom mumbling something about needing more spoons)
Steve smiles, meets his eyes, "Just a black coffee, please."
There's nothing, no hint of recognition, no sudden narrowing of Steve's eyes, yanking him down and dragging him off to some nameless prison. Nothing.
Loki lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding in. "Coming right up, sir."
V.
Loki gets to know the people who live on his floor slowly.
There are three other apartments, one is Sasha's, one is the home of a happy little family mom, dad, two kids and one is the home of Mr Onsdag, an elderly gentleman with a strong Scandinavian accent and a glass eye.
He doesn't seem to be there all the time and Loki figures he must spend a lot of time with his family who live out of town as Onsdag once told him. When he is there though Loki spends a lot of time with him, talking, listening, talking more.
He offers the kind of quiet wisdom and guidance Loki had always craved as a young boy.
VI.
Loki's next run in with an Avenger doesn't go as smoothly.
Again, he's at the coffee shop, this time with Hester. Steve by now is a frequent customer, they're on first name terms (the first time Loki introduced himself he expected the spell to be broken and Steve to throw him across the room or something but it didn't happen) Laura still refuses to serve him and Loki finds it hilarious.
When Steve comes in Loki looks up with a warm smile, he's alone in the shop, Hester's on her break and he's actually looking forward to chatting with him. But then there's a voice from behind him and Loki freezes.
"I'm telling you, Rogers, there is no coffee better than Starbucks, I refuse to believe it."
Steve wrinkles his nose, "Tony, I'm not sure Starbucks is even coffee. There's way too much sugar and cream and whatever in there."
Tony swaggers in, slick suit and shades and glances around the place with an air of distain. "Whatever, Rogers. This better be good."
"It is," Steve smiles, shoving Tony towards a table and striding up to the counter, "Morning, Loki."
"The usual, Steve?" When Steve nods Loki glances at Stark who is tapping away on his phone. "And for Mr Stark?"
Steve glances around like he's about to divulge a state secret, "He'll take a cinnamon-chocolate mocha," then seeing Loki's baffled expression he laughs slightly. "He doesn't like people to know he likes his coffee sweet."
"...Right. I'll bring over your drinks in a minute."
Steve grins, "Thanks, Loki." And walks back over to where Stark is now complaining loudly about how much work he's missing.
Loki makes the coffees (forgets to add sugar to Stark's coffee out of spite), brings them over and sets them down, servile smile again in place. "Here you go, guys."
Steve thanks him and Loki's about to turn back to the register when Tony stops him, grabbing his sleeve and frowning. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
Loki panics, "Uh, I don't think so. I mean I live around here so maybe we've seen each other around..."
"No," Tony says, taking of his shades and searching Loki's face. "I definitely know you from somewhere."
"Tony-" Steve begins, looking apologetically at Loki.
"No, Steve, I recognise him. It's weird though like I know him but I can't..." he breaks off, frowns again. "What's your name?"
"L-Loki," please Gods, don't recognise me.
"Loki," Stark murmers, rolling the name around his tongue, "Loki..."
The bell jangles.
"Tony, would you let him go? He's got a job to do." Steve snaps.
Tony relents and Loki straightens up, trying desperately to compose himself.
"Sorry, Loki," Steve says, looking mortified.
"Its fine, I'm fine, no harm done." He smiles weakly, turns back to greet the next customer and feels Tony's eyes on him until he and Steve leave.
That evening he heads to Mr Onsdag's and the old man makes him tea and lets him vent.
"It's strange," Loki says, "I saw someone from my old life, in Alaska today. I didn't realise how hard it would be."
Onsdag leans forwards, "Oh? Did you speak to him?"
"Yes, a little," Loki sighs. "I think he might still think I'm who I was back then." He says quietly.
"And who were you back then?"
It's hard to explain without sounding completely mad so Loki just says, "Not a good person."
"You're not that person anymore, Loki." Onsdag says kindly.
Loki runs a hand through his hair, "But I was once, isn't that bad enough?" He finds himself saying.
Onsdag smiles, "Perhaps. But what matters more is that you are sorry."
Loki's swallows, not sure he believes Onsdag. He's started having nightmares (he's always had them but they used to be about Thanos and the Chitauri and ohgodstop) now they're about all the people who died. He sees their faces every night, the families they left behind.
He buries his face in his hands.
If Odin meant this as a torture he succeeded.
"I don't think sorry really quite covers it," Loki says, voice raw.
Onsdag chuckles, "And it is precisely that that tells me how sorry you truly are." he hears Onsdag shuffle about and then there is a warm hand on his shoulder. "You are not a bad person, Loki. You are a person who did bad things out of desperation."
"And what would you know of it, Onsdag?" Loki snaps bitterly. This old man probably thinks Loki was a junkie or something equally as pathetic (but you were pathetic, Thanos hisses in his head).
Onsdag smiles wisely. "I'm old, I know everything." He moves back to his chair and sits back. "There's an empty room in your apartment, is there not?"
Loki blinks, "Yes but-"
"Perhaps it is time you found something to fill it."
VII.
Loki stares at the door.
He doesn't understand what Onsdag meant.
He leaves it shut.
VIII.
The next time Loki sees Tony is at a party.
It's a fluke really, Loki should never have been attending a party that Tony Stark was also attending and it only happened because Loki and Laura convinced Henry to apply for a job there. Tony had apparently taken a liking to him and Henry had hauled Loki to the party as a plus 1.
It was surreal seeing all these people that should want him dead.
Agents Barton and Romanoff are chatting together in a corner, to the untrained eye they would appear slightly drunk but their eyes are bright and watchful and Loki knows they're not letting their guard down. Steve is sat at the bar, nursing the same glass he's had for the last two hours and Banner sits beside him. Neither of them look like they want to be there but they smile politely and speak when spoken to.
Loki manages to avoid him for most of the night.
He runs out of luck on his way out the door.
Stark grabs him from behind, twirls him round, "You aren't getting away that easy."
Tony Stark manhandles him into some office room with the most high tech computers Loki's ever seen and pushes him down on to the couch. Loki watches as he paces up and down and he fidgets.
If Tony recognises he'll be in deep trouble.
They'll think it's his fault they don't remember.
They'll send him to SHIELD who'll poke him and prod him and torture him.
And Thor won't be coming to save him this time.
And Gods, what will Laura think? Or Henry? Or the Varonsky's? Or Onsdag?
Stark stops, spins around and leans in to study Loki's face. It's the closest Loki's ever been to him and he can't help but stare back. He looks older closer up, looks tired and Loki's slightly amused to find confusion in Stark's bright brown eyes.
No recognition. Just confusion.
"I don't get it," Stark says, his eyes sliding over Loki's face (and it's one of the most intense experiences of Loki's life) "I know I know you. I just can't work out where from..."
Loki bites back the snarky comment, drops his gaze. "We've never met before." he says quietly.
Stark shakes his head, "Nope, we have definitely met." He sits back. "You haven't done any porn videos have you?"
Loki snaps his head up, ready to scream at him because how dare he? But when he looks up Stark's smirking at him and Loki feels himself smile involuntary and then he gives as good as he's given, "None legal in the US."
Stark snorts and reaches behind himself to grab two drinks he'd apparently stashed earlier and hands one to Loki. He raises an eyebrow, "Just how long have you been planning to drag me into a darkened office, Stark?"
Stark chuckles and Loki sniffs at his drink. "Don't worry, I haven't drugged you," he says, "Yet." he adds with wink.
"So it's Loki? That's Scandinavian, right?"
"Yeah, my parents were from Norway," its second nature now, his story. Almost like it's his real life.
"Henry says you lived in Alaska, why'd you move here?"
"Fancied a change," he mumbles in to his drink.
Stark must pick up on something about his tone of voice or expression or something because he leans forward, immediately, "What was it, family problems?"
Loki smiles to himself, "Something like that."
"Tell me about it." Stark says. It's not a question it's a command and Loki has to look to make sure that yes, this is notoriously selfish Tony Stark asking him to talk about his life. Maybe Tony didn't yank him in here to get him drunk and have his way with him. He usually avoids talking about 'Alaska' because he knows he'll end up saying something that doesn't make sense and he really doesn't want to ruin this but Tony is watching him with this look and Loki knows he's in trouble.
"Okay," he says quietly. "What do you want to know?"
They talk for hours.
Well, Loki talks and Tony watches him looking a little fascinated.
Loki talks about Thor and Sif and Fandrall and Hogun and Volstagg (changes their names a little, edits their adventures down) and he realises how much he misses them. He talks about his mother and her beauty and kindness and love. He talks about their travels, their culture, their stories.
He talks until there's a lump in his throat and he swallows. They don't remember him. To them he never existed. There never was a second son of Odin, there never was a baby found in a war-torn Jotun temple, never was a trickster god who could create illusions with a snap of his fingers.
He never existed.
He stands, mumbles, "Sorry, I have to go." And stumbles out of the room, arms wrapped around himself because he's trying to hold himself together.
He thinks he hears Tony call after him (wonders when he became Tony, rather than Stark) but he doesn't stop until he's home.
IX.
Loki lies awake in bed an ache in his chest and hot tears in his eyes.
He's never felt so alone.
Even when he was lost in the space in between worlds and hurtling through everything and nothing and every world and no worlds at the same time he could still feel his family. He could still close his eyes and hold himself tight because if he screwed this up Thor would come.
But now he never existed. He never happened. There was no Loki. Is no Loki.
"Why are you doing this, Father?" he croaks. He would prefer a prison. A prison on Asgard where he could at least feel them. He sits up covers his eyes, takes a deep breath.
He'll get no sleep tonight. He wanders around the apartment for a bit, settles down on the couch and flicks on the TV. There's a piece about the attack on New York, the nameless alien terrors that killed hundreds (he's not mentioned, there's nothing about a hopelessly mad God at the centre of it all) he turns it off quickly.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He sobs, "Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry."
He doesn't want to be that person. (He never wanted to be that person.)
Then he hears something.
It's a soft noise. Like a yawn. A soft sleepy noise.
He freezes, heart pounding.
Silence.
He stands up and wonders if he'd imagined the sound until he hears something again. This time it's different; a rustling. His hands are itching for his magic, there's definitely someone in his flat.
He grabs the nearest thing to him (it's an umbrella and he takes a second to think about how ridiculous he must look; pyjama-d and barefoot, brandishing an umbrella like it's his sceptre) He pads towards the corridor cautiously (tries not to think of Thanos' threats he doesn't exist for Thanos, he doesn't, he doesn't)
The noises are coming from the spare room.
He pauses, stares, takes a deep breath and pushes the door open.
The room is lit a gentle blue colour and Loki's confused for a few moments before he spots the space themed night-light on the small dresser in the centre of the room. Beside it, on either side were two tiny toddler beds.
"Vali," he breathes. "Narfi."
X.
"It's you, isn't it?"
Onsdag smiles, "Who, Loki?"
Loki lowers his voice, "Father."
Odin chuckles, "I was wondering when you'd figure it out."
There are a thousand things Loki wants to say, wants to ask but he thinks of his sleeping sons still tucked up in the apartment down the hall (there were papers stacked neatly on the desk; custody papers, divorce papers, birth certificates, medical records, everything he needs) He opens and closes his mouth a few times before settling for; "Thank you."
Odin smiles warmly. "I love you, Loki and if I had a chance to do it all again I would do it differently."
Loki swallows and looks away, "Are you leaving now?"
"Oh, I'll come to check in on you occasionally. Now go back to your life, son."
"Yes father."
Illness likes to prey upon the lonely, prey upon the lonely
Wave goodbye, oh, I would rather be, but I would rather be fine
I want to be well, I want to be well
I want to be well, I want to be well