AN: Wrote this back in the summer so not really sure what it is, but thought I'd post it anyway ^^. Not planning to go anywhere with this, but if anyone wants to continue it or anything feel free, just notify me please :). Thanks to Rochy and wordonawing for looking this over for me, you were great 3. Enjoy.
Loki hunched his shoulders and curled his arms tighter around his knees. He was sitting on a step in a grungy Midgardian alleyway. Him, him. A step. His father –
No, not his father, not his real father. Because he was just a monster, and Odin had never really been his father.
- had sent him to live on Midgard as punishment for attempting to conquer that very realm. Just like his bro – No, just like Thor – he had been sent without any powers, without his magic, his seidr. But unlike Thor, he doubted he would be able to end his punishment in mere days.
Because you're a monster, and monsters don't get redemption, monsters don't get forgiven. Not like Thor, because he could do everything so much better, because he wasn't an abomination.
He didn't even know if he was mortal now, of course Odin hadn't seen fit to tell him. He didn't know if he could live out a brief, mortal life then meet his daughter in the underworld and get reborn, or if he would still be here, for years and decades and centuries until the planet died, or even his Asgardian lifetime expired. Whichever came first. And while that was happening Thor –
Wonderful Thor, fantastic Thor; brave, strong, noble… Perfect Thor. He-who-can-do-no-wrong-Thor.
- became King of Asgard. King…pah! He'd bring it to ruin! He would be an awful King but still the people would love him, still his father would be proud.
Not of you, never of a monster like you.
Why?! Why was it that, whatever he did, however hard he tried, he was never good enough?! He did things better than Thor, but he was still not good enough. 'It was the way you did it…' they said. Scheming, lying, tricksy, false. Dishonourable.
But it turns out its not because of your methods, is it? It's not because of what you do, it's because of what you are.
Thor is always better, always more, and he always wins. Every. Single. Time. The Crown, Mjolnir, Odin. Even when they were children, Thor was physically stronger, a fighter, a warrior. If Loki won through tricks – or his intelligence and cunning, even – he would still be in the wrong. Thor would still win.
And you'll never be good enough to beat him, no matter what you do.
He tried so hard, but fa – Odin – still chose Thor. Every time.
Because you're not his son.
Even if Loki had done well, even if he had done better, Odin still chose Thor.
Because you're a monster.
So he had let go. And in that one, short moment; as he relaxed his grip and watched Odin's face and saw his eyes widen, realization and horror –
Horror? Because you were falling? Nay, must be horror of you.
- spreading across the rugged visage, he thought he tasted victory.
Right at the end, eh? All those years attempting it, and only right at the end do you catch a glimpse.
But a taste wasn't enough, was never enough. The Chitauri (and their master) made promises; of greatness, of victory. The temptation was too great. If he couldn't have Asgard, he would have Midgard. Maybe father would be proud of him then?
Do not lie to yourself. Odin would never be proud of something like you.
He would show Thor. He would show him how much better he was; how he could do anything Thor could do and more. He would win.
But the Jotunns never win, do they? No wonder you always lose.
But he didn't. Thor and those… those human 'Avengers' had beaten him. Those freaks of nature. Because that's what they were, some of them. Human abominations. Midgardian monsters. But they weren't hated, were they? They were seen as warriors, protectors. Heroes. He had never gotten that chance.
At least they're not other species entirely.
He'd been sent back to Asgard to await punishment, his magic seal away and his silver tongue gagged. When he had returned, he again saw it. The people's hatred. His mother's disappointment. Odin. He didn't even want to look at Odin's face. He didn't want to see the disgust he knew was there. He couldn't face it.
Coward. No wonder they hated you as a child. A monster, and a coward as well.
They had debated for a long time. Some wanted imprisonment. Some wanted exile. A few had wanted execution. He didn't know who had fought for what. Didn't know what Thor and Frigga and Odin wanted. He had just been told the final decision. Banishment to Midgard. Just like Thor.
Ha! Like anything they give you, gift or punishment, will ever be the same as Thor's.
He couldn't use any of his powers, so he didn't know what kind of job he could get. He could probably try to get a scholarship somewhere, he was certainly smart enough. But he found himself rather listless at the possibility. He wasn't especially surprised. Getting a good job in Midgard hadn't ever really been high on his list of priorities. If he ever gave so much as a hint that he was attempting something similar to his recent actions, Heimdall would tell Odin, who would surely not be as…lenient as he had been. Lenient. Well, it was true, his punishment could have been infinitely more painful, but this, he felt, was a lot more humiliating. So no planning of world domination anytime soon. Shame. He'd heard that some of the political battles of this realm were particularly mind-numbing. He could use his famously silver tongue to charm people a little, then, but not too much.
No, you could never do that much. Thor, however, could do everything to excess. Yet more limitations.
At least they hadn't left him in America. That would have been disastrous. He probably would have been either shot from afar or captured and studied like some sort of obscure animal. Which he was, but still. Instead, he'd been given the dubious pleasure of making his new home in the British city of London, and what a lovely place it seemed so far. He could, of course, also be recognized from some of the news footage, particularly those from Stuttgart, but his hair cut short and a slight change of facial features, nothing major; just enough to fool the technology the humans had for recognizing faces, had done wonders. He had been surprised to hear that Thor had organized that. Probably out of some misguided sense of duty.
Which always seemed to be praised… not so misguided, then?
So now here he was. Sitting on a step. His clothes changed to some sort of grungy Midgardian wear. Jeans, he thought. And a shirt and duffle coat. He might even have liked the coat if it wasn't so scuzzy. It was starting to rain now. Droplets smattering onto the pavements, only spitting at first, but quickly becoming hard and steady. The duffle coat didn't have a hood, and water was running down the back of his neck and into his shirt. Lovely. There was no nearby cover where he could shelter, and the only dry space of ground was the bit he was already sitting on. Oh well. Might as well get comfortable then, seeing as this was probably going to be as enjoyable as the rest of his stay on this miserable planet.
He sighed, and pushed his head in between his knees, gazing blankly at the grey concrete.
Time to wait out the storm.