Loki was afraid. He, however, was not afraid of his brother who stood beside him looking just as idiotic as ever as he said his farewells to the group that called themselves the Avengers. He was not afraid of even Odin to whom he was to stand trial in front; the old man would no doubt show leniency if nothing more than for the sake of Frigga. Loki knew better than to expect a full pardon, but he did presume to be allowed to keep his life, which was all that was necessary for his eventual escape from whatever punishment the All-father deemed just. As his brother wrapped up his goodbyes Loki glared out at the group of superhero nitwits who had foiled his plan to rule Midgard; he certainly was not afraid of them, despite his current position. Loki took pause in his thoughts long enough to cast a sideways glance at the unassuming man, the scientist, who had tossed him around as if he were nothing more than a child's plaything; he swiftly averted his gaze the moment the meek man's eyes locked with his own. Admittedly, the green giant had been an unforeseeable, as well as misfortunate, oversight on his part. Still, it was not he who caused his normal flippant, bravado to falter; though, he would be a fool not to, to some degree, be a trifle weary of that one. And a fool he certainly was not, which was why he, at that very moment, was desperately trying to calculate a way out of the very real threat of his imminent death.
The Chitauri had endorsed his campaign to rule Midgard, but only so long as he succeeded in his bid for total sovereignty. It had been made abundantly clear that failure would not be an option, especially for one without a death wish, for which Loki had none. The fools of Midgard thought themselves rid of the Alien threat, but they underestimated the Chitauri. The Other would be no doubt conferring with his master and plotting an even more hideous strategy than the one Loki had taken part in. Loki could care less about their nefarious designs, he would just as soon see the nine realms burn, however, he did not fancy burning far sooner than they. Therein lay his dilemma; his options were quite limited on how to go about securing his safety. He could make the assumption that Odin would somehow protect him from the Chitauri, a scenario that would have made him smirk in derision were it not for the damnable muzzle he was forced to endure, or, he could simply escape before he reached Asgard and take his chances alone. He much preferred the latter of his options; Odin, Thor, and the rest of their realm had lost all of Loki's previous adoration and faith. No, he would not leave his fate in their gangrenous hands.
It was time for them to depart and Loki was suddenly unsure of his half-laid plan to freedom. In all honesty, the God of Mischief was either about to do something extremely clever or terribly daft. Well, he thought wryly, if my Neanderthal of a brother can scrape by on luck and brawn alone, perhaps I too have a chance as well. With that thought in mind, Loki took hold of the Tesseract, turned the hand in tandem with his brother and, almost as abruptly, let go.
The pain was excruciating. He felt as if every piece if his being was coming undone. His descent into the wormhole the day the Bifrost had been destroyed by Thor's hammer could hardly compare; indeed, that time had almost been pleasant, well, up until the madness had set in. Now though, now he was sure he would be pulled apart until there was nothing left of him. Ripping himself away from the Tesseract's pull had very well proven to be the worst scheme he'd ever followed through with. Thor, he decided, was an atrocious role model to base one's life decisions on. It occurred to Loki, just as he was set to accept his ill fate, that, once again, he had failed miserably in succeeding.
Oh that wouldn't do, that wouldn't do at all. With every ounce of willpower he yet possessed, Loki forced what was left of his magic into guiding himself, albeit aimlessly, towards solid ground wherever that might be. It could be Asgard even; it mattered not, for he would, with great elation, kiss the ground. Loki braced himself as much as was possible against the ongoing agony, unaware that he had managed to force a path back to Midgard where he barreled into what had previously been a serene lake. A young woman, standing on a screened in porch of a well-worn cabin, played witness to his perilous arrival. She dropped the mug in which her freshly brewed coffee resided and whispered one incredulous word, "Fuck." A second later and she was speeding towards the lake, the screen door banging heavily behind her, muttering to herself, "It's too damn early for bodies to be flying right out of the sky."