Part 2

Cleaving a rift in the fabric of the universe and stepping through the dark material between was not pleasant. Loki landed hard on his back on concrete, blinking a few times as he caught his breath. This was the second time in nearly as many days that he'd been slammed bodily into stone, and his headache hadn't recovered from the last one.

And where had he landed? A pinpoint landing was impossible. Even Odin had to see through the rift to send a whirlwind to guide his unfortunate victim down, and Loki had teleported himself blindly with no welcoming wind to cushion the fall. He only hoped that he was close to New York. Otherwise he had a long walk ahead of himself.

As the last wisp of darkness slipped away, dissipating into nothing, something cool and damp settled on his skin. He opened his eyes. Gray clouds greeted him through a broken roof, and the ringing in his ears was actually the hum of raindrops faintly tapping the floor around him. For long minutes he listened for the slightest rumble of thunder, but the storm was a gentle one and the only sound came from the wind blowing past.

Thor had not followed him. Relieved and disappointed, Loki considered taking a nap here. The floor wasn't so much comfortable as it was simply there, and he was lying down, and he hadn't slept for so long. And hadn't slept well for months before that.

Something kicked and chewed inside him, biting with tiny fangs in frustration. He dragged in a shuddery breath and once again clawed his conscious thoughts away from sleep.

"Now is not the time for laziness," he murmured to himself. "And rest is a luxury I can ill afford."

Pushing up until he was sitting, he leaned forward and rested one arm across his bent knee, glancing around himself. The ceiling had caved in here, creating a wide patch of moss that spread in a circle. The walls were mostly intact, but the windows were all broken and most of them no longer held any glass at all, with tree branches jutting in and ivy creeping down to the floor, which was itself covered in patches of dirt and sprouting grass disappearing under the growing puddle in the corner.

Rising to his feet, he groaned at the deep exhaustion running through him. He could have collapsed on the concrete for days. Spells had their cost, and the darker rituals spent magic like a sliced artery. Not even Odin dallied with black magic this way, and Loki felt a tiny sense of superiority in his daring, his reckless drive to fully master this power despite how weak it left him. He couldn't afford to sleep until this makeshift shelter was secure, however, and he went to the closest window, climbing out and stepping on gravel.

Long grass sprouted up between the cracked pavement all the way up to a chainlink fence and barbed wire. There were powerlines, but they'd fallen over and lay haphazardly across the ground, long cut off from electricity. Empty lots surrounded him on all sides, and the road leading to the locked gate was so overgrown as to be indistinct.

Abandoned and forgotten, no one would disturb this place. Now he just had to satisfy his paranoia before he could rest. The fence, he turned into a physical holder of his warding spell. Like a large dome, the spell covered him and would spark if something crossed inside.

Ignoring the doors that were rusted shut, he went back in through the window and made a few quick alterations. A turn of his hand set a strong wind through the structure, pushing the scattered paint chips and rust into the corner. He didn't try to mend the walls, instead laying a webwork of magic so that he was the spider in the center, feeling for any irritants who tried to break in.

He slid his hand into his pocket, touched the curve of the golden apples. He could take a bite now, refresh himself from his long stay on earth without them. Idunn's harvest kept the gods young and strong, and his last bite had been as Asgard's king—

Bad memories. He put them from his mind and instead focused on the crafting a suitable bed. A tangle of rusted out pipes stood against the wall. He supposed, if he twisted and turned them just right, he could make a serviceable mattress, and with proper sleep he could replenish his dwindling store of magic without using up a precious apple.

The pipes were so eager to fall apart that they melted and reformed almost before he could finish the spell, an old charm borne from years of traveling with Thor, camping in the forest with no decent bed and a brother who thought the ground was comfortable enough. Thor often teased Loki for wanting his comforts. Of course once the bed was created, his brother eagerly stole every inch he could.

Staring blankly at the wall, Loki lost himself in his memories. The dense forest overhead, dry leaves that snapped when they moved, and Thor hogging the bed of transfigured leaves, taking the lion's share as his right. And when Loki protested, Thor patted the space beside him invitingly, put his arm around his brother's side and hugged him close. And magically there was enough room for them both, and Loki would not have traded the rough forest floor for his own soft bed.

Old steel groaned overhead, pushed by the wind, and the trees and stars vanished, leaving behind wet concrete and steel. Though he was not cold, Loki put his arms around himself and took a long breath. Those nights had been centuries ago. Thor hunted only with his friends now. It was unseemly to share a bed. Certainly Loki did not miss riding with his brother, not when he instead could be curled up in the library reading.

Alone.

Curled up in a cold room.

Loki squeezed his eyes shut. His whole body ached for sleep, but his thoughts refused to let it come.

A wire in his mind trembled, a thread of his protection seal stretched violently and snapped as something breached his guards. He cursed under his breath. That was a lot faster than he'd expected. His brother? He shook his head once. Impossible. Thunder and lightning would have made it obvious. ?Odin? No, even the All-father could not have found him so quickly. He'd left no trace of himself in this plane of existence, traveling instead through the darkness between—

He closed his eyes in realization, ignoring the growls coming closer to the doors. Something from the darkness must have found his footsteps and followed him.

Claws scraped on the doors, rattling them on their hinges. In a moment they would fall inward and whatever was there would charge in. Stealing himself for a fight, Loki reached for his knives...only to remember he had no magic to spare.

"Damn," he whispered.

So much for rationing. He grabbed an apple and took one sweet bite, then put it back in the pouch as its magic worked through his body into his bones. No substitute for true sleep, but it gave back enough for him to hold his own.

The doors cracked in half and collapsed. Two dark shapes stepped in, shrouded in the explosion of grime and dust, and Loki took the chance to spread fog of his own, filling the factory in a thick blur of smoke.

The growling that followed was cautious, with heavy footsteps padding inside. A tiny stone was kicked across the floor, clattering against the wall. Soft tapping came from the dark shapes, a sound that Loki recognized as claws hitting the cement. With the rumbling hiss as they breathed, he assumed they were bestial creatures out of the dark realms and sent a projection of himself walking between them.

There was a sharp turn, the sound of an arm swishing through nothingness, then a screech as it tried again and struck its companion, who turned and snarled and lashed out blindly. Loki couldn't see the fight but he listened intently, grinning despite himself. He'd played this trick before on Fandral and Volstagg, and the sound of two enemies dispatching themselves always made him bite back a laugh.

Blood splashed at his feet. One of the shapes stumbled, went down and then collapsed backwards. At the same time, the other shape stepped over it and rushed at Loki, coming out of the fog with sharp teeth and black eyes. Loki cursed and backed up, flinging a blast of energy in its face. It shrieked as its eyes caught fire but that didn't stop its charge, and it lunged, its teeth snapping inches from his face.

They toppled backward, Loki grappling under its weight, and finally he recognized it. He'd only seen the warriors and lieutenants of the Chitauri, but this was undoubtedly one of their creatures. Its teeth were long, its skin as thick as armor with sharp horns jutting over its eyes, but it retained the same brutish face and grunt.

Catching the Chitauri's claws, he slowly forced the creature's hands backwards until they broke, then gathered all his strength and turned, pushing it over on its back as he yelled. Leaping on top of it, he straddled its body and leaned over, then put his hand over the creature's mouth and cast a bolt of energy straight down its throat.

The Chitauri went rigid, arching its back violently as its insides scorched, and then fell back to the floor, relaxing in death. Loki waited, hand raised, counting off long seconds in his head. Only after the moment passed and he heard no heartbeat did he believe it was dead, and he sat back on the cold concrete with a deep breath.

Scouts. He set their bodies on fire and watched them burn. Scouts set to following any trace of him in the aether between the realms. Thanos was looking for him. Loki was sure the bastard blamed him at least in part for the decimation of his army. And the loss of the mind gem. And the tesseract. And maybe even the hand delivered Midgardian missile.

Not good. Cold fear gathered in him. Thanos was powerful, too powerful even for gods. True, Loki had been worn ragged when he first met Thanos, battered by cosmic storms and incapable of defending himself from such a monster, but he was no better off now. If the Chitauri managed to drag him back as he was, weak and tired...

The gnawing in his abdomen slowed and went dormant, scraped at his inner walls and still again.

He took the apple he'd bitten and finished it, devouring even the core. If there was any chance he would be taken, he would eat the rest. With it, he might have a chance. Or at least it meant Thanos would not taste Idunn's magic.

But if Thanos was plotting, then that meant Loki had no time to rest. Getting to his feet, leaning on his knees for a moment, he whipped up a plan. Not his best, certainly not his most refined. The plan held a taste of Thor in its simplicity.

If Thanos had his mind made up to attack once more, then Loki needed to gather his brother's comrades in arms once again. And that meant some flashy mischief and carefully crafted chaos.

It also meant he could not sleep yet. He left the factory with his head slightly bent, eyes half shut, plotting his next steps like a sleepwalker floating in and out of consciousness, each thought more dreamlike than the next.

Following the road along the shoulder, he didn't notice the little bits of frost left in his footprints.

TBC...