I do not own Thor or Avengers.
Yggdrasil was a tree of life and death. THE tree, of life and death. For without it none would live and without it none would die for without the ash tree none would exist. High at its crown it is being eaten alive even as it grows. And far below its roots it rots even as it feeds, and all about it, the great tree cages life and death within its grip.
And Loki sees this. As he gazes into the tree he is washed over with emotion. And vision.
For the past, the present, and the several futures yet to come are fed from the tree's soul and into his own. He sees every life through their own eyes, and every life through the eyes of others.
He can see his long cow's tongue licking at the salted rocks while children stir within the living ice. He sees Bur, and continues to lick at the ice while he forms his existence. He sees the cow Audhumbla, and his own child Odin. He gazes up at Bur, his father, and at Ymir, and knows what he must do.
He watches himself slay the father of all frost giants. He watches himself be slain by the grandson of the father of all Aesir. He watches the bloodshed from on high, the wind below his wings as the worlds are created.
Without a second's pause, without a break between, Loki is subjected to every second of every consciousness that ever existed, exists, or will exist, all at once, overlapping and stumbling over each other to be watched at the same time. And a great ache erupts behind his eyes, between his ears, and blood pours from his nose. And he watches.
He watches as the woman grinds the grain into flour for bread. He watches out of the corner of his eye as the hunter skins the deer while he grinds the grain his son grew. He watches his parents prepare their meal as he heads out into the field to harvest more wheat.
He sees a young boy; golden hair flying in the sun as the wind kicks up, aiding the ravens that are under his command. He sees his father; tall and proud as the breeze pushes the yellow hair into his eyes, making it hard to see the black birds. He is above the pair; father and son, borne aloft by the gentle air of Asgard. He watches blood flow through the ice as Midgard is overrun with frost. He watches himself take the eye of Odin. He watches as he takes the life of the giant that takes his eye.
He gazes upon the face of a newborn, whose skin is as blue as his father's. He grins up at the haggard face of the king who adopts him.
He dares not blink while the elk has its back turned, hidden only partially by the tall grass. He turns and watches the spear enter his great tan flank, the hunter he hadn't noticed taking his life from him. He gazes up at the God of Thunder, marveling at the strength and beauty of such a being. He grins down at the mortal who is awestruck by his prowess as he summons lightning to his hand.
He is aboard a ship, tied by chains at his wrists and ankles, night-black skin tearing and bleeding as he tries to get away from the dead eyes of his neighbor that stare into his own. He is laughing at the plight of the slaves that he is charged with watching over, their struggle proving that they are naught more than animals for the taking. He is huddled in a thin cloth he loathes to call a blanket, watching his general give the command to cross the river. He watches his solders freeze and die as they follow his order.
He watches a man he thought to be his brother hang by his fingertips from the sacred spear, green cape billowing from the force of the Bifrost and the eternal waters. He watches his idol cling to him, begging him to not let go. He watches his sons, both by blood and by bond, fighting to survive their self-made atrocities. He watches Volstagg boast and brag at a feast not long after the closing of the bridge. He watches his son Thor leave the feast as Lady Sif joins him in watching Thor leave. He watches Frigga as she explains how much Thor misses his lady and his brother. He watches as he brings Loki's name to the table and is met with gazes of sadness. He watches as Thor mourns his brother, but he himself feels nothing. He watches as Thor leaves, and Fandral turns to him and expresses how little he mourns.
He watches his fingers remove a glowing pod from the chest of his boss and crush. He watches as her fingers pull his life from the capsule he had installed into his own body. He watches as the scientists pump his veins full of toxins that will make him stronger. He watches as the sarcophagus closes around the skimpy, but honest, lad into their test.
He watches his mother pick him up from his crib. He watches his son yawn and grip his offered finger. He watches his wife and babe nestle into each other as he prepares for work. He watches the new intern exit the elevator just outside his cubical. He watches the predatory woman leave her grey stall and corner the new kid. He watches damning photos of his husband kissing another woman. He watches the world fall apart around the new mother.
He watches, and watches, and watches, and sees every realm and what is going on. And Loki realizes that on top of all his visions of every life that was ever cradled in Yggdrasil's twigs, he is seeing through Heimdall's far reaching eyes, watching himself watch himself watching himself. And he begins to see paths unfold before him. With every choice someone makes, a new future is born. The intern skips coffee that morning and never meets the woman that lead him to forgo fidelity. The intern gains his coffee, meets the woman, but his wife doesn't mind. The three of them raise a child with their mixed love. His wife hates the woman, and murders her husband with her own bare hands.
With his hands. He watches himself try to scrub the stain of his beloved's blood from his fingers. And knows he will never succeed.
And then he sees the wonderment of wonderments. There, at the meeting of two of the roots of Yggdrasil, is a creature he had never seen before. Pale, a mix of blue and white. Hair stark black, and long. Blood running red down his face, dripping from his chin to fall on tattered black and gold and green armor. He watches himself reach out a hand and shake the shoulder of the creature.
And Loki is torn, far too early, from Yggdrasil's grasp. His mind ripped from the connection with her, one the tree had not yet been ready to let go of. His eyes, flicking from raging emerald to pale bluegreen as the magic left them, beheld the disgusting creature that had removed his soul from Yggdrasil before it was ready. And then he saw no more.
After publishing edit: Small note here. This chapter flips who is talking from line to line. Though it is all Loki's point of view, he becomes confused as to what, and who, he is seeing. He is seeing every line I write, all at the exact same time. So while he is watching through one set of eyes, he's seeing the same scene through another pair, and watching a totally different scene at a totally different time from totally different people's eyes, overlapping at the exact same time.
So if at any point you get confused as to who is who's brother/sister/father/son, it's because Loki is too.