Author's notes: This chapter follows The Avenger's MCU timeline. As per both the comics and Norse legend, Loki is a gender fluid character with an undefined sexual orientation. Don't like, don't read.
Warnings: This chapter contains description of psychological torture and mental illness. Some parts may be triggering for readers. This chapter also contains graphic description of injury consistent with getting your ass Hulk-smashed into the goddamn floor. Language warnings apply.
Love and Mortality
thebestIcan
Two
The Void was beyond any form of torture the dungeons of Asgard could imagine; and they were quite creative. The vacuum, the feeling of it pulling at him, was worse than waterboarding. He hears silence so piercing it makes him scream, but still he hears nothing. He cannot tell if his eyes are open or closed, not that it would matter. The ghosts come either way.
Thor appears to him the most. His brother shakes his head and looks at him as if he is ashamed of him. As if he is some lost cause that he must protect and drag back home. For the most part Loki ignores him. When Odin appears with a disappointed look in his eye, he ignores him as well.
Frigga he at least takes the time to talk to. She looks sadly at him, like she can't understand how her sweet little boy has turned into… this. He asks her if she is proud. He asks if she wished Odin had left him on that barren rock all those years ago. He asks her if she loves her monster. She just stares at him with tears in her eyes.
The first time he sees Ami, he is stunned into silence. She is wearing what she had on the last day, Baby William stretching her stomach and making her more beautiful than she ever had been. He clamps his eyes shut for a second before opening them like he can't believe she's here, he's finally with his family! He almost weeps for joy when she raises her hand to point at him. He frowns as she opens her mouth to speak, but there is no sound. Loki can't understand what her lips are saying.
"Ami? Darling, I can't hear you!"
She speaks silently again, her hand still raised and pointed. He shakes his head, not understanding before she fades away. This was not supposed to happen. Tears streak his cheeks and he calls after her, begging her not to leave him again. He screams her name until he is hoarse.
Baby Emily visits him next. Emily is his daughter from when he was an ironworker in late nineteenth century France. She stands still, her blue eyes peering up at him through her red curls and a pout on her freckled face. Emily hugs the porcelain doll he gave her to her chest. When he tries to talk to her she becomes shy and pouts, hiding behind the doll like she did with strangers. It breaks his heart. This wasn't how it's supposed to be! He sobs that she is a good girl and that he loves her long after she fades away.
Raj and Jas visit. They seem confused. How is this Raj's beloved wife? Jas' mother? This was a lie. This was a monster. He cries as Jas turns away from him, voicelessly begging for his mother. Loki sobs that 'it's okay, that Mama's right here,' but he can't shift to Romi's form and he growls in frustration that the glamour won't work. Raj turns way in disgust and Jas silently screams for his mother.
Each member of his family visits and each time it adds to the scars. All without making a sound.
When the Chitauri find him he is all but a shaking and sobbing mess, begging the ghosts to leave him be. They give him food, water and rest. When they bring him to a being that calls himself The Other, Loki is more than a little confused and compliant. The Other is humanoid in shape, but certainly not a man. He claims loyalty to Thanos.
Thanos is powerful; the magic Loki surrounds himself shrinks in comparison to the aura he gives off. He carried a glowing sceptre that seemed to influence the minds of those around him. Still weak, tired and a little apathetic, Loki found himself on the wrong end of the sceptre.
All physical pain is removed. It is like all the burdens he did not know he was carrying had been lifted. Warmth spreads across his body that leaves his muscles relaxed and heavy feeling. A fog settles over his mind. It is like being drugged. His heart rate slows and he sighs. Under heavy lids, Loki's eyes glow blue.
"I need something from Midgard."
The sceptre draws pleasant memories of the realm forward in Loki's mind. He sees the tumbling ridges of the Rocky Mountains that he and Ami used to hike. The smell of pine and cedarwood is heady and he can feel the early mountain mist on his face. Then she is in her little hut, the smell of cooking naan hovering in the air as she prepared her family's dinner. Then he hears the birds in the garden as he works. It is hard to think, like his head is full of cotton. Yes, Midgard. I know Midgard.
A picture of a glowing blue cube centres its way into his mind and he thinks briefly that it is pretty, in an odd AI sort of way. He feels tremendous power from where the sceptre touches his forehead to the very tips of his toes and somehow he knows it is from the cube. It is unnatural and disturbing and it excites him.
"Bring it to me."
At once the fog is lifted and his mind is flooded with images, blueprints and plans. He feels as though his head might explode. Loki had always been up-to-date on things like the customs, fashion, technology and lingo if Midgard because of his stays there. But this went way beyond that. He knew things that no civilian, no life he has ever lived, should know. He knows military schematics and the codes to half the missiles on the Western Coast. He knows the chemical composition of every lethal gas stored in every armory. He knows the names and ranks of every high level official of S.H.I.E.L.D., Hydra… And isn't it funny that more than a few overlap?
It makes his head feels as though it will split open and all he hears is white noise. When the stream of information stops, his mind feels unnaturally blank like his skull had been hollowed out. He collapses to his knees, gasping for breath as he tries to process… whatever the hell that had been.
"Do you understand?"
Loki looks up at Thanos, standing over him with the sceptre still in hand. It is strange, but he finds that he does. Somehow in the flood, he is able to grasp exactly what it is that Thanos wanted of him. He nods, not able to find his voice and terrified that whatever that was will happen again. The Other grins behind him as he sees the 'god' shrink in fear.
"Good."
The sceptre is lifted again and this time it is pointed to his chest. He flinches and Thanos grins. Loki stills and the sceptre's point meets skin.
"Your reward."
Ross tugs him closer, arm wrapped around his shoulder and plants a kiss in his hair. He responds by snuggling further under his arm. The two are riding the U-Bahn in Berlin, smoking cheap cigarettes and drinking booze out of a paper bag.
Loki turns his head and presses his nose into Ross' neck, loving the smell of his skin, smoke, and soap. Ross pulls away and Loki frowns until he is drawn into a deep kiss. He can taste the tobacco and the scotch and something that is distinctly Ross. He wraps his hand in Ross' shirt and pulls him closer, heart fluttering as strong arms wrap around him. Loki feels safe.
The vision disappears as quickly as it came and Loki is back in the Void. Ross is gone and this is not Berlin. It is like waking from a dream and being pulled underwater at the same time. The air was ripped from his lungs and tears welled at his eyes. He feels cold, colder even than when he was falling, and he whimpers. He begs Thanos to do that again, whatever it was, show him Ross, please, once more, please…
But Thanos turns on his heel and walks away, handing the sceptre to his little pet. The Other grins, twirling the sceptre like a baton and stepping forward. Loki stops begging and slumps to the ground, heart in his throat and head in his hands.
"Ahanu!"
The old man looks up. His eyes crinkle as he laughs, standing with creaking bones to embrace his friend.
"Joseph! How are you?"
The younger man smiles at his elder and laughs with him, assuring him that he is well. He pulls off his hat, sash and coat before walking further into the cabin. Ahanu pats his shoulder, leaning back to look him over with a critical eye. Satisfied that his friend is in good health the elder nods.
The two sit back down on the blankets by the hearth and Ahanu reaches to throw another block of wood into the fire. The smell is thick and heady, and the fry bread in the skillet is almost ready. They make small talk at first, trading information about the trail and what was coming down the drive. Soon Joseph drops his voice.
"Winter is coming, and there is a sickness."
Ahanu listens, watching the embers and rubbing his knuckles. He knows, he has seen many come through his little cabin with the fever. It seems to follow the trade routes. Rough, wilderness-hardened men reduced to sweaty, whimpering children. They don't usually last long once the delirium set in.
He reaches over and pulls the skillet off the fire, tossing a few fry bread and some jam onto plates and handing one to his friend. Joseph takes a bite and nods his thanks. They chew in silence and watch the fire. The mood remains heavy. Ahanu sets his plate down and clasps his hands.
"I fear that we aren't ready for what is coming, Joseph. I've seen sickness before, but I don't think anything can prepare us for this."
It turns out that the mind of a god is surprisingly easy to break. A lifetime of tragedies, of lost loved ones and betrayals meant that physical pain was unnecessary. While a Frost Giant is durable, even more-so one as imbued with magic as Loki, it would delay plans should the god take time to heal. It was so much easier to have him reliant on them for the slightest shred of happiness.
Soon Loki was addicted to his 'rewards.' They were more than images, more lucid than dreams. What he sees surrounds him, not as if image is in his mind, but more that he is in the image. He could smell the air in his apartment/the library/the farm, feel objects in his hands. Sometimes they are big moments; V-Day in Europe, a wedding, the birth of his children. Other times they are insignificant pieces of time that meant nothing to anyone but him.
They were the only time he wasn't left alone to his own unsteady mind or being pumped full of information. Thanos put The Other in charge of his 'preparation.' The more he learns the bigger the well of guilt builds inside him. Every day another memory of Midgard is pulled forward, another reason to love the realm. Every night another list of instructions on how to destroy it is compressed into his mind. The ghosts whisper in the dark.
The memories began to change. Words weren't said that should have been, events disappear. 'I love you' turns to 'get away from me.' Memories of laughter become bickering feuds. Happy families tear themselves apart. Their deaths become morbid and cruel, and soon he sees his family as corpses. Was he ever happy on Midgard? Was he ever happy? When he asks Thanos, he simply shakes his head.
"What makes you think you were anywhere but here at all?"
Loki stops questioning the memories and questions his mind. The whispers grow louder.
When he steps through the portal, the vastness of a reality beyond the Void and the Chitauri brings him to a knee. The tentative grip he had on his mind falters and for a brief moment he considers splaying himself out on the cool concrete and just being still. But that warm, drugged feeling takes over again. The fog takes over. He has arrived on Midgard and now things will move very quickly. He cannot rest. He stands and speaks.
"Please don't. I still need that."
What happens next is a flurry of action. His body moves of its own accord and magic springs from his fingertips. He hears his voice speaking, his manners and mannerisms, but they are not his words. The fog seems to guide him effortlessly as if he was a marionette on strings. It twists him into a cruel invader, comforts him and distorts his thinking until he is a dark version of himself. In a matter of moments the Tesseract is theirs, the base has fallen, and Loki and two dozen S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are on the move.
Five hours of driving later they are held up in a bunker-turned-headquarters. Science officers are following what plans Loki is able to provide through the sceptre and tactical is doing the same. There is a small calm as they wait for the next step and Loki finds himself slumping slightly in exhaustion with the agents. He orders them to eat and rest. He steps away from them for a moment, blinking against the sleep that tugs at his eyes. He will not follow his own orders. He cannot keep food down and when he sleeps… When he sleeps, he sees… them.
He can't see them and destroy Midgard at the same time.
Some small part of him, the rational and sane part, is beating against the fog like it is a barrier to the rest of his mind. He can see what he is doing, but cannot control it. He doesn't want to hurt people. He isn't that type of person. He'd made mistakes before. He'd realized his mistakes in the Void; Jotunheim weighed in his heart like a rock. But he didn't want to rule Midgard like some overlord. He wants to stop.
The fog won't let him. He will destroy the realm he watched grow with his bare hands, but he'll be screaming internally the entire time.
"Sir?"
Loki turns and finds an agent is staring at him. Barton. The Archer. Loki looks him over. He seems sort of like a guy Loki thinks he would play pool with on weekends and share the occasional beer. Had they met before? New Mexico seems familiar. Loki shakes his head and looks back up to unnaturally blue eyes. Guilt twists his gut and he gives Barton a small smile.
"Yes, what do you need?"
Barton looks tentative for a moment before rattling off a list of supplies, possible detours and lines of defense that would be better used elsewhere. The fog in the back of Loki's mind makes it hard to focus. He feels his lips agree and disagree as needed. He is dazed and dizzy when the conversation ends, and he pinches the bridge of his nose as the fog loosens its grip.
When he opens his eyes he sees them again, but now they glare at him. Hate, disgust and betrayal flash in their eyes. Loki swallows hard and fights to hide his anxiety. He knows that the agents cannot see them. He knows that he is losing his mind. Barton moves to step away but lingers a moment.
"Sir? Sir? Are you alright, Sir?"
The man lays a hand on Loki's shoulder and it is enough for him to focus back to the present. The hand is firm, steady with a tight grip. Fraternal in nature, the way old-seasoned battle brothers were. He doubts that Barton has even felt this close to Romanov. It startles him more than the ghosts do and he looks over to the archer. His feels a wash of guilt greater than any he has ever felt before. Aware of the CCTV and Thanos' ever present eye, Loki turns his back to the camera and in a language he knows that Barton will understand, raises his hands to sign.
"Call Laura. Tell her to get the kids and get out."
"Try it again and I'll kick your ass!"
Two figures run into the darkness down an alley. Loki is struggling to catch his breath as he leans against a brick wall, a cut on his lip and his ear ringing from when a punch connected. He has probably burst his eardrum and fractured the bones. Ross is waving around his arms and cursing the figures. When he turns Loki sees blood trickling from his broken nose.
"Fucking homophobes."
The adrenaline from the mugging wears off and Loki's hands begin to shake. He pushes himself off the wall and walks over to Ross, taking his face in his hands.
"Your nose is broken."
Ross reaches up and curses. A fresh splash of blood hits the pavement as he spits. His adrenaline high abruptly ends as pain takes over and Ross lets out a fresh string of curses.
Loki sighs and steps forward. Not thinking, he guides Ross to sit on the curb, ignoring his questions. He waves his hand in front of Ross's face. A crunch of bone and yet another curse, Ross is holding his set and healed nose. He wipes at the blood with the back of his hand, confused before he looks up at Loki.
"What-?"
Loki gives him a small smile. Ross stares at him, mouth open like a fish. They stare at each other for a moment before Loki sighs. He reaches up to his own lip and wipes his thumb across it, the skin unblemished after. He presses his hand to the side of his head and after a small pop, Loki can hear properly out of his left ear again. Ross still stares and it is then that he notices bruises around Ross' eye. When he reaches to heal them, Ross pulls away.
"What the fuck!?"
He has miscalculated. He thought Ross would be understanding. He was so quick to fight those two guys off when they were attacked for kissing. He can love him for being male, can't he love him for not being human? He steps back, wondering what the next few minutes will bring. Ross stands and does the same, eyes fixed on Loki like he is a dangerous animal.
"What the hell was that?"
Loki doesn't meet his eyes when he speaks.
"Magic. I used magic to heal you."
When he peaks up, Ross is looking at him like he has lost his mind.
"What the hell are you?"
That was not something that Loki was expecting to hear. He looks up at Ross, brow knit and fighting the dreadful feeling that fills his chest.
"I… I'm Loki! I'm the same person I've been this entire time…"
"WHAT ARE YOU?"
Loki shivers at the question. He looks down at his hands, noting a small smear of Ross' blood on his thumb from when he healed him. When he answers his voice is small.
"I'm Loki Odinson. I'm from Asgard. I'm Aesir, a race the Vikings once worshipped as gods. I'm 1432 years old and will live well past 5000…"
He glances up to Ross' eyes are widening and his face is almost comical if the situation weren't so serious. Loki gulps and continues.
"I am the third son to King Odin, ruler of Asgard. There's Baldir first, who has abdicated the throne and is estranged, and Thor. Technically, I'm a prince. I have responsibilities to the Kingdom."
By now, Ross is chuckling and scratching his head like he's watching his boyfriend ramble after having too much to drink. Loki continues.
"I like to come to Midgard- Earth- to get away from those responsibilities for a while. To be normal for a while. That's all I want, to just be with people! To just be normal!-"
Ross steps forward and grabs Loki by the arms, cutting off his explanation-turned-tirade. Loki looks up at him, eyes wide and Ross speaks.
"What else can you do?"
Loki frowns at the question, but answers.
"I can cast spells. Walk through walls, appear and disappear at will… change my face."
He says this last part almost as a whisper. When he meets Ross' eyes, his heart races at finding a blank expression. The grip on his arms is tightening to be almost painful firm and he puts his hands on Ross' chest, ready to break away. They stand in silence in the dark alley like this for a few minutes.
"What were you the god of?"
"What?"
"You said your race was worshipped as gods. So, what were you the god of?"
Loki doesn't want to answer. He knows what will come next. He shouldn't have tried anything, should have just taken Ross to Urgent Care like he had any other time someone got hurt. But he didn't. Once again he will be honest, and once again they will see nothing but deceit.
"I am the God of Mischief and Lies."
Loki has told stories, woven lives around himself the way a hermit crab steps into a shell before outgrowing it and finding another. He has built disguises to aid him in this. In doing so, he has lied either directly or by omission. He does not do so maliciously, but out necessity to shield himself as he feeds his curiosity. That curiosity will cost him not only his lover, but someone he considered a truly good friend.
He turns to Ross, who stares at him still with the blank expression. Finally the grip loosens and Ross lets go, shoving his hands in his pockets. Loki's heart sinks. Ross regards him a moment more before looking away down the alley. He nods and gives a shrug.
"Alright then."
He turns back to Loki and holds out his hand. Loki is more than a little stunned and is slow to reach out and take it. Ross turns and pulls him down the alley like nothing ever happened, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. He takes one with a shaking hand when it is offered and smiles, relieved when Ross wraps an arm around his shoulder. The two make their way down the alley in the dark.
The conditioning almost comes undone when Thor shows up. His time in the Void and with the Chitauri and the centuries-old bond between brothers clash violently in his mind. The words the Thor in front of him speaks are different from the Thor in his mind. Did they ever play together as children? Did they run and laugh like Thor says? He struggles through the fog in his mind to remember.
"I remember a shadow… Living in the shade of your greatness."
Some small part in the back of his mind is crying in protest. No, his brother is right there! Finally, proof that he has a family, that the ghosts are real. He didn't need to do this anymore! He could send some sort of signal, give some sort of sign of what was to come.
But the fog seeps into his mind again and he loses focus. The moment is broken and green eyes shift back to blue.
Loki paces around the glass cage, trailing his fingers along the perimeter. He is calm, both because the fog in his mind is whispering that this is all part of the plan and the Avengers proximity soothing. He is not afraid of the Avengers, of what they will do to him. If anything, he would gladly trade his freedom with Thanos with his imprisonment with them. But the fog keeps that pushed to the back of his mind and sarcastic quips on the tip of his tongue.
He waits for Romanov to appear. He had felt the bond between her and Barton through the sceptre's influence on the archer and knew she would come if it meant saving her battle brother. They dance around each other like dogs set to attack. They throw verbal jibes at each other. He isn't surprised when the conversation turns to Barton. He is surprised when the conversation turns to S.H.I.E.L.D. and Romanov's admission of guilt.
"It's really not that complicated. I've got red in my ledger, I'd like to wipe it out."
Something about that makes Loki unsettled, more so than usual. He regards her like a naïve child, his face twisting at the thought of an assassin struggling to make amends. He realizes he will be in the same position at the end of this. Already is.
"Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? Dreykov's daughter, Sao Paulo… the hospital fire?"
Laufey? Jotunheim? The ghosts taunt him and he struggles to keep focused on what he is saying. Even though he doesn't want to say it. Even as it pours from his mouth in a cold, calculated way the sceptre's hold seems to know will slice into Romanov. He doesn't want to see the similarities between himself and the agent in front of him.
"Barton told me everything. Your ledger is dripping, it's GUSHING red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything? This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer... PATHETIC!"
He blinks and when he opens his eyes, it is himself standing on the other side of the glass he is shouting at. He blinks again and Romanov is back. He keeps going, shaking it off.
"You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code. Something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away!"
Somehow these words slip past his lips and the sane part of him hopes she catches his meaning. She knows what S.H.I.E.L.D. is, what monsters lurk within. But she doesn't seem to notice and he continues, the fog thickening and his window of opportunity closing.
"I won't touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you!"
That gets Romanov's attention. His voice continues.
"Slowly… Intimately… In every way he knows you fear! And then he'll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull! This is MY bargain, you mewling quim!"
She turns away with tears in her eyes. When she speaks he hears the disgust in her voice.
"You're a monster."
She's right, but he doesn't say so. He laughs at her reaction instead.
"Oh no, you brought the monster!"
The agent turns to him, face calm and tears gone. Loki is stunned as he watches her straighten and turn to him.
"So, Banner… That's your play."
The fog's hold falters for a moment, as if this is some sort of troubleshooting problem it hadn't yet encountered and Loki struggles to grab hold.
"… What?"
The fog tightens again and when Loki focuses on the agent, he realizes she sees his plan clear as day. There is a slight thrill at the knowledge, along with panic, and he watches as she squares herself in front of him.
"Thank you… for your cooperation."
The sun is bright and Jean-Luc pulls his hat down lower over his eyes to block it, focused on keeping his daughter close. Her little hand holds his and they walk along the banks of the Seine. The crowd thickens the closer they get to Champs de Mars.
"Look, Papa! I can see the top!"
Jean-Luc grins at his daughter's enthusiasm. Emily squints against the light, pulling against her father's hand. He holds on tighter, not wanting to lose her in the crowd. When they get to the park, she stops and cranes her neck, her mouth open comically as her blue eyes stare up.
"Wow! You made that, Papa?"
This earns a chuckle from him.
"No, love. I only helped a little bit."
Emily looks back up at the massive metal structure. Her red curls shine against her coat and the cold air makes her cheeks pink. She looks like the picture of innocence, like one of those cherubs he'd seen in the paintings around the city. She continues to stare in awe before she puts her little fists on her hips.
"Well, I'm still going to say my Papa built the Eiffel Tower!"
The next time he and Thor meet, he is standing on the top of Stark tower and watching the world be torn apart. The portal is opened and the Chitauri stream out in thousands. Fire erupts across the sky as explosions litter the skyline and New York is in a state of chaos. Over the sounds of twisting steel and crumbling rubble he hears screams.
Oh god… What has he done!?
He can barely stand and tears rim his green eyes as he surveys the chaos. The fog in his mind is thickening and he fights to keep it at bay, but it is like fighting the tide. For all he knows, his children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren are dying below and he is the cause of it.
He feels some important part deep inside himself break, green shifts to blue and the fog takes over again.
"Loki… Get up!"
He doesn't answer. He keeps his eyes closed and slowly turns his head to the voice. He is safe and warm in this room with this person. There are no expectations on him. He isn't a prince. He isn't a Frost Giant. He isn't a pawn. He is just Loki. There is no fear and no pain. He doesn't know why this is so important, but it is. He doesn't want to leave.
It is warm and he can feel the sun on his face. He and Ross are tucked in their little apartment in bed and Ross is drawing circles on Loki's arm with his fingers. It tickles and Loki wants to tell him to stop, but he doesn't want to ruin the moment. Instead he nuzzles his head further into the pillow like a cat and mumbles.
"No."
This earns a chuckle. He doesn't want to move. Please don't make me move. The blankets are soft and the he can hear the traffic in the street through the window and Ross is right there. He can smell coffee brewing and he knows that later they will only end up grabbing a cup and heading back to bed anyway. He rolls over and throws an arm over Ross' waist. Another chuckle.
"Come on, Loki. Lazy Loki, Lazy Loki, get up!"
He stubbornly tenses his muscles in an effort to make himself heavier. He has a grin on his face now and all pretense of him trying for sleep is over. Hands run along his muscles in order to sooth them into relaxing. It works. Ross leans closer and gentle as the summer rain, whispers.
"Lovely Loki, get up."
His eyes snap open and everything hurts. Every major bone in his body as fractured and his magic is already painfully stitching them back together. He can feel blood in his lungs and he coughs painfully, wishing that for once his magic would just let him die. Muscles stretch back over mangled bone and skin knits itself together. When it is over he is left gasping. He crawls out of the crater left in the ground by his body.
He doesn't know how much time has passed. He barely knows his own name. Somewhere in the back of his mind he can feel the overwhelming shame of failure. He wonders for a moment where he is and what happened. Then he sees skyline and it hits him like a freight train.
The events of the last few days play high speed in his mind. His precious Midgard reduced to ashes at his hand. He vomits.
When he has caught his breath he hears shuffling behind him and he knows that he has no fight left. It has left him with the Tesseract. He wonders if Barton will notice his eyes are green but doubts it. He will most likely be bound and chained, killed or thrown into some deep, dark pit. He doesn't relish the thought, but he doesn't deny it. He is surrounded by Thor and the Avengers, and as he stares at an arrow tip aimed between his eyes he thinks that this was a long time coming. He looks up into the now clear eyes of Barton and raises his hands in surrender.
"I think I'll have that drink now."
