Chapter 4

~*Spirit of rebellion*~

After the deal, the first year was all right. Moreover, Loki could barely wish for a better one. Maybe he could have gone without strange dreams and nightmares of damp and scorching heat that left him heaving and desperate for fresh air.

His mother was healing.

Not a miraculous one moment to the other healing, which he actually expected, so at first he was near hysterics and constantly questioned his own sanity for believing in such dark and senseless dubious methods, and sometimes wasn't even sure if the demon he saw in that circle was real or just a vision, a creation of his feverish mind. But the doctors had no idea how Frigga was still alive and not to mention getting better with every passing day. After all you don't hear the word 'miracle falling from a doctor's lips.

Thor was ecstatic, like a golden retriever pup that got a scratch on his belly and was too happy to question the why and how. Odin, though more sceptic and cynical, didn't question anything either. He still gave Loki a few odd looks whenever their paths crossed at home, but that was probably because of Loki's dishevelled looks due to the poor quality and even worse quantity of sleeping hours. So in the end Odin felt generous and closed his eye on Loki's outburst and he seemed determined to act as if nothing had happened and Loki hadn't learnt that he was just adopted, thus never really part of the family. It was hard to decide whether he really did forget it, or just desperately wanted to.

At the moment Loki couldn't care less.

His mother was well. The sensitive balance was restored among the family members and Loki could withdraw into the shadows. He pulled his mouth into a condescending grimace that others might deem a smile and disappeared from family and business meetings after the picture of a perfect and harmonious family had been set.

He was satisfied with the situation – he told himself over and over in the secure darkness of his room when he couldn't decide if he was shivering from the cold or because of the fever burning him up from the inside. He wasn't a good enough liar yet to fill up the gaping hole that was slowly turning black and expanding whenever he saw Odin, Frigga and Thor happily chatting in the living room. He couldn't join them. Not even when his mother beckoned him to. He wasn't part of the family. There were lies that could not be forgotten. Or forgiven.

"Oh, I can see the good ol' spirit of rebellion shining bright in you."

The amusement in that voice. The fascination. It strangely filled Loki with nice warmth. This was the first pair of eyes that he saw gleam because they found him interesting. Him. Not Thor's brother. Not an Odinson. Him. Loki. And if it was this rebellion that made him special, unique and different, if it was what separated him from what he could never become, then he would embrace it. Grab it and never let go.

So Loki rebelled.

He only needed something to shake the pillars his life had stood on.

It had always bothered him and sent him into throwing tantrums in different creative ways in his room when Odin wanted to rule his life. Planning out every single detail so that he would become the perfect backup for his brother. A perfect shadow that would provide support but could never outshine him. Loki loved his brother – he really did, and he couldn't have proven this better than giving up any dreams he harboured for his future to save Frigga and all the Odinson family, but it was simply outraging that he could never tell them about it and scream "What else do you want from me?!"

This is why he ended up studying history and mythology – with such a name it shouldn't be so surprising – instead of attending law school, and on top of all he moved back to Britain. It probably was the only reason why he managed not getting disowned. Loki moved out the next day he announced his decision, and Frigga must have taken his side as always and reasoned with Odin, so that Loki could still exist with the name Odinson.

One part of him was irreversibly broken at that time. Yet another small pitch black part of his soul was madly cackling and gloating in satisfaction.

He hoped things would settle down. He would come to terms with the fact that he had 10 more years to live, find a place for himself and maybe even get a glimpse of happiness finally.

It never really happened. He was feeling out of place no matter where he went, what he set as a goal. Both in Britain, in Norway, back in the US he was constantly haunted.

Loki noticed figures that weren't really there. Creatures that only lived in his studies, in old legends and folklore stories, monsters that weren't and couldn't be real. And on top of that he couldn't miss the news in the papers wherever he went about those horrible murders, which were blamed on serial killers or strange accidents, though he couldn't shake off the feeling that couldn't be so, that the monsters he saw were responsible…

One part of him desperately wanted to get rid of these horrible feelings and intuitions, while the other one, that had always thought even his nightmares were amusing, found some pervert satisfaction in collecting the articles in a journal and scribbling down his own notices and critics to the margins on sleepless nights. There were more and more of them. So the journal grew thicker and thicker as time passed by.

In the second year he still had too much time on his hands. There were too many notes in that journal, too many thoughts in his head. And he was getting more and more suspicious that he was losing his mind. So what did someone smart enough to realize that might be the case should do? Start studying Psychology seemed to be a good enough answer to that. Loki thought he'd be more than just fine analyzing himself. He'd go to someone, a so-called specialist, and he'd be assigned to a nice and comfy straitjacket and a mental asylum.

It was enough to prove him that yes, he was losing his sanity. And of course there was the usual dualty inside of him where one part was terrified of this idea and wanted to break down sobbing and then screaming madly in the next second, while the other just cracked a smirk, with the certainty that he would come out of it victorious.

This smirking bastard looked back at him from the mirror.

That wasn't him. Wasn't Loki Odinson. He still clung desperately to the idea that he was finally growing into a better, more independent version of himself. But nothing changed the worrying fact that altogether with his sanity his cool temper was packing and getting ready to fly out the window.

Loki honestly considered jumping after it (after crawling up a skyscraper first, just to make sure) when the visions started.

He was seeing the crossroad demon everywhere.

He blamed it on the loneliness driving him crazy.

Not that he had ever been such a social and extrovert type. Quite the contrary, but he always had at least his brother at his side. Adopted or not, he was missing Thor. Thor was always optimistic. Some people mistook him for being naïve and idiotic, and Loki also several times rubbed it in his face when he lost his temper or just wanted to jab – to hurt – and Thor was the unlucky idiot in his way, but really, he was very attentive, loyal, smart and could interpret the world in ways Loki never could, and Loki wouldn't trade him for the world. Not even if it meant he could get rid of Odin.

Loki would die first than show his affection for his brother openly, but he cared for him dearly. Maybe this was why he could convince himself that it was for better if he kept his distance from Thor and the whole family.

That he couldn't shut his brain off added to the desperate search for something that could mute the maddening thoughts and fears was enough to give his family a reason to hate him, to give them the authority to throw him out, cut all ties… even if they didn't know about it, it was reason enough for Loki.

He needed distraction from the visions. Then there was the bottle and the needle. And there was no saying how much Loki despised himself for being such a weakling that he had to resort to such pitiful methods.

The next few months were a blur of dark and warm unconsciousness and cold and blinding awakenings and fights.

He was expelled from college and just a hair's width away from getting arrested. He was called a disgrace. Worthless. Useless. Pathetic. Petty. Hopeless. Even attention-whore at one point. Freak.

All these just made Loki more stubborn. He scoffed in Odin's face and cracked a vicious smirk over the burning ache in his cheek. Until one day Frigga came to him begging for Loki to stop and don't kill himself, he was such a precious boy, her dear son, and she couldn't watch him slowly killing himself…

Loki had never realized a few kind words could break someone more than cruelty and fists and any kind of weapon.

He suspected it was Frigga who asked Thor to take Loki out. Not really the best idea to get a potentially on the straight way to become a drunk junky to a club and 'have fun' but Loki had to give his mother credit for the caution she took. Just entrust him on Thor. He would take his quest to heart and look after his little brother's drinking and make sure he wouldn't go after anything else. And as much Loki could get stubborn and an ass, he hadn't yet mastered the ability to be immune to Thor's long-suffering and even longer-lasting kicked puppy looks.

So that was it. On one Saturday evening, three years in his deal, Loki and Thor went out to a club. Bumping –accidentally, honest – into Thor's friends and girlfriend, people Loki couldn't stand anymore and supposedly set out to have a great time.

The first hour was okay. Loki tried his best not to drink himself under the table in the first twenty minutes and with enough alcohol to fog their minds Fandral and Hogun were fun enough to unleash his tongue on them.

Loki even managed to flirt a bit - purely out of courtesy - with Darcy who had her eyes on him, then chased her away efficiently. And he hadn't broken Fandral's hand either when it tried to creep up his thigh. He only cracked his fingers a little bit. Nothing fatal.

That was the club and the time when everything had gone to Hell. His visions materializing.

Loki spotted Tony Stark in the crowd. It would be quite impossible – with so many people, a crowd, a whole mass of fused bodies and overhanging limbs writhing and pulsating – but it was him!

All at once every drug induced hazy memories were coming back crashing his self-control, tearing the leash he had managed to haul in the neck of his temper, keeping his sanity in his eyesight – But the memories of burning red eyes and the lazy flash of pearly white teeth revealed by a smirk –

Loki wanted to bolt. To get away from this horror that had ruined his whole life –

But Thor caught him with a big comforting hand on his shoulder and a determined look in his stormy blue eyes.

The vision of the crossroad demon was gone when he looked back.

So Loki stayed. And even allowed himself to be dragged to the dance floor by some girl he didn't even fancy. He must have drunk a lot. But she was all right. Not his type, but good enough to keep his mind occupied. Only until one moment in the writhing hot mass of dancers Loki felt chilled out cold – he would swear he saw his breath puff out in a small white cloud – then immediately his skin was on fire when a warm hand ran along his frame – tracing his torso from shoulder to hip, stroking the pointy outline of the bone, a hard muscular body pressing up to his back, the other's breath hot in his hair.

"Here you are," Sharp teeth grazed the naked expanse of his neck. "My favourite rebelling angel."

Loki tore himself out of the teasing grasp and for a moment he was face to face with Tony Stark in a deep bourbon coloured shirt, trademark smirk in place and his eyes devoured all the panic that radiated from Loki.

He didn't remember how he got there but the next moment Loki found himself bent double in the back alley heaving and throwing up everything he had had throughout the night. Yet it didn't relieve him at all. His knees were still shaking, ready to collapse under him and cold sweat broke on his forehead.

It couldn't be possible! He had been running away from this monster, but nothing worked. And he was definitely real. Loki could still feel the warmth of his hands and it chilled him out. Loki leant his back to the dirty cold wall, hopeful that it would ease his trembling and he wouldn't find himself lying on the ground soon. He had to go back. He had to – But couldn't really recall why.

To act nice, someone who wasn't entirely and hopelessly lost yet?

You are lost without guidance. No one understands you. No one will ever accept what's deep inside you. What even you can't accept. You should let it gush out…

Loki shook his head. Those weren't his thoughts. Even though they sounded familiar. Like an old track that has been playing over and over on a long journey.

His shivering slowly subsided and he could take a breath without the heaving returning. He still counted a minute then turned to go back through the back entrance –

Moans and screams of passion of more! more! and yes!

A shower of fake blonde hair, smeared makeup –

Burning red eyes, a flash of dangerous pearly white and bronze.

Groans, one more scream and a dark chuckle absolutely devoid of anything but menace and cruel mirth.

Loki flew back the way he came with the same panic clutching his insides and paralyzing his mind. He bumped into the wall and hit his head, but he was already dizzy enough he couldn't care less that now he wasn't even seeing straight. In a frenzy of despair he ran, ran and ran until he found himself in a bright passage that grew closer and closer –

-it finally erased the shadowy corridor and the writhing whore and the phantom of his nightmares between her legs.

Loki had been to hospitals before and he had always had a very strong revulsion when he had to enter one.

However, it was different now. He was the one lying on the sterile ugly green sheets under the blanket that was either too heavy or wasn't warm enough. He was attached to tubes and wires and machines that beeped irritating his hazy mind to no end.

"Loki, darling, how are you feeling?"

The woman sounded worried. Concerned. Frigga? Yet – there lay a wavering undertone of confusion and the repressed waves of panic.

Loki's fingers twitched then with the solace that his hand was responding he curled his fingers into a light fist. His hand was lying on top of the covers. Cold and dry.

Frigga wasn't holding his hand.

Despite the machine's constant even beeping his heart froze.

How many things can break in one moment…

"Fine," Loki said. His voice hoarse, his lips dry but otherwise he didn't feel sedated or numb.

He didn't open his eyes to look at his mother. Her voice betrayed everything she might try to cover up with her gentle smiles. Loki was afraid he couldn't restrain his tears that welled up behind his eyelids if he risked a last glance at her.

"Thank goodness," she sighed, but she wasn't relieved. Not really. She was just a mother.

"Do you remember anything, brother?" Thor asked from the same side. He was probably standing behind Frigga with a hand on her shoulder.

Loki shook his head. It went surprisingly well.

"You were hit by a van two corners down from the place we were at three days ago," Thor sounded confused as well. Confused, disappointed and betrayed.

Oh.

He remembered the light closing up on him. It was the van. He remembered recognizing it. It all happened really fast. Loki fought down his base instinct to get away. He stood like the deer caught in the headlight. He didn't mind…

"But you are all right, Loki," Frigga said quickly, "The doctors don't understand how, but you are. They thought you should be paralyzed by now," her voice grew thick but she took a deep breath to go on. "But you only have a slight concussion, no broken or fractured bones. Nothing…"

And it shouldn't have happened. You should be broken here in front of them, you know that. Of course Odin is not here, because you are a freak. Just open up your eyes and look if you dare! They are afraid of you now. They think you drank too much and wanted to kill yourself – of course they are not entirely wrong. Are they your family? If you were dying they would clung to your hand and for the smallest flinch you make they would burst out in happy tears.

But now that you are all fine? You are a freak!

You don't believe me? Open up your eyes and see for your own!

Loki didn't open his eyes.

"That's great, isn't it…?" He didn't find it in himself anymore to call Frigga Mother.

At first he was to be found in libraries more often than at home. He couldn't stand the sideway glances of disappointment and disgust. He picked more and more fights with Odin and Thor and turned away from Frigga. The pain in her eyes didn't touch his heart anymore.

Four miserable years into his deal Loki moved away.

States away from the place he romantically still used to call home in his weaker moments he bought a small flat, but for a while he couldn't afford the luxury to live in it, to keep a permanent address or a phone number for that matter. His mother and brother hadn't given up on him for another half a year. They called Loki several times until Loki got fed up and threw the damned device out the window one evening. Somehow his next number got tracked too, and that phone shared the fate of its predecessor.

Changing phones and moving from motel to, hitchhiking or renting a car to be able to travel was very troublesome. But running away from private detectives needed precautions to be taken. Luckily both of them made the mistake to try and talk to Loki and convince him – sometimes with emotional blackmailing that always got Loki's temper flare – to go back home to his worrying mother.

A few mind tricks and hours of talking were enough for the detectives to return and report failure in finding the lost son.

Afterwards no one was looking for Loki anymore. He cut all ties from his family.