Per his request, the spacecraft landed several blocks short of 177A Bleecker Street, on what turned out to be, as predicted, a positively dreary day.
Thick clouds, mottled gray and thick as muddied cotton, roiled across the wide expanse of sky, pouring buckets upon the earth without restraint. As soon as Loki stepped from the Benetar, he conjured a thin shield around his person, keeping the worst of the deluge from agitating his burns, then cloaked the remains of his shredded leather vest with a flimsy glamour of civilian cloth. Had Frigga yet lived, she might have scolded him for not weaving the threads of his seidr with more care, and he reluctantly admitted that it wasn't his best work. Any mortals glancing in his direction would see a slender, tall man in a well-trimmed suit, before having their attention inexplicably drawn elsewhere, but should they focus with intent, the seams would surely begin to show.
It occurred to him as he strode down the sidewalk, his boots leaving no prints nor ripples in the puddles he walked through, that he need not have bothered, as the humans themselves seemed far too interested in reaching their destinations to give more than passing glance.
The stone steps of the Sanctum Sanctorum looked innocuous enough, as did the building itself, though Loki knew better. The previous Sorcerer Supreme had strengthened the wards to the degree that their presence scraped abrasively against his seidr as he approached, carrying out their master's will long after the original caster's spirit had passed from the realm. They were ancient, alien, and thus, Loki opted to wait patiently for them to finish their inspection.
Once they were done, the oppressive weight of their presence lessened considerably, and the mahognany door swung open at the height of the steps, revealing Stephen Strange, wreathed in the protection of his cloak, and predictably wary.
"Loki." Strange said with passable civility. "Can I ask to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Loki pushed past him. "Get out of my way."
The first level of the sanctum was the camouflage. Gift stores and merchandise, a library stacked with books on calming sutras, fortune telling, acupuncture, and Chinese geomancy. Charlatans pulling the wool over the eyes of the masses by proclaiming they were charlatans. The true tomes were stored on the third floor, along with the Eye of Agamotto, which the magician now wore wrapped around his neck like a dollar-store trinket.
A cloaked arm lashed out, latching onto Loki's wrist with an iron grip. Staring at the offending appendage, Loki bit down on his tongue, swallowing the cry threatening to spill from his lips. "You're wounded."
"Brilliant deduction," snarled Loki, ripping his arm from his grasp as he simultaneously gestured to the premises, continuing with an acid drip drawl, "However would this sanctum survive without you?"
It was tempting to open a rift in space, skip this whole confrontation all together by stepping through the hole carved in reality to pass straight to the inner sanctum, and Loki might have considered it, had the thought of being so wasteful with his remaining seidr not left such a sour taste in his mouth. Free now, he made for the twining staircases, heedless of Strange's attempt to call him back.
A growing rumble from above drew him short. From the top of the twining staircases a flood came sweeping over the steps, its sides sloshing against the rails without spilling a drop on the floor. Gritting his teeth, Loki spread out his palms, calling on heat, on fire and the molten layer flowing beneath the earth's crust. In an instant, the roaring waves evaporated, hissing steam all that remained of the flood that was.
Impatient and quickly losing his temper, the Asgardian peered imperiously over his shoulder, a single brow arched as he waited for an explanation.
Strange, to his credit, looked unperturbed. He straightened. "Where is Thor?" Loki said nothing, though the color drained from the sallow features piercing through the gossamer threading of his guise. "Where is your brother? Why isn't he here with you?" The magician's suspicion visibly grew the longer Loki maintained his silence. Spinning golden circlets inscribed with runes appeared above his palms.
"Dispel your illusion."
Loki cocked his head. "Can't you simply see through it?" There was no energy behind the taunt, no feeling. Still, the words came easily enough. "Any competent magician should be more than capable of such a small feat." He kept his shoulders straight, his chin high. Scraping together as much dignity as he could before golden seidr dissipated as though unraveled by the tugging of a single thread, and before Strange stood an Aesir with blue-tinted, ash-smeared skin, tangled locks clumped and matted with sweat and debris. A healing cut, now more of a scar, split his left brow, and the pungent odor of something organic burning saturated the sanctum.
Strange's mouth parted in surprise. Loki scoffed.
Glancing at the ruin of his own form, he mused, "Midgardian children, when injured, will cease their wailing once the offending scrape or bruise is out of sight, will they not?" And with a slight, not-quite smile, added wryly, "There is power in keeping appearances."
This next part, he realized, would taste like bile splashing over his tongue, but that made it no less true, and without allies, the fight with Thanos was a good as lost, so Loki unclenched his fists, dropped his shoulders, and dipped his head, splaying his hands at his sides. "I need your help, Stephen Strange." He paused, gauging his reaction. "This is a force like you have never faced and it is coming here to destroy everything that you hold dear on your precious planet."
While the cloak flared around its master, Strange appeared unimpressed. "Threats? Really?"
With a strained laugh that tasted of blood, Loki gestured at his form, "Do I look like I am in any condition to threaten, magician?" Sure, he was standing on his own feet. A skeleton could do as much if propped correctly. "Asgard was destroyed. Thanos found the survivors. Thor was…" Here, his throat briefly closed, blocking any words from passing his lips. He grit his teeth, berating himself for allowing such sentimentality. With a brief flare of his nostrils, he forced down a dry swallow. "Thor is not coming. Thus, it is up to me act in the interest of this planet in his absence." There. Was that so hard?
After a moment of consideration, Strange said, "And you expect me to take your word for it?" As Loki had so hoped he would.
When he reached out with frostbite blue fingertips to touch the sorcerer's forehead, however, any contact he might have achieved in that moment of surprise was prevented by the cloak inserting itself between him and Strange in a flash of crimson.
Quietly, Loki tried to reason, "I mean no harm to your master."
On guard, Strange frowned. "I have no master."
He was confused. Irritated. It fit him well. Loki longed to keep him in that state for as long as possible. He grinned with all his teeth. "Bold of you to assume I was speaking to you."
And when he lunged, the cloak pulled back, startling Strange, but before he could get his bearings, there were fingers on his temple, and in the instant contact was made, he saw-
Screams.
Metal warping with heat, popping like a bubble filled with nightmares.
Cries. Running. Panic.
Men and women falling on top of each other, their life blood mixing and collecting in swirling pools on the ground. Bodies beneath the debris.
And a male voice singing the praises of Thanos and the endless death he will bring.
There was a blur of green, a flash-image of Thor encased in bent rebar and beams, unable to speak. Then Strange felt himself being lifted by the neck, experienced sheer animal terror as the walls of his throat collapsed in on themselves.
The pain alleviated when the titan in golden armor holding him let him fall, and he coughed violently, hacking and spitting just to breath. There was a shout that spilled from his lungs, tearing tissue on its way out, and Thor-
Thanos ripped him from the ground, tore a hole through the ship, and-
"I think you've seen enough."
Strange came out of the vision with a gasp, the room spinning dizzyingly as he fought to adjust to the abrupt shift. Less than a second ago, he'd been in space, reeling with guilt and pain. Eyes watering, he stared up at the Asgardian whose memories he'd seen, taking in the stark shadows sharpening his features, the unnatural paleness. His expression, however, was strangely, carefully blank. "Unless you'd like to see more?"
"No," Strange replied a little too quickly, climbing to his feet and offhandedly brushing off the cloak's concerned ministrations. "No, I believe you."
Loki sighed, sagging, though he didn't seem aware. "Good." And a tired grin stretched across his face. "Let's get started, then, shall we?"
They discussed their best course of action in the occult library, debating the pros and cons of using the Eye when doing so could risk unraveling the fabric of time.
It wasn't meant to be an ace-in-the-hole.
"If you don't plan to use it, then why do you carry it around with you?"
Strange placed a hand over the Eye. "Because it's safest with me."
Though Loki shot Strange a look that reeked of skepticism, he didn't argue. Instead, he snatched a map from one of the shelves and unrolled it over a table. It was a plain map of the earth, made of old parchment. However, it was enchanted, as billions of lights glowed on its surface, some of them dimming, others at their prime. "That being the case, we should do everything within our power to ensure our first attempt on the Mad Titan's life is also our last."
"That could be interpreted in a variety of ways," Loki narrowed his eyes in warning, "but I understand your point."
It was agreed, at least, that the likelihood of them defeating Thanos would increase monumentally with an additional ally. Rather than settle for any sympathetic ear, however, it was a magic user of the highest caliber that Loki felt would optimize their chances of success, and while Strange didn't argue, he was irritatingly reticent on the matter.
Pacing with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, Loki asked for the second or third time, "Are you entirely certain you cannot simply tell me who the strongest sorcerer on Midgard is? What possible rule does it break to pass on such vital information when the fate of the universe hangs in the balance?"
"It's not a rule, Loki. Last I checked, you still tried to take over New York a few years back."
Stop. Breath. "Then not only are you dangerously incompetent," Loki said levelly, his tone stripped of emotion, "you're a fool."
How utterly ironic. To think that while standing in the culmination of a millennia worth of collected knowledge, the Sorcerer Supreme would doom the universe by choosing to bask in the vast ocean of his own boundless ignorance.
Short of prostrating himself, Loki wasn't sure what else he could do to convince the magician of his sincerity. Perhaps his motives weren't pure, and his spirit was twisted, tainted beyond recognition. Shaped in the image of a monster. None of that changed the fact that his desire to kill Thanos was true, and the consequences of failure were very, very real. Pushing away from the table, he turned his back on the man. "I have shown you my memories. I have asked for your help." The protective seal on the sanctum shook, its glass trembling with the force of thunder that swept furiously over the mortal plane. Its raw power tingled over Loki's flesh, lending him strength. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched with muted fascination as the hairs on his arm stood. "My crimes against this realm cannot and shall not be forgiven. I know that." There were no happy endings for the wolf, the scorpion, or the viper. "However," and he spun, pointing an accusing finger at the sorcerer who claimed to hold Midgard's best interests at heart, "you are crafting enemies from smoke and shadows, and they are blinding you to the enemies knocking at your door!" For once, it seemed that Strange was speechless. Loki let his arm fall with a tired sigh. Limbs heavy with exhaustion that sank deeper than his body, he made to leave the sanctum and its protector. "If you're not going to help me, hero, then you're wasting my time."
Behind him, he heard the scrape of a chair's wooden legs on the tile as Strange stood.
"Her name is Wanda Maximoff." Loki stopped. He glanced over his shoulder to see Strange take a steadying breath, brow furrowed. "She's an Avenger."
It was the start of an allegiance. Strange may not have trusted him, but even he could understand the urgency of their predicament. If there was a moment to spare, Loki might have sunk down onto a stool, rested his head on his hands to process the full meaning and repercussions of this latest development.
Instead, he focused on not swaying where he stood, "Thank you. The chances of our survival have just increased exponentially," and used his seidr like a blade to cut a small window into the dimension, then reached his hand into the ring, withdrawing a pulsing crystalline cube, its surface edged with rows upon rows of overlapping mazes. It was, for all intents and purposes, a tesseract.
"Odin ordered a fake constructed and locked it in the Asgardian vault," he explained before Strange could kick up a fuss, and rotated the cube consideringly in his hand.
Strange stepped around the table to approach, keeping his gaze fixed on the glowing object. "So you gave the fraudulent copy to Thanos?"
Having anticipated the question, Loki answered readily, "He would have felt the difference. The stones react to the presence of their siblings." Then again, what was the worst that could have happened? He'd kill Thor? That had happened regardless. In truth, all his efforts had accomplished was hastening the impending doom of his brother's beloved Midgard.
Strange made a thoughtful noise. "Then it's useless, isn't it?"
Loki bristled, snapping, "It may not transport us across the galaxy but it's more than enough for one measly planet." It didn't escape him how Strange appeared to be evaluating him, now that they'd forged a somewhat tentative alliance.
"And why not use your own power?" Rain slammed against the windows, streaming down their panes in thick, ropey rivulets, washing away dust and clinging particulates. There were no humans strutting the streets now, no umbrellas and few cars. It was a world alive with sound and motion. It did not know of silence nor stillness. Nor of the tidal wave of suffering that followed in the Mad Titan's wake.
"Perhaps," Loki began with a sneer, "I wish to conserve my strength. Not everyone is so inclined to frittering it away on needless showboating. "
Strange chuckled under his breath, rankling him further. "Somehow, I had a feeling you'd say something like that." And he laid a gloved hand on Loki's shoulder, ignoring the way he jerked at the touch.
A second away from warning him to remove his appendage before he lost it for good, Loki became aware of the mage's intent. Healing magic joined with his seidr, bolstering it. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against a natural resistance to both the touch and the foreign magic melding with his own. It wasn't long before it was done, and when it was, Loki didn't thank him, though Strange at least had the sense not to expect it. "You might have warned me."
Strange shrugged, a gesture mirrored by the cloak he wore. "Would you have agreed if I had?"
Instead of giving voice to the corrosive response forming on his tongue, Loki left him standing in the sanctum alone, disappearing in a blip with the name Wanda Maximoff suspended in his mind like the final note of a song.
Strange barely had time to decide whether or not he should be concerned when Loki reappeared, looking rather smug with a young woman in a crimson vest tucked under his arm. He released her and she listed sideways, torn between abject confusion and teleportation nausea.
"Where am I?" Her frightened gaze darted around the sanctum in a panic, falling on Strange before sliding to Loki, then alternating frantically between the two. "Who are you people?" While she gasped out her questions, Loki continued to look inordinately satisfied, and Strange came to the tardy conclusion that he may have made a terrible mistake.
That was, until the young, hunched witch twisted with her palms outstretched to blast a concentrated projectile of percussive force straight into Loki's chest.
A/N: Hello everyone, and thanks so much for the support! I really appreciate it!