A Note to the Reader: I'm so sorry for the delay! I tried to make this one long to make up for it, so I hope it's worth the wait. And thank you for the lovely reviews while you waited! I'm sorry if you find that the quality is lacking towards the end – I've gotten very frustrated with writing and re-writing this chapter at least six times. But I hope you stick through the whole chapter, because I'm much more ecstatic for the next one!
Thor had been back for a couple days, unable to bear being on earth without Loki or Jane to talk to. At least, he comforted himself, he had Frigga and Odin - not to mention Lady Sif and the Warrior's Three! - back home. He hadn't done much visiting in his time home. Mostly he spent his time in Loki's former chambers, in the caves they explored as children, and in his brother's other favorite hiding places. He also had intended to visit Jotunheim, but he'd decided against it after finding a new resolve to finally confront Frigga. Before he did so, however, he'd wanted to look over his homeland at least once more.
With all his worries in mind, Thor stepped onto the tallest tower he could find. He took a shaky step towards the balcony and looked down at the land he called home. The place he would protect no matter what, from no matter the threat. Even if that supposed threat was his little brother, he had the duty as Prince to keep Asgard, and Earth, safe. Thousands of thoughts were flitting about in Thor's mind, leaving no room to appreciate the view below him. When a raven flying by caught his attention, he simply glared at it and looked back down. For the first time, the thought of jumping occurred to him. Of course, from this height, it wouldn't kill him. In fact, he doubted even a broken limb. Probably a few bruises, and if he hit something sharp on his way down, a nice scar.
Thor shook his head and took a step backwards, stopping the unintentional thoughts and exiting the balcony for his own safety. As he shuffled his feet across the marble floors of his home, slowly leading himself to the library, he could hear fanfares and cheering from outside. Why should anyone be celebrating? Shouldn't they all be mourning? It hurt Thor to return home without his brother, but it hurt him even more to see his people rejoice the absence of Loki. He couldn't understand what they hated about him – surely they didn't know of his true lineage. And even then, was he so hard to accept? He was simply another living thing, worthy of dignity and respect simply for being alive, but it seemed that every time Thor turned around Loki was being hurt in some terribly inhumane way that Thor simply could not stop. The thoughts made Thor bitter and a sense of dread and loathing filled him every time he looked out a window at the festivities.
"Thor? What is the matter?" A calm voice asked, sweeping through Thor's troubled mind. It was Frigga, calling him from the library. When Thor turned to her, she seemed worried, but he smiled for her. He smiled because he couldn't handle his mother, of all people, worrying for the wrong person again. "Please, come sit with me, child."
Thor did so, taking a seat on the luxurious stuffed sofa with his mother, after moving a tall stack of books. They were about the Frost Giant lore, Thor noted, but not of nightmare tales meant to scare children. No, the books Frigga was reading were of the rare variety about a Frost Giant's home life in ancient times. Thor gave his mother a weak smile after looking at the books, a look she returned with a piteous frown and draped her thin arms around her son. Thor returned the embrace, taking in the tranquility that his mother had to offered. Instead of focusing on painful thoughts, he simply forced himself to think on the scents of her various perfumes. Jasmines and Lavenders replaced the thoughts of his fellow Asgardians enjoying Loki's absence, Roses and Citrus took away the anger towards his father, and whatever his mind couldn't change, Frigga's very presence seemed to work away.
"Please, Thor, you must let me in, so tell me everything you are worrying about tonight."
"I worry for Loki. I cannot visit him now, cannot even see my brother, and he is alone on earth. I suppose it isn't a matter of trust for the Avengers Initiative, but I simply don't know if they can contain his mind. Mother, I do not think anything good will come of his banishment – especially of this memory loss business. This was all a horrible idea, and I know he will suffer for it. Hasn't he been hurt enough at our hands? Oh, mother, what can I do to help my exiled brother?" Thor cried, shaking with intent and something borderlining and anxious rage. Not because of anything Odin did, or anything Frigga could have prevented, but for his own follies. He helped convince Odin of the banishment, of the memory loss instead of a beheading or of having his brother's lips sewn. At least the two punishments underway now were temporary – the two Odin had intended were painful and tortuously permanent. But Thor still couldn't help but feel at fault for Loki's painful sentence. Frigga seemed to read into all of this.
"Thor, you mustn't blame yourself for this entire matter. While Loki needed punishment, at your hands he received the safest possible. I know that he will return to us, and I have hopes that he will be a better person, like you were after you came home. I also believe that, without the memory loss, Loki would have fought everyone every inch of the way through earth. You surely know this, Thor. Everything we have done up to this point, while painful for all of us, is for Loki's best interest. When he returns, surely everything will make much more sense."
Thor simply stared at his mother with a look of gratitude and some small remaining sadness that was easily drained by a second embrace. After they talked for several hours more, Thor sauntered off to his own room. He'd lost a couple nights' sleep over Loki's situation, and he decided to get them back before he returned to earth. But not only would he return – he had a plan. A plan to set his brother free.
Michael had never intended for any of it to happen, but he had always had trouble with flying into bouts of rage. And when he'd told his friend to go ahead and jump, he hadn't meant it, of course, but the other boy was so distraught that the words had obviously stricken a chord. So after his friend, Will, had thrown his phone of the side of a half-collapsed building, Michael immediately went into a state of horrible anxiety attacks for several minutes. He ran to the foot of the building that Will was at and screamed as loudly as his throat and lungs would let him. He knew Will could hear his cries, so Michael took a chance and darted inside the dilapidated building in search of a stairwell. Once he'd found it, pleased that almost no damage had occurred to it, he immediately began climbing. He took the staircases three stairs at a time. Michael had always been athletic, but even for someone trained, twenty-four flights of stairs was an exhausting endeavor. But once he had reached the top, Michael was relieved and out of breath to find Will still standing on the ledge. He'd arrived in time to talk him back down.
"Will, please," He panted, pulling at his sweat-soaked shirt, "You're worth more than this."
"Not according to you," Will choked out coldly, not even turning his back to look at his friend.
But Michael kept stepping closer. He kept talking, talking about the childhood they'd shared, about the stupid things they'd done, about the girls they chased, and about how well they survived the attack together. Who knew what else they could take on? Maybe they were both meant for bigger and better things than Manhattan.
"You sound like one of those self-help books," Will said quietly, and Michael laughed a little knowing it was an attempt at humor.
"Listen, I know it sounds cheesy now," He murmured, putting a hand on Will's shoulder, "But we're all we have now, okay? We can make things better for each other, with each other."
He recognized his mistake as soon as he'd made it, and he watched Will's face go red as he looked away.
"Yeah, that sounds just like you. Well, what if I don't want to spend the rest of my life with you?"
"Wouldn't you technically be spending your life with me if you jumped right now?"
"Go to hell, Michael."
But before Will could even turn back to face the ledge Michael had spent hours talking his down from, Michael tackled his old friend to the ground. Will struggled like a wild beast, but Michael had always been stronger. The younger of the two seemed hell-bent on getting over the ledge, even so much as clawing at Michael to get back to it, but the older boy simply hung onto his best friend in a tight embrace. After they were both exhausted, they sat on the roof sobbing and shaking.
"I just don't want to do this anymore, man."
"I kn-know, I don't either," Michael confessed, looking down, "If you jumped, I would go, too,"
Both of them sobbed and clung to each other, but only one of them seemed to hold onto hope for the future. Michael led Will back down the stairwell into the nearest room to them and sat him down. They had to be careful to avoid a crackling outlet, since neither of them knew anything about electricity. After Will got comfortable, Michael retreated into the back rooms looking for food. He was only gone for about ten minutes when a horrible crackle and a heavy thud, filled the office building. Then there was dead silence. Michael's knees began shaking because he was already fearing the worst. How stupid did he have to be to take his suicidal friend to a room full of outlets and metal scraps?
Once Michael had finally gotten the courage to step back outside, he immediately regretted it. There, laying on the floor, was his best friend. There were burn marks up his arm and he was still clutching a tiny, warped piece of metal from the floor. He looked over the body of his friend with tears in his eyes, taking in every aspect of the you boy's appearance. His thin coppery blonde hair, the pronounced cheekbones that had gotten him more than enough attention from the opposite sex, the wide-open green eyes and the tanned skin that, despite its blemishes, was softer than some girls' Michael had known. The broken young man kneeled next to his gone friend and gathered him in his arms and began sobbing like a wretched fool. Over and over again he repeated two apologies, "I loved you, man," and "I'm here, I'm here,"
And Michael stayed there, in that way, for several hours.
"Hey, big guy, it's time to wake up."
At the touch on his shoulder, and not at the words, the former god formerly known as Loki Laufeyson was jolted awake. His wild green-blue eyes flitted everywhere, from the blinding fluorescent lights, to Tony Stark's face, to the door, and then to his arms, which refused to move. He began panicking and his breathing quickened, and Tony seemed more disappointed or disgruntled than concerned by the situation.
"Hey, calm down, Costa. Now's not the time for that, all right? They sent me in here for a reason," Stark said with a sigh, Costa noted.
"Costa? Wha-?"
"That's your name. We all get one, you see, and mine's Tony. Remember how that works, now?"
"I don't really, I think...I think I've forgotten," Costa muttered, still trying to move his arms, avoiding eye contact with Tony. He was more mesmerized by the red splotches on his forearms, anyway. Tony ran his palm over his face and took a few deep breaths, and while he composed himself, Costa smiled as he managed to hover his arm over the hospital bed. Then he had to do a double-take. Hospital bed?
"Tony, why am I in a hospital?" He asked calmly, taking deep breaths through the nose and out the mouth.
"How should I know? Barton's the one that found you knocked back on your ass during the attack."
"Barton? Why does that name sound familiar?"
"Oh, I see how it is," Tony scoffed, "You remember the guy with scrambled eggs, yet you forget the great Tony Stark."
"Scrambled...?"
"You know, he's like part bird or whatever, and Tasha...?" Tony said with a expectant gaze, hoping Loki would get his joke, but his attempt failed and his face fell a little, "Forget about it. We have more important stuff to go over, anyway."
"Important? Like what?"
"Like you getting back to work as an Agent. Since you can't even remember your last name, let me give you the basics. You work in the field as search and recovery. You've done great work or something, so SHIELD wants you back now. Are you up for it?"
"I...Suppose?" Costa answered, feeling as though he was being pulled about by the arm. His head was spinning in confusion. Thoughts were bouncing off the very walls of his mind. Why couldn't he even remember his own name, what was SHIELD, what kind of work did he just agree to, why was Tony Stark so familiar-looking, who was Barton, and why the hell were his arms the only injuries he'd sustained to land him in the hospital in the first place? Costa sat up as Tony got up to leave.
"Where are you going?" He asked tentatively, trying to lift his arms again. Stark gave him a glance that borderlined pity, maybe a little contempt. The look was too quick to really tell. Tony merely shook his head and strode towards the door.
"Once your arms are better," He nodded at James Costa's pitiful attempts to lift his them, "You'll go back to work. Sound good?"
Costa could only nod.
"Great."
"Why do I have to babysit, huh? He isn't my responsibility!"
"You were the last person in the room with him, Stark, so you're the one that'll be able to tell the best if he'd remembered anything. And," Fury said, barreling over Tony, who'd opened his mouth to reply, "If he does remember anything, you're to report your ass to me and tell me all about it. Otherwise, I want you reporting back to Agent Costa every hour on the hour. Who the hell chose his name, anyway?"
No one in the room raised their hands, so Agent Hill spoke up, "I think Coulson did, sir."
"Speaking of which, where did he get off to?"
"There was a reported suicide downtown, and he went to investigate. Apparently one of the families we've been keeping tabs on died out without us finding them first. Their kid just couldn't handle it. That's all the info we have now."
"Tell Coulson to get back here. Loki's in better shape to check it out, anyway."
And with that, Fury swept away in the sulking manner he was renowned for, leaving Stark and Agent Hill to argue over who had to check up on the patient next. After a quick coin toss, the 'heads' side determined that it would be none other than Tony Stark.
James Costa looked about his room. On the bedside tables there were no stuffed animals, no flowers, not even a card. Did that mean he had no real friends, or did they die in the attack that Stark had told him about? Apparently he had co-workers, but none of them cared enough to send him anything, either. To Costa, that just didn't add up. In fact, nothing made sense to him. He couldn't recognize anything but a handful of people, including Stark and Barton, and he had no reason to be in a hospital besides his arms. They were bruised and splotchy, still, but the red raised lumps were in an almost-perfectly straight line. At least, he thought, he could move them easily now.
Costa looked up in surprise as Stark re-entered the room after an hour and a half. He decided to just pop the question, "Why are all of you lying to me, Stark?"
Tony was a bit taken aback by the question. They all figured that Loki would get it sooner or later, but none of them expected him to guess on the first day. Tony's hand carefully spidered down to a small recording device in his pocket and he pressed the button he knew so well.
"What do you mean, Costa?"
"I know that most of what you're telling me isn't true. 'Costa' isn't even my real name, is it?" Sudden contempt flashed in Loki's face, "And these marks on my arms – you did this to me, didn't you?"
Tony had no ready answer, aside from a raised brow.
"Answer me!" Loki cried, standing now, looking ready to attack. But Tony only gave him a sad look. A sudden piercing pain erupted in Loki's jaw, sending shockwaves down his spine and back into his mind. He doubled over for a moment, holding his head in one hand. A sudden thought occurred to him – he recognized that look, the look on Tony's face. But there was something else that was supposed to go along with it. Some words, perhaps, but Loki couldn't place his finger on it.
"Sit down and I'll tell you what's going on," Tony said with a sigh, motioning for the bed, "But so help me, if you tell anyone else I told you this, I will blast you through the walls." Loki only nodded in response, his expression still fierce.
"Your real name is Loki. You killed a lot of people in just two and a half weeks. We wiped your memory because we need your help, but we couldn't have you attacking again. The reason you remember some of us is because we're the Avengers. We caught you and everything. Is that good enough, or would you rather me get down your autobiography?"
Loki could only nod. So it was all a lie. But more shocking than that was the idea, the mere possibility that he'd killed innocent people.
"How...Many are dead?" He asked, fearful of the truth.
"That's what your job is. That's what we need you to do – to find out how many lives you've lost us."
The harsh was that Stark put that made Loki fall back into the bed miserably. He didn't recall killing anyone in particular, but Stark was either a brilliant actor or very misinformed. While Loki would wish for the latter, he knew better than to hope for it. Although he had the truth now, he'd almost wished he'd never asked. Stark and Loki talked for a while about hiding the fact that Loki knew the truth, to which Loki agreed wholeheartedly, and the billionaire playboy philanthropist left the room finally, giving the former god plenty of time to switch from a mint-green gown into his own clothes. He'd have preferred to wear the black suit, but instead he chose something more...Replaceable, since Stark had told him to be ready to be sent into the field to look for missing persons. With a great shudder, Loki turned and left his room, flipping the lights before closing the door behind him.
Review Responses!Wow, I got a lot!
suckishLEMONADE: Awww, thank you so much for sticking with me through these chapters! I'm glad you're so optimistic for it!
MilkyWayGalaxy: I hope so, too!
Spartapuss:Yesss, and here you go~
Gurst: Aw, shucks. Have a tissue ;o;
Potkana: Don't worry, things get better, I think! I'm actually aiming for him to retain the basic Loki-ness of his personality, if that makes any sense. I think he'd just be calmed down and a little more patient without them. Not to mention less bitter towards Thor and Odin.
DraejonSoul: I'm actually happy you brought that up! I think you'll find out in the next chapter.