Thanks to DocWordsmith for beta reading!

I'm going on a camping trip thing and I won't have my laptop or phone, so I sadly won't be able to respond to many reviews, and I won't be able to post the next chapter until Saturday.

I'm also probably/definitely going to go into writing withdrawal, so wish me luck… I haven't taken such a long break from writing in a LONG time. However, I can always brainstorm, or imagine dialogue in my head, so I shouldddd be all right. Hopefully.

Also, I may or may not have accidentally started another story… And I might have already written 7000 words for it but I'm NOT going to lose my focus on this story. At the moment, that's just a side project. It's a story where Loki'll actually be tortured by Thanos, and yeah it's pretty dark, because… I'm weird. Anyway. If you have any requests/suggestions, I would love to hear them! (And that might be hard, because I didn't give much information so far… I'll tell y'all more once I've written more of it.)

Also, I'm literally bleeding out of my pinkie finger all over the shift key. So I hope you appreciate this capitalization, because now the key is red. (I have a bad habit of biting all the skin off my fingers. And no, you didn't need to know that, but now you do. You're welcome.)

Anyway. *laughs awkwardly* Hope you like the chapter! I'm gonna go get a bandaid.

()()()

"Mother? May I speak with you?"

The crowd had gone, and so had Odin. But Frigga remained, eyes set on the window outside, where Thor's storm had quieted to a pattering rain, falling in streams down the windows.

Thor was beside her. He was so large in comparison, with his great hammer and his long hair, nearly twice her size. It was no wonder he couldn't tell what she was thinking, couldn't hazard a guess, despite having known her his entire life. It seemed like the big ones were unable to understand such things. Like how he and the Warriors Three didn't even attempt to understand Sif.

But Loki had always had an uncanny knowledge of such things, of thoughts and feelings. He had used that knowledge for darkness, and Thor should not envy it, but he found himself doing so, regardless.

Frigga pulled her eyes away from the window and turned to him, hands clasped delicately, ever the picture of elegance, even as worn as she was. "Of course you may," her voice was warm. "Thor, my son," she smiled. "You may speak to me about anything."

She looked so tired. Thor almost told her to forget his question, to leave at once and rest. But he didn't, because he had to know.

"Why would Loki do this? I never would have dreamed… I thought I knew him, but now he is crueler than I ever imagined." Thor's voice was weighed down by stale anger, the kind that has burned so long that it is no longer hot, but like a slowly dying ember.

Frigga's eyes seemed to focus on him for the first time. "I do not think any of us could have imagined this."

Thor struggled for words like a blind man feeling his way through the darkness. "But… mother, this does not simply happen. Something must have made him this way. Not an excuse - there is no excuse - but a cause, an origin. I need to understand."

Normally when Thor was angry, Frigga would place a hand on his shoulder, or even embrace him, as a means of comfort, and his anger would seep away into sadness, which was more manageable. But she did not. She regarded him with sad eyes, knowing eyes, and said, "He is a Frost Giant, and we did not tell him."

As if that explained anything.

"But that is not enough to make one attack a city! If that had happened to me, I would not have acted as he did. I would have been secure in the fact that you loved me, and that my origins do not matter as long as that is true! Loki knows you love him, so why would this matter so much to him? After all, it is only a matter of skin, and he wears a glamour over it anyway, so it is not as if anyone can see…"

Thor could not stand the way her eyes grew full to the brim with sadness, and so much knowing, because she knew so much he did not.

"Thor," she said, casting her eyes once more to the window. She took a deep breath. "You always see the world in straight lines. Lines that do not waver. Lines of love, lines of sorrow, lines of war - and they are separate, distinct and sharp and clear." She looked at him again, blinking more often than was normal. "And that is good for you, Thor. Everything must be so simple that way."

Thor was confused. He opened his mouth to ask what she meant, what she was trying to say, but she raised a hand to stop him.

"But your brother…" she heaved another shaking breath. "In his mind, everything is tangled up, like a knot. He is so different from you, Thor, and sometimes that is good, but sometimes it means you cannot understand him. Despite the fact that we have tried to show Loki nothing but love throughout his life - although, looking back, I can see that we may not have been such good parents, after all - I can imagine such a revelation as the one he experienced - to know your mother and father lied to you for thousands of years, to discover you are a part of a race we have fought against, many times, and even hated - would tangle that web further. The line of love could get knotted together with the line of hate, the lines of anger and sadness…. the line of war. Perhaps the line of love got lost somewhere in the middle, and he can no longer find it.

"And Thor… I suspect your brother has gone so far, he thinks the knot in his mind can never come untied. He thinks he will never go back to straight lines.

"Do you understand?" She searched his eyes with her own, but Thor could only stare blankly back at her, unsure what she wanted to see.

He loosened his grip on Mjolnir, a grip he hadn't realized he was holding, a grip that had left his knuckles white.

"I will try," Thor said.

She smiled sadly, and Thor expected that she would embrace him, but she did not.

"If you would like," she said. "There are books on the Jotnar in the library. I think it could help you to understand better if you read them." Her voice was strangely bitter. "I could write a few titles down for you,".

Thor nodded. "Of course, mother. But first, you should rest."

She shook her head, and turned back to the window. "How can I, when one of my sons is gone, and the others is so angry that he makes the clouds unleash torrents of rain? No, I will stay here."

She pulled a pen and paper out of her pocket, and wrote against the armrest of Odin's throne. "I will stay, and you will go to the library. Do not worry about me, I will be fine right here." She pressed the paper into his hand. "I will rest when the rain has stopped."

Thor hesitated.

"Go." she said.

Thor nodded, gripping the pen and paper tightly, holding his hammer tightly in his other hand. He descended the stairs and walked through the great throne room, past the many rows where so many Aesir had stood, shouting, mere minutes before. Their insults, their taunts, echoed in his mind, even though he had tried so hard to block them out.

Filthy Frost Giant.

No surprise he was a traitor.

Never trust the blue skinned devils.

Never a Jotun for a prince.

And a burning curiosity settled in Thor's stomach as he headed to the library to find out what the Frost Giants really were.

What his brother was.

()()()

At some point while Bruce was talking - he didn't remember what about - Loki fell asleep.

He sagged against Bruce in a way he never would have while awake; his head fell against Bruce's shoulder, and his body slumped over Bruce's side.

Bruce smiled, pushing Loki away and lowering him gently onto the bed. But when his head lolled to the side, exposing the lines of his throat, like it had earlier that day in the lobby, Bruce frowned and looked away.

It was late, and he was tired. As if his body was trying to prove that, he yawned.

"Jarvis? If he wakes up, let me know."

Of course, Dr. Banner. Shall I alert Tony Stark and Steve Rogers as well?

Bruce hesitated. "Ah… no, I don't think so. Just me. I'll be in the smallest guest room, thirty-seventh floor."

I am always well aware of your position, Dr. Banner.

"Oh, sorry. Yeah. Okay."

Bruce stood carefully so as not to wake Loki. Then he dumped out the bottle of water, refilled it, and set the new one on the table. He took a bite of the quesadilla and a slurp of ice cream before throwing the food away and setting the box of graham crackers beside the water. It would do for now.

Bruce pulled the blanket up from the end of the bed and over Loki's shoulders, something he had done with patients many times before. But never before had the sight of how painfully thin they were made Bruce clap his hand over his mouth and turn his eyes to the floor, blinking rapidly, with something like a wave rising up in his chest.

In his mind's eye, he could see it - some huge, dark figure, picking Loki up in an enormous hand, picking him up by those small shoulders, cracking them as he did, so Loki snapped like a twig. And he drove his fist forward, drove Loki into the wall, again and again, and Loki screamed….

Bruce covered his face with his hands.

Breathe, breathe, breathe. Come on, you know the drill. Breathe.

Bruce breathed.

And once he did, he fled the room, closing the door quickly behind him, without looking back.

()()()

"Fury? Hey. Yeah. So… I was super drunk. Like, in a stupor. Kinda embarrassing, I know. So I wouldn't take any of those messages I sent you seriously. Or the other voicemails. Or the one time I called and you actually answered, for that matter. But you can take this one seriously, I guess. Yep. So that's my great new contribution to your life. Have fun with that.

"I hope I didn't freak you out. For clarification, there is no Loki here, he's safely locked up in Asgard. Also, I don't have PTSD, I'm just drunk. Was drunk. Honestly.

"Tony out."

()()()

Steve fell asleep on the table, head cradled in his arms, arms folded on his shining shield.

He dreamed of Bucky.

"You snore like an elephant."

"Mmm. Turn the damn light off or I'll impale you."

"With fucking what?"

"My tusks. Idiot."

Bucky laughed, turned off the light, and promptly collapsed onto the couch. Steve, who was lying on the ground for some reason (they had been drunk last night, give them a break) put a pillow over his face, and went back to snoring.

()()()

Thor stayed up past midnight, reading, which was not something he had ever done before.

Loki had, many times. When they were young, Thor would peer into his room to see him buried beneath a blanket, with a magic light burning, so bright that Thor could see his silhouette, see his hand move every so often as he turned a page.

When he got older, he had many favorite places - the window ledge in his room, the roof beyond it, the little alcove behind a stairwell, the forgotten nooks and crannies of the palace. And still older, he ventured out, reading on a bench in the garden, or beyond the palace walls, donning a glamour and pouring over a book in a park in one of the quieter regions of Asgard, any of the unused corners of the realm.

But his favorite was always the library. His favorite place was the chair in the corner, hidden away behind the shelves. How many times had Thor gone to find him there? Hundreds? A thousand? But he didn't understand why Loki would decide to spend his time there. Books were proving to be such treacherous things.

And yet, for some reason he couldn't grasp, that was where Thor sat. In the corner of the quiet library, quiet because no respected warrior would ever step foot in it, tucked away in the corner, isolated from the rest of the world. It was a cold feeling, and the shelves felt like they were closing in, felt like the bars of a prison, and Thor did not understand why Loki had liked it here so much. But that was the point. He wanted to understand.

So he stayed up till midnight, reading the passages Frigga had marked down for him on the paper. He did not have to see the storm to know it raged anew outside.

Yes, books were treacherous things. So much hatred, over so many years, contained in mere paper.

The first book talked about the Frost Giants as if they were mere animals. "They are dumb beasts, useful only for menial tasks. The Aesir are superior to them in every way, except for withstanding the cold, which can be easily overcome by a change of clothes."

The second, as if they were evil. "...cruel by nature, the Frost Giants. I knew it as soon as I saw them. Their magic was a twisted, ugly thing, able only to freeze, never to warm, never to grow. And their eyes shone with a fire as soon as they caught sight of me. They shot spears of ice towards me without asking my name, and I knew then I was surrounded by a race more despicable than any that had come before, or would ever come after."

But the one that hurt the most, so he could barely finish the chapter Frigga had marked down for him to read, was this. "We went out at noon, on our stallions, singing a merry song. We hunted the Frost Giants through their icy fields, and they were so hideously blue that they were easy to pick out and shoot down. We even engaged a few in hand-to-hand combat as if they were worthy opponents. I killed thirteen, the most of our group, although their numbers were nothing to laugh at. And yet we did laugh once we arrived back in Asgard, we laughed over pints of beer, and the thought of the other Frost Giants finding the frozen, fallen members of their tribe in the morning, and howling at the moon, or whatever it is mourning Frost Giants do. It was a good day."

As if they were beasts to be hunted for sport.

As if Loki was an animal, to be shot down and killed, and to be laughed about later as if his life meant nothing.

But the worst thing was that the book had been written in, in small, untidy script he couldn't read. There were bookmarks, and folded pages. And on the inside cover, a list of names of previous owners. This book had been read, and reread, and worn down by it.

Thor wondered at the fact that Frigga had known exactly where these passages were, enough to write them from memory. He wondered how many times she had read them, pondered them, cried over them.

He wondered if Loki had ever done the same.

And try as he might, he searched and searched but could not find any books that spoke favorably of the Jotun. Of the beauty of their blue skin, the power of their magic. None acknowledged that they were more than mere creatures, that they could think and feel as much as any Aesir, if not more.

He could not find any books that Loki could have read and felt happiness or pride or even a calm nothingness; only ones that would make him ashamed, make him cry, make him angry. Many of these books had broken spines or ripped pages. Maybe Loki had thrown them, broken them. He would have to have been so angry to have done that, for Thor knew he treasured his books like they were bars of gold instead of stacks of paper bound together and placed on a shelf.

Wherever Loki was, he did not have any books to read.

The thought hit him like a clap of thunder, and it made Thor suddenly, indescribably sad. He dropped the books to the floor and stood from his chair so quickly that it fell, but he didn't care, and he ran from the library with Mjolnir swinging wildly from his hand, knocking over stacks of books and running into tables and chairs as he went. But he didn't care, he ran straight through it all, and out the door into the rest of the golden palace, where everything did not remind him of his brother.

Not his brother. Loki was not even his brother.

A window was across from him, and through it, the storm raged more furiously than ever before.

()()()

After he left the voicemail for Fury, Tony called Pepper.

It wasn't as if he had been planning to do it. But he was caught in a sudden wave of desire to hear her voice. He loved Pepper's voice.

"Hi? Tony, it's fucking one in the morning, and I'm…"

"Hi, beautiful," he interrupted, chuckling at his own words. "Just checking in. How'd your businessy whatchacallit go?"

Her tone was flat, unamused. "And you just have to ask me this at one in the morning."

"You know me," Tony said, pushing aside a pile of random pieces of metal and sitting on the table, legs swinging. "Although, I would much rather see you in person at this time of night, but…"

"Tony!" She sounded exasperated, but also like she was about to laugh. Tony was forever impressed with the way her emotions always managed to be a paradox.

"Kidding, kidding. Totally kidding. Anyway, business thing-a-ling. How'd it go?"

She heaved a long, drawn-out sigh. "Fine. Tony, I've gone on business trips before. I work for Stark Industries, after all." He could hear her smile. "It was like the others. Boring. Useless. I'll be back tomorrow, by the way."

Tony moved the phone away from his mouth and said, "Shit," loudly, and clearly, to the dimly lit laboratory. Then he returned it. "Good, great, fantastic. But-"

"Okay, look, I'm tired and I'm going to bed. I'll be there at around ten? Is that okay?"

"Ten pm?"

"Ten in the morning."

Tony moved the phone away again. "Fuck," he said, before returning it and saying, "Cool. I'll see you then. But before I do, I should probably remind you that there are a lot of people living here at the moment."

"I know. I was there when you begged me to let them stay."

Tony quickly lost his train of thought. "I did not beg…"

"Yes, you did. One might even call it groveling."

He sputtered. "No! What the hell are you… you're making shit up!"

She laughed, clear as a bell, even through the phone, and her laugh made Tony laugh, too. "Oh, shut up," she said. "Anything else you want to tell me?"

Tony made a fast, drunken decision. "Nothing. Nothing important, anyway. You should get some sleep."

"Okay. Goodnight."

"Night."

She hung up.

Shit. Pepper was going to murder him tomorrow. But Tony was nothing if not a procrastinator, and he had just bought himself nine hours of freedom before his imminent demise, so, all in all, he was feeling pretty good.

He yawned. "G'night, Things."

"Good night, sir," Thing One responded. Thing Two raised its arm, as if to salute him. At least, that was how Tony liked to interpret it.

Tony's lip quirked upwards. "Night, Dum-E and U," Dum-E whirred, "Hasta la vista, Jarvis."

Good night, sir. Sweet dreams.

Tony grinned. "And good night, bottle of beer." He picked it up and downed the last of it, in one gulp, "Ah"-ing loudly and setting it down with a thud. Then he sat down in a chair, rested his head on the table, and fell asleep.

At sometime around three am, he slipped off the chair and crashed magnificently to the floor. But he quickly climbed back into the chair and fell asleep again, and his sleep was not interrupted again until morning.

()()()

Fury walked with purpose. He always did. That was his thing.

His feet beat out a beat on the floor, like a metronome, drumming in perfect time. His back was ramrod straight, and his one eye was especially menacing, because it was three in the morning and he was pissed. Also, he hadn't brushed his teeth, so his mouth felt like a wad of old sandpaper.

He walked with purpose, and agents darted out of his path like stray cats. He walked past beeping computers and bright holographic screens, through a dimly lit corridor or two, before he reached the door to his office. He lowered his eye to the scanner and waited for the little hum of recognition. It came, and the door swung open.

"Director Fury," Hill said, with a nod. She was standing with her back to the window, and a coffee in her hand, and a short ponytail like a shoot of grass, bursting from the back of her head.

"Hill," Fury growled. "I assume you know what happened?"

"Yes."

Fury reiterated it anyway. "We were attacked by a rogue group of Chitauri. Outside of HQ - they were skulking around like they were patrolling the place. Barely made it out with all our skin. I don't like it. Don't like it at all."

"Mm," Hill said.

Fury prowled around the side of the desk and snatched the coffee from Hill's outstretched hand, with purpose, taking a long drink. It was black as night.

"Rather have vodka."

"I know you would."

Fury grunted, and shoved the cup back into her hand. Hill scowled vaguely.

"I looked at the messages you sent me. From Stark," Fury said.

"Ah?"

"Yes," Fury planted himself in his dark desk chair and pressed his fingers together at the tips, beneath his chin. Even though Hill certainly knew about the messages, Fury reiterated those, as well. "Didn't like that either. Not at all. He said Loki was back, and he sounded damn sure about it, and then he played it off like he was drunk. I wouldn't put it past him, but it seems all too likely, considering the circumstances. Could be he's under some kind of…" Fury waved his hand vaguely. "Magic spell."

"It does seem likely."

Fury opened his phone, scrolling through the messages. "Exactly eight messages and seven voicemails." He tapped on one of the voicemails, and held up the phone so they could both hear.

"Jesus Christ, Fury, don't you ever answer your fucking phone? This is getting ridiculous. I know it hasn't been an hour yet, but come on, I've got the fucking god of whatever-diddling-thing in my fucking tower and I want him to get his ass out of here, so you better fucking reply, you fuck."

Fury turned off his phone and cleared his throat, pointedly.

He scratched beneath his eye patch. "It's suspicious, considering a mob of Chitauri attacked us on the same day Stark sent this. Doubly suspicious, considering he's got magic so he should be able to break out of a jail cell or somethin'. Triple suspicious, because he can brainwash people, and Stark could be brainwashed. Lord knows he's stupid enough to be."

Hill's scowl remained fixed, not even a quirk of the lips at Fury's joke. Coulson would have smiled.

Fury scowled.

"Get me a shot of vodka."

"I am not your-"

"Just do it."

Hill's raised eyebrow said, I think not, Nike. But her nod and her smile and her walking out of the room to get Fury a shot of vodka said, Anything you say, sir. One shot, coming right up.

Fury watched her back retreat down the hallway and around the corner. Then he turned his phone on and scrolled through the messages Stark had sent him, with his chin resting on his fist and his one eye narrowed, deep in thought, thinking with purpose.

()()()

Loki woke up at 3 am, swallowing down a scream.

Something hissed in his ear. Something had been hissing for a long time. Poisoning him.

He couldn't make out the words. That is, until they grew louder, and stronger, and deeper. He recognised the voice instantly, and choked back another scream.

"Are they dead?" Thanos asked, rumbling into Loki's ear, so Loki could feel his breaths on the back of his neck. Heavy breaths like gusts of wind, making him shudder. "Have you done it? Tell me."

Loki felt around for a lie, and found one nearby, within reach. He grabbed for it desperately, a drowning man grabbing for a rope.

"My king," he said aloud, hoping Thanos couldn't hear the sickness in his voice. Hoping beyond hope, and holding onto it so desperately that it hurt.

Your king.

Funny, how one man can be so deluded.

You used to think you were a king. You used to think that one day, others would call you that, as well. How wrong you were. How wrong you always are.

But go on, go on.

This is entertaining to watch.

"My king," Loki licked his lips - they were chapped and cracking. "Their weapons are clumsy, and I did not think it wise to attack them outright. While defending themselves, they would find a way to explode half the city, drawing attention to us. But I have found a way to enter more quietly, so I may kill them just as quietly. I pray you do not mind my taking your plan into my own hands…"

"As long as it works, Odinson, I do not. But be sure it does. And soon; I do not enjoy waiting."

When Thanos left, it felt like a suffocating heaviness had been lifted. But something was still holding him, pinning him down. He thrashed about, to remove it, to get it away so he could breathe freely.

It was only the blanket. Somehow, it had been pulled up around Loki's shoulders.

Afraid of a blanket, are you?

"No," he muttered, talking to himself like a madman.

Oh, but you are a madman.

Loki glared at the ceiling, wishing the voice would go away so he could fall asleep. How had he managed to fall asleep in the first place? Right now, it felt like doing so would take a mountainous effort.

Oh, yes. Banner's voice had driven away Loki's madness, had… lulled him to sleep.

Loki almost, almost wished Banner would come back and talk to him again.

But he didn't.

Of course he didn't wish for that.

You lie, Laufeyson.

It makes me laugh.

You do, you do wish so desperately for the man you are going to murder to come and comfort you. You will murder him, for you are too cowardly to die.

But when you murder him, it will kill you.

And isn't that the greatest irony of them all?

You will kill them to live.

And you are the one who ends up dying, finally, as you should, as a miserable Frost Giant would deserve…

Do you remember the books in the library? Do you remember what they said?

True, all true.

You will die regardless, Laufeyson, die regardless of anything. Anywhere you turn, you will fall. Fall through darkness, through shooting stars, and never stop.

Good riddance, they will say. Your false family will say it, your false friends will say it, your king will say it. Banner will say it.

And Loki, Loki, I will say it loudest of all.

I am you. I am part of you. You do want do die, you want it so badly it hurts.

Trust me.

Falling is the worst part. But when you hit the bottom - then it is nothing but relief and quiet.

But Loki remained selfish, and stubborn, like the rest of his worthless race. "I do not want to die," he said. "I wish I did. But I don't. I'm sorry." He tried his best not to think about what that meant, but all he could see was Banner, lying broken, and so horribly still.

He was sorry, and he would be so, so much sorrier, but it wouldn't matter.

They would all be dead.

A knock at the door. "Loki? Jarvis said you're awake. Everything okay?"

It was Banner's voice. Why couldn't it have been anything but Banner's voice? Loki tangled his fists in the bedsheets, staring desperately into the darkness. To think that that voice would never speak again…

He didn't cry. This was worse than tears. A heavy rock, settling in his stomach, like it had fallen to the bottom of the ocean. A heavy rock of the deepest, darkest emotions, of a longing - a longing that Banner could live. Loki didn't know why he wanted that so much, so much that it weighed him down, that it pinned him to the ground like Mjolnir had, pressure on his chest, pushing, pushing him down.

"Loki?" Banner's voice was full of concern and care.

But why? Why would he possibly care for me?

"I'm fine," he said. Calmly. No tremor in his voice. "You may go."

"You sure? I don't wanna intrude, but if you need anything - if you feel sick, or lightheaded, or anything at all, that could be a sign of some kind of illness or that your injuries aren't healing right and I really don't want that to happen so…" he trailed off.

"Nothing is wrong. I just…" he hesitated, for the lie would taste so bitter on his tongue. "I just am not used to getting so much sleep. That's all."

There was a long silence from beyond the door. When Banner spoke again, it was quieter, timid and sad. "Oh. Okay. I'm sorry."

Don't be.

"You can go, Doctor Banner."

"Okay." A few receding footsteps, and Banner was gone.

()()()

The next chapter is one of my favorites, so I'm sad that I'll have to post it late. Oh well.

Please review! I'll be looking forward to reading/replying to them all week. Oh, and if you have any suggestions for the new story, you can leave them in a review or PM me, I don't really care which.