I'll have you all know that I am currently writing an essay for my freshman composition class and it is literally about my Loki feels. You think I am kidding but I am actually not. I see my life spiraling downward into the void already.
Also, I realized that when I write this, I picture Loki looking more like the Loki from 'Thor' than from 'Avengers.' Anyone else think that way or is it just me?!
As well as: MY DAD FOUND THIS STORY. ABORT MISSION. ABORT.
Warning: this chapter may or may not be more graphic than I am used to. I admit, I wasn't really cringing very much when I was writing chapter 3, but since the end of this chapter deals with certain personal fears I don't exactly like imagining, I was sort of icky when trying to write it. Depends on your personal preference, but I thought I might put the warning anyway just in case.
And you guys thought I was done with the flashbacks and angst.
Tony was exhausted. No, he was more than exhausted—he was downright irritated.
God knows how many hours he and Bruce put into studying Loki and trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him, only to realize that he had no idea what to do about what the hell was wrong with him. The potential Gem stuck in Loki's chest was ninety-nine percent voodoo and one percent logic, and that wasn't enough to use science to make a difference. The energy he got from the wound was sporadic, unpredictable, with no understandable pattern to target, as if it had a mind on his own. Another reason why he preferred science over magic.
He turned from his many notebooks of equations and ideas to face Loki. Loki was now able to stand, or at least refused to sit in the wheelchair any longer. It didn't take a doctor to know that Loki was still too weak to hold his weight up for a long time, as much as he tried to deny it, so Tony thought it perfectly logical to place a chair every two feet throughout the tower. Loki took offense to that.
At least now he was somewhat content, reading that book of Shakespeare that appeared out of nowhere. A bored god of mischief was an annoying one. Even without his magic, Loki made it a goal to prove himself the nuisance mythology always played him out to be. One time, Tony left the room for five minutes—five minutes—only to come back and find his Iron Man suit completely colored in with purple and pink permanent markers. He never left Loki alone after that.
"So," he said, breaking the silence. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. Loki didn't look up from his book. The shadows under his eyes from the lack of sleep were more than evident now; Tony was convinced they were permanently embedded in his skin. "Bruce tells me your arm is healing all right now."
Loki turned a page and continued reading. Son of a bitch.
"Except your internal organs are still a piece of shit," said Tony. "We can't tell much, because if we try to disturb anything we might hurt it more, but—well—that's going to take your godly powers or whatever to fix. Which may or may not come soon because this study is bamboozled."
If Tony could be honest with himself, he'd say that it looked like the Chitauri tore open Loki, ripped his guts out, played a couple games of baseball with it, and then stuffed it back in him like a very cheap rip-off of a Build-A-God Workshop session. A normal mortal would be dead somewhere around step two of that, so Tony doubted that any healing could be done unless he found a way to stem the If-Gem's vampire-esque effect.
Which made the fact that Loki was lounging around and reading Shakespearean tragedies while all of this was occurring in his body a lot more mind-boggling.
"Hey." Tony wheeled his chair in front of Loki. Loki looked at him from over the top of the book. "I need to ask you something."
Loki's eyebrows furrowed slightly and he lowered the book.
"I know you won't let Thor come anywhere near you," he said. At the mention of Thor, Loki narrowed his eyes. "But he's the one that actually understands this hocus pocus crap better than any of us can. He could tell us how to get rid of this thing in your chest without killing you in the process."
Loki set the book down on his lap but he wouldn't look at Tony.
"All you need to do is let him see that wound," said Tony. "You don't have to let him touch it. Bruce told him everything—"
Loki looked up immediately at the last sentence, anger etched in his face. Bad idea.
"He did it to help you. That's all," said Tony. "And that's what Thor would do too. Help you."
Loki shook his head. Tony swallowed down an exasperated sigh.
"Then, I'll just play Twenty Questions with you," said Tony. "We can't really get anywhere without knowing what it is. Just nod or shake your head. No one's going to be angry at you for answering my questions. No one's going to hurt you. No one's going to know."
Loki's green eyes flickered toward Tony skeptically. Tony matched his stare, honestly, raw.
"Did Thanos put that in your chest as another form of torture?" said Tony.
Loki set his jaw and he slowly nodded. Tony only realized how much trust Loki was putting on Tony at that particular moment, no matter how temporarily, to be so openly communicative.
"You…what happened when Bruce touched you that one time," said Tony. "Does that happen often? All the time? Or only when someone touches your chest?"
Loki jerked his head to the right, as if to say the latter. Tony winced.
"Who's voice is it that Bruce and you heard? The one saying…saying things about you. Was it that Thanos person? Is it a memory?"
Loki's eyes flickered to his hands and he shrugged a shoulder.
"I know you know," said Tony. "Was it Thanos?"
A nod.
"Only Thanos?"
He shook his head.
"More than one person?"
Nod.
"Is it a memory?"
No. Tony rubbed his chin.
"So—is it like a Palantir?"
Loki gave Tony such a look of confusion that Tony knew it was worth it.
"This tower seriously needs an epic movie marathon. Was Thanos saying those things…that very instant?"
A small tilt of the head. Tony rubbed his forehead vigorously.
"All right. Thanos. Memories—not memories. But a lot of others talking at the same time. Or maybe not saying it because they aren't here, technically."
He wondered how safe it was to drop the bomb now. Really, what was there to lose?
"Out of curiosity," he said, "does something called the Mind Gem ring a bell to you?"
Loki's eyes widened and Tony knew he hit the jackpot.
"That's what is in you, isn't it?" said Tony, leaning forward. "This Thanos person put that into your chest. What does it do? Does it—does it make you read minds? Subconscious?"
Loki gripped his knees, refusing to look at Tony. Tony took that as a yes.
"Shit, oh shit. Have you been reading my mind this whole time? Because if you tell Pepper, she won't let me live it down for a week?"
Loki gave a look at Tony that blatantly told him that he was an idiot.
"Wait, so you didn't? Does it only work if someone else is touching your wound? Because when you did, all it did was turn blue. It wasn't until Bruce came along that anything actually happened. You can't control its power, can you?"
Loki shook his head. Tony groaned and ruffled his own hair.
"Well, that's great. So, not only is it a hunk of magic, but a mind-reading one as well. And it happens to be feeding on your magic, if not your life. Why? Is it because it's alive? Powerful? Because magic is just that awesome?"
Loki raised his eyebrows skeptically.
"The only way to shut that Gem off in you is if all the minds in the entire universe just stopped thinking. Obviously that's not going to work," said Tony. "What happens if we would cut it out of you?"
A look of horror passed Loki's face and he sank deeper into his seat as if to try to disappear from view.
"Okay. Okay, bad idea. Forget I said that," said Tony. "But we wouldn't hurt you. You'd be asleep. You know, anesthesia and all that good stuff. You wouldn't even miss it—no?" Loki was shaking his head vigorously. "Is it because you're scared, or you know that's not going to work?"
Loki interlocked his fingers together as if to form a bridge with his hands.
"The gem is sort of latched onto you, so it can't be that easy," said Tony.
Loki tilted his head as if to say, close enough.
"I really, really hate magic," said Tony, resting his head in his hand.
Loki smirked.
"Oi, don't get so cocky. That very thing you flaunt is trying to kill you."
Loki gestured to Tony's suit in the corner of the room.
"That doesn't kill me," said Tony. "It can easily get me killed, but it doesn't kill me. This baby, though," he tapped his finger on his arc reactor. "This thing's keeping me from dying, actually, but it's also what keeps me dying. So I guess you can say it's comparable to your case, but I've twisted it to my advantage."
Loki tilted his head curiously.
"It's a long story," said Tony. "A piece of shrapnel's trying to shank me, this baby keeps it from doing so. Try and do any funny business with my arc reactor and I can guarantee that if I'm already keeled over drooling then Pepper's going to have a thing or two to say to you, bless her heart."
Loki chuckled silently. He leaned over toward Tony's desk and tugged at one of the physics books that Tony had piled on the corner. As Tony pulled up more studies of Loki's statistics on the screens around him, Loki thumbed through the book, his eyebrows furrowing. Tony nearly forgot Loki was in the room before he noticed out of the corner of his eyes Loki scribbling in the crisp book with an ink pen.
"Whoa, Lokster, what are you doing?" Tony said.
Loki's forehead creased at Tony's new nickname for him, but he ignored him nonetheless. Tony tore the book from Loki's hand.
"I paid for this shit. Only I'm allowed to vandalize it," he said. He looked down at the page. The book, which was once occupied with neatly printed calculus equations describing the physics of moving energy particles, was completely written over with a hazardously unrecognizable formula in Loki's hand, crossing out where an integration once was and completely overriding at least five steps of the mathematics.
"What are you doing, correcting the math?" said Tony. Loki shrugged. "Yeah, this book is pretty crappy, but it was pretty expensive for a piece of crap." He put the book aside and dug through his pile of notebooks for his calculations notes. He opened it and handed it to Loki. "I made some corrections as well. Dunno what you Shakespeareans consider math, but for Earth it's pretty accurate."
Loki peered at Tony's mathematical calculations, his eyebrows rising higher on his forehead as he gave small nods. When he raised his eyes to Tony, Tony was almost certain he saw a glint of impressed respect in them.
Well, who could blame the guy? He was Tony Stark after all.
"Maybe I'd make a good Asgardian mathematician, if those exist," said Tony.
Loki gave a half smile and handed back the notebook. He then proceeded to poke at the holographic screens, disrupting Tony's work.
"Whoa, whoa, hey, stop now. Bad Loki." Loki glared at Tony. "Here—" Tony drew up another blank screen and slid it to Loki. Loki's eyes widened with curiosity as he grazed his fingers upon it, pulling up numerous different windows. "Any questions, you can type the questions to JARVIS. You play. Uncle Tony works."
Loki wasn't even listening at this point, proceeding to explore the beauty of Paint. Satisfied, Tony turned back to his desk and continued his studies. If rendering everyone in the universe brain-dead to mute the Mind Gem wasn't going to work, he was going to have to think of a different plan of action fast.
"Tony?"
"I'm working, Pepper."
"TONY STARK!"
Tony immediately put down his work the moment Pepper burst into the room. He could have sworn her eyebrow was twitching with annoyance. He tried to remember if he had accidentally missed any important board meetings, or if another video of him drunk and streaking ended up on the internet, but frankly he wasn't one to remember either of those if they actually happened.
"I'm guessing I did something horribly wrong?" said Tony.
"What the heck did you do to JARVIS?" said Pepper.
"Er, nothing?" said Tony, sinking deeper into his chair as Pepper took a step forward.
"A likely story," she said. "So why is it that when I asked him to arrange your meeting with the head of Wayne Enterprises the only thing he did was sing Italian opera for ten minutes straight?"
"Wait…what?" said Tony.
"If you're trying to sneak out of more meetings, Tony, you could at least give me an excuse to pass along," said Pepper. "I can't tell the CEO you're reuniting with a long lost godfather in the Bermuda Triangle again."
"Then say I'm building dams in Laos," said Tony. "I promise you I have no idea what's going on. I don't even listen to opera."
"You're the only person who knows how to program and reset JARVIS," said Pepper.
"Damn straight I am," said Tony. "Wait, no, you're going to use that against me. I swear I didn't do anything different with JARVIS. JARVIS, back me up here, won't you? JARVIS?"
The sound of computer cogs whirring, before—
"Is that Gregorian chanting?" said Tony.
Lo and behold, JARVIS in his fashionable British accent had become a Middle Age monk singing in Latin in mere minutes. Tony didn't even speak Latin.
"JARVIS, snap out of it, buddy," said Tony. "JARVIS, give me a log of your past actions."
Nothing except for Circumdederunt me gemitus mortis in full baritone. Whatever that meant.
"Do something about this, Mr. Stark," said Pepper, poking Tony hard on the side of his head. "Before he reaches the Baroque period."
"I didn't do it!" Tony said to Pepper's retreating back. When Pepper left the room without another word, he threw his hands up into the air and groaned.
"JARVIS, shut up!" he said as the Latin chant continued in high volume in the room. JARVIS didn't take the hint.
Tony was absolutely clueless; he definitely was not so inebriated in the past twenty-four hours that he would prank his future self with his AI, and his computers were definitely functional enough that he was using them right now to compose his studies. No one else really cared to use a computer in the tower, much less JARVIS. No one else would bother to change JARVIS' setting to a cast of Glee.
No one except—
Tony slowly turned to face Loki. Loki was curled in his chair again, reading Julius Caesar innocently. The computer screen that Tony had so benevolently graced Loki with was discarded to the side, its history already properly erased and guiltless.
Tony wheeled his chair closer until he directly faced Loki. Loki turned a page and read on.
"Oh," he said. "It's on."
Behind Act III, Scene I, Loki grinned.
"You flip the pancake, Thor."
For someone who was impressively adept with a skull-crushing hammer, Thor certainly had no grace when it came to wielding a spatula. Natasha knew she shouldn't be one to talk; of all the skills she possessed, cooking was not one she would confidently brag about, but never had she seen someone struggle with cracking an egg minus the shells and whipping batter. Of course, this was Thor, and ever since over the phone Jane passingly mentioned her fondness for pancakes, he had abused about seven batches of batter.
"It is not as simple as you say, Agent Romanoff," said Thor, his forehead creasing in concentration. He shoved the spatula under the pancake, only to slice through the doughy middle. "The bottom of this cake of pans sticks stubbornly."
"Did you butter the pan?" said Natasha.
Thor looked up, a look of crestfallen realization on his face. Natasha sighed heavily.
"Oh, Thor," she said.
"You Midgardians have the strangest ideas for breaking fast," said Thor.
Natasha raised an eyebrow. Honestly, Thor wasn't that stupid. He learned how to use a cellphone quickly, and scoured history books of the Viking Ages with an impressive memory, but there was something about 'whisk butter and egg into flour' that apparently boggled Thor's mind.
"I do not wish to accidentally poison you," said Thor, "but would you possibly sample my cakes of pans when I perfect them, Agent Romanoff?"
It was extremely difficult to say no to that.
"Add chocolate chips on mine and we have a deal," she said.
Thor's face broke into a grin and he nodded. "As you wish, Agent Romanoff. I should ask the other Avengers if they too crave a taste."
"If it's free, Clint will be all for it," said Natasha. God knows how many awkward situations Clint got himself into because of the promise of free food.
"Do you think Loki would like some as well?" said Thor, attempting to flip the pancake another time.
"He's not really eating solids, says Bruce," said Natasha with a shrug. "Not that he eats a lot in the first place. Especially if it's cooked."
Thor pursed his lips but said nothing. Natasha glanced out the window of the kitchen, watching the ravens pass by.
"On Asgard, we have something somewhat similar to this," said Thor. "A flat bread-like substance for eating, except it is never sweet or soft. Rieska, we called it, like the mortals that knew of us ages ago."
"Was it tasty?" said Natasha.
"It was comforting," said Thor. "When we were young, we'd slather it with lingonberry jam. There was more jam than bread, the way we ate it."
Natasha smiled. There was always something comforting about listening to other people's carefree childhoods. Having none of her own, she sometimes tried to picture herself in their pasts, steal their memories and almost fantasize her own. But she knew better than to create a separate reality now.
"Loki liked his with honey best," said Thor. "I once told him that honey was a girl's treat and jested him about it. Sif heard me and gave me two lickings."
"Sif?" said Natasha.
"A dear friend of ours," said Thor. "She is a brave warrior of Asgard, and a loyal companion. She defied many traditions by becoming one of the Warriors Three."
Natasha gave a low whistle. "Good for her. Thor, your pancake is burning."
Thor jumped and quickly slid the browned pancake off the pan and onto a plate. He poked it tentatively with the spatula.
"Is it edible?" he said.
"It's not black yet, so probably," said Natasha. "How much batter do you have left?"
Thor turned back to his nearly full bowl of pale batter. Natasha snorted with laughter.
"Will you see if this is any better than the last?" Thor said, nudging the plate to Natasha.
The more she was going to have to hang around these Norse brothers, the softer she'll end up becoming. Nonetheless, Natasha took the plate and a fork and took a small bite of the pancake. Thor undoubtedly went overboard with the baking powder.
"Not bad," she said, swallowing the poison adeptly. "Might want to lay off the baking powder a bit, though."
"But Jane likes her pancakes very fluffy," said Thor, frowning.
Natasha laughed. "Well, then, make sure she uses a lot of maple syrup."
Thor opened his mouth to question when his eyes grazed the window. He stiffened immediately, his normally calm blue eyes sharpening. Natasha turned around to look out the window as well, spotting the ravens at the windowsill.
"They've been there for a while," said Natasha.
Which just now struck her odd, because weren't they several hundreds of feet off the ground?
"Huginn and Muninn," Thor muttered. He threw the spatula aside and hurried to the window. Bemused, Natasha turned off the oven and quickly followed him. Thor pushed open the window and removed the screen; unlike a normal pair of birds, these coal black ravens waited patiently on the sill.
"Thor, what's going on?" said Natasha.
"Huginn, Muninn," said Thor. "What news from the All-Father?"
If both ravens didn't bob their heads as if they were bobbing to Thor right on cue, Natasha was a three-eyed hippopotamus. But her eyes were far from deceiving her. One of the ravens spread its wings and gave a loud caw.
"All this time?" said Thor. "And yet you did not present yourselves to me until now."
"Thor?" said Natasha.
"Ah, my apologies, Agent Romanoff," said Thor. He gestured to the two ravens on the windowsill. "These are Huginn and Muninn, my father's eyes and ears on Midgard." He turned back to the birds, his face hardening. "What secrets does my father keep from me that you choose now to reveal yourselves?"
The raven on the right—Muninn—bristled its feathers and croaked. Thor's face softened into somberness.
"Loki is still unwell," he said. "But he is safe now. Safer than he has been in a long time. Was it so difficult for you to find us? Did you not seek Heimdall's aid?"
The other raven, Huginn, screeched an answer. Thor's face was troubled.
"I see," he said. "Two months is a worrying time indeed. I did not realize—I only knew ten years."
"What's he saying?" said Natasha.
"The decade I spent between Niflheim and Midgard was equivalent to two months," said Thor. "I did not exactly inform my mother and father where I went, so undoubtedly they were concerned."
Two months to ten years. Natasha couldn't help but let out a breath of relief. At least that did not mean that Loki spent more than a thousand years in torture with Thanos, probably twice his lifetime, but even then he would have underwent over nearly two centuries' worth of struggle, and surely that was a significant amount of time for even an immortal.
The raven squawked again. Thor shot a glare at it.
"It matters not what I meant about that," said Thor. "All that matters is that Loki is safe and alive with me, here, now. Do you ask for more?"
The two ravens exchanged looks before screeching at him. A small smile played on Thor's lips.
"Is that the request of your master, or of yourselves?"
A gentle crow. Sighing, Thor offered his strong arm to the birds. They obediently hopped onto his wrist, nudging each other to get the most desirable spot.
"Now, now," said Thor. "You're all going to the same place."
Natasha could only watch in utter bewilderment as the scene played before her. She could have sworn that she had just witnessed a Disney Princess moment in real life. She definitely never had a Disney movie marathon with Clint in one night because he insisted that 'there was this one princess person in the line-up who reminds me of you but crap I can't remember her name so let's just watch all of them,' of course.
"Where are you taking them?" said Natasha as Thor moved down the hallway with the two ravens.
"They want to see Loki," said Thor, pressing the button for the elevator. "And they will certainly peck me to death if I do not oblige."
So now Thor was being bullied by feathers. Well, two birds in a hand were worth many in a bush. Natasha followed, helping Thor push the button to Loki's floor. One of the ravens was staring intently at her, tilting its head from side to side to get a better look. She gawked back at it. It reached out and nibbled her sleeve.
"Did your father send them?" said Natasha.
"They always stay on Midgard to keep an eye on things, but the All-Father has specifically sent them to find us," said Thor. "They've been searching for months, they say. They have yet to return to give news to the All-Father."
She looked back at the ravens. They tilted their head in unison at her. They were oddly majestic, with sleek ebony feathers and powerful wings. She never had been very fond of ravens in her lifetime before, but—
"Hey!" She jerked her hand away. One of the ravens tried to snap its beak at her fingers.
"That one is Huginn," said Thor fondly. "He is Thought."
Natasha glared at the raven before digging her fingers into her pants pockets.
The elevator brought them to Loki's floor with a metallic ding of the bell. Thor knocked gently on the door to Loki's room before prying it open. The lights were on and Loki was sitting in a chair propped against the wall, perusing another classic that Natasha had lent to him. When Thor stepped into the room, Loki stiffened, his fingers tensing around the cover of the book.
"Brother, may I come in?" Thor said.
Natasha poked her head through the doorway as well. Loki's eyes flickered from Thor to Natasha, his jaw twitching in exasperation. He probably had half the mind to get out of his chair and slam the door on them himself until one of the ravens leapt off its perch of Thor's arm and flew to Loki's side. Loki's eyes widened at the sight of the familiar raven, his jaw dropped in shock.
"Huginn and Muninn were searching for us," said Thor. The other raven, Huginn, flew to Loki's other side, nipping at the ends of his dark locks affectionately. Loki hesitated before offering a long finger to the birds, stroking their dark heads. Muninn nibbled his fingertip and nuzzled his head in the crook of Loki's neck.
Natasha unconsciously took a step into the room. Who ever knew Loki was good with animals? She had to hide a smile at the sight of one of the most feared men in the universe being doted on by birds.
Huginn croaked, staring expectantly up into Loki's face. Loki opened his mouth before pausing and shrinking back, as silent as ever. Huginn cawed again, a little louder. Loki recoiled, clenching his teeth.
"Huginn, at ease," said Thor. He settled down on Loki's side, propped on his knees at the armrest. Huginn turned its head suspiciously at Thor. "Loki, he—he doesn't speak anymore. Please let him be."
Huginn and Muninn gawked at Loki with their beady eyes. Loki looked away and instead fixed his gaze questioningly at Natasha. Natasha wasn't sure if she was supposed to smile at him or participate in his staring contest. She chose the latter.
"Loki," said Thor. "Is it all right if…may Huginn and Muninn tell Mother and Father that you are—you are with me? That you are safe?"
Loki's gaze did not waver from Natasha, but she could see a fire light behind those green irises at his words. He moved as if to stand from his chair, upsetting the ravens from his wrist. They screeched and flapped their wings reproachfully as he pulled himself onto his shaking feet.
"Loki, what are you doing?" said Thor. Loki tried to make his way to the door, but he swayed and fell forward. Natasha moved forward immediately and caught him before he fell to the ground. He tried to fight his way out of her arms, sinking to his knees. Thor rushed to him immediately but Loki shied away from him.
"Loki, what's wrong?" said Thor
Loki brandished his arm, trying to swat away the ravens as they flew about his head in a frantic flurry. Huginn and Muninn cried out before settling out of Loki's reach on top of a high cabinet, their feathers bristled.
"It is only Huginn and Muninn," said Thor. "They won't hurt you. You know them. You've known them all your life. They would never hurt you."
Loki shook his head, turning his glare toward Thor instead. Thor faltered slightly before offering to help Loki onto his feet. Loki ignored Thor's offer and tried to push himself off of the floor and into a standing position. Natasha kept her hands at the ready in case Loki fell again, but he managed to crawl back onto his feet on his own.
"You don't…you don't want them to tell our parents at all?" Thor said.
Loki's gaze could have scorched Thor's eyes with all the fire beneath them.
"But this is Mother and Father," said Thor. "They care for you. They care for you so deeply and this news would only bring them joy and hope."
Loki grimaced and shoved Thor in the chest. It only made Loki stumble backwards from the force. Thor put his hands gently on Loki's shoulders; Loki wanted to pull them away but only rested his fingers on Thor's wrists.
"I think I understand what you may be feeling," said Thor. "I know that the last time you saw Mother and Father, it was when Thanos brought you to Asgard. I promise you, Brother, they love you with every fiber of their being and care so, so much about you."
Loki grinned—a sadistic, awful grin that sent shivers down Natasha's back. She thought she had been, for a moment, sent back three years to where she was standing in front of his glass cage, listening to him pour out her secrets and threaten her life with a slick purr. He began to laugh silently, collapsing onto Thor's chest as mocking mirth wracked his thin body. Thor held Loki tightly, his face drawn with confusion and worry.
Natasha felt her fists clench, but not out of anger toward Loki. Thanos had done his ploy well, she thought, if Loki so disbelieved his brother's words that he was set into fits of mute laughter.
"There was a time you trusted me. When you believed our parents and I when we told you we love you," said Thor as Loki gripped tightly on his shoulder while he tried to support himself as the painful laughter weakened him. "Not because of blood or because of actions, but because you are who you are and that was everything for us."
Loki's grin showed all his teeth, but Natasha was no fool. She saw how it hurt him to smile, as if turning his upturned lips tore hooks across his heart, and how the flicker in his eyes was not of humor but of something rawer, something fearful as if he couldn't believe his own eyes. As if he wanted to believe, but couldn't bring himself to it.
It jolted her to realize she didn't know to consider him foolish or wise for doubting love.
"Loki," she said, putting a firm hand on his shoulders. Loki did not acknowledge her. "Loki, did you know the moment Thanos took you away from Asgard the second time, Thor left home to search for you?"
Loki's breathing was ragged, or at least she imagined it would be so if she could hear him. His chest heaved and that sadistic smile on his face was frozen, void of emotion and meaning.
"He had your gatekeeper—Heimdall is his name, isn't it?—sneak him out of Asgard, to where Thor knew was unsafe and a low chance he would come back in one piece," she said, moved to speak when she could tell he was listening to her. Even Thor looked bemusedly in awe of her as she spoke. "He broke out of that rainbow bridge's path and spent ten years trying to get to you in that Void. You might have believed he had left you for years, but that isn't what actually happened. He was searching for you the entire time, trying to reach you. He wanted to save you the moment he found out you were hurting."
The broken grin slid off Loki's face and he backed away from Thor. His hands were shaking, but his face was unreadable, almost impassive. Natasha kept her composure, but inside she bristled, wondering if she had said something that might have triggered him. Thor gently shifted to look into Loki's face.
"Brother?" Thor said softly.
Loki's gaze snapped toward Thor. Anger—or was it fear?—blazed across his face and he scrambled away from Thor. He turned away from Natasha and Thor, clutching his arms protectively as he retreated to the corner of the room. Thor looked desperately at Natasha, at a loss of words or ideas.
"Loki," she said. "Is it that hard to believe?"
His shoulders hunched but he refused to look at them. She felt the urge to grab him by the shoulder and turn him so that he would face her, and then—then what? Repeat what she said? Slap him in the face? How was one to convince the silvertongue?
"We should give him some space," Natasha said quietly to Thor.
"I don't want to leave him," said Thor. "He's been alone for too long."
"If he needs you, he'll come to you," said Natasha.
Thor raised his arm slightly. Huginn and Muninn flew from their refuge on top of the cabinet and perched themselves on his large arm. He shook his head.
"That is what I worry about," he said. "I don't think he would."
Leave. Leave. What was taking them so long? Leave, and take those cruel lies with them.
He was shaking. He realized this. It wasn't cold. In fact, he was far from cold; he was burning, he was lit on fire, he was a star ready to die. He could feel it in his chest, in his throat, coursing through his arms. No, it was the lie that was killing him, scorching him from the inside out and eating away his heart. Thor's terrible, awful lie—when was it that Thor was the God of Lies and Loki nothing? Perhaps from the very beginning.
Love. Loki knew nothing about love. Love was the creation of sweet-tongued serpents whose teeth were slick with venom. Love was the last arrow in a quiver drawn tight at the bow just as battle has ended. Love was a lie, and so was he—so let the world banish the both of them and be done with this stupidity.
Is it love that would send a man lost in space for ten years searching for his brother?
Is it love that would have a man forgive and forgive after each blow and snarl?
It was not. That was not love, which remained dormant and sleepy for so long in their lives only to surge like a geyser when tragedy commenced. Loki would not be fooled; he knew the difference between then and now, then when Thor's arrogance blinded him from everything and now when Thor so foolishly believed that this love was applicable. No, he didn't love Loki. He only knew what horrors Loki could commit to him, to anyone, and tried to quench the flames before worse damage can be done. This was not love, but fear. This was feeding a beast a sweet morsel through protective bars. This was the basest and cruelest lie. He knew it from the beginning.
So why does it hurt to think it?
Weak. He was weak. His love was poison, was unreal, was impure. All that touched him turned to waste.
(Unworthy of the loved ones you have betrayed)
Sad, blue eyes. He remembered seeing them in the dark, and now they singed his heart. He clutched his heart, trying to breathe steadily, forcing him to remind himself that Thor was lying, lying, lying because who would love the castoff Frost Giant traitor?
Worthless.
Never doubt I love you.
He didn't remember who said that.
"Is this truly the infamous silvertongue?"
Loki raised his head at the sound of the terrible voice. Chains bound his limbs to stone, blood dripping from his face in torrents.
"I expected someone more powerful," said the voice. Loki couldn't tell who it was in the dark. "Someone stronger, someone more formidable. It is no mystery why he failed. He is weak."
Loki gritted his teeth but kept his silence. He could taste and smell his own blood strangle him.
The sharp toe of a pair of boots kicked his chin, snapping his neck to look up higher. Loki could see who it was now despite never having laid eyes on the creature. It was like experiencing a dream—a nightmare—and what he thought was recognizable and familiar in the dream was truly something he never saw in reality. It made his stomach full of nothing churn.
"Leave us," said Thanos to the other Chitauri. The Chitauri bowed their heads and retreated into the shadows, leaving Loki alone with their master. Loki forced himself to swallow down his own blood. The metallic tang made his head spin.
"I had expected quite a lot out of you when the Other first informed me of you," said Thanos. "The traitor prince of Asgard, cast off by his own family and people. The Frost Giant posing as AEsir, who tried to eliminate his own kind. I expected so much more from you."
Worthless. Useless. Pointless.
"Inside, you knew you were different from your fellow Asgardians, didn't you?" Thanos said. His voice was soft, almost kind. The titan crouched down in front of Loki. Loki thought to shy away, but he was too petrified, and bones too tired to move. "Built differently, thought differently, fought differently…you never were truly part of anywhere."
The words were too raw in Loki's ears and he wished he could shut off his hearing. Too true. Too real.
"You have a brother, don't you?"
Loki jerked at the mention of Thor. Thanos chuckled.
"The golden prince, the strong protector, the trophy child. Yes, that is your brother indeed.
"I too had a brother, Asgardian."
Loki froze. He tried to search for the lie in Thanos' words, but there was none. It made his innards wring.
"I too had a brother, and I too knew myself different from my own people. I too destroyed my entire race. You and I flourished in similar pasts, built strong by the similar things that failed to kill us. Don't you see why I thought so highly of you?"
No. Not like Thanos. He did not want to be like Thanos. He closed his eyes, trying to will Thanos away, banish him from his mind.
A heavy hand moved onto Loki's cheek and into his dark hair. Loki shuddered and felt sick.
"And yet," said Thanos, "you are the weakest, vilest, most insignificant bag of flesh and blood that was dragged into the universe. You jumped to your death when one slight failure marred you. You let mortals—ant-like, puny mortals—defeat your conquest. You let the Tesseract slip from your grubby and childish fingers."
Thanos' grip on Loki's hair was iron-tight. Loki willed himself to breathe in, breathe out. Breathe.
"I will not kill you," said Thanos. "No, I will not spare you the sweet presence of Death, for you are not a worthy gift to my lady. Even Death would spit you out."
His fingers pressed against Loki's temple and suddenly white light blinded his mind. He was suddenly whirling through memory, through truth. He saw hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at him, tearstained—mortal eyes he never looked into as he killed them on Midgard. He heard screams and cries and begging, the very sounds he deafened himself from as he fought high above the ground, far enough that he would not know those he killed. He saw the mourning of survivors, the grief, the fear, the very things he himself suffered through for ages. He saw the very souls he slaughtered—he, the monster of nightmares, the beast in stories, the fiend who let the fear of who he was possess him.
Loki didn't know he was screaming. Nor did he know that he was crying. All he knew, as he raised his manacled hands from the ground, was the excruciating pain and the indescribable blackness as he dug his nails into his eyes and pierced them, gouging them out, so desperate to witness his own guilt and crimes that it drove him into madness. His fingers and face were sticky and dirtied—he could not tell whether they were blood or tears. Could an eyeless face still weep?
It mattered not, for the memories still poured into him like liquid metal, taunting him, flogging his mind. Monster, monster, monster, he with a heart so black and dead it knew no mercy or love. Monster, whose only desire was to slaughter and gorge, whose meaning in life was nothing.
"So very weak," whispered Thanos' voice as Loki descended into nothingness.
Even as his eyes returned to him a week later, Loki did not open his eyes for a long, long time.