Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

Chapter 26: Conviction

A/N: I think I'm the happiest I've been in weeks right now. A great number of things considered, I'm more of a Humanities person when it comes to my schooling, so I've never been particularly fond of, or good at, Math. But, after having spent two years struggling through these classes, I've finally come out on top by passing my final exam yesterday afternoon. Naturally, I am positively giddy, or at least as giddy as I can be on a boring Sunday night, and only have two more papers to submit before I'm finished and free for the summer. So, everyone, go have a cookie, pretend it's on me, and enjoy yourselves. Just don't forget to keep hoofing it at school, because, I'll tell you right now, an honest and consistent effort does pay off.

I don't think I've ever studied so hard as I have this past week.

The twins are also coming back home this weekend for the end of the semester, and I couldn't be happier.

The lot of you are absolutely wonderful, and I love you all very much. Though I primarily write for my own personal enjoyment, it's an interesting and special feeling when you know that the things you do manage to touch others in some way. Particularly if it's in a positive manner. Hopefully, as soon as I find my opening in the industry, I will be able to do that for all of you, and many others, on a much wider scale. Thank you all for helping me to keep and strengthen my faith in myself.

There was a piece of parchment, buried somewhere in the corners of his mind, where the record was kept, where every little transgression and falsehood was etched out in a thick black ink. A testament to how many times he'd lied, when, why, and the rest of that classic wrap. All his excuses, his thinly-veiled reasons, objectives, and the like. Everything, all rolled up and written upon a single, endless sheet of paper, the edges not the least bit damaged, frayed, or even burned. How could it be? They defined him, the lies, the title, just as they always had. The God of Mischief. The Prince of Lies, of Darkness. The Trickster. Yet there was one thing upon that great and ever-growing list that was not, and could not truly be accounted for: From whence had the name come?

Surely, righteous Odin and fair Frigga had not laid by choice such a dark role upon the shoulders of the child who, as they had so foolishly believed, would become renowned as the great kings of the past, become a symbol of light and prosperity for the Aesir and their kingdom. Perhaps the Tree, what with its infinite knowledge and the power of Fate at its command, had bestowed it upon him before his very creation; had held that mantle in check within its many roots for centuries, even millenia, at a time before casting the would-be bearer into the frost of Jotunheim, into the arms of a man at war's end who would come to care relatively little for him and his success as the years wore on.

To anyone else, such a knowledge of so much evil would have eaten them from the inside out. Damaged them the way a week in the sun would the soft red flesh of an apple left without nourishment. But it was what he had been meant to become. His destined path across the universe, to bring chaos and spread discord, fear, death. To exploit vulnerability, take full advantage of it and turn it, twist until it had become another tool fashioned for only his hand to control. He had been meant to champion entropy across a cosmos so dedicated to fragile stability. To flourish in madness, in the disintegration of command and decree, to cause the stars to rattle and break as the very ground beneath his feet tore itself apart.

How far he must have fallen to come to fear a being far less dedicated to destruction than he; to crawl about upon the earth of the most pitiful of the Nine Realms, allow himself to rely upon creatures far weaker than himself for aid; to think that, for even a fleeting second, were there no place else in the Nine Realms, this planet could somehow become something like home.

It was nothing less than a disgrace to the purpose of his very existence.

Beneath him, the other should not have lay so still. Thor, with all the grace and patience and subtlety of a bilgesnipe, should not have allowed this madness to go on. Why, he, being so much stronger, should have lashed out, caught him hard in the jaw and reversed their roles; should have taken to being the brute that he had always been in Asgard, stubborn and stupid and deaf to any and all reason. But he just lay there, gathering dirt and gravel in his hair, staring up at Loki with the same eyes as when he'd been in the custody of SHIELD all that time ago, looking betrayed and broken as the trickster had lied straight to his face.

"Why didn't you tell me?!" he shouted, and cursed the weakness that so easily betrayed him. The distinct cracking in his voice as though he'd stood on the mountaintop and screamed for hours. "Why?!" Thor's head hit the ground, his mortal friends, though visibly disturbed and angered, jumping back as a thick line of flame cut them off from the brothers. They were, and always had been, the enemy. Their interference would not be tolerated again. "Why would he... lie...?"

A better idea would have been to demand to know when Odin hadn't lied to him. Everything he'd ever deemed important in his life, save this dedication to mischief which was truly and rightfully his own, had been fabricated in one way or another. And it was dreadfully shameful that Loki, being the personification of discord, had failed to recognize the signs of the craft in which he so excelled.

Thor, rather visibly, bit back a cough, set his jaw as though he refused to speak. The gesture was like throwing gasoline upon an open flame, hoping that, by some miracle, the sparks would just give in and die out.

Loki knew he couldn't hit him, at least not with enough force to do any good. Maybe to make the other angry enough to strike back, push him over, tell him what a godawful idiot he was being, but nothing more. Their objectives would keep on butting heads like this, regardless of the time or the place, and until one of them caved and decided to put an end to this madness, they weren't like to get anywhere of merit. And, if nothing else, Loki would prove that he was every bit as stubborn as Thor.

"You don't know," he scoffed. It was bait, and knowing Thor, he'd go chasing after it once there was enough on the hook. "See, this is why I keep telling you mind your own affairs. Otherwise, you go and make unnecessary trouble for everyone. Like an idiot."

"I'm not an idiot," Thor grumbled.

"Of course, you are," Loki snickered, and slapped Thor's stubbled cheek. "Perhaps I should start to read off the list for you. Remind you of all your innumerable, ridiculous mistakes. Why, I could fill a library with all your grievances. Starting with the worst of them all: Falling in love with a mortal woman." Thor stared, eyes blank. "Oh, that reminds me... Do you know where she is, Thor? Are you sure she's safe? Even... alive?"

Thor hit him then, the force of the fall enough that he imagined that he'd never been given lungs with which to breathe, the God of Thunder snarling about how he didn't mean it, how he had never meant any of the terrible things he'd said. But how could Thor know, being so pure and innocent, untouched by darkness save nightfall? He couldn't have known anything save it belong to Odin's domain, full of life and love rather than an unyielding desolation.

"Don't worry, Thor. I promise... I'll kill her slowly."

"You do not lie as well as you once did, Brother." That confidence in Thor's tone was detestable. "You know as well as I that those words are untrue. Why, you could have killed Darcy, killed Jane, killed any one of us since you've been back... and I have not once seen that hatred in you."

Thor didn't know anything, he told himself. It was always pretending with him, a great show, fitting himself to the role of the would-be king as per Odin's grand design. A light to burn away all the darkness that Asgard knew was waiting to cut them all apart. But the question was, when? How much longer would he have to wait before he could wipe those smiles away, snuff out the fire in their eyes, the will to live and fight on? Surely, it could not be now. Not with Thor here and all his flimsy, infinite wisdom. Not when he was, again, outnumbered, what with the lot of them knowing far too much as it was. It had to be by surprise, a complete and utter shock to them as it had been before. But it would be so very different this time, for they would all die, and Thor would watch them.

Loki was let go as Thor stepped off, stood back and watched him, always pleading with that useless silence of his; with those eyes. Maybe that's where he would start. Prevent Thor from seeing anything more once his precious friends had lent their blood to the start of the sheep's slaughter.

The other faltered, took a hurried step forward as Loki swept himself away with a smile.

"You lack conviction."

Did he, now? The God of Mischief had remembered that which they had not. The most crucial piece upon the board, still hiding in plain sight right where he had left it last: Sitting on the polished glass dining table in Thor's quarters. It had been all but given to her with wrapping paper and a bow, and she had forgotten it.

How funny it would be, Loki thought, to see the look on the assassin's face when she realized that she had unwittingly let him keep the Tesseract.

# - # - # - #

It was like a roller coaster. Up and down and circling right back around in an endless loop, the same damn stretch of insane track becoming more and more tiring the longer one was on board. To say that it was madness didn't even seem appropriate anymore. This was something far more than that, than anything the lot of them had ever had the displeasure of experiencing. Though there was no certain way to express the scenario, it was certainly looking very bleak now, what with the sound of every passing airline above their heads bringing them all to turn their eyes skyward, startled and fearful that, the very next time, it might not be that familiar bird-like shape passing by. Why, one of these days, it would be a great black mass, like a looming thunderhead, arriving to stamp out humanity and send their steadily breaking team into overdrive.

All they had done was fight, for what seemed like hours on end. The news station on the television crackled with poor audio from an amateur video of the fight, the Chitauri bursting out of manholes in the street, disrupting traffic, assaulting families and even small children before the Captain rushed down the street, running across the tops of cars and taxi cabs to prevent another mass slaughter. Even so, not a one of them, save Thor himself, paid that scene any mind, their voices so mingled that he could not tell who was arguing with whom. The archer and assassin were probably a given, considering all the tension that had passed between them these last few years, and Thor wished he hadn't picked them out in his mind, remembering the accusations that had been slung about so easily as the hawk's arrows. Words about his brother.

It wouldn't have mattered otherwise, he realized, for Loki was all that had been occupying his thoughts for days. It was in him to worry for the other, as though it had been code written straight into his DNA, a part of him so lasting and so small that he could never hope to escape it. Like his place as Odin's son. A prince, the would-be king of Asgard once his father found a moment in which to proclaim him such. What a grim thought that was, and Thor sighed. To be standing on the steps between two very different doors, one that lead to the kingdom he had always fought for, while the other held that which he had always been designed to protect. To chose one would be to disappoint the other, and while he had lived his life in earnest to prepare for the day when he would take the throne, lead Asgard into a time just as bright as that of Odin's rule, Thor could not feel comfortable with the thought that, were he to accept that role, he would do so by pushing his brother away.

He felt like a traitor, having allowed things to progress this far, though Thor knew that he had never had complete control over every aspect of the situation. Why, with his brother's damned pride and erratic behavior, it was certain that, sooner or later, something like this would have happened anyway. Still, he should have known better than to allow his thoughts to leak out like that, should have remembered that those words exchanged with his mother had been meant to be a secret through a pact left unspoken. And now, he was torn, struggling to determine just how he would go about righting his mistake, assuming he ever saw his brother alive again.

Were the full force of the invasion to come within the next few days, as Tony and Bruce were predicting, he might not have a chance to say that he was sorry.

"It makes sense," the Iron Man said, but Thor did not look up from the floor. "Why would they mobilize and go on the offensive so quickly if reinforcements weren't to be expected for weeks?" The others seemed to quiet down a bit at that, their faces stern as stone. "You don't just take a random shot in the dark and expect to hit the squad you're hunting, unless you know that, once you do, you're gonna have immediate backup."

"So we have maybe a week," Clint commented with a sigh. "Great."

"Not even a week," Bruce corrected, sounding equally as dissatisfied. "If they're this confident, coming right out to challenge us in the middle of the day, and with that kind of ferocity, the rest of the invasion must be close. I'd say less than seventy-two hours, at best."

A glass struck the floor hard, Natasha hopping off the bar stool to grind the heel of her boot into the shards as Tony stood slack-jawed. "Fantastic," she drawled, gritting her teeth. "And our only hope of successfully fending off these bastards just ran off to sulk in some dark corner. Like a coward."

Thor stood from the couch, hands balled into fists and oblivious as Jane tried to get him to sit back down again. Though he would trust these people with his life, Thor knew that he could not count on them to understand anything more than the severity of the invasion. Particularly the things that had transpired between himself and his brother.

Thor knew, more than he wished to, how shocking it must have been, waiting out the days in the hopes that Thanos would forget, travel to Midgard to retrieve the Tesseract and let everything else pass, leave Loki to his own devices and pretend that no bargain had ever been reached. It had taken far longer than a few days of thinking it over to decide that the Avengers, that Thor, had been his best course of action; that, without swallowing his pride, Loki wouldn't likely make it to the end of the year.

"Enough," the god muttered, and the room fell silent. Even the television seemed to hear his voice. "As a whole, the invasion is our priority. But Loki... He is my responsibility."

"Fine! Then be responsible!" Natasha snapped. "You gonna take the beating for him again?! Is that how the two of you work?! He screws us all over, and you make excuses for him?! You take the blame?! If you wanna be a martyr for him, then maybe I should just kick your ass instead!"

"That is not the way of it!" He shouted far louder than he needed to, the floor seeming to rattle as though his voice had become thunder. His brother had done a great number of terrible things, caused thousands to lose their lives in a cruel and untimely fashion. But, at the same time, he'd had Thor's back more times that he dared to count in Asgard; had taken the fall for things that had not been his fault, things that he had greatly opposed while their friends had urged Thor to carry on. He sighed. Loki had been right about one thing. These people, though some of the thunder god's dearest friends, could not hope to understand the complexities that bound the two of them together tighter than blood ever could. And there were no words with which to tell them. "You don't... You don't know..."

They didn't, and they couldn't. Not ever. These friends of his, dear to him as they were, could never comprehend the workings of Odin, of their realm, the many complications that had risen and fallen like the stars over these many years. They couldn't know what Loki had said to him as the floor had been layered with the dark blood of broken enemies, the blood of invaders. Terror, the likes of which he had not seen even as a child, when nightmares flooded their fragile little minds in the depths of night, let alone in the midst of all their many misadventures, wondering whether or not they would return to the warm, golden embrace of their city. It had been pure, raw, unpolluted by pride or clever schemes or sharp words. Just that fear, every bit as exposed as words upon the pages of an open book. And that echo, still ringing in his head, as he sat by and watched the dam break.

"I don't wanna die..."

Thor had sworn on his life, in silence, that he would never utter a word of that moment to anyone. That he would never betray his brother's weakness. If there was anything Loki could not ever have hope to forgive, it was being made out to be weak.

He smiled, albeit sadly. That was why he could not find it in himself to forgive their father. Odin had damaged Loki's pride, impressed upon him the idea that he was somehow inferior to Thor.

"Look, Sparky." Tony clapped him on the shoulder, looking back at the bar to the others as though expecting some kind of encouragement. When he did not receive it, the man scoffed, turned back to Thor and smiled as sincerely as he could. It was a lousy attempt, for he appeared worn out and miserable. "Understand me when I say that you will never again hear these words out of my mouth." Thor nodded. A sigh. "Whatever the two of you have going on between you, it's not really my business. His personal vendetta against you isn't my concern, and I don't really care about it." The billionaire straightened up then, now every bit as serious as the rest of them. "But if he takes another shot at us, comes and stabs us in the back, tries to take our home... Well, that is my business, and I will do something about it."

The rest of the Avengers nodded in agreement.

How badly Thor wanted to promise them all that it would not come to that. But he could not be sure, could not find it in himself to swear that Loki wouldn't blow this all out of proportion, strike back against the planet, the people, again in an effort to snuff the God of Thunder out.

"I will not speak for my brother," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. He could not step out-of-bounds again. "But I will promise you that I will do everything that I can to end this peacefully."

Though he spoke the truth, spoke it from his heart, Thor could not help the sour taste that lingered in his mouth.

There was no way that this would end with peace.