Truthfully
Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:
Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff.
Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN.
Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy.
TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends.
Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.
AN: Wow, some of you guys are really bad at reading author's notes, aren't you? Let me just repeat, the story is over when there is a complete tag. Until then…free game. This is a short one again, and there's one more after this then.
Sorry for the delay in updates; my apartment lease is up soon and I've been distracted by real life and moving and roommates and yeah, real life takes priority. But it should be smooth sailing from here, hopefully, without anymore stupid delays.
In other news, thank you all SO MUCH for all your feedback, comments, and favorites. It really, really honors me that this story has such a following, seriously. I really hope you enjoy!
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Aquamarine
And life went on, somehow.
Loki knew that it couldn't all be beautiful, that it wouldn't all be good. He didn't want to let this go, not like everything else that he'd ever turned loose from fear and spite and pride. He wanted to hold on to these things he treasured, the people and places and things that he'd learned.
To be entirely honest, he didn't have a clue how this happened or how he managed to get so lucky.
He voiced the sentiment, once, in the dark and the quiet to no one but himself and it hurt because no matter what anyone said, he knew that there was something wrong because a thought like that shouldn't hurt and it did, and that was a night where he was so very, very close to picking up his phone and calling that number. A time ago, he might have. Instead, Loki sat upright and swung his legs over the edge of his bed and rose, shrugging on his jacket and boots and taking to the streets.
New York's never quiet, not really. There was always someone up and about no matter the time and Loki found himself grateful for it. He didn't want the solitude; it could only ever lead to brooding and thoughts too dark for comfort and Loki didn't bother paying attention to where he was going until he stopped and looked up, seeing the big, glowing A hovering far above him in the sky.
He didn't do anything special, not really. He didn't go inside, no matter how easy it might be for him, because that was not and would never be his place. Instead, Loki settled down against the wall on the side steps and leaned back. No one could stop him from doing that. The tower was still hideous, he thought, but it was a light and he needed it. He'd be on his way in a few moments, really he would, once he cleared his head a bit. That bright blue light that might otherwise be blinding felt better than the darkness and Loki let green eyes close.
Just for a second.
Just for a second.
A second turned into a minute which turned into two which turned into fifteen and Loki was dozing off. The first thing he thought when he woke was that he must look like a complete bum, especially considering that he was wearing a rather nice jacket over a soft, short-sleeved Henley and pajama pants. The second was that there was more light than there had been to start and that he was being loomed over, and Loki's instincts had him flinching backwards to plaster himself against the wall like a startled deer until he realized that it was just Thor.
…Until he realized that it was just Thor and it was still dark outside and oh, damnit, he was a gigantic idiot. He really, really was.
Loki didn't know what his face looked like but it must be something because Thor offered him a hand up and he was too tired to not take it, feeling the ground sway slightly under his feet. His head felt heavy and fuzzy in that weird space between sleepy and startled still and Loki didn't even want to know what kind of hour it was (too late to be awake, most certainly). He was tired enough to let himself be herded inside by a firm hand on the small of his back and bustled into the elevator. The lights were on but dim and Loki knew that people were sleeping, and he felt like this was all a terrible idea. What was he thinking?
What was Thor thinking?
That was not what he'd been intending, not at all.
He remembered that he should probably protest when he found himself in a bedroom that screamed Thor, that he'd seen a few times out of curiosity but hadn't spent much time in.
He was fine, he was. He really, really was. He should go home.
He was fine.
He was fine.
Except that right now at this very minute, he wasn't fine at all and Thor knew it because he booked no arguments, waving away Loki's objections in favor of asking whether he'd prefer to have the bed to himself or if he'd be okay with sharing, and Loki could cry. But only a little bit or not at all; he only let himself get really weepy when he was drunk and he's all too sober right now.
Loki didn't want to be alone and he didn't know how to say it, and he was silent long enough that Thor manages to maneuver him gently underneath the covers and crawled in next to him. It was so familiar, Loki knew this feeling, knew the body next to his almost as well as he did his own even though it had been a while, and that's okay. He'd spent quite a few of his nights as a child curled up in bed with Thor, before it became something to be embarrassed of, and it was still comforting even now, when things were still broken sometimes.
Sleeping with Thor was like sleeping next to a living, breathing heater, and Loki didn't mind it even though he ended up tucked up underneath his chin and Thor was nowhere near as polite a bedmate as Tony, and ended up squashing Loki underneath his bulk not an hour later. He appreciated the sentiment and the gesture but Thor was heavy and after a while, Loki didn't feel so much like he was drowning anymore.
How can he, when there was someone holding onto him so tightly that he couldn't possibly fly away?
He didn't sleep any more but remained where he was anyway, determined not to think in favor of simply feeling, even if what he was feeling happened to mostly be Thor being rude in his sleep. Still, Loki was nothing if not adaptable and it could be worse, especially when it became clear that even though it's been a while, Thor remembered this too because he held Loki like he was something precious despite his weight, one giant, heavy arm draped over his shoulders but the other bracing the back of his neck.
Loki sighed and focused on existing.
The world wasn't quiet but the night was, dark and deceptively silent from inside a silent room. Thor's room was on the top floor and quite a bit of the ceiling was glass. Loki looked up and watched the sky, all inky velvet and diamonds and silver sliver of moon.
For a brief moment, he entertained the idea that one of those diamonds was Asgard, then forced himself to disregard it immediately.
Something dark shot across the sky, something that looked, almost if you squint, like a large, fat raven.
Loki disregarded that too because the only thing he associated with ravens was Odin Allfather and he had already made his feelings on the matter clear. Loki would never see Asgard again. There was never much to hold him there to begin with. Family, he thought, and the treasure trove of knowledge that had ever been at his fingertips if only he knew how to ask. Loki thought of the woman he spent so many years calling 'mother' and his heart ached like nothing else and he found himself curling into Thor's smothering out of instinct— certainly not an inexplicable need for contact, contact that was all too willingly given.
Loki had accepted that he would never see Asgard again.
What he hadn't been able to accept, what he hadn't been able to so much as think about, was never being able to see those precious few beings who held him there. It wasn't a lot to start with but for the longest time it had been enough and he thought he had ripped it all out. Folly, he thought, for as long as he would exist, he could never stop caring. That was both the worst and best because he saw his own foolishness now for what it was: a child thinking that elimination will eliminate the hurt. That making someone else hurt would stop his own. That eliminating himself would make everything okay.
It wouldn't, he knew this now.
It never would because Loki had always cared and always loved, sometimes too much and too deeply and too easily.
Asgard was lost to him but he was not alone.
That can be enough, he told himself. That can be enough because he will make it be enough, because he was not alone, because he was sane and stable enough to realize this and to realize just how close he managed to come to that edge.
It was still frightening but it was something that he could look at, and it didn't hurt that he couldn't help but feel braver next to Thor, even now. He might, under extreme duress, call it a bit of a brother complex. Any other time he'd call it good sense and leave it at that.
Those were the thoughts he was left with when his mind began to slow and quiet, and he let himself feel instead of think, surrounded by warmth and shadow.
Loki woke two hours later and extracted himself from Thor's grip, sitting up in the darkness that doesn't seem quite so dark anymore. He ought to be tired still but he wasn't, not at all, and he slid out of bed for a short walkabout. He knew the general layout of the tower and knew that Thor's floor is at the very top and knew to work his way down if he wanted to get to the common area. Barton was next, then the Captain, and right in between the floor belonging to Steve and the one belonging exclusively to Tony there was the one that consisted almost entirely of a living room and kitchen and that was Loki's goal.
He's no desire to encroach on anyone's space.
It was six in the morrow and still dark outside and if, later when the others get up, their guest is gone but in his place were plates of pancakes still fresh and steaming on the table… well.
No one was going to complain about it, though Steve insisted on a face-to-face thank you the next chance he got.
AN: Once again, apologies for my brevity, but I liked this as a standalone, and author's choice goes. Please leave a review for me if you have anything to say, or even if you'd like to scratch my back with a rake instead.