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 38: Misguided Casualties
A/N: I believe that many of you will be very excited to know that I have completed the first chapter of my next story, entitled "Long Live The King." It is an AU exploring the results of the success of the Chitauri invasion, and Loki's role as the ruler of Midgard. The chapter will be posted in a few days, as I would like to complete "Total Paranoia" beforehand.
The recommended tune for this chapter is "Radioactive" by Imagine Dragons.
His eyes opened with a start, staring dazedly up at the trace patterns on the ceiling as Thor, too, lingered above his head , still rubbing the sleep from his own weary gaze. He let out a yawn that made his golden hair seem to stand on end like the grizzled mane of a beast on the savanna.
Loki frowned, a hand moving to pull him upright, and slapped it away, muttering that Thor needn't bother. He was sick of being coddled by these people, weary of seeing their eyes spark questioningly the instant he felt himself caving in again. It was a repulsive routine that the lot of them had fallen into, and he would no longer have any part to play in it.
Nightmares again, he thought, barely recalling that which had spun about within his head in the night, and went on to watch them come together again, laughing and passing about mugs and downing the fluid that so easily reminded him of a vile concoction of dirt and blood. The smell alone was enough to make him retch, and so the god snatched up one of the couch cushions and promptly buried his face in it. By Odin's throne, coffee was an absolutely hellish thing for one to wake up to in the morning.
Loki darted for the balcony door the instant Thor turned around to face him again, clasping a ceramic cup in each hand. Again, he would have no part in this. He was no child, and he needed no aid.
Or so he had tried to convince himself.
It was all a farce he insisted, arguing vainly with the wit that insisted otherwise within his skull, somehow finding comfort in the sickly sweet scent of ash and not-so-distant rain. It should have been summer here, and the streets should have been packed to the breaking point with tourists, all heading through the streets in their bathing suits and towels as they made their way down to the pier, to the beach. The sun should have been hot and the air suffocating, the sound of the city's heat ringing incessantly in his ears like cicadas, driving him ever closer to the brink of absolute madness. But that was just a fantasy conjured up by the steadily growing pang in his gut. The stark reality was that they were all in hiding, if not dead, and it was startling to the god that he'd somehow found the heart to care.
It wasn't supposed to have happened like this. He wasn't meant to feel like he'd done something wrong. Not when he'd spent so long believing himself to be right.
"I like being here in summer," Thor said from behind, undoubtedly wearing that stupid smile of his. "In the park, lying in the grass, listening to the wind whistle through the leaves on the trees."
Loki grimaced, fingers curling around the railing. "There are no trees, you idiot."
"I know."
He turned, arms folded across his chest, saw the steam rising steadily from the extra mug that Thor had left to sit on the patio table, and held his breath.
Thor really should have stopped trying by now, should have grown tired of being hated and blamed for things that, when one took a step back and examined the situation objectively, really weren't his fault at all. Loki would have said to hell with him were their positions reversed, and he knew it. He would have given up long before this, let Thor do whatever the hell he wanted, and watched as the other eventually ended up self-destructing. Thor was quite possibly little more than persistent, obsessive in a completely different way. Or maybe he was just as stupid as Loki had always accused him of being. Or perhaps, on the off chance, he really gave a damn.
Either way, this same old song-and-dance routine was growing rather tedious. But, as they both knew, something had to give, and, at this point, Loki wasn't sure just how much longer he'd hold out.
Thor might actually outlast him, and Loki couldn't stand it.
"You hate him."
The statement was sudden, bringing him to stare at Thor as he paled, wide-eyed and completely blank. Contrary to what the god had always thought, he had nothing to say to that; could not find the nerve nor voice with which bring himself to shoot off his mouth and say that he'd never known anything but hatred for his once-called father.
It was what anyone would have expected from him, and yet Loki found that he could not deliver.
The words raised a great number of frightening questions in him, the sort that made a man feel as though he were falling, watching and fully absorbing every moment of his many years in under a minute before he hit the ground. For the life of him, he couldn't remember a day where he hadn't been angry with Odin; where he hadn't run to Frigga or waited for her to find him so she could try to wash away what must have been self-inflicted agony.
That got him to wondering: Had he ever even loved the king? Had he ever really hated him?
Was he falling? How strange that the ground seemed so near.
"No..." The word felt like blood on his tongue, made him want to spit. "No, I... I just..."
"You hate what he did."
There was something dishearteningly calm in Thor's voice, in his face, and it brought his blood to a boil.
"Shut up!"
There came a screech of metal as it bent behind him, his grip on the railing having tightened to the point that the length of steel curled in on itself as but paper.
That strong hand of Thor's came at him then, fingers wrapping around his throat and throwing him to the ground before Loki had chance to strike. Head throbbing, he writhed in the thunderer's grasp, spouting threats and struggling to shove him away. The glass of the windows burst outward and shattered, drawing screams from those inside. The result of a vain attempt to startle the thunder god with furious magic. But Thor's gaze only intensified, nearly breaching the point of savagery as, having lost all patience, he promptly dropped his knee into Loki's gut.
Breath fled his lungs and he choked, leaving the god drained and limp beneath Thor's now crushing weight. The other's grip vanished, his hands coming to frame either side of Loki's head. The God of Thunder sighed heavily, the storm in his eyes having vanished as quickly as it had come, and he leaned in, sat Loki upright and let the ruffled mess of black hair loll against his shoulder.
"It's all right," Thor said, and shushed him though he made no sound. "Just one fight more, and you'll be home."
But that was the thing. Even if this ended well, he had no hope of returning to Asgard.