This is a dream, but this is also how it happened.

"Where have you been?"

"Oh, here and there. Why? Come to kill me at last, brother?"

"Don't be stupid."

Loki laughs, a hard, angry, desperately sad laugh. It was so much work, so much hard-won effort, to convince himself in the time since the Battle of New York that the connections he'd forged had replaced his family, replaced Thor. Across the galaxy, across time, he'd met people and they'd mattered, and he'd been better for it. All that work, and all Thor has to do is show up to bring all of it crashing down. None of them mattered as much as his brother. Loki's fists clench but it doesn't stop the tears from pricking at his eyes. "What do you want?"

Thor steps forward, looking as sad as Loki won't let himself feel. As he tells himself he doesn't feel. Thor's hammer is in his hand but he looks like he's forgotten it's there. "I just want to talk. There are things you should know, brother. And things that I would say to you, if you'll let me."

Swallowing, trying to make his breath heave a little less with emotion, Loki says, "The last time we 'talked,' you muzzled and chained me."

"You stabbed me," Thor counters. Then, like an afterthought, he adds, "And tried to rule Earth." But he rubs the heel of one hand against his forehead and says wearily, "This isn't what I came to say. I'm sorry, brother."

Loki sniffs. "Apology accepted. Conditional on what else you have to say."

"That is what I have to say. I'm sorry."

Everything goes still, Loki included. Even stiller than he is normally. The stillness of the world is the dream, it didn't really happen like that, even if it feels like it should have.

Then the sky splits open, fills with a sick black un-color, the color of bile and old blood, of a mind split open and turned over on itself, the color of horror and loss, and this was definitely not how things had happened, they'd had more time than this, but Thor is swallowed by it and—

And Loki woke up.

Sweating, of course. Sitting bolt upright. His nightmares had always tended towards the vivid and horrifying. It had gotten worse since Thanos. Even by those standards, this had been bad.

He put his hands in his lap, clenching them tightly together to make them stop shaking, and drew in a deep, slow breath. At least he was alone in the room this time, so there was no one to see this weakness. As his heart slowed, he glanced down to where the sheet had fallen away when he'd sat up. Sitting up, incidentally, was a good sign. Nothing was ever certain, but he probably wasn't going to die.

There was an angry red circle traced on his chest, just below his heart and extending to his stomach, with stitches all around it. Delicately, Loki touched the new skin. Strange hadn't said if it was his or someone else's. If it was the latter, then this could be the humanity that everyone always looked for in him.

His throat didn't hurt as much anymore. Nothing hurt as much anymore, actually. Experimentally, he tried stretching his arms over his head. The stitches on his chest pulled, which certainly didn't feel good, and he still felt achy, but he was able to move everything without much more than a grimace of pain. He flexed his feet, then drew his knees up. His legs were stiff and sore, but they worked.

Wiggling his toes one last time, he pulled the sheet and blanket off and swung his legs out of bed. Sometime between the battle and now, he'd been put him in a pair of sweatpants that said 'NY GIANTS' down one leg. Someone had a sense of humor, and it would have to be the Norns or the universe, since no one on Earth knew his true heritage.

He looked down at his chest and touched it again, a heavy weight pressing from both inside and outside his ribcage as his fingers brushed the graft. It had nothing to do with the injury and the new skin, which he could barely feel his fingers on. There had been no mention from Strange of anyone else that had been brought to the hospital with him.

Of course there wasn't. There hadn't been. Loki had seen what had happened. Thor had—

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His lungs only filled halfway. He felt like he was choking. Drowning.

Stop. Stop.

Don't think about that.

Another breath then, and another, until his hands stopped shaking and the lump in his throat receded enough for him to swallow. He clenched his fists and tried not to remember Thor's face as he'd pushed Loki out of the way—

His nails dug into his palms. His fault. He was a fool, and it had finally caught up with him in a way that he could never take back.

A broken, consuming despair held him pinned in place. Gradually, though, the outside world penetrated this blackness. There was the faint sound of traffic, a quiet whoosh of cars going by on the street. Pigeons cooed somewhere near the window. Loki opened his eyes and looked towards it. Weak sunlight was shining in, with the shadows of clouds passing over the sun. If he'd woken yesterday in the afternoon, then it must be morning now.

He glanced around the room and spotted his clothing draped over a chair. Most of it was in bad shape. His leathers had clearly been cut off him in the hospital, and the longcoat had been torn to shreds along the bottom. There were singe marks, too. His pants were better, but there were holes in the knees and dark splatters that he knew were blood.

His tunic was in one piece, though, and he pulled it on, grateful for the familiarity of it. The soft Asgardian cotton didn't irritate his injury. Looking down at himself, he had to snort. The sweatpants and the tunic were really a look. He could only imagine the state his hair was in. What he could see on his shoulders was a mess. When he reached up to touch it, his fingers met matted snarls. For now, he waved his fingers to cast a glamor and make it look presentable.

The magic took more effort than he expected it to, and he had to put a hand out to rest on the back of the chair where his clothes were to catch his breath. Something had drained all his magic away, but he didn't know what. There was a hole in his memory to go with the hole in his chest, and he didn't want to probe it.

Once he'd gotten his breath back, he straightened up and looked at the door. Strange hadn't said he couldn't leave the room. Then again, Strange had probably assumed he wouldn't be getting up any time soon. Aforementioned six inch hole in his chest and whatnot. And it would only take someone of middling intelligence to realize that wandering around in a sorcerer's house could have nasty repercussions.

Loki's intelligence far surpassed 'middling,' but he was also curious. And frankly, he wouldn't be the God of Mischief if he missed an opportunity to snoop where he didn't belong. The sun seemed to have gone entirely behind the clouds now, anyway, and it made the room feel cold.

When he opened the door, he found himself on the second level of a large, dimly lit house. The sense of power hit him even harder. This wasn't just a house. What had Strange called it? The New York Sanctum. Obviously more than what it seemed. He took a step out, the floor cold under his bare feet, and rested his hands on the railing that ran around the second level. Below him was a large, open foyer. The only way down seemed to be the large staircase opposite where Loki was standing, so he headed towards it, then walked down the stairs slowly, gazing around the foyer.

Doors branched off from there. Through one, he could see a kitchen, and through another, a dining room, both empty. Did Strange live here alone? What did he say he did—protected the Earth from metaphysical threats? It would get lonely being here by yourself.

Loki made his way across the foyer, his bare feet silent on the floor, and stuck his head through the other open door. It was just a kitchen. Nothing special. Next to it was a dining room. The third door led to a study with a fireplace in it, currently cold.

His eyes drifted to the staircase, and then the smaller one, leading up to the third floor. There had to be something interesting in this house. Quietly, he made his way up to the third floor.

He was instantly rewarded as he went up the staircase and his head poked up to eye level with the floor. He stood there, looking around, and then he ascended the remaining steps.

In one direction lay an empty space, dominated by a massive, round window with opaque white glass and metal spokes swooping across it. In the other was something far more interesting. He headed there, finding himself in a room full of glass cases containing objects, like some kind of museum. Loki made his way inside, passing by each case slowly to study the artifacts within. The Talisman of Abraxas. The Axe of Angarrumus. A…tarot deck? He stopped there, quirking an eyebrow, but figured it must have powers of some kind, or it wouldn't be here. The next case was empty, but the placard inside read, "Cloak of Levitation." That sounded handy. And it was certainly more immediately impressive than a ratty old tarot deck. He stared at the empty case, wondering where the cloak was, and then, right on the heels of that thought, wondering what spells he'd need to circumvent to get at the rest of these objects. That axe wasn't exactly subtle, but having a magical axe also didn't seem like a bad idea, considering the things he'd seen.

"Who told you that you could come in here?" a voice said from behind him.

Loki straightened up and turned away from the case. There was a man standing behind him. Not Strange. His robes were red, and he looked—possibly older? There was no amulet around his neck, either. That was something special of Strange's, then. Cocking his head, Loki replied, "No one told me I couldn't."

"We didn't think you'd be able to get out of bed for another few days." The man added something in a mutter under his breath that sounded like, "Stephen is too trusting," then said, "You're not allowed in here. Now someone's told you."

Lifting his eyes to look around the room, Loki said, "What's so special about it?" He was being glib. Somebody a fraction as skilled as he was would have been able to feel the magic in these items. It surprised him that they hadn't wreathed the doorway in protective spells to make sure no one could get in. Well, like this man had said, they didn't expect him to get up so soon.

Also, they. Strange wasn't here alone. Eyeing this new man, Loki wondered what exactly he was dealing with. The man in front of him was clearly a sorcerer, too. Wait—Strange had said his order protected the Earth. His brain felt fuzzy when he tried to remember yesterday's conversation, and while there was some temptation to blame it on Strange or this new man casting a spell on him, he knew it was entirely down to what he'd been through. The physical wounds were bad enough; the magic drain was another layer of trauma, and what he'd lost—

Well, maybe it was impressive that he was up and about, even though, if these people knew anything about Asgardians, they'd know they were a sturdy bunch. So were Frost Giants.

The man didn't answer Loki's question, just held out an arm and raised his eyebrows meaningfully, as though he was doing Loki a favor and escorting him out. With a sniff, Loki walked back towards the door. But on his way, another room caught his eye. "Is that a library?" he asked in interest.

"You're not allowed there, either," the man said.

Loki pursed his lips at him, and as they returned to the foyer on the first floor, he asked, "If I might be so forward, who are you?"

"I'm the Librarian," the man said.

Snorting, Loki said, "Aren't librarians supposed to encourage the use of their libraries?"

Glaring at him, the man said, "Our libraries contain books teaching us how to defend Earth against beings like you. Allowing you access to it is counterproductive."

With a small smile and a sarcastic glint in his eyes, Loki said, "Oh, I haven't tried to take over this planet in years. Don't get your robes in a twist." Strange had taken him by surprise the previous day by knowing who he was, and even more by surprise with his lack of hysteria about the Battle of New York. People treating him as though he wasn't a monster always took him by surprise. Which also meant he didn't know how to deal with them.

But this? Easy. Sarcasm and the biting smile that suggested he'd do it all over again, just for fun.

The reaction was minimal, but there was just enough tightening around the Librarian's eyes to have made it worth it. "You're not giving me any reason not to advise Stephen that you're more trouble than you're worth."

At that, Loki laughed. "Of course I'm more trouble than I'm worth, Librarian. Ask anybody. Ask my broth—" But his throat closed as he realized what he'd been about to say, and how very, very impossible that was. He clenched his fists. "Advise away. I won't weep if you turn me loose on the world again."

That had been to get a reaction. He'd done nothing but try to protect Midgard for years now. Was it years? It got a bit muddled with all the time travel. Yes, maybe at first he'd been angry, confused, lost, hurt—he perhaps hadn't had Earth's best interests at heart in the days and weeks after he'd absconded with the Tesseract from Stark Tower. Things had changed since then, though. It had been six years, after all. But if this Librarian was going to be the way he was being, then Loki would be who the universe expected him to be.

The Librarian opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly, the front door opened and a figure came in, dripping wet and shaking his coat out. "You should've warned me it was supposed to rain this morning, and I take no responsibility for your sandwich if it didn't make it, that's on you for not checking the hourly forecast—" He turned around and Loki saw that it was Strange. The other man's eyes flicked between the two of them, surprise passing across his face for a fraction of a second. Then he smiled dryly. "I see you two have met."

"I caught him in the Chamber of Relics," the Librarian said. "And what do you mean, my sandwich might not have made it? Didn't you put it under your coat?"

Making a face laced with equal parts disgust and incredulity, Strange said, "No, I didn't put it under my coat, are you kidding? My attachment to the material world may be waning, but that doesn't mean I want grease on the lining of this thing." The Librarian looked crestfallen, which was honestly the most emotion Loki had seen him display. "What about you?" Strange asked, gesturing towards Loki. "I got a reuben and pastrami on rye, any preference? Unless Wong wants to give up his tuna melt. You're not a vegetarian, are you? I figured Asgardians didn't really go in for vegetarianism, but you know what they say about assuming. So?"

"Er," Loki said.

"Yeah, good choice." Strange casually flicked a hand and his sodden coat disappeared, and then he held out the brown paper bag, looking at it critically. "I think we're okay. C'mon, let's have lunch." With that, he strode briskly into the dining room, leaving the Librarian and Loki standing there in the foyer.

"I'm not giving up my tuna melt," the Librarian said stiffly, as though this was something that actually needed to be addressed. When he followed Strange into the dining room, Loki trailed after both of them.

Strange was taking the sandwiches out of the bag and setting them on the dining room table. "Did you two do introductions?" When silence met these words, he looked unsurprised, then waved a hand vaguely from one of them to the other. "Wong, Loki. Loki, Wong."

Wong pulled out a chair and sat, unwrapping his sandwich and clearly keeping an eye on Loki. Loki just stood there. This sorcerer, this Doctor Strange, kept wrong-footing him, which wasn't a feeling he was used to. Or one he particularly appreciated. Why was he here? Was he a prisoner?

"Are you just going to stand there?" Strange asked, after sitting down himself and taking a bite of his sandwich.

"I'm still deciding," Loki replied.

The chair across from Strange scraped on the floor as it moved away from the table of its own accord. "We don't bite," Strange said. "I mean, foreplay aside."

Wong rolled his eyes and Strange grinned. Loki just watched Strange, refusing to rise to the bait. He was over a thousand years old, he'd heard sex jokes before. But Strange's smile was disarming, and it made Loki want to believe, despite a lack of evidence, that Strange meant him no harm.

So he sat down slowly and ate his sandwich, listening to Strange and Wong talk about their business. No doubt none of it was sensitive information, considering a stranger was sitting at the table with them. Not just any stranger, either. Loki took some pride in that, though maybe there was no pride to be found in not being trusted.

"So why were you in the Chamber of Relics?" Strange suddenly said. His tone was pleasant, but there was a penetrating glint in his eyes as he looked at Loki.

Loki met his gaze placidly, with perhaps the tiniest smile on his lips. "Just exploring. Why? Is there something in this house you don't want me to see?"

"That should go without saying," Wong said, though with less of the rancor that he'd shown earlier. Apparently the librarian got cranky when he was hungry.

Strange looked at Loki. Then he said, "Wong has a point."

Leaning back in his chair, Loki asked, "Ah. And is Wong in charge?"

Strange chuckled, clearly seeing through what Loki was trying to do. "No one's 'in charge.'" At this, Wong made a noise, and Strange glanced at him, then down at the amulet he wore around his neck. Then, he pointed at the now-empty sandwich wrapping in front of Loki and asked, "Done?" Without waiting for an answer, he vanished the paper. He was showing off. Did he think Loki would be impressed by parlor tricks? Loki was one of the most powerful sorcerers in the Nine Realms. He'd been taught by Frigga, herself raised by witches. A mortal wizard was no match for him.

Maybe that was the point. Maybe Strange was trying to lull him into a false sense of security. Perhaps he was far more powerful than he was letting on. "You're a guest here," Strange said. "My guest, actually, since Wong doesn't seem to want to claim you. Just keep that in mind."

"That sounds like a threat," Loki said.

"Stephen doesn't really make threats," Wong said. "He takes being a doctor too seriously."

"Huh." Strange snorted. "I was going to say something like, 'you'll know when we're threatening you'—I mean, that sounds scarier, right?"

Looking mildly chagrined, Wong said, "Sorry, I didn't realize we were doing a thing—"

"No, we weren't—" Strange waved a hand. "Never mind."

Loki's gaze shifted from one of them to the other. "So," he said, "just to be clear, are you threatening me?"

"No," Strange said.

"We should be," Wong muttered.

When Loki raised his eyebrows, Strange said, "You'll have to forgive Wong. He's taken really naturally to the whole librarian personality, you know, naturally distrustful, always convinced there's something shady going on when you're just trying to take a book out."

Wong stared at Strange flatly. "Who hurt you?"

"Mrs. Costellano, PS 158. Wouldn't let me check out anything above a third grade reading level even though I was reading adult fiction by first grade."

With a sigh, Wong said, "Why do I bother?"

Strange cocked his head. "Not sure."

Wong shook his head but didn't otherwise seem particularly fazed by this. As he got up from the table, he said more seriously, "I have to spend some time this afternoon checking on—that thing that we need to keep tabs on."

Waving a hand, Strange said, "Of course. Let me know, will you?" Wong nodded and held a hand out in front of him, then circled the other. A circle of orange opened up in the air, spinning and spitting sparks. Loki didn't react, but his mind was screaming at him. Magic. Sorcery. How were they doing it? Inside the circle was another room that he didn't recognize from what he'd seen of the house—anyway, the light was different there, like it was a different time of day. Wong stepped through, and the circle closed behind him.

Loki stared at the spot where the portal had been, and then he looked at Strange. The other man was already looking at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Loki had a million questions. How had Wong done that? Where had the energy come from? Where had it gone? Where had this magic been hiding on Earth?

It made him feel the same way as when he'd been a child and his mother had performed magic in front of him for the first time. The opening of an entire world that he'd never seen before, knowing there was something that the universe had kept hidden from him, but which he was suddenly privy to, and could learn about, if he chose to—

Wait, he was getting ahead of himself. The chances of Strange and Wong teaching him how to do what they did were remote. He was still…well, who he was. An unlikely candidate, in other words, to be entrusted with another source of power.

Instead of letting on that he was thinking any of this, Loki just said, "You are the one in charge, aren't you?"

Strange looked uncomfortable for the first time, but it passed quickly. Instead of answering, he said, "How's the graft?"

"You'd have to tell me."

"Hm." Pushing his chair back and standing up, Strange said, "I'll check it later. There's no overwhelming stench of wound putrefaction coming off you." Loki snorted and Strange smiled a little. "I'm guessing it can wait a few hours. You shouldn't push yourself, by the way, considering you were basically dead six days ago."

Six days ago. Simple math. He'd been unconscious for four days. Loki raised an eyebrow. "Basically dead?"

With a shrug, Strange said, "Your heart stopped. Not actually dead, but it sounds more dramatic. The point is, you're not well. Don't get into anything that looks like you shouldn't get into. I've been here for two years and sometimes I still stumble across things that require…quick thinking." He paused. "I'm assuming you can tell when you're looking at something you shouldn't get into?"

Did it need to be said that Loki was adept at determining when he was being presented with something that he definitely should leave alone, and that it was precisely the fact that he shouldn't get into whatever it was that made him decide to do so? But perhaps the wizard had a point. Still, he didn't answer, just smiled a little crookedly.

Strange met his eyes. "I'm going to need you to say something."

"I'll do my best to stay out of mischief," Loki said, with the same smile still on his face. It wasn't convincing, but apparently Strange realized it was the best he was going to get. He gave Loki one more unreadable look, then left the room.

Loki leaned back in his chair and put his hands on the table. The wound on his chest was beginning to ache. But it would heal soon enough, and then he could leave this strange—no pun intended—place.

Where would he go? It didn't matter. Away. Somewhere else. Anywhere else. Somewhere new, where nothing would make him remember. The wound hurt more at the thought and something else, something deeper, which a more sentimental person might call his heart. He forced the feeling down. Sentiment, after all, had never gotten him anywhere.