Disclaimer: I own nothing. Least of all this.

Author's Note: This fic seems to have a mind of its own, and is now taking me down a path through Tulgey Wood with signposts pointing every direction all labeled "WRONG WAY!"

I apologize to those of you who have been misled by the tags; for they are the only thing in existence that lies more than Loki does, and are as ever-changing as humanity itself.

On with the show.

3) AND I BRING YOU MYRRH

Alexander Pearce frowned as his eyes slowly lifted from the report on his desk to the man who had delivered it. "...What the hell happened, Rumlow?"

"Exactly what the report says, sir."

"Don't give me that, Rumlow; I'm not asking what the report thinks happened. I'm asking what you think happened. Our most secure facility on the Eastern Seaboard was breached from the inside out, and I want to know how."

"Honestly sir?" Rumlow reached up and scratched his head. "Best explanation I can come up with is a rogue Asset from an alternate timeline."

"...Well that's a new one. Explain."

"Sir, the scientists who witnessed the Subject's arrival all reported the exact same thing: strange blue glow, surrounding what they called 'a void full of stars'. I only know one thing that makes portals like that, sir, and it's currently five hundred feet below the desert. And trust me, I checked. A fluctuation in power was recorded at the time of the incident, but it was a massive increase; not exactly the power-drain you'd expect for teleportation. Also, it was about four milliseconds late, which is coincidentally exactly how long it would take light to travel from where the Subject landed to where the Tesseract was. Back-wash from the teleport. I think that our counterparts from an alternate timeline used their version of the cube to send their own Asset to our universe. I mean, the dude even had the metal arm on the right side. Or the left, depending on how you look at it."

"Which would explain how he managed to get the Asset under control: he knew the words from personal experience. Our methods over there must've grown a bit more refined for the words to have no effect on the Subject." Pearce leaned back in his chair. "But then why? Why escape if he's still following orders? Why destroy every means we have of following him? Did our counterparts lose, and once their Asset gained his freedom he decided to eradicate every possible version of us from the timeline? Or did we win, and he was sent to help us with our takeover?"

"Or, sir; and I'm just spitballing here," Rumlow crossed his arms, "what if there was an event in our counterparts' past that the Asset was sent back to prevent? And if it was an event that we ourselves deemed necessary to cause, wouldn't that automatically mean he'd be working against us, at least for a while?"

Rumlow uncrossed his arms and began ticking off fingers. "One, the body count for the Asset's and Subject's escape was a very low seven; not exactly the best work. Two, only the base's transportation was knocked out; not their communication. And three, the Subject had in his possession both armor and weaponry the report clearly stated 'could not yet be produced by anyone on the planet'. If our doppelgangers tried to send back an Asset into a hostile system in order to prevent total failure, and instead got him shuffled sideways in reality...it could explain things."

"Yes, I suppose it could. Then again, it might not. And I'm not so sure I want to wait around and find out. I assume the Gulfstream had all tracking ripped out?"

"Affirmative."

"Then I'm going to pay a visit to the one person left who can track them. Or at least, track the Asset. Call Sitwell and explain things; we need Strucker to start preparing somewhere else secure for the cube. Somewhere a potential rogue Asset or two doesn't know about."

"Understood, sir."

"And get me a chopper."

"What am I looking at, chief?"

"Two dead Variant Extraction Teams, Agent Mobius." replied the handler. "First one lost mid-air over the town of Lebanon, Kansas; second one on the ground near Malibu Point, California."

"That's quite a jump, chief; connection?"

"Winter Soldier Variant 1138, sir; believed directly responsible for the death of the first team, and nearby upon the creation of the second team's target: Tony Stark Variant 714."

"Huh; but not responsible for the second teams' deaths."

"Negative sir; the first team's transmitters were ejected into the Pacific Ocean, still active and implanted; the second's, well, it's like they just...vanished."

"Vanished?"

The handler nodded. "From space, time, reality itself. It's like they…"

"Like they got swallowed by the void."

"Exactly. Do you know what's going on, sir?"

"No." Mobius stood. "But I've got a pretty good idea who might. Prep me a team; we're going to pay a visit to Khamartaj."

Loki swallowed as he entered the room. He'd never been allowed in here before; the Loom was reserved for Frigga and Frigga alone. His mother's gifts were far beyond his own, and none more so than her gift of foresight. To know the future, and not go mad with the strain...Loki could only ever hope to be that strong.

And yet here he was; at the request of his mother herself, no less.

He was terrified.

"And you have every reason to be."

His heart jumped about three feet to the right as his mother's voice resounded from behind his left. "Mother...you startled me. Did you...I mean, did I…?"

"Say what you were thinking out loud? Of course not. But your face is still not the best for keeping secrets, my son. Now," her skirts ruffled as she strode forward and took her place next to the Loom, "I imagine you have questions."

He swallowed, and nodded.

"Then you shall have your answers. But I shall not be the one providing them; that, I shall leave to the Norns. Come; sit."

And as always, he obeyed.

"I have done my best to limit your studies in the finer arts; however, there was a reason I insisted both you and your brother learn to hand-sew your sigils. Sigils, you see, mean everything to Fate; willingly chosen or otherwise. They can provide a focus, to prevent your mind from straying too far from your chosen path. And so," she gestured to the Loom, already aligned with gold, green, and silver, "I have learned to apply the same here. And today, I wish for you to do the same. Weave your sigil for me, Loki; and know that no matter what you see, you shall still be my son at the end."

Well that didn't sound ominous at all. But who was he to argue with his mother?

He took a deep breath...and began.

Eight hours was more than enough time to come up with a plan for what to do once they reached Washington.

Too bad most of that plan went out the window the minute they spotted Senator Stern in the D.C. terminal. (Dressing like Security really does get you into pretty much everywhere. Taking the time to strip those soldiers had totally been worth it.)

After taking one looking at the simpering twerp, McCree had shrugged his shoulders, sighed, and decided: why argue with the universe?

"Change of plans." He whispered to Barnes next to him. "Pickpocket two phones, and give me one. Walk up to the Senator over there, offer him the phone, and tell him that it's a phone call from Justin Hammer. Once he starts walking, use whatever verbal means of persuasion you can to ensure you're his only escort. Take him to the roof; we're going to employ aggressive negotiations. Comprende?"

"Roger."

He watched from a distance as Barnes handed Stern the phone; watched as Stern raised the receiver to his ear, and then...he spoke.

"Hail Hydra."

For a sinking moment, McCree was afraid he'd gotten it wrong. That he was too early, that Hydra hadn't gotten to Stern yet. But Stern's next words soothed all his fears away.

"...You're not Hammer. But I'm listening."

"The soldier that's currently standing in front of you is one of ours. An...well let's call it an opportunity has come up. One that will not only see our goals advanced, but also see your contingency singing your praises for years to come."

"...Is it to do with Stark?"

"Not directly; but if yours and Hammer's profits should continue his current streak of misfortune, well, that's your business. Follow the soldier; we'll be waiting."

Stern went for the hook like a trout for the bait, and it wasn't long before the Senator was trotting dutifully after Barnes.

He was waiting on the roof when they arrived.

"Ah; another one of you. I was told I'd be meeting your boss?"

"And you are, Senator Stern." McCree said as he approached. "The boss is me. Let's talk business."

He had absolutely no idea how the portal team's gear worked; all he knew was that it did. What he'd originally thought to be an ankle bracelet had rewound him from the cargo bay to the copilot's chair the first time he'd tried it; and it rewound the screaming Senator from his plunging death back to the terminal now.

"Please;" gibbered Stern, "Please; I'll give you anything you want."

"Jasper Sitwell. Where. Is. He."

"I don't know, I swear I don't know!"

"Soldier; drop him again."

"No, no please! I'm begging you!"

"Then beg."

Once more, the Senator dropped; and once more, he arrived on the airport roof screaming.

"We can do this all day, pal; tell us the truth, and we'll let you go."

"I swear! I swear!"

"Soldier…"

"No, no! I'll do it! I'll do it! Just...please…" Stern was sobbing now, "let me go."

"Talk; then we'll think about it."

"Okay; okay! He's here; in Washington. He told me I was supposed to meet someone here, at the airport; I thought that was you. I was told I'd get further instructions from them; oh god. Sitwell's gonna know, they're gonna know…"

"They're not gonna know nuthin." McCree leaned down next to the Senator. "You are going back out there, and you are gonna do exactly what Sitwell said to do. The only difference is that I will be going with you. And if you get any ideas...well. Splat. Get the picture?"

"Yes; yes…"

"Good. Soldier;" he stood. "I'm gonna be taking a ride with the Senator. Follow us, discreetly. Bring the L96. We may just be able to kill two birds with one stone here. Figuratively speaking, of course. So long as you play ball, Senator, you should come out the other end of this fit as a fiddle. Who knows? May even be a medal in it for you."

SHIELD had done crazier things in the name of cover stories. An undercover Senator exposing corruption was barely in the top eight.

Mobius knocked four times on the ancient-looking door. Appropriate choice of entryway, considering its current owner.

The door swung open to reveal a heavyset, middle-aged man; obviously one of the Masters. Smart fellow; knew better than to set foot outside the Sanctum when dealing with the TVA. "Greetings, Agents. The Ancient One is expecting you, and has extended the rights of hospitality."

"On behalf of me and my team, I accept."

"Good. Follow me."

"Sooooo," drawled Mobius as they followed their guide up the stairs, "Got a name?"

"Yes."

"...Can I hear it?"

"Only if you provide yours first, Agent."

"That sounds fair to me. Name's Mobius."

"Wong."

"...That's it?"

"Yes."

"...Bit short, isn't it?"

"It is brief, and to the point. The exact opposite of a Mobius strip, some might say."

"Uh-huh. And would you happen to be one of those 'some'?"

Wong merely continued on, and then moved to the side as the stairs ended. "The Ancient One awaits, Agents."

"Thanks, Wong."

"Do not mention it. Ever."

And with that final remark, Wong departed. Oh well; there were far more interesting things to pay attention to. The view, for one. The Sorcerer Supreme standing in front of it, for another. "Ancient One."

"Agent Mobius. I had hoped it would be you; the timelines where you were the one dispatched were a lower percentage than I would have liked."

"Technically speaking, you shouldn't be able to see those percentages at all."

"Yes; I suppose it must still irk the TVA that Agamotto was able to safeguard his gifts and pass them on."

"You could say that." Mobius smirked, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "But I'm not here about that; I'm here about the Variant Extraction Team that you apparently decided to feed to Dormammu. Again. You know, I did think we'd worked this out the last time."

"And we had, Agent Mobius. For that particular timeline."

"The sacred timeline is the only timeline."

"Not anymore, I'm afraid. The Timekeepers no longer have complete jurisdiction over each and every individual in the universe."

"Impossible. We would've noticed if one had escaped their destiny."

"And sent in a VET, no doubt? Ah, but that's exactly what you did, wasn't it? Well, I do so hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the timeline we're currently in is no longer sacred to the Timekeepers; it is, however, sacred to a great many other people. People that all owe a great deal to someone who doesn't, technically speaking, exist. A traveler from another reality; an entirely different multiverse."

"A different multiverse? But that means…"

"Yes; yes it does. Affairs like these fall under the jurisdiction of One being alone; One above Timekeepers, Eternals, Celestials, and almost all others."

"The Living Tribunal."

"Indeed. And remind me again, just who is it that was entrusted with His Staff?"

"...The Sorcerer Supreme."

"Got it in one." The Ancient One very calmly took a sip from a cup of tea she hadn't been holding a second ago. "So, I'm afraid that until the Tribunal renders his judgement, the TVA need no longer be concerned. Good day, gentlemen."

"I ain't no gentleman." Came the reply from his second-in-command. "And I am very concerned. Mark our words, Sorcerer, the TVA will see that the timeline is…"

"Is what? Put right? Rewritten, expunged, edited and cited with sixteen different sources?"

"I could have you arrested right here and now, witch."

"And I could have you erased from existence right where you stand, Agent. Hospitality rights, remember?"

"There's only one of you;" she sneered. "And there's five of us."

"Correction;" came the reply from the shadows. "There are five of you, and three of us."

Two more Masters stepped into the light; one dark, the other light. And both with the symbol of Dormammu glowing on their foreheads.

Mobius sighed. "Training the next generation, are we?"

"Something like that." smiled the Ancient One. "Perhaps you ought to attend to the same."

"Perhaps indeed. Come on, team; we're going home."

"But sir!"

"That's an order, Agent."

"...Yes, sir."

"I do apologize for the misunderstanding, Ancient One."

"Not at all, Agent Mobius. I understand how impetuous the youth can be. And now, I believe it's time for you to go."

And with a rush of air filling the vacuum left behind, the TVA Agents were gone.

Slowly, Kaecillius relaxed his stance. "Will they be back, Ancient One?"

"Oh almost certainly; but if they are, we shall know it. And be ready."

Loki collapsed as the last thread wound pulled itself taut.

Instantly his mother (no, not his mother, always his mother) was there; holding him close and whispering reassurances in his ear.

All he could do was sob, and hold her tighter.

"Oh my son; I never wished this for you."

He found he could almost believe it.

"Then...why…"

"Because there are forces even above Asgard that demanded events play out as you have just witnessed; forces that erased each and every attempt I made to change Fate."

"The Norns…" he whispered.

"Among others, yes. But there are other forces in play now, my son. Forces that wish to see our ending happen differently. Whether for good or ill, I cannot yet say. But I can at least swear to you this: it will not end as you have seen."

Gritting his teeth, Loki got his sobs under control, and then dried his tears. "...What now?"

"Now? I shall leave it to you. Leave it to you to decide: do you confront Odin? Laufey? Do you tell Thor, Sif, the Warriors Three...or absolutely no one at all? Your Fate is your own, my son; I shall not choose it for you."

"...Then Thor must not know."

"Never?"

"...Maybe."

"Then I shall accept it. What else?"

"...Sikaar. I must go to Sikaar...unnoticed."

"...Ah. I think I can guess why. Taken a fancy to the Valkyrie, did we?"

He found himself smiling. "Just the opposite, Mother. And I think she's just the thing to beat some sense into Thor's head."

Frigga laughed, and held her son closer. "She may very well be, my son. She may very well be."

Tracer blinked...or at least tried to.

"Whaaa…"

And it seemed her tongue wasn't cooperating either.

A blur of blue filled her vision. "Lena! You're awake!"

"Whaaa…"

Winston (it had to be Winston) kept talking. "Water? Did you say water? Angela! Lena wants water!"

Angela. Winston. She must be back at Overwatch HQ.

"Here you go, dear;" the blue blob was replaced with a golden one, "Just a sip, now."

Water hadn't been what she was asking; but it helped her finally get out the right one fully.

"What...happened?"

"Well dear; that's a bit of a long story. Can you move?"

Move? Of course she could move, she was a pro! Not some rookie sat on the bench...with…

"No."

Her legs felt like lead, and her head like fire. In short, she felt miserable.

"Good; if you could, I would have insisted Winsotn dilate time in here even further. Your Chronal Accelerator was damaged, and we're not risking you teleporting and leaving behind all the gear keeping you stable."

"Stable…?"

It all came flooding back.

Reinhardt...oh, Reinhardt…

"...Did we win?"

Angela slowly bowed her head. "...Yes, Lena. But…"

"But Rein...yeah, I know."

Winston seemed to collapse into himself. "Not just Rein, I'm afraid, Lena."

"Then…Brigitte?"

Winston shook his head.

Her next words felt very small indeed. "...Jesse?"

A nod.

The world broke.

Jesse, the Outlaw McCree, the Immortal Cowboy and only member of the Deadlock Gang who ever got out...was gone.

And only one thought played itself on a loop through her mind:

Who's gonna tell Echo?