Come to Pass
Chapter 5: The First 48
*Trigger Warning: Comments of suicidality, angst, emotional pain*
Hour One
He didn't want to move. He didn't think he could. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to again.
Not…not like before. Not after.
He hated this. He hated this so much he wanted to scream it into the world, the air, the vortex of the universe but still he couldn't move. He couldn't unhinge his jaw from speaking any of these words, these lingering words that sparkled and shone in his mind and the words that made up thoughts, all of the thoughts, thoughts he couldn't unleash, thoughts he was trapped in for the rest of time, thoughts he couldn't let go of, thoughts that would never come to be—he was lost, so, so dearly lost and would he ever, would he ever find his way out of this?
To SEE it again?
Was there hope yet for Loki? Or was this the end he was destined to succumb to?
He hated this. He hated it. And for what type of banishment? What purpose had this been done to him? There were no answers here, no answers on this planet. It was infuriating. How was he meant to get better if he couldn't fucking see?
He curled into himself instinctually. Knees coming up to his chest, rocking into a fetal position. He fell over, the voices, if they were really even there in the room, fading into the nothingness that enveloped him so easily, like a long-forgotten friend. He welcomed it for a moment: something nice, something familiar. He let himself feel coddled for a moment before he shut his eyelids with resounding dismay and plunged into the sleep he so desperately sought.
Hour Four
There existed this split second before Loki was awake and before he was out of sleep that the scene lying before him after his eyelids parted would be a mundane room with sunlight streaming in and the lights on full blast producing a warm glow that would penetrate his pale flesh and ignite a fire within him that would threaten to burst but in the most pleasant, most relieving way possible.
And it was only when his lids did part and his eyes blinked and there was only this presence, not of shapes, not of objects, not of things, but of a white-red coloration, a lack of seeing, that made his heart race and his fears plunge over the waterfall of emotion that immediately leaked out of his eye sockets, a desperation crawling up his throat and making him cough with the acid that rose in his stomach and wanted to get out, out, OUT!
He had a moment to catch himself, throwing himself up into a seated position and hoping, he hoped (though he didn't know why he cared), vomiting over the side of the bed and onto the floor.
He heard something slap, liquid into flooring, so it soothed him a little, soothed him to know he'd managed to get it in the right spot.
Of course, maybe that was a part of his imagination though, too.
And how would he avoid his vomit when he needed to get up? How would he know where to place his feet? (Would he ever even be able to find his way upright again?)
The nausea surrounded him again tightly and Loki did everything in his power, his sheer will power, to not let the acidity expunge itself further from his mouth. He swallowed it back down with enough stubbornness to feed a cat and then he flipped over to his other side, refusing to be a part of this situation any further. He rolled, and rolled, and just when he was about to enter a dreamless state again, he must have rolled too far because off the bed he plunged and onto the hard, hard flooring he landed.
This time, it was hard. He might not have fallen onto the ground from a rooftop but this fall from a bed to hard flooring wasn't much better. He groaned and gasped as he lost his breath and he struggled to bring in enough oxygen to feed his system.
He coughed and spluttered; and he set his head down as gently as he could manage. And then, he fell again into unconsciousness. Or at least he tried.
Hour Six
"You managed to fall, didn't you?" came a voice both hardened and yet somehow uplifted.
Loki's eyes were open, staring he hoped, at the ceiling. But he couldn't be sure.
He couldn't be sure of anything these last few hours.
"It appears so." He managed softly, his throat raw and his voice low.
"You gonna get up?" it asked instead, after a small beat in the conversation.
"What for?" Loki growled, contempt filling the rage in his veins.
"No idea, but that's probably the next step, isn't it?"
Loki glanced, he thought, towards the occupant's space.
He tried to pinpoint who was talking but he couldn't be precise.
He mulled it over, then laid his head back down.
"If it isn't the great Tony Stark." He deadpanned without emotion.
But a flicker at the edge of his eyes betrayed his stance.
"Yeah, yeah, Reindeer Games. It's me. But, what are we going to do about you? That's the real question."
"Why do we have to do anything?" Loki wondered aloud.
"You've got information that we need. That's kinda how this works."
"This is not how anything works."
"But you're talking," Tony improvised, shooting him a hand signal until it dawned on him that the demigod wouldn't see it. His skin crawled at the thought.
Loki continued, missing nothing from this lack of body language encoded into his brain, "You're right. I shouldn't be."
He trapped his lips tightly together, no matter how much he craved to continue speaking into the void, he knew that he couldn't, shouldn't and that this was it.
This was it for the rest of his life.
So he didn't sleep, exactly, but he closed his eyes because they were now useless to him anyways. And he rested, in between this layer of sleep and layer of wakefulness. And when it ended and he drifted off again, he hoped the world he'd see on the other side would be worth it.
But somehow, he doubted it.
Hour Nine
WHAM!
There was a sudden and assaulting clatter of sound that met his ears so fast and so irrevocably without warning that the demigod immediately jumped, yelped and sat up as straight as possible, shoulders still scrunched together from a haggard rest on a rough flooring, and he looked around wildly, even with his limited vision, to find the source of the noise and the courage to stop shaking in his boots.
There was a soft and interested huff that met his ears next and Loki couldn't help but quirk a brow in thought, as the rest of his hairs drew together in confusion. He pursed his lips, clamping shut his chattering teeth and looked about unimpressed, eyes beginning to narrow.
"Was that on purpose?" he hissed suddenly and lowly, his breath still shaky and his hands gripping the floor so well it was as though he'd become a spider with suction cups on his feet.
Another satisfied grunt echoed into the room and he worked his jaw sideways to quell his rage.
"You are still dealing with a god, you know," Loki tried to sound casual but it came out so forced and so light that he shook his own head in distaste.
"And how's that working out for you?" Stark remarked, brow raised as well and head tilting to the side.
Instead of waiting for another fiery match in the argument, he said instead, "I brought you something to eat. I was think—"
"I'm not hungry."
It was his immediate reply and so thickly a lie, while his own stomach growled in protest, he still couldn't imagine the thought of passing food between his lips (how would he?) and the notion of such meals retained to provide his body fuel was so absurd and so disgusting he could have vomited again right then and there.
"—Mmm, I kinda doubt that." Tony sighed and glanced over at the vomit on the flooring and shrugged. "Obviously you ate before but you haven't ate here yet." He piped up with a pointed finger. "Besides, I was thinking," he emphasized again, waiting a moment to see if the god would interrupt and when he didn't, he continued, "we get you something to eat, we take a minute to be civil and polite, you tell us what you know and then you can get back to the…whatever it is you're doing."
"Do you think this is a game?" Loki shouted, pain warring across his facial features. "Do you think that I asked for this? Do you think that I care that your planet may be at risk because of the actions I have been forced to take upon them in the past?" He groaned and growled beneath his breath, his hands streaking over his face. "I can't fucking see! This, this isn't—" He flew his hands around, wrists crumbling into either the bed or the dresser or who knows what else, "—some fluke or one momentary occurrence. I can't see and I can't just get over it that quickly. I-I may never see again and you think something as simple and mundane as eating food would be something I'd give three fucks about right now? This, this isn't a moment of the sun not coming through the clouds, I can't see, I'm hur—" He dropped his line of thought.
Too much, too vulnerable, all at once.
He bit his lip and stared off blankly.
It was a few minutes before the conversation was picked up again. The pain and the hurt and the anger still tossing hoops back and forth in his chest as his heart beat faster and his lungs drew in much needed air. He wanted to just hyperventilate if he could and toss himself back into sleep, but it wasn't looking like any of that would happen any time soon.
"You need to breathe," was the statement, the whisper, that met his ears instead.
He felt so flabbergasted and ignited that he laughed bitterly.
"I need to die."
He surprised himself uttering such words.
Too vulnerable, too much…
"…Then I guess we're at an impasse." It was definitely whispered this time.
Loki blinked in sudden wonder, his face falling like three avalanches down a mountain simultaneously. Pain encircled his cloudy eyes and for a moment… for a moment he truly felt it: tough, strong and all-encompassing. It was something between finding liberation feeling it for just a moment and suffocating all at once, but he heard something maneuver in the room and he tried to bring his attention back to what was currently happening around him.
"I'll give you a minute."
It was everything and nothing that the demigod wanted to hear.
His eyes produced tears and his mouth remained clamped shut.
Of course, wouldn't the universe always hate him?
Too vulnerable, he thought. Too much. He was always too much for others to deal with, too much of a burden and too much of a low-life, a nothingness, a wimp, never a prince, never worth bothering or rifling him from his books or taken upon the next latest adventure. He shot down the counter thought that this wasn't always the case because he wanted to feel it: he wanted to feel his hurt and his pain and his anger and his worry. He wanted to just feel it to let it go, but it always still lingered, and it never, ever left him. He'd thought when he'd fallen off the Bifrost that he'd been able to let it go then, too, but apparently he hadn't. It always found its way back to him. He was so sick of it. He was so sick of people not knowing what to do with him and how to handle him and now he was sick of the fact that he couldn't see the disappointment he knew was in their eyes or the way they rolled their eyes about his constantly needing to prove himself and prove his worth. He hated that he'd be unable to see all of this judgment again, all of this hurt, because without his sight, without his ability to use his own eyes to observe the situation in front of him, he wouldn't be able to mask or better control his own pain and his own emotion from licking up his face. And if he couldn't hide behind his pain and a mask that was becoming of him, than what was he? Who was he at the end of the day? At the start of it?
These questions, these thoughts, these insecurities, they… they were all too much.
Too much, too soon.
The room was silent despite the war in his mind. He didn't sleep again but he just sat there: shell-shocked, frozen, paralyzed.
Like he'd always been.
Like he always would be.
Hour Eleven
"You're still there?"
The trickster couldn't see it, but it was Tony poking his head from around the doorway again, finding the demigod in the same seated and crumpled position he'd left him in two hours before.
"Where else would I go?" came the softest reply and Tony realized the demigod probably didn't have it in him anymore to argue or protest. He wondered if that would bode well for him and Steve.
"True," Tony clucked his tongue. "Do you feel any differently?"
"I still can't see."
"Sooooo, no, got that." Tony clapped his hands together, reminding himself to be less of a dick when the demigod cringed automatically. "So, here's what we could do. We could," he shimmied back and forth from the space in between them, "get you up and out of this room and around other parts of the Tower, work on that communication stuff and also get you something to…keep your…mind busy, I don't know, this was Steve's idea as an approach."
"What's the point?" Loki mumbled and Tony took his time to not audibly sigh.
"We gotta get you out of this slump," Tony said, likely insensitively, and he fought internally with himself to be more caring and more nurturing rather than as much of an asshole he was almost afraid he was being. Almost.
This was still the guy who fucked up New York, after all. Should he really be that caring and nice to an intergalactic terrorist?
"This is not something you just get over." Loki moaned, stifling a small yawn.
He'd grown tired again, sitting here for apparent hours, and he craved the chance to just rest again. Maybe if he could just rest for days, he could get his energy back up. It was a thought, at least.
A thought that didn't exhaust him at the moment when everything else seemingly was.
Tony opened his mouth, then shut it. He took a moment not to just stare at the demigod before him but really look at him and see him. He felt his heart ache a little more than normal as he so clearly could see the pain etched into those features. The guy who had fucked up New York: apparently not alone in the effort and with yet another someone out for his blood, a war occurring on his planet, his brother nowhere in sight, then blinded by his father then banished to the realm that he tried to take over after a previously failed war, it… it was a lot. A lot more than Tony would even reasonably be able to handle, so, okay, so maybe he had to cut the demigod some slack. It wasn't the most compassionate Tony had been lately but he felt the humanity within him tugging at his heart strings so instead of a rough and callous approach he sighed and said, "Yeah, I mean, this really sucks for you right now."
He could see the way the demigod's skin blistered at the callousness they immediately interpreted in Tony's words so the billionaire continued.
"I genuinely mean that," Tony clarified, hands twitching at his sides. "I…I don't think…" He trailed off, eyes falling downcast. "I don't know what I'd be doing in your position right now. This isn't something you asked for. It's… it's maybe not even something you deserve." He swallowed. "But you're in it now, and… and life goes on. As awful as that sounds. Life goes on. We still have a war happening on your planet, your brother is nowhere in sight and you're, you're blind now. And Steve and I need more information about what you know and the entire world may be at stake here, if not the galaxy and it's hard. It's really, really hard."
He let out a long breath.
"We need you, though." Blurry vision cast upon the silent demigod. "We still need you here. So, so please fight. Please fight because we're in a really weird situation right now that we need your help and you're the only one around who can give it. What—what can I do to help you?"
Tony experienced a moment of fear when the trickster didn't flinch, didn't move, didn't even dare to breathe it seemed, and he realized, suddenly and all at once and it made him breathless—maybe the demigod wasn't all the way here, either. While it was great, and necessary, for Tony to have his heartfelt moment, he realized then that maybe the god wasn't ready for it yet.
He was… he was for all intents and purposes still grieving and maybe Loki grieved in the way that he couldn't take in any new information because he didn't look as appreciative or gracious now than when before Tony was being an ass.
That made Tony feel like shit, it really did, but he also had a moment where he accepted this. What was happening in this situation was happening and maybe he needed to be a bit fairer in relation to it.
So, he took a deep breath and, on his way, out the door he said over his shoulder, "I'll give you some more time."
Hour Twenty
When Loki managed to open his eyes again, he was almost tricked into thinking he hadn't even opened them.
Instead of that red-white coloration, he saw instead a...
It took him a few minutes to decipher the color. It was almost a mild panic that entered his nervous system at the time, however, he was so exhausted from his emotions that he couldn't even put up much of a fight. So, the panic just waffled in getting stuck in his throat while the rest of him felt so tired, so, so tired and burnt out.
He realized, then, that it was more of a blue-black color.
His mind immediately thought of the stars he'd gazed upon in a garden in Asgard. Or the way he'd look up from the nest of his book and the powerful strokes of candlelight and just manage to glance out the window into a perfect view of the night sky and be somehow comforted and seen in that darkness. Maybe it was something to do with the darkness he felt inside being mirrored in the world around him, it gave him comfort and it gave him love and, in many ways, it gave him life. Life where otherwise he didn't feel it, love where otherwise he couldn't seek it, and hope where otherwise he couldn't ever dream of it.
The pang of guilt and intense pain made his eyes water as in the moment he felt, quite literally blindly, on the floor around him.
Where was he? Who was he? Where had everyone gone and what had happened to the world around him?
"Good morning," a voice resounded in the room and Loki stilled immediately in his efforts.
"Wh—Who's there?" he asked softly, and the reply came back swiftly.
"My apologies, Mr. Laufeyson, I have failed to introduce myself. I am Jarvis, Mr. Stark's artificial intelligence and security system, amongst other things. I am built into Mr. Stark's tower as well as his equipment. I observe everything that happens." The voice sounded smooth and almost chipper.
Loki could feel his skin crawl in anxiety.
"Observe…" he muttered quietly. "Artificial intelligence, you said?"
"Indeed, sir." Jarvis replied. "I do not have a body per se, but I do watch over all the other bodies that exist."
"That's… fairly odd." Loki mentioned in amusement, a pleasant emotion he hadn't felt in days and of which greatly surprised even himself for existing.
"I do suppose it is," Jarvis mused. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
Loki shifted his gaze, biting his bottom lip.
"What time is it?"
"It is currently 2:30am."
Loki frowned. "How long have I been asleep?"
Jarvis hummed to himself, "Well according to my radar, it appears to my sensors that you were in and out of sleep for the last several hours. It is currently nighttime, and the lights are all off."
"So, I'm… alone in the dark?" Loki asked to clarify, because an idea was forming in his mind that he couldn't help but feel exhilarated and excited about.
"Why yes, Mr. Laufeyson."
"Good," Loki uttered then sighed briefly. "I have to urinate." He figured he didn't exactly need pleasantries in conversation to talk to a machine. "Where is the nearest bathroom?"
He didn't mention to the AI how exactly he was going to manage to get to that location, but he was hopeful this Jarvis wouldn't ask.
"Would you like me to alert either Mr. Stark or Mr. Rogers to help in this instance?"
Loki rolled his eyes, apparently that hope was misplaced.
"No," he said sternly. "I don't require their help." He mulled over his words. "But I could use yours."
"Of course, Mr. Laufeyson."
A silence fell over the two occupants.
Loki sighed heavily and tried to right himself in the world.
"Where am I positioned? What's around me?" He moved his head back and forth, but he was still so blind and so unable to see that it only made him dizzy and his head spun momentarily.
He felt queasy for a moment but swallowed it back down as best as he could. Between blinks he heard the AI detail, "Mr. Laufeyson, there is a bed to your right and a bureau to your left. Would you like to know the dimensions of these items?"
Loki blinked and then nodded, more information couldn't hurt, right?
"Very well, the bureau is five feet by four feet and the bed is a twin bed."
"What the fuck is a twin—never mind, go on," Loki spat out in a hushed tone.
"The dimensions of the twin bed is generally three feet by six feet. The comforter of the bed is stretched halfway down to the floor, wrapping around your feet. If you do begin to get up I can likely guide you to the restroom. It would be easier with help, but," Jarvis paused, "It can be done." He seemed to recognize that Loki wasn't in the mood for help, not… not yet upon his journey. Sometimes you have to meet people where they're at.
"Very well," Loki obliged in turn. He sucked in a long breath, held it and let it putter out his parted lips. He could do this. Right? He could?
With trepidation upon his brow he began, regardless, to untangle the mess of his lower limbs from the comforter, wrapped cleanly around the heavy down and sometimes smacking his appendages into the two bulky items nearest his body.
Eventually, about eighteen new bruises later, Loki was up on his feet and standing there shaking lightly and already exhausted for the endeavor's actions.
"Where now?" He asked quietly, shifting his position from right to left and back again. "What am I facing here?" He followed up with, standing still in one direction.
"You are now facing the wall from which the bed is set against. You will need to turn left three feet to face towards the opening of the door. The bureau will be by your immediate left and a few chairs and small table will be found thereafter." Jarvis paused. "Would you like more or less descriptions for your current location or is this suitable enough for you to move forwards?"
Loki smiled for the smallest flicker of a moment. "You are very considerate, Jarvis. I …. do appreciate it." He nodded stiffly then ventured with an unsteady foot into the abyss before him. Uncertainty clung to his neck as he managed one additional footfall before the anxiety felt too crushing to ignore. "Where am I now?"
"You are standing in front of the bureau. The bed is to the bottom back right of you. There is a chair two feet in front of you plus an additional chair alongside it to one foot of its left. There is a small square table to the left of the second chair. The doorway is now ten feet away."
Loki let out a whoosh of a breath. "By the Norns." This felt like too hefty of a mission to reasonably complete. He wondered for a second if urinating in his pants would just be easier. He adjusted a grim smile on his face because he genuinely found himself considering this—as if it were an option for him and something clearly reasonable and fair.
Still, he treasured his clothing more than his need to release the fluid his body produces so instead he found himself retreating inwards, gradually bearing his arms across each other, and settling into another small fetal position. He was on the floor again, almost incapable of hearing the AI around him, before he felt shut in and shut down, the toll of the truth and the hard-hitting weight of it smacking him so clearly in the face that all he could do to manage it was not be a part of it.
And so, he spent the next little while doing just that.
Hour Twenty-Two
Loki couldn't be sure if he had ever even closed his eyes or not but he found the room still concealed in as much of the blue-black tenacious coloration as he had once left it.
"Jarvis," he whispered, voice as confident as a leaf in the wind. "What time is it now?"
Jarvis replied back swiftly, "It is now 4:28am. Would you like to resume your journey to the restroom?"
Loki's eyes narrowed and he nodded. He tried to put as much resolve and determination into his cloudy eyes as he could manage. He'd get this right. He'd get it done and it would prove to himself that he didn't need help, he didn't require the weak attempts from mere mortals and he could manage his life just like he had always done before (even if, he thought, he'd barely ever even done that).
He rose then with bold strength in his posture. Jarvis helped him to inch his way, one faltering step at a time to the doorway. He'd managed to do so better than he could have expected and he was about to trail a hand down the side of the wall when he froze mid-raise.
"Where is the wall?" His hand shook lightly and he cursed himself for it. He hated the state he was abandoned into—afraid to move and afraid to not. Afraid he'd bump into something he could never see again. Afraid of a bruise or a mark or the being found out by the mortals and having to rely on them and their supports for the rest of his blind life…
He bit his lip, hard, and his arm didn't stop from shaking. He had to listen carefully to hear the AI's response.
"You are in the middle of the doorway; the door opens to your right. From where your hand is currently positioned you are about to hit it against the wall. Move instead three quarters of an inch and you will graze it with your fingers. The hallway begins one foot in front of you. The nearest restroom is located about twenty steps away if you follow it going towards your left. I can also place on the lights if this will help you."
Loki swallowed back the rising panic in his chest. He lowered his eyes in his perpetual darkness and asked softly, "Would the mortals see it?"
So afraid of the judgment he would no longer see, he wanted to be assured that more witnesses to his pain and demise would no longer exist.
Jarvis offered kindly, as though sensing this, "No, sir. They are on another floor."
Loki's brow quirked in interest. "How far of a floor? How many floors are there? How long is this one comparatively?"
Jarvis allowed a small beat in the conversation for reasons Loki couldn't reasonably comprehend in the moment, once again plastered into darkness thinking that the only being who he was willing to be helped by and could be his eyes had somehow just abandoned him too like another runt that was always unwanted, unneeded, and unworthy until he heard the AI speak again in a carefully measured tone.
"That is a level of questioning I cannot reasonably make without the input of Mr. Stark. However, I can say that there are many floors within this tower and the current Avengers are located within two floors of this one. If we should need help from them, they are only a brief contact away." Loki could feel Jarvis assessing him for another moment in silence. "This current floor is, by my current assessment of your footfalls approximately made up of six hundred and fifty steps. Traditionally it is composed of one thousand square feet. Does this help in your assessment?"
The demigod dropped his head, bickering back, "Not particularly. However, I am thankful for your instruction. Shall we carry on?" He raised his hand as carefully within the space around him as he could manage and began his unsteady steps forwards and to his left.
Soon, the warm lighting returned to his senses, a bit blinding as they were to go from such blue-black darkness to a wash of red white. He blinked rapidly a few times and felt a small pang of pain at his head before he was continuing to trail slender fingers against the wall, the imperfections within the material providing enough interest to the demigod that kept his focus and attention as present in the now as possible. He hummed to himself in an effort to self-soothe, barely recognizing he was doing so until the wall upon which his hand was guiding against slipped into a corner and met nothingness.
"What happened?" He was immediately questioning at the same time that the AI was affirming, "You have now reached your destination, Mr. Laufeyson."
While the triumph of his endeavor began to rise in his chest, he felt the dread wash over him as he immediately cringed and thought, How the Hel am I going to undress myself?
He let out a long hiss, he'd been so consumed with the mission of just getting to the damn bathroom that he hadn't even begun to face the anxiety that would come out of having to half undress himself and get the deed he'd come for done.
He felt a sudden cold chill run down his back. Where could he go from here? It felt too daunting to move all the way back to his designated bedroom when he was close, so close, to finishing what he had already started. It also wasn't conceivable or possible for him to curl into a tight ball right here—not, not so out in the open and terribly vulnerable. He clenched his teeth, swallowed hard and resolved resolutely: No, I've come this far, I will not fail this time.
"Is the door open or closed?" He was asking of the AI to which the machine replied, "Open, Mr. Laufeyson."
Conviction, this time, in his grasp, he attempted to confidently stride forwards, and he was doing a good job of it, before he smacked a toed foot into the next wall before him.
Crying out in surprise he could hear the voiceover in the distance, "You have walked into the adjacent wall. You will need to take one step back and move towards your right then enter the restroom, wait for my instruction and close the door. Would you like…guidance in the restroom itself?"
Loki smiled sadly, recognizing his aversion towards help was so palpable even by a machine that it felt it important and necessary to bend towards what would make him comfortable. He couldn't help but feel a cacophony of warmth transcend him for a moment and he tried to make it linger in his soul for as long as possible, but he wasn't so sure he managed to.
Once he did manage to correct his path and land himself, he hoped, closer to the bathroom, the white light around him set as a prominent glow it made his head hurt, he asked for a description of the room, something to guide himself further than his mind's assumptions of what the area may look like (and be grossly wrong again and then feel the shame and embarrassment lick up his wounds like he were an animal). He couldn't stop or prevent his mind from racing into thirty other directions and he found himself biting back another yawn and the sheer enormity of exhaustion that laid upon his shoulders like he was carrying the world thrice over again when he managed to catch the AI repeating to him, having been talking for who knows how long:
"Mr. Laufeyson? Mr. Laufeyson?"
The smallest smile formed in compassion. "Yes, Jarvis?" The demigod was imploring.
"My apologies, Mr. Laufeyson, it appears to my radar that you didn't take in my instructions. Would you like me to repeat them?"
The machine was ever so polite and it melted Loki's iced heart a little more than it should have.
"Yes," he whispered out and the machine hummed its ascension.
"Very well, sir, as I was explaining the restroom is set up in the following way: you are still standing half a foot from the doorway. To your closest right is the toilet, twelve steps ahead to the left is the shower with a wide tub. To the left of the toilet is a small, three foot tall trash bin. To the left of the bin is the sink and corresponding countertop. There is a small rack of towels residing one foot above the toilet standing to be approximately two and a half feet tall. There is a mirror ascending the sink and countertop, roughly four feet by two feet. The sink itself has two knobs, the left for hot water and the right for cold water. There is a mat lying in front of the entrance to the shower, which resides about six steps away from your current position. The light switch for the restroom is on the wall two inches above where your right hand is currently and the light is off, for now. The toilet paper dispenser is to the wall at your right, one foot down from a standing position. There is a wind—"
Loki sighed and shook his head in a new blossoming shame: he was already re-entering information overload mode with no end in sight. He wondered if he'd ever be back to his prime or what that would look like for him now? He chuckled with deeply sowed bitterness—if only he could even live to see that happen.
The amount of eye puns made him laugh suddenly in mirth, something akin to lightness breaking through his shell and sparkling against his internal glass shards.
He found his hand (blindly tapping to the general degree of fucking everywhere—he couldn't see, remember?) on the wall to his right before fingers lodged into the switch that he was so proud to have finally captured when he heard a painfully amused Jarvis utter, "My apologies, Mr. Laufeyson, the lights are actually motion censored," and Loki was rolling what was left of the function of his eyes and saying, "Of fucking course they are."
He swallowed his question as to why they hadn't come on until he was shuffling forwards and that slap of red-white color assaulted his vision—enough so that he temporarily lost control or awareness of the placement of his feet, which was of course yet another reminder to when he just walked himself off a roof, had enough time to mutter a soft "Oh" then crumpled onto his boney knees, smashed his elbows into cold bathroom flooring, banged his head on the side of—something—what exactly he didn't particularly care, and landed, as the tragic mess he was, on the floor without another audible syllable.
….It was a moment or two before he understood Jarvis' grumbles through the haze that was his consciousness:
"Mr. Laufeyson? Mr. Laufeyson? Should I call for help now?"
Loki pursed his lips.
"No. Just call for my funeral."
"I'm afraid I don't have that power, sir."
"Neither do I. But I'm better off dead. Wake me in an hour," he added dryly.
Jarvis was protesting, he was certain of it, but the trickster had already decided: now was a good time for a nap.
Hour Twenty-Four
"What—exac—happ—?"
A disembodied gruff voice said that Loki didn't particularly wish to wake up to.
"Is—o—?"
He's not sure why he did it, not sure if it was just the reflex of having done it hundreds of years in the making, but he opened his eyes and he almost, almost wished and prayed he'd see something other than those mix of colors, but when he didn't, he felt himself crack further, a deeper shard breaking in his chest with such a sharp point, Loki couldn't figure out why it wouldn't tear him apart. How he yearned for that…
Someone was speaking to him, maybe looking at him, Loki would never know again and with that pang of guilt and dread and worry and pain, so much pain, Loki nudged his head a little to the side, which hurt, and he felt something on his shoulder—was it blood? A hand? A presence? … Thor?—and a voice say to him, hot breath on his face,
"Are you okay?"
"Peachy."
It was such a classic, sarcastic flippancy that was so very Loki that he managed a grin right after it.
He probably looked more than a little deranged.
He decided he didn't care.
"What happened?"
Calm, cool and collected: the Captain, then.
Ever to the point, ever so business-like.
"I had to…piss," he started off strong but the weakness that marred his soul broke him at the end. He felt so helpless, then. So, seen. And it wasn't like he could see back, that, it seemed, was the worst of it all.
"About that…" the Man of Iron suggested and Loki's face immediately paled.
He closed his eyes, sent a prayer to the gods above him—and very nearly cracked his skull again, but this was different—a different source of pain, a different source of happenings. True, he'd wanted to whack himself out of consciousness again, but he hadn't managed that far, it was just this quick flash in his mind's eye, until this other pain began, this other pain collided behind his eyes. He scrunched up his face almost automatically, his features contorting in the resulting onslaught, and he cringed and cried and begged, please, please let it end.
He wasn't sure if he spoke it. He hoped he did and prayed he didn't. It was all just too much.
He couldn't hear them beyond him or around him or near him. It's like no one and no thing was there at all. The pain was white-hot, but his vision only showed darkness. It was like Asgard had split into many little pieces and that explosion and destruction was hidden behind his eyes, deep within his skull. He gasped for breath, he could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and he had—at some point—he had his palms pressing into his sockets, the useless things they were now, and still it raged, still it came, still it fired.
All there was, was pain.
And wasn't that ever so fitting?
Hour Twenty-Seven
He noticed the difference in the material his back was pressed against first. He must have still been in the bathroom before, and the memory of that came swiftly for which he was momentarily grateful, until he also remembered that pain, that fiery hot pain of acidity and depth that made his organs flip inside out—was gone. He breathed a deep sigh of relief and recognized that he must be on a bed again.
He fiddled a finger or two up in the air and felt a cool atmosphere greeted them. He also recognized a new material upon his flesh which he also felt momentarily grateful for—maybe he'd turned over a new leaf with all these moments of gratitude (at least he wasn't in his own filth much longer)—and the room was a duller white-red. He wondered if the lights were either dim or the sun was gone behind the clouds.
"What time is it?"
He meant for it to stay a thought, but it expunged itself too easily from his lips.
"The time is 9:46am."
"Thank you, Jarvis."
A pleasantry, a formality even, and an assured reply back made the banished prince feel pride.
Maybe pleasantries were also the new additions to the end of Loki's tragedy.
A small silence apart from peaceful breathing that Loki should have picked up on, except he was too consumed with turning over the rocks of several thoughts in his mind, made it so that the utterance of another, novel phrase caused him to jerk back suddenly, full bodily, as though he'd just been burned—
"We got you clean clothes."
"Of Helheim!" He screeched, perhaps too over the top, and shifted his head to the direction from which it came.
"…you hit your head pretty good. Should be just a bump for a while though, but you'll have to be more careful."
The tone was rigid and didn't leave much room for interpretation.
Loki wondered why he still cared.
"Unless I just die and save everybody the trouble." He grumbled out in a hissed whisper that he hoped no one noticed.
A silence followed and it made Loki's skin feel hot. Were they going to take up his bait? Say anything? Protest? Make a fuss?
He could just imagine—could only imagine—the way Thor's face would have fallen, the dejected blue eyes, the force of a hug.
Loki didn't realize he was crying until the tears were trickling down his face.
"Please, just, just leave me."
He'd thought he'd already mourned, but it turns out it was only just beginning.
Some things were only just beginning.
Hour Thirty-Seven
"Time, Jarvis?"
He pushed down the question as to why he had bothered to ask. The color of the room had shifted again, as it had much of the day, the day that Loki had spent hours just crying, whimpering, shaking, sleeping, avoiding.
"It's currently 4:28p."
Good.
The day was almost done.
He could now look forward to a sleepless night, unable to bathe himself, never wanting to eat again, darkness as his new friend and everything in the universe just sitting propped up on the side of his shoulder.
Great.
This was going to be fun.
He'd shifted to his side, a little more careful this time than to fall upon the floor again, but with hands in foreign clothes armpits and fingers curled in tight. He was shaking again, he noticed it faintly, as much as he noticed the breath passing through his open mouth, the snot to which his last crying spell was dripping into his pillow (he could feel it beneath his cheek), over and over again. He wished he couldn't feel it. Couldn't hear it. Couldn't see it…. Well, the Allfather had granted that final wish.
He slapped his eyelids shut again.
He coughed. He spluttered. He dreamed of death. And still, he asked Jarvis what time it was, and he prayed, foolishly, that the mortals weren't within earshot to see his downfall. And he cried. He mourned.
This was a time of mourning.
Hour Forty-Five
"Come to the kitchen with us."
Stark, this time.
"Why?" he croaked, voice hoarse from all that he'd been through already.
"Because you've been in bed for a consecutive twelve plus hours. You need to move around again. Get up, get lively, eat something." A pause. Maybe a moment of body language Loki failed to pick up on. "You've been in this room all day. You need a change of scenery—"
"Not that I'd even notice," he grumbled immediately but something in his chest clung to this conversation ever so much.
"—there's a life beyond this room. And… we need answers."
"I don't have time for questions."
"What do you have time for?"
Loki's eyes roamed, or maybe they stayed in one spot, he wasn't sure anymore. He shrugged noncommittally. "The bed." He huffed. "More time in bed."
"How about not right now, Jarvis can chat with you and we get you up to the kitchen? You can come back to bed later."
It wasn't supposed to sound as appealing as it did but the inventor was so, so relieved when Loki's face lit up with interest and he was sitting up in the bed.
Loki shifted his eyes back and forth.
"How will I speak to Jarvis?"
Tony immediately knew what the demigod meant, which he thought to himself was impressive since he didn't know he could interpret alien as well as he had previously considered. "I'll give you a headset. You'll have some privacy that way."
The way the demigod's face lit up at that, that such a small thing (although, Tony always knew Jarvis was pretty great) could do so much for a lost soul broke him a little more inside and also made him endlessly grateful and gracious to his AI. Something he had created to feel less alone by was helping someone else who, he didn't think he'd already be feeling more compassion towards, but the world was weird and so he was just rolling with it. It was better than fighting it all the damn time. Some fights, it seemed, weren't worth the trouble.
Was the way they got Loki to the kitchen the most clunkiest of things? Absolutely. It was a lot of hands on, hands off, tripping, swearing, one-sided conversation where Loki was doing much of the questioning (to which Tony made an important mental note of to ask Jarvis for that transcript later), though to be fair to the god it was pretty benign, and a lot of downplaying, deadpanning and one or two occasional suicidal comments before he, his AI and Loki himself managed to get to the kitchen.
The demigod had, maybe to only a smidge of surprise from the billionaire, stopped at the corner of the room, before they were able to meet tile from rug, to take a breather.
A rest, as the trickster had put it.
Energy must be low, Tony concluded, though was it much of an astute observation as he had hoped for himself? No. But some things just weren't.
"You can let me go now," Loki was saying, albeit pleasantly which was better than the growl he had emitted earlier in the exchange when Tony had wrapped an arm around his waist. They didn't say Tony was a fast learner for nothing.
"Okay," Tony remarked, and Steve stood at the other end of the room, by the table with a chair already pulled out.
Tony gave the Avenger a brief thumbs up that he felt only marginally embarrassed for because he still managed to forget that Loki couldn't 'see' anything. (They hadn't really tested how much that meant just yet.)
The inventor was waiting with strongly held breath as he watched the demigod, still wobbly and uncertain (which was strange to see for the god) cross the kitchen with the effort of a mammoth and the pace of a snail and get to the chair for which he lowered himself very, very carefully into.
It would have been miraculous if it wasn't for the fact Tony knew his AI and the trickster had gotten very friendly, almost borderline flirty, with each other in the time that he had tried to mangle himself some sleep.
He'd have to keep an eye on it for sure.
At that point, held breaths were relinquished and Loki was saying softly, "Thank you, Jarvis, goodbye," as he placed the headset onto the table closest to him—which was particularly mildly amusing because there was a bowl of oatmeal near him so he kinda clanged into that, momentarily forgetting or not at all realizing it was there. As another breath of air was gulped down, Tony approached, arms strewn over the tabletop:
"How bad is it? Can you see this?" He immediately followed up with, fingers slapping into the farthest reach of air towards his right.
A/N: Hi, hi, well, hello there! I'm pretty sure this is the story that's being updated that maybe only one person asked for—but it's the story that I AM updating and I'm so happy, excited, emotional and ready for that! This chapter took forever to come by, let alone the state of any of my other stories! Gosh, life can be SUCH a bitch.
For anyone who reads my other stories like: CeC, S, ALU, D&D, TWBtE etc. you'll know for sure it's been a very, very long time since I've updated anything!
I mean, last spring in 2021 is when I had a part of ALU become true for my life which freaked me out for a good while. Then in Sep. 2021, someone close to me almost completed suicide so that made parts of D&D come true and that was also terrifying. At the end of Oct 2021 I began a new (and my current) job and that's been going really well overall lately, though the unit is gonna be really tough for a while now because of who we have in it for the moment (gwah). I was with my partner for a few months until they went off to treatment and the person I knew who almost took their own life started attempting again. And then in Mar 2022 my partner became my ex and that turned my life upside down.
So, it's been a lot. My perfectionism has been slowly taking over every aspect of my life and beyond all the life changes, I've been working on Youtube videos and reading books here and there and keeping up with my blog a bit more and working on Instagram. It's been soooo much juggling. For a while, I had no writing ideas or vibes and even if I did, I was so behind in all my stories that the notion of rereading the entire piece was just too daunting and something I kept avoiding.
I could genuinely go on, and on, and on but I'll settle that for now.
I currently have this story's update here, I present it to you on a platter of delicious cake, and I'm also working on S and D&D. After that, I'll be working on CeC and ALU. I'm hoping to have another update for a story by early summer. Also, my new job has been where a lot more of my creative writing has gone into so that's interesting hahaha. (I'm working at an adult psychiatric hospital setting). SO, that is that. I think I still have some reviews on FFN I lost for a while so I'll be continuing to work on answering more of my socials messages.
If you have ANY math help for all the dimensions I talked about in this story PLEASE let me know in a review! I seriously CANNOT math anymore and it was such mind-boggling work trying to figure all that out hahaha. (Thanks to my friend Mike for trying to help with the square feet info!)
Lastly: I did much of the rest of the work for this chapter at the end of April 2022 and IT WAS SUCH A BLAST. The evil laughter I had to myself, on a bench in a public park outside a library was soooo fantastic and genuinely made me SO HAPPY. At the part where Loki is tapping his fingers on the wall to find the light switch—I was doing that in real life, trying to find the right word to describe that depiction. And then with all the new plot twists for how the scene would go (originally he was supposed to manage to piss on his own, with Jarvis' help) came rushing in on me, I definitely felt that amazing, evil wielding power of being The Writer hahaha.
There's also just so much emotion in this chapter and it's fitting and sad and painful, so, make sure you take care of yourself extra good after reading it, okay? XXX
Final PS: does anyone have ideas for what Loki and Jarvis were talking about privately? I'd love to explore that in a future chapter. I think it was pretty benign overall, nothing too warning signal spraying, rather just how Jarvis was made and technological information and such. Let me know in a review!
Thank you so much, endlessly, for all the nudges, the patience, the worry, the love and everything regarding not just THIS story but all my others. All of your comments always help to push me in the right direction and I so, so, so appreciate it. Until the next one! Follow my socials if you want to stay up to date with me 😊 xxx
Written dates: 7.5.2021, 7.10-7.11, 7.15, 7.17-7.18.2021; 4.30.2022
A/N Written: 5.2.22
Editing: 7.10-7.11.21, 4.29.22, 4.30.22, 5.2.22
Music: Goodbye I'm Sorry by Jamestown Story; Hold On by Chord Overstreet, Crash by Sum 41, Visiting Hours by Ed Sheeran, Wrecked by Imagine Dragons
