Author's Note: Summary of the last few weeks for me: talking with people sounds like an okay idea. Me two seconds later: I have now, remembered why it is that I am socially distant and hold myself an arms length from everyone. Ugh.
That aside, thank you so much for your support guys! Really, your feedback has meant the world for me, especially those of you who have been here from the start for the long-haul. Thank you so much. :)
Warnings: implied/referenced torture, angst
"I couldn't even explain to you how good it feels to look up across the room and see you standing there."
-Unkonwn.
Chapter Eleven:
There's nothing until there isn't.
There is no ball of light that magically accumulates and then delivers them a message on where to go. No sudden memory leak for them to play from. No answers from an inside source, no matter how much they want there to be.
It's the better part of five days before direction comes to them at last, and it's in the form of a shoddy communication by someone that Pietro and Wanda refer to as "Tony."
Which Loki is pretty sure belongs to an Avenger.
The device-laptop, Wanda's said it's called-is sitting on the table before all three of them, screen open and message ready to be played. A key to everything, or another disappointment. Loki can't get himself to move, standing still and stiff. Wanda looks almost frantic, pale and white, Pietro taut beside her.
So they remain there.
Motionless. Wordless.
Pietro finally submits, tightlipped, and leans forward to push the button. The message begins to play. There's no video, only audio. It's filled with static, and a weird background noise that Loki can't place that sounds like scratching. It takes a second before any words register, but even then, it's spacy. "...okay...odds weren't great...we've...contact with Asgard...okay." A pause, more static, a screech, "Foster helped...still unhappy with...Thanos"-Loki stiffens at the name. He feels sick, but angry, and disgusted when he realizes there's also longing in his stomach-"Stone...reality. Find Stephen Strange...one-four. Protect him. We, uh, think...sister."
A new voice, still male, "Don't do...stupid, we'll get..."
Then a female one, "We're on Asgard...while...should...operation. Strange will...you'll be fine."
The first voice comes back, "We'll check in...few days. Thor says…"
That's it. No other words, no static, nothing. It cuts out like it wasn't intentional, and Loki clenches his fingers into his upper arms, and tries not to give into the wave of irritation eating at him.
He backtracks through the words, mentally assessing them, trying to fill in blanks where words should go, guessing at what was actually said. He looks at the siblings, waiting for them to say something first. Half of it didn't make sense to him, and what does leaves a sickly, acidic taste in his mouth.
Wanda has her right hand to her mouth, rubbing a ringed finger across her lips as she thinks.
Pietro hasn't moved.
Loki finally relents, closing his eyes and sighing heavily. Tiredly. His entire body feels seized, and he hates how the words stumble when they come out. "Protecting Stephen Strange won't...it isn't something we need to worry about."
Wanda looks up, suspicious and confused. "Why? Do you know him?"
Loki's stomach twists. He opens his mouth. "He's the"-was the-"guardian. Of the Time Stone."
Pietro and Wanda share a look, something that seems to speak an entire wordless conversation. For some reason, the sight of it causes something deep inside his stomach to ache with longing. It's familiar, and he doesn't know why.
Just like he doesn't know a lot of things. Memory a blank, empty slate.
"There's another Stone on Earth?" Pietro asks, "And you knew?"
There was blood. Loki tries not to shudder, "It's not here. Thanos has it."
"How?" Wanda asks.
"Because Stephen Strange has been dead since August." FRIDAY announces with little tact. Her tone is flat. Loki didn't realize that she tries to put life into it until it's gone.
"Bozhe moi," Pietro looks aghast. "What? We...what?"
He didn't beg for his life. He only stared at them, long, hard, and silent. Loki had felt a little sick. Midnight didn't care.
"I killed him," Loki says, throat tight. He doesn't want to elaborate, so he doesn't. He doesn't want to stand here, but he does anyway. He waits. An explosion, anger, something.
Wanda only stares at him.
Pietro lifts up a hand, and Loki flinches, words wanting to splay off his tongue. The movement stops, and Loki ducks his head, waiting. There's nothing, no awaiting punishment, no hiss at him for failure. "Loki," Pietro says his name carefully, lowering his hand slowly, "I'm not going to hit you."
What?
"What?" Loki looks up.
Pietro's hands are by his sides as if positioned there intentionally. "Why would I?"
This feels like a game. One that he's going to lose no matter what angle he comes at it for. He settles for truth, because sometimes that's easier sometimes. "I killed a man, took the Time Stone from his corpse, and gave it to a bloodthirsty tyrant."
Wanda isn't facing him, and Loki doesn't want to see her.
Pietro is quiet for a second, then says, "So?"
Loki's brow furrows. It wasn't the answer he was expecting. He tries again, "I murdered-"
"The man that murdered Stephen Strange wouldn't have saved my sister," Pietro says, like it's that simple. It isn't. It never is. Because though he may have realized where there were lies in his life, that doesn't mean that he automatically became some sort of...hero. Or a good person. He's still the disgusting thing that crawled his way through hell.
"I-I'm...I'm not…" Loki tries to explain.
Pietro rests a hand on his shoulder, the action makes his shoulderblades lock. "No one is innocent here. You don't need to be."
He doesn't understand. "I don't understand."
"You will," Wanda promises softly. Loki's jaw clenches, and he tries not to doubt them, but it's hard. Every part of him resists the idea, and he doesn't know how to go about accepting the quarter.
The witch releases a slight noise in her breath behind him, as if a thought just occurred to her, "Wait, wait, wait," she says and leans forward to the laptop. She does something on the screen, dragging something back, then presses play.
The first voice: "...one-four. Protect him. We, uh, think...sister."
The other male, "Don't do...stupid, we'll get..."
The female. "We're on Asgard...while...should...operation-" Wanda pauses it, and looks up at them both, her eyes wide and glittering with hope. She whispers a soft curse, "Did you hear her? They're on Asgard. They told us where they are."
Pietro's eyes widen.
Oh, Loki thinks shakily, nausea curling his stomach.
Wanda smiles, big, wide and hopeful, something that takes years from her eyes and lights up her whole face. She hasn't done it much since he met her. He wonders what it would feel like to smile like that. "Thanos didn't destroy Asgard if they're there."
That doesn't mean he left it unscathed.
"We'll have better odds with the Avengers. And Asgard," Wanda continues, relief obvious in her voice. "The three of us can't launch an attack on Thanos and hope to make a difference. We don't have the manpower, but with them…"
The odds are slim, but slightly better. Loki sees her point. That doesn't mean he concedes to it.
Pietro bites on his bottom lip.
Loki doesn't want to endanger the only family he has. He can't march into Asgard with such a price on his head and then expect Thanos to ignore it. He...Thanos already tried to take Asgard, and, apparently, failed. Maybe there's a chance…
Wanda shakes her head and closes the laptop. "What other choice do we have? We don't know where to find the other Infinity Stones, and the least we can do is try to keep the Tesseract out of Thanos's hands. Asgard can protect it better than we can."
"The Tesseract was on Asgard," Pietro points out.
That seems to dampen Wanda's enthusiasm. "We can't fight this by ourselves...and I don't want to. We don't know what to do, where to go. All we have is a crypt message from Loki's sister, and she wasn't exactly filling us in on the big picture. I have to do something. I can't sit here idle anymore. We'll use the Tesseract, we can...I can't..."
Pietro shakes his head, then sighs, resigned. "I never disagreed. Nov-Loki?"
The slip up is barely audible. Loki would be impressed if it didn't increase his nausea. He misses the name. Using this one makes him feel like he's betrayed his fath-Thanos somehow. Loki just doesn't seem familiar. It's not the name he's known since his memories have been linear, and not a jumbled mess.
Loki rubs a hand through his hair.
He wants this.
But he doesn't.
The thought of seeing his family again...of seeing Thor. Seeing Jane Foster. Seeing Asgard, which has been little more than a strange, wispy concept since he learned of it. He wonders what their skies look like, how the air smells.
But he doesn't want to taint it, either.
He doesn't know. He just doesn't…(Gamora said they needed to go there. It's the whole reason he wasn't killed.)
But if they linger, Thanos will find them. And he'll take out Terra in the process. Running is safer. Not easier, but safer. Even if Loki doesn't want to run to this finish line. He releases the inside of his cheek. "Fine."
000o000
They're ready to leave in forty minutes. Loki has no possessions to bring. The clothing he's wearing is someone else's-curtsy of Wanda, who has insisted they wouldn't mind-and all his weapons are in his cache.
Between them, Wanda and Pietro have a single large bag, but he has no idea what's in it. Pietro has it slung over his shoulder, and has replaced his shoes. Wanda has a thick red coat he suspects is somewhat like armor in strength pulled over her black T-shirt, but otherwise didn't make any attempt to dress-up.
Loki looks between the two of them for a second.
They stare back.
Nothing forgotten, then. Nothing further for you to stall for, you mean? A soft voice asks in the back of his head. It's going to be fine, he tries to reassure himself, fine, fine, fine.
Loki grasps at a wisp of his magic, trying not to visibly wince as it shudders away from him, almost hissing. He grabs at it anyway, and it hurts like it's barbed, then he feels through that pain until he can reach into his cache.
He grabs at the Tesseract, opens his eyes, and watches as the Cube forms between his fingertips.
He eyes the siblings carefully, watching for blood, but the reaction wasn't immiedant last time, and it isn't this time either. Loki wets his lips, "I have no idea where I'm going," he admits, "neither of you have been, by any chance?"
To his surprise, they nod. "Da," Wanda nods, "for Thor's wedding. We spent a few days."
They went to Thor's wedding? It's ridiculous to feel a pang of jealousy, but it's there all the same. What could he have done about it? It wasn't like he knew about Thor's existence at the time.
Loki's expression feels grim. Tell me about it, he wants to demand, but forces himself to focus. They aren't here to gossip. And if everything goes according to plan, Loki can ask his brother himself soon. He parts his lips with effort, "The risk of flinging us out into open space will be considerably lower if I could see it." He hesitates on the words, feeling young and stupid, "I need to see one of your memories of where you landed...may I?"
"The Bifrost took us," Wanda explains. Of course it did. Whatever that is. "You can-"
"I volunteer," Pietro says before Wanda can finish. His sister makes an annoyed face, but Loki reaches out a hand before she can protest, and rests the tips of his fingers on Pietro's face, dragging his face down.
Flashes flick across his mind, too rapid to process. Loki rifles through them quickly, not looking even though he's curious. Wanda's head was filled with so much loss, pain. And anger. Pietro's mind feels different than hers. A little more muted, but faster. So much faster.
He sends out a wordless call for the memory, whispering Asgard into Pietro's mind and rifling through those. The first one he sees is of a younger Wanda holding out a paper to Pietro with wide eyes. It's the confirmation of an "exterrestrial attack in New York City."
Glaive.
Nova moves past it. Thor is in the next one, showing Pietro something. Then talking to him. His chest feels heavy. Nova keeps looking, almost missing it until he realizes that Pietro is looking down into a void. Earth doesn't have those.
Nova grabs at it, staring through Pietro's eyes at a long, crystal bridge leading up to a golden palace, people moving towards them. It's familiar, and that's as comforting as it can be. Pietro glances behind himself, saying something to a figure he recognizes from Wanda's memories.
Banner, he thinks, was his name.
There's a large circle building they're exiting. A tall man is standing on a dais with a sword. The word gatekeeper lingers in his head. Pietro's gaze shifts, looking past a waterfall and to the void below. Nova stops.
He knows that endless opaque black.
Knows the absence of everything in it. No smells, no sights, no touch, no nothing. I begged for death there, he thinks suddenly, and it laughed at me.
He pulls back, up and out sharply. He should have exited with more gentleness, rather than yanking, but he can't. He staggers back as Pietro nearly takes a nose-dive to the floor. Wanda catches her brother with effort, her body straining under the sudden weight.
"Ugh," Pietro moans.
There was so much nothing. How can nothing become something?
"Ow," the silver-haired man mutters, lifting a hand to his forehead.
"Give it a second, it will pass," Wanda murmurs, with experience she shouldn't have, but does. Pietro slowly levers himself up, and Loki shakes himself from his daze. He blinks, trying to focus, reminding himself of light and touch and feeling. Of everything.
It's fine, fine, fine.
"I think I've got it," the words feel a little strange. He jerks his head to the side sharply, trying to clear it. The edge of red catches his attention, and he sees Wanda swipe blood away from the corner of her mouth. It's time to go. They waste any more time dithering, and the two will become heaping piles of blood. He clenches his hand around the Tesseract. "Hold onto me," he instructs, and braces himself for the touch.
They reach for him. Wanda takes his forearm, and Pietro his shoulder.
Please let this work.
Loki allows the edges of his sedir to touch the Tesseract, flails a little at the overwhelming feeling, then squeezes his fingers on the glass. There's a pull in his stomach, like being yanked on a long cord. Weirdly, it doesn't pull up. It's backwards.
Blue-black smoke envelopes them, crackling. Then it squeezes over them like a fist, and they're tossed.
The sensation only lasts seconds at most before the fist uncurls, and all but shoves them forward. Loki staggers, and all three of them almost drop when they can't balance, but are still gripping. Wanda falls to a knee, and Pietro pulls away from him to lift out his hands and balance.
Before symptoms can grow worse, Loki shoves the Tesseract into his cache again. He looks up into a golden, circular room with a high ceiling. Light reflects so brightly it hurts, pulsing into every corner of his vision like it intends to blind him. The sky outside of the building is bright with setting twin suns.
He knows this place, and doesn't. It's a weird, awful, but familiar feeling.
He grasps the edge of a memory, hanging over the darkness, wind blowing through his hair, cold and icy. His stomach knotted, but empty. More gold, but his hand is wrapped around it. Cold and nothing, then-that's it. He can't even place a timeline, but it feels recent.
He registers voices.
"-Norns cursed, All-fathers-" a deep male voice is saying, and coming closer. Loki looks away from the exit, towards the center of the room. His heart clenches in his throat, insides freezing over. His spine feels tight and stiff. He felt nauseous before, but not like this. His stomach is too tangled up to focus on anything else.
If he tries to speak, he'll cough on the words.
Thor, absurdly, is shorter than he was expecting. He seemed taller in Wanda and Pietro's memories of him. It's not like he's short, but he's less larger-than-life. His hair is cropped save two locks of braided hair falling to his shoulder, and his right eye is covered by a black eyepatch. That wound looks fresh, the scar still deep red on his forehead and upper cheek. He's dressed in full armor complete with a cape, and looks every inch the royalty both of them are supposed to be.
Loki feels small. Deplorable.
Behind Thor is the man his mind called gatekeeper, and he's eyeing Loki with wide, unbelieving eyes. He's wearing a hat Loki privately thinks stupid, and is dressed in more gold. So much gold. Where did they get all this gold?
"-You think this is just funny, then?" Thor asks, still raging. Ranting. He reaches Wanda and helps her up to her feet. The witch looks a little sheepish, if startled.
"It's not like we could call," Pietro defends, wiping stray blood from under his nose, the flow has stopped, but the damage was already done, "our long-distance plan doesn't include across galaxies, unfortunately."
The what?
Without missing a beat, Thor promptly answers, "You should switch providers. It will cost more, but it's worth the money."
Loki feels himself make a choked noise. He wants to reach out and touch him. To make sure this isn't some sort of wild hallucination, but he's afraid it will vanish if he does. So Loki just stands there, drawn in tight like a coward, and does nothing.
Thor's eye sweeps up Wanda. They almost seem to slide over him, as if Thor's trying not to see him, then land on Pietro. Thor reaches out and grasps Pietro's shoulder. The humor in his eye has faded, leaving a bone-worn exhaustion instead. "Are you hale, then?"
He's not…
Why?
"Yes," Pietro casts a glance towards him, obviously as confused as he is. "Yeah. Da."
Thor doesn't look at him. Doesn't acknowledge him.
I don't understand, he wants to scream. Look at me!
His voice is gone.
"Thor," Wanda says, carefully. There's panic fluttering in his heart, like a bird attempting to escape confinement. He feels dizzy, like he'll float, but so, so heavy. Like a soaked blanket has been draped over his shoulders. "Thor, are you…?"
"Hm?"
He forgot me. He can't even see me. Maybe he's ignoring me on purpose. What use would he have for a damned creature who clawed their way back from hell, anyway? Nothing. He's not the person who they loved, that man died a long time ago. Why would he even try to-
"Welcome home, my prince." The man-gatekeeper-says softly, eyes fixed firmly on Loki. There's a desperation in his gaze, like if he even blinks, Loki's going to vanish. Wanda's half-croaked, attempt at words stops all together.
There's a gaping, empty moment.
Thor's eyes slowly swivel to meet his. He seizes, like he's been stabbed through the spine. He looks young. Lost. His face is so white it's almost gray. His blue eyes are staring at Loki as if seeing him for the first time. Almost desperately he asks, "You can see him, too?"
What? "What?" Loki whispers, voice hoarse.
Wanda makes a hitched noise, like she's in pain. Loki shoots her a confused, nearly frantic look as Thor takes a staggering step forward. His voice is barely a croak, "Oh Norns, Loki?"
What?
I don't understand.
The ignorance hurt, but this is making his head spin. His stomach is in danger of losing everything he's eaten in the last week. I don't understand. What does Thor mean by everyone else seeing him, too? What does this...what…?
Loki opens his mouth, but with Thor's attention actually on him, now he has nothing to say. His mouth feels dry, his tongue too heavy. He can't come up with anything. What he is supposed to say. It's been years. Thor thought he was dead. Nothing he can say will make up for that.
Loki glances at Wanda again, and she gives a slight nod, her face revealing the sympathetic pain. She's encouraging him to move, but Loki thinks if he tries, he's only going to fall flat on his face. He still can't think of words.
Thor lifts a tentative hand towards Loki's face, cupping his cheek. His hand is caulosed and rough, but familiar. Loki's shoulders tense, but he doesn't draw away beyond the barest flinch back from the contact. Thor's mouth opens, but there's nothing.
Both of them are mute. Still. Broken.
Then, as if gathering the scattered pieces together, Thor releases Loki's face and pulls him into an embrace. Loki's chin lands on his shoulder, hair falling in front of his wild, wide eyes. There's an earnest desperation to Thor's grip. Loki can't remember the last time he was held like this.
Thor's arms are strong. Loki feels encased in protection.
He doesn't know what to do.
Loki's hands lift slowly and rest against Thor's back. Thor chokes on a sob, lifting one hand to grip the back of Loki's skull, fingers tangling in the dark hair, "I thought you dead," he whispers, "we all did. I never thought…hoped, but…"
Thor pulls back, resting his hands on Loki's shoulders, clearly reluctant to break contact just yet. His eyes sweep over him, watery, "Norns, look at the state of you. You need a healer. And a wash," he lifts up a lock of Loki's hair. The smile he gives is pained.
Loki grips Thor's wrist and pulls his hand away, forcing Thor to release his hair. His grip isn't gentle. He's not sure if that's intentional or not. He can't get himself to work. He feels frozen, but too fluid. He swallows thickly, trying his tongue again. His voice is a murmur, "I die, and the first thing you do is insult me?"
That brings a startled laugh from his brother. Along with the release of tears. They stream soundlessly down Thor's face. "Are you really surprised, brother?"
Brother.
It's said fondly. Almost reverently. Not the usual sneer he became familiar with from the Order.
And, despite this, his answer is yes. Thor is a stranger to him, and he hates that. He looks at him, dirty blond hair and tired eyes. Hard edges with features that are familiar, but a stranger's.
I'm supposed to know you, and I don't. Loki's head is a mess. Broken and scattered with pieces dangling off like torn skin.
Whether it's to appease his sibling, or pretend to himself, Loki answers, "no."
A look crosses between the Maixmoffs, as if they can sense his lie.
"Norns, our parents…" Thor whispers, and Loki feels something in him tighten at the mention of them. "They'll…you...alive…" Thor's mask breaks, and he pulls him back into the hug, weeping.
000o000
One hand wrapped firmly around his wrist like the loss of contact with release Loki's soul into the cosmos, Thor leads Loki through Asgard. Loki thinks about fighting the grip, but can't bring himself to, so he doesn't. They move towards the large gleaming building in the distance that he remembers from Pietro's memories, and, he thinks, vaguely from his own.
He feels like a child being led down a hall towards something forbidden, but without the shushing and giggling.
Wanda and Pietro follow behind them, leaving the gatekeeper to stand alone in the circlesce building with a large sword. The crystal bridge attached to the gatekeeper's abode seems to stretch on into the city, and the closer they get, Loki realizes that it seems built into the ground. There's little bits of the stone walkway that are charred or broken, and beneath that is the glowing bridge.
Looking up reveals a tattered skyline, with bits of buildings crumbled around the edges, charred or missing some parts. It looks like a battleground, and Loki suspects that it was.
The Black Order couldn't have gotten the Tesseract by simply walking into Asgard and asking for it. (They probably tried, a sour, sickly sweet part of his mind suggests, and Asgard decided to leave you there rather than bargain.)
The fact that Asgard isn't decimated is a proof of their resilience. And their threat level. Loki can sense it, a city so thick with power that he thinks he could choke on it. The entire place is almost drunk with magic; wards, spells, auras. It's as comforting as it is sickening. These are not people to play games with unless you intend to lose, or have seriously resources.
Thor pulls him forward, past buildings, people, fountains, horses, everything and nothing. Loki just wants to sit still and spin slowly so he can soak in as much as possible.
People stare as they pass, an open gawk with wide, popped eyes that makes Loki feel pinned and studied. He's not used to gaining this much attention. Not unless he's standing next to Thanos or the Order. And that's not attention so much as it is fear. This-it's something else.
He doesn't know who these people are looking for. The man they see in him. Loki thinks that they'll be disappointed. The man who fell died when he landed. He's just what hell could cough back up, sticky with a filmy, ugly residue.
000o000
"Thor? I didn't expect you back for another hour, what has Heimdall to say-"
The old man stops, looking up from his desk to where Thor all but kicked in the door. Then his eyes rest on Loki, and his face slackens, going white. He's missing an eye, too. The same one as Thor. Loki wonders if it's a rite of passage of manhood in this country, and desperately hopes he can skip it. Then he feels ridiculous for even thinking that.
Loki's lucky he made it back here with everything intact. Nebula couldn't say the same.
"Father," is all Thor can choke out.
Oh, Loki thinks weakly, stiffening. He thinks his legs are going to give out. He'll collapse to his knees in front of this powerful, aching presence and not get back up again. Thanos commands respect through fear, this man's magical aura makes him gag.
It, like Thor's, is so familiar, but like he's looking through a murky pond and trying to count fish. Only brief glimpses, and not enough to get a sure total of.
His father-mine, not chosen for me, mine-stands completely and utterly still. Ink begins to soak up on the paper he was writing something down at. Pooling, thick and black, and ugly.
They stare at each other, neither one of them doing anything more than barely breathing. Loki opens his mouth to say something, but everything that could come out doesn't feel appropriate. That clawing, choking ache from before is back. It never really left. Silence has been a safeguard and a shield since they stepped here.
His father slowly gets up.
He lets go of the quill, dropping it into the pooled ink.
Loki watches the movements as if they're some of the most important in the world.
His father moves around the desk inside the large, ornate office, and takes long strides to close the distance between them and wraps him in an embrace. He stiffens, again, and hates that his skin crawls underneath the contant. The gentleness of them makes him want to claw at something. The Black Order isn't soft. Thanos isn't gentle.
He's so used to a beating, he doesn't know how to accept this. But he wants to. Kriff, he wants to.
And it's that fact that makes tears spring to his dry eyes. Not reunions with people he barely remembers the names of. Not the fact that he's reunited with the family he's been chasing subconsciously for years. None of that.
It's the gentleness.
He hates and loves it.
His heart stutters in his chest. "Oh, child," his father whispers, his voice soft and so gentle it makes something very, very deep in him ache, "I'm so sorry. You never should have fallen. You stupid, broken boy, I should have caught you."
Fell.
The empty, black nothingness.
Loki's chest constricts. He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't try.
"Odin? You wanted to go over details with Jane about..." a female voice starts to ask. Loki turns slightly at it. A golden-haired woman stands in the doorway, a shorter, much younger brunette behind her. They're both dressed in the gowns Loki's seen as the popular style for the upper class, but are also wearing loose armor, signifying a planet still on a battle-worn edge.
The older woman stops dead, her lips parting and a wordless noise of pain escaping her throat.
Loki can't remember her, this is the first time he's seen her, but somehow his tongue knows. "Mother," he says, voice slightly hoarse.
The woman moves for him, and rests a hand on his hair, then his cheek, then on his shoulder, on top of his father's hand, "Loki," she whispers, her voice soft. "Loki."
He wonders what he would have done if he remembered them. Remembered past experiences, the joy and heartache of it all. But he doesn't. His mother presses a kiss to his forehead, her skin chalk white and eyes wide.
The affection feels forigen, but all of them treat it like it's normal. His entire spine hurts from trying not to flinch away from them. Bat at their hands and scream at the top of his lungs. And Loki remembers the kitchen this afternoon, and Pietro's soft voice saying I'm not going to hit you, and can't imagine ever feeling differently.
He stares at these people.
His brother, and his parents. The woman standing next to Thor with wet eyes that he suspects is Jane Foster. They aren't the strangers, he realizes.
It's him.
000o000
Thor summons a servant to escort Wanda and Pietro to where the Avengers are. Loki wishes he wouldn't, wanting-needing-to cling to the last remains to familiarity he has, but the twins are obviously reluctant to intrude.
He wouldn't have minded. He thinks that the others would have, but not him.
They end up in some sort of sitting room, his parents seated side by side on the couch across from him. Thor sits next to him, and Jane sits on the armrest beside her husband. It strikes him as a little improper, but who is he to judge what royalty should and shouldn't do? He's not exactly trained for it. He's an assassin, not a nobleman.
A few years ago, the opposite would have been true. Now…
The silence has an edge. They're waiting for him to speak. To say something beyond a few words.
Loki closes his eyes for a long, weighted moment, breathing out. He has so many questions, but he's not sure where to start, or even if he can. He keeps his eyes closed, because it hurts less when he isn't looking at them.
I don't know who you are, is a mantra ringing through his head like a panicked heartbeat. I don't know who you are.
He longs for the Maximoffs.
He claws his fingers into the fabric of his pants until he can dig his nails into his skin. Then he keeps pushing. The pain is something familiar in this world of comfort.
"Are you alright?" He lifts jaded eyes to his sister-in-law. Wonders what she looked like in her wedding dress. She really is beautiful, and her brown eyes are filled with intelligence. Seeing her next to Thor feels him with a sense of right.
Her words register-the first thing she's said to him, maybe ever-and a bitter, hiccuped laugh escapes him.
Grim and dark.
"No." He admits. At their expressions, he wished he'd lied.
"Are you injured?" his mother asks, leaning forward, her expression earnest. Her gaze keeps flicking up towards the scar near his hairline, and he suspects that he didn't have it when they spoke last. "Do you need medical aid? I can call for Eir, or I can…"
"No. That won't be necessary." He says, clipped. He wishes he would say something meaningful. Connecting. But he only knows how to evade.
"Loki?" his brother pushes.
Loki closes his eyes, shakes his head once, trying not to shudder as a wave of anxiety pulses through him. He opens his mouth, croaks, and tries again. "I'm-" he can't. Admission of his lost memories feels like he'd be telling them he died all over again. He can't, can't, can't. He turns to his sibling, "How long have you and Jane been married?"
Thor looks startled at the question. But what did he expect? Loki was reading an Asgardian weekly newsletter?
"Uh," he looks at Jane, "going on two years now. I think."
"Yeah," Jane agrees, "that seems about right."
A part of him wants to ask you don't know? but given the situation, only being a little frazzled is impressive.
"Where were you?" his father directs their conversation back to the point. His words aren't spoken harshly, but Loki winces a little all the same. Evade, evade, evade.
"I was," he digs his nails into his leg harder. Murdering, being tortured, the works. How were your last few years spent? "I was with...I was…" Just say it. Can't you say it? "I was. I fell."
"We know," Thor sounds pained.
I guess...when I found you six, no it's been closer seven now, hasn't it? Years ago, it was by accident. Gamora's words ring in his head. I took you back to Thanos.
Took you.
Took, took, took.
Loki digs harder, as if he can scrape up a raw nerve with only his fingernails, through the fabric, if he tries. "I fell, and I-" why are the words so hard to get out? It's not like he's admitting he murdered the beloved family pet. "I landed with a Titan. He-"
Loki stops, his stomach dropping somewhere south of his knees.
He was looking at his father's face, because the stoic mask he was wearing was easy to talk to. There's the barest edge of a flicker. Surprise. Guilt. And dread. His mother's hands have tightened on her skirts, and Thor drew up, towards Jane. Away from him, as if trying to distance himself from the words.
No.
Loki parts his lips, feeling stupid.
I don't know any of you, sings through his head again, this time a mocking mellow instead of panic. Don't know a single thing.
"You knew," he says. His voice has dropped, flattened. Going lifeless. "You knew I was there."
No one denies it.
Loki feels sick.
"Son," Odin says, almost at once, "you have to understand-"
"Understand?" Loki can barely scoff the words. It's the oddest sensation, this rage. He can't remember the last time he was truly, honestly angry. Angry to the point of his stomach curling with heat, and his eyes burn with unshed tears. Rage that could burn a city down. "What is there to understand?"
(I don't understand-mercy, please, he'd begged, choking. The Other laughed, cold and hollow.)
"You were dead," his mother explains, her voice thick, "you were dead and we had no reason to suspect that Thanos could have you in the first place. No one survives the Void."
Void. Appropriate for the black, empty nothing.
Loki's jaw clenches. He can't be angry at their ignorance. It's childish. "I did."
His mother's expression softens. "I know. I'm sorry, Loki. Please, you have to know that there's nothing in this universe that would have stopped us from taking you if we'd thought there was even a chance he wasn't lying. We were just so sure...so naive...nothing...nothing has escaped there before."
He remembers talking with Wanda about this, and the rushed placitudes they'd both tried to fill to explain why. These, just as those, feel empty.
He left Thanos. Eventually.
But what he would have given to have been rescued.
He breathes out, and the anger seeps from him, leaving a weary nothingness behind. He's supposed to be able to trust these people. He just...he doesn't know.
But he does know that he can't keep up a pretense much longer.
"If…" he trails off for a moment, then wets his lips, "if we're...if we're going to try and…" that's a stupid way to put it. He doesn't know how to broach the topic gently. "I don't remember anything from before I fell."
There.
Short, sweet, simple.
He shouldn't take pleasure in the way they all clench, but a vindictive part of him quietly muses, there, we all hurt the same now? And he hates himself for it. He's better than this. Supposed to be anyway.
Thor looks at him, long at hard, then chokes out a "what?"
Evade, evade, evade.
Loki waves a hand towards his head, to the scar, and watches as all eyes follow the gesture, "Nothing. Bits and flashes, sometimes, but mostly empty. I thought you should know. Stave off unrealistic expectations, yes? The man you mourned is dead. I don't know what I am anymore."
His mother looks stricken, and she reaches out a hand to touch his knee. He tries to control the instinctive jerk, but fails, and it only seems to make her eyes so much sadder. "You're family, dearheart. My child. You didn't die that day, you came back to us, and I won't lose you to something as simple as memory loss." She squeezes his knee, and the gesture is warm.
He tries for a smile.
It crumples, and it's all he can do not to cry.
Author's Note: Reunited at last, after more than 60+k. :)
Next chapter: September sometime.