CHAPTER 9 Fairytales and Other Forms of Suicide

When the dawn brought to my mind

All the love that I had left behind

This could happen in any number of ways

I will bribe tomorrow with all of my yesterdays

'Any Number of Way' by Chris Valen

He walked an empty field, ice crackling under his feet with every step.

I shouldn't be here, his mind rebelled. Not again.

But he couldn't remember being anywhere else. Frozen blades of glass, sharp and white tore at his shoes. His friends stared up at him from the shards, their faces jagged, their eyes accusing.

He leaned down to pick them up, but every time his hand clasped around a glass blade, his friends were gone and he held only shards. His blood dripped bright red onto white.

At his feet, he could see Colonel Phillip's piercing eyes staring up from a broken face scattered in the ice around his feet.

The ground shook as monsters that walked on ten thousand legs lumbered by, spitting black ichor at him.

"I don't want to be here," Steve whispered. It was familiar ground he tread. He had lived here almost every day for seventy years.

Not far away he knew rested a graveyard with monuments made of ice. If he went there he could see through the ground to what lay beneath. The epitaphs listed them:

The marriage he never had to a woman he never found. (But when he'd been here last that epitaph had been different and he couldn't remember the words)

The children he never had.

Growing old. (With someone, he'd grown old with someone.)

Dying.

The ice beneath the graves was clear as glass, and Steve Rogers had seen his aged corpse almost every day for 70 years, peaceful in repose, his hands clasped over his chest, ageless and perfect.

Beside him laid one James Barnes, his mouth forever agape in a soundless scream, his sightless eyes staring up from the void. Although his arms were crossed, his hands were reaching for Steve's, curled to catch a hand that hadn't reached him in time.

Colonel Phillips and Jim Morita and Dum Dum and all the rest of the Howling Commandos had joined their ranks over the years. Although they may have aged (must have) in the years he'd been absent, they were as he remembered them. They were dressed in their finest, crisp in their Army Dress that never rotted beneath the ice. On one endless day, Steve'd gone crazy and tried to chip them out. Surely, if only he could free them from their icy cages, then they would awake and keep him company. He'd spent hours or days or years trying to pull them free.

But Steve could not break the ice, and he had remained alone for the whole of his seventy years.

Shortly before he'd been found, another had joined him. Steve stood over the grave now, staring down at the woman who was beautiful and distant and wholly unfamiliar. He wondered who she was and why she'd joined his dead.

Something in him wrenched awfully as he dug at his memories, searching for the woman that he knew must have been important enough for her body to end up in his cemetery of ice. His stomach turned as a sense of wrongness spiked through him and he fell to his knees, expelling bile onto the ice.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Steve struggled to his feet. He couldn't exactly remember why he was here, or if maybe he'd never left. He felt fear and panic crawl up his spine.

"I don't want to be here!" He screamed into the void, the cold wind whipping his words away as soon as he said them. "I don't want to be cold anymore," he pleaded, looking up into the sunless sky. No stars dotted the sky, no clouds, or light. It was ice, and then it was nothing. Steve quickly tore his eyes away, afraid of the expanse above him.

Walls of blue fire skittered unheeded amongst fields of ice. They moved distantly and without purpose, like a tornado across the plains.

Icy snow tore across the plains, moving as sand with the wind, creating dunes and banks that promised cold and death.

Steve knew he'd done something terrible; knew that there were lines missing on the graves; knew that the woman in the grave had been someone that had meant something to him and now he didn't know who she was.

He ran.

He moved across the plains of snow until he met a wall of ice reaching far into the formless sky, glittering in the strange light. He pulled to a stop just in time, finding himself trapped inside. This Steve's bones were misshapen, visible beneath translucent skin.

He was bloodless, a wraith.

Clouded blue eyes shielded in layers of ice met his own, staring at him accusingly.

"I don't know what I've done." Steve felt a weight in his stomach that sat uneasily. He placed his hand against the ice.

The ground trembled, thin lines growing across the block of ice the other him was frozen in. The ice shook apart with the reverberations, falling apart in great chunks. The wraith fell forward. Steve caught him automatically, recoiling too late from his mutilated doppelgänger.

"You lost her," the doppelgänger said, his grinning skull apparent beneath the thin skin, his golden hair frozen to his head.

"Who?" Steve pleaded. "Tell me who I lost!"

The ground shook again and Steve spun rapidly as a great centipede lumbered towards him. He sought his shield, and, finding nothing, threw his fists up. He noticed how small and feeble they appeared and looked down at himself to see he was fifteen, and as frail as he'd ever been.

His doppelgänger stood beside him, and sometimes he was Steve and sometimes he was a ghost, and sometimes he was just a block of ice.

He sought oxygen and found none, his breaths coming in great, wheezing gasps.

The centipede with ten thousand legs and many more teeth laughed at him and sauntered by.

"You are a fool," a man said beside him, his skin blue and eyes burning red. Steve glanced at him. Loki, he remembered with trepidation. Loki knew what he'd lost, Loki could help him escape the ice. But Loki refused to meet his gaze.

"What's happening?"

"You walk the Dream Lands," Loki said. "You'll get lost here."

"Loki," Steve grabbed the frost giant's shoulders, "What have I lost? Why am I here? Take me home."

"What have you done?" Dum Dum asked. Steve whirled to see his old friend, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He had only one eye and it could see through Steve's soul.

"I don't know!" Steve cried, pushing Dum Dum away, but he was too weak, and Dum Dum flayed him open with his eye. Steve's flesh curled around him, the acrid stench consuming him. He looked for Loki, but the demigod was gone.

"I never had what you had," and suddenly it was Bucky, not Dum Dum. Bucky stood one hundred feet tall. He had no eyes or nose, but his mouth stretched across his face, a gaping maw with too many teeth to count.

"You were my best friend!" Steve cried out as Bucky ate him. He felt his bones crunch before he slid down his throat.

He clawed his way out even as the stomach acids dissolved him. Colonel Phillips stood waiting. He looked as Steve remembered, but his hands were long, stretched into twelve inch talons that resisted the gravity of the earth. He picked at Steve's tendons, pulling them from his destroyed body.

"Anybody in the world could have had your treatment," Phillips said as he licked Steve'd blood off his claws. "You got rid of the thing that that made you special."

He thrashed, pulling himself away from Bucky and Dum Dum and the Colonel.

"Stop fighting me!" A voice, real and close broke through his dreams, past his demented friends and creatures with thousands of legs and teeth and claws that could reach into his soul and deconstruct him.

Steve woke flailing. Loki held both arms, preventing Steve from lashing out. The ice fields were gone, replaced by a bubbling brook and a sky, gold in the gloaming. The great boughs of an ancient willow tree cast deep shadows across the ground. There had been a queen, Steve's feverish mind whispered, but there was none there now.

"Loki?" Steve asked uncertainly, his voice raspy from screaming. Loki stared down at him, green eyes bright and clear. His mouth was drawn in a thin line, his ageless face considering.

"You have saved us," Loki said.

"I don't remember," Steve said.

"I know."

The gash in Steve's back hadn't healed, but it had stopped bleeding. The pain ate at him and he forcefully ignored it. With difficulty, he struggled to a sitting position. There was a deep, abiding hole in his soul that refused to be filled. It hadn't been there before. He clawed at his memories, seeking for the thing that should be there and wasn't.

"I'm not healing," Steve realized.

"Those are no mortal injuries. They were given by a soul-stealer and may never heal, even for a man of your constitution."

Steve stared at the plant in his hands. The small shrub of the mistletoe sat unassuming in his lap. The white berries were fresh and plump and the tiny leaves were slightly curled around spindly twigs.

"Do not think, mortal, that this means we are on friendly terms," Loki said, but his words were without vehemence.

"You were hurt," Steve recalled, glancing at Loki.

"I am healed," Loki said. Steve reached out to touch Loki's arm. Loki jerked away.

"You were wounded here."

The memories flooded back—to the mistletoe, the ice fields, the terrible creature and the meeting with the queen.

"I met with the Queen of Elves," Steve said slowly. "And I lost something important."

"It was at great cost to you," Loki agreed, unwilling to meet his eyes.

Steve weighed Loki. Even now that the mistletoe no longer bound them, he knew when the man was lying.

"I know you," Steve breathed.

He grabbed Loki's healed arm before he could pull away. His skin was cool to the touch, and Steve wondered if that was because of Loki's nature, or because of his fever.

"We walked the roots of ice together."

Steve realized he didn't need JARVIS to brief him on Asgard mythology, after all. Those who had walked Niflheim had never meant to escape. To know it was to know truth.

"We did."

The bubbling brook beside them sung a quiet song, but Steve was no longer lulled by the soft melody. He wanted to be done of this place—of the queen, and all Alfheim. He wanted to go home. His body ached with a pain that wasn't entirely due to his injuries.

Steve struggled to stand. "I don't want to be here anymore," he said. To his surprise, Loki helped him up.

"Neither do I."

Steve stumbled as he climbed to his feet. The gash in his back bit into his soul and he stumbled forward.

"She lied," he gasped.

"The Queen is not a liar, but she keeps her promises close."

"I hurt," Steve looked up at Loki with imploring eyes. "She said I wouldn't."

"What did she promise?" Loki shook Steve's shoulders, "Think."

"She said, 'the regrets you have, the sorrow you feel for waking two years late-all of that will be gone.' I don't know what that means! How did I wake two years too late? Too late for what?"

"She has kept her promise," Loki said, hauling Steve up as he sagged against the Aesir.

"What don't I remember?" Steve implored, pushing away to meet Loki's eyes, his eyes wide as he searched Loki's indiscernible face.

"I must take you to my mother," Loki said, "She knows how to heal the wounds of Elves. We are not yet safe. You should've asked the Queen to heal you. Considering the price you paid, it would not have been too much to ask."

"What price?!" Steve shook Loki. "What have I lost?!"

The world went sideways and Steve stumbled. Loki steadied him. "You cannot change it, the deal has been made, and for that I am indebted to you. We should have gone to my mother first. The cost would not have been so great." Loki looked pained.

"But what have I lost? It's important," he pleaded, reaching for his compass. Alarm shot through him as his hand closed over empty space. The familiar weight was gone. "Where's my compass?"

"You can never ever have it back," Loki said, his green eyes assessing Steve. "Knowing that, does it matter?"

"Yes," Steve said, fighting away the pain and the poison. "Tell me!"

Loki wheeled around, holding Steve up by his shoulders as his icy eyes met Steve's. "You traded something for me. The thing that you loved more than anything in the world. For me," Loki's teeth ground together.

Steve sagged. Loki caught him wordlessly, shouldering his weight. "You carried me this far. I will carry you home to my mother. I am not so honorless as to leave you here."

"You owe me nothing," Steve whispered.

"I owe you everything. And I hate you for it."

0o0o0o0o0o

They crossed the fields of Alfheim unbarred. As the sun ducked beneath the horizon, fireflies rose with the moon. Dark things danced in the sky, shadows against the moon, and he wondered if they had always been there.

Their pace was slow but steady. Steve's dependence on Loki grew as their hike progressed. His head was cloudy and his wounds ached, throbbing with his heartbeat and each footfall.

"Let me rest," Steve said.

"If I let you down, you will never rise again," Loki said, his grip around Steve tightened as he pulled Steve forward.

Steve stumbled. His feet dragged and he felt as though he were on a ship deck in a storm. "Leave me, Loki." He was weary.

Loki refused to stop, shouldering more of Steve's weight on his thin frame. He was, Steve realized, much stronger than his stature lead him to believe.

"Shut up," Loki muttered.

They pushed on.

"Why did you do it?"

"What?" Steve asked thickly. His tongue felt foreign in his mouth. His vision blurred around the edges, and a skeleton followed them in a black cloak, grinning at them. Steve tried to will him away, but he was there every time Steve dared to look. Fear pierced through the veil of poison and pain, and he gritted his teeth against it.

"Why did you save me? I did not ask for it." Loki refused to look at him.

"I know," Steve glanced at Loki. "I was given a second chance, once. I would've lived and died as a nobody if Doctor Erskine hadn't saw something in me that no one else did. He died for me."

"I'm not a nobody."

"You're weak," Steve said, wincing. The pain in his back reached tendrils up into his skull, squeezing his brain with every beat of his heart.

"That's a lie," Loki hissed.

"I was once, too." Even his teeth hurt. "Do you know what I learned?"

"I don't care."

"I learned that there are always two choices: the hard thing and the easy thing. The hard thing is almost always also the right thing to do. The easy thing is just the easy thing."

"You fountain of wisdom is fathomless." Loki repositioned his shoulder under Steve's.

"It seems like an easy enough concept," Steve said, realizing he was starting to ramble. "But it's hard in practice."

"Shut up."

A night wind cooled the sweat on Steve's brow. He tried to walk without stumbling, but his body wasn't keen on obeying him, and he sagged against Loki. The skeleton still dogged them, and Steve found himself stealing glances at him more frequently. He could swear it was growing closer.

"You are not imagining him."

"Who is he?"

"I think you know. We must move with haste." Loki hefted more of Steve's weight and picked up the pace. Steve moaned in complaint, his head bowing against his chest as the weight became too great.

"Get it together, Captain." Loki said in Colonel Phillips voice. "I don't put my stock in quitters."

Steve couldn't keep his reality straight and his brain was muddled with fever hallucinations. He had something important to tell Loki, but he couldn't get his mouth to form the words.

Eventually they arrived at a great trunk that met the sky. No matter how far Steve craned his head, he could not see the boughs of the tree. He didn't look down, didn't want to think about the ice fields that waited there. Before them was a magnificent door formed from aged wood. Delicate sigils carved unknown words in a flowing script. The words seemed to stretch and glow. Loki shifted Steve's weight, pulling him back up as Steve tried to sink to the grass.

"I will never thank you for what you did. The choice was yours. I did not ask you for it."

"I know."

"I will take you to my mother because I owe you a debt, but then we are even." Loki place a finely boned hand against the door, the sigils glowing as he whispered foreign words.

"I know," Steve said again.

"I don't want to be indebted to you."

"You never were."

Alfheim faded around them.

A/n:

I figured the Queen would be like a Genie: very particular in the granting of wishes. She saved Steve from death, but did not cure him of his wounds since it was not requested.

Title is from the eponymous song by The Old Ceremony