The responses I got for the last chapter were so so kind. Thank you so much for dealing with my freaked out A/Ns and for liking the last chapter :'D.
The wonderful Nelapsi drew me beautiful fanart! You can find it on her dA under the name 'thenelapsi' here: art/Syrgja-340632828 . Or you can see a link of it on my profile. You guys have no idea how happy you all make me. The fact that you guys enjoy my story so much really really lifts up my spirits. Just...thank you. So so much.
This is the longest thing I've ever written. EVER. I think that where I am in the writing, I'm about five or six chapters away from the end. However, since the actually updated story is SUPER SUPER behind me, y'all seriously have about more than twenty chapters to read or something after this...
Ahh, we are in finals mode...this is my cram week. Good luck to everyone else who has finals!
Oh yes, a guest asked what exactly Loki is wearing during this story. He's wearing clothes that Tony went out and bought for him from the Muggle (I mean Midgardian) world. He's very fond of dark jackets and scarves. (I admit that I generally picture him as how Tom Hiddleston looks in his interviews when he still had his black hair, short hair and all, as Loki had his hair cut somewhere in the first chapter.)
"These tears we cry
Are falling rain
For all the lies you told us
The hurt, the blame!
And we will weep to be so alone
We are lost
We can never go home…"
—Gollum's Song
Tony would have guessed that Loki was nervous if he didn't look so annoyed by all the SHIELD agents around him. He couldn't blame Loki, really; all the pair had to do was walk into the SHIELD headquarters and them bam, a whole onslaught of security guards had their guns pointed straight into their faces. A mark of a true Undesirable No. 1 if Tony ever saw one.
"Oi, Fury," Tony called out, standing on his tip-toes to try to look over the agents' heads. "Nice welcoming committee, but I thought I RSVPed on time."
"At ease, agents." The guards reluctantly lowered their weapons and stepped out of the way as Fury approached them. Loki stiffened beside Tony, but Tony elbowed him in the side. "I thought we agreed on a couple things, Stark."
"We did." Tony lifted the metal briefcase to Fury's face. Fury glared at his own reflection on the sheen. "I made the arc reactor thing that was supposed to help Loki, and you wanted me to install the finished product at the headquarters. What else did you ask for?"
"SHIELD and you agreed that he would have his magic bound, Stark," piped up Agent Hill at Fury's side. Tony only just realized how murderous her glare was and he legitimately could not tell if it was directed to him or Loki, if not both. "He's a threat with his full potential."
Loki rubbed his unbound wrist protectively. Tony waved a hand dismissively.
"If he wanted to turn all of New York City into a blob of ice cream, he would have done that already," said Tony. "As of right now, the lactose intolerant citizens of the city are blissfully at ease, so I don't think that's the case."
"War's not a battle of speed, Stark," said Agent Hill. "It's a game of timing."
"Look," said Tony. "Unless he wants to kill himself again, he won't use magic. I don't think Thor would be too happy that you're demanding he'd be bound up like a rabid dog just for skipping into your headquarters." He turned to Loki. "No offense, Prongs."
Loki looked as if he would have rolled his eyes if it wasn't beneath his dignity.
"Get what needs to be done," said Fury. "And get it done quick."
Tony nodded. This was it; finally, he could prove to himself that he knew the answers, magic be damned. The arc reactor, should it be successful (of course it has to be successful, he was Tony goddamn Stark for goodness' sake, and he wasn't called a genius for nothing), would make nothing impossible. Magic, with its confusion and unpredictability, was no more a threat than anything else.
"All right, Loki, unbutton your shirt for me, okay?" said Tony. He crouched and set the briefcase onto the floor, unclasping the locks to open it. The newly designed arc reactor was like a new pair of shining, loaded die to a gambler; it made his heart skip a beat with excitement and nervousness. Its certainty was still uneasy, yet everything was on the line.
"Sir, I thought we agreed to put him in the barracks when the reactor is to be fitted on him."
Tony perked up at the sound of the hushed confession. He pretended he heard nothing as he busied himself with preparing the reactor, keeping an open ear as he listened in on Hill whispering into Fury's side.
"I've had Barton reporting in daily about Loki's behavior at Stark Tower," said Fury. "Even with his bias, I see no valid reason to lock Loki up before he's done anything yet."
So Clint has been the SHIELD's private informant the entire time. Tony should have known; SHIELD had nothing about privacy protection in their contracts, after all.
"But sir, his magic would be unharnessed if this proves to be successful," said another.
These damn agents only ever learned how to stage whisper, didn't they?
"He'll be a danger to this headquarters—this city—if we don't take precaution."
"What about the council's demands?"
"Out of the question," said Fury. "Listening to the council will only start an intergalactic war, which we can't afford."
"Yeah, Fury," Tony said loudly, rising from the floor with the prepared arc reactor in his hand. Fury turned sharply to Tony; the agents surrounding him braced themselves. "What exactly did the council demand?"
"Just do your job, Stark, and we'll discuss this later," said Fury.
"Yeah? Well, I'd like that in a contract," said Tony. He turned to Loki, who had unbuttoned the top of his shirt. The look Loki gave Tony told him that he too heard everything that Fury and the agents were discussing behind their backs. The glint in his eyes nearly made Tony stop short.
"Well, Bambi," said Tony. "The sooner we get this on you and get you fixed, the sooner you can go back to Asgard."
Something didn't settle right with Tony when he said it. Thor and Loki leaving for Asgard had never seemed so soon until now, and Tony couldn't remember if he ever tried counting down the days at all. It possibly meant never seeing either of the brothers ever again; such a possibility tightened Tony's insides as if his body shrunk and his guts doubled in size.
Loki needed to stick around to fix JARVIS, after all.
"You ready?" said Tony.
Loki's glance flickered toward the arc reactor in Tony's hands and he hesitated. He placed his hand gingerly over his chest, almost afraid. It wouldn't surprise Tony if he was. How could anyone still develop a sense of trust after all the hell Loki had been through?
"Hey," said Tony. "You know I'm a genius, right?"
Loki raised an eyebrow at Tony.
"And I know what I'm doing, right?" said Tony. "After all, I outsmarted you first when you threw me out the window."
Loki gave a brief smirk.
"I designed that thing to save me even when I hurtling down hundreds of stories to certain death," said Tony. "If I can design and make a thing like that, I can definitely make something that'll help you and not hurt you."
The reluctant humor on Loki's face faded and he pursed his thin lips. Tony wondered if he ought to be taken aback by this. The God of Mischief was a ball of pure, reverberating confidence and poise, never meant to be uncertain or—if he so dared to say it—scared. But Tony didn't know the person before him as the God of Mischief—he knew him as Loki, or Reindeer Games, or Lokster, or everything else except the very title he had been forced to accept. This Loki was afraid, and like hell Tony would let him stay that way.
"We can do this," said Tony. "The Mind Gem's ass is going to get kicked and you can get out of this place. You won't get hurt from this, and SHIELD can get it in their heads that you do more than just kill people like they think you do."
He could feel how all the agents in the vast room were watching with baited breath, wary and uneasy. He didn't need to be telepathic to know how they viewed the situation. Then again, they never had a JARVIS prank war with Loki. They never looked through honey-colored glasses.
"You trust me, right?" said Tony.
Loki's eyes became steely.
As if you need to ask, said those green eyes.
Tony grinned. "Brace yourself."
Loki took in a deep breath. Tony turned on sensory machines around Loki to measure the amount of energy levels in him. He fastened the metal band around Loki's chest, straightening it until the right for the arc reactor rested directly on Loki's heart. Tony switched on the reactor, feeling the heavy energy thrum between his fingers. He glanced briefly into Loki's eyes; Loki gave a short nod and Tony thrust the reactor into the ring.
The arc reactor glowed on contact, pulsing rhythmically upon Loki's chest. Tony stepped back, thoroughly satisfied at the fact that the arc reactor had not exploded on contact or something just as disastrous.
"Well, it's turned on," he said.
Finally, he raised his eyes to meet Loki's face, only to realize that something was wrong.
Loki's face was drawn, if not ashen. His eyes searched blindly for Tony, wide and horrified.
Loki's body, Tony saw, was starting to shake.
"Loki?" said Tony.
The energy levels shown on the machine screens were going haywire; the moving line that had indicated the Mind Gem's power had been squelched into a thin tremor of a straight line, but the measurement of Loki's magic was bounding off the screen like seismic waves, jerking with peaks and troughs so deep the screen was nearly a whole block of color; if it had a voice, Tony knew it would be screaming.
"His magic's fighting—it's going out of control," said Tony.
He reached his hand out, ready to pull out the arc reactor before Loki's magic could tear him inside out—
Blinding heat.
Tony didn't even realize he was flying until his back slammed against Fury ten feet away. Tony rolled off of Fury immediately, gathering himself onto all fours before fire seared all around him. He heard screams—crashes—crumbling rock and broken electricity.
He looked up. Power—pure, absolute, deadening power—was pouring from Loki so thickly that Tony could barely see Loki through the haze, the fire, the pain. The magic came in rivets of fire and fury, crumbling walls, caving in the ceiling, searing people alive. Screams were immortal and omnipresent, and Tony could only marvel—if just for a brief moment—how he was alive for even a minute to witness this.
Fire, it ate people alive. Power, it tore people apart. Tony could smell the stench of blood.
He saw a hand on the ground, absent of an arm.
There was a body before him, a hole blown cleanly through its abdomen.
Paranormal massacre.
"Loki!" he said. "LOKI!"
He could see it—the look of absolute terror in Loki's face. His arms were strangled—tense—writhing as he fought what he could not hope to control. If nothing stopped, the magic would tear him—and the entire headquarters—apart.
Tony took in a deep breath before running forward, the heat searing his skin and scorching his clothes. Dodging as much of the magical blows as he could, he ran forth and launched himself onto Loki, his fingers curling around the circular arc reactor. The metal burned his skin, but he fastened his grip on it.
Just as a jet of power shot toward the ceiling above them and sent it caving in, Tony wrenched out the arc reactor.
The magic ceased immediately—the power died down and the fire dissipated. Pieces of the ceiling began to fall down toward them.
Tony suddenly felt himself be pushed off of Loki and onto the ground, moments before the cinder blocks rained on Loki's back as Loki covered Tony with his body. His body jerked from the impact, but he kept himself upright on all fours.
The screams did not stop.
Tony raised his eyes to Loki, still gasping with shock. The look on Loki's face nearly made Tony's heart stop; it was the look of absolute horror.
Before Tony could say anything, hands from all directions reached out and pulled Loki away from Tony. Loki thrashed and flailed as SHIELD agents clasped heavy handcuffs on his wrists.
"Hey, stop that!" said Tony, pushing himself off the ground. "Stop!"
When he raised his head, he nearly lost the breath in his lungs at the sight of the horrific damage. The room was crushed, blackened with fire and blood. Bodies were strewn across the floor, unmoving, not breathing, and the stench of burned flesh filled Tony's nose.
There was so much blood, so much destruction—it looked like the definition of war squeezed into a single room.
He felt the blood drain from his face.
"Murderer!" Agent Hill was bent over the body of a dead agent—even with his face burned off, Tony could tell that the agent had been very young. Agent Hill screamed, hands cradling the dead head. "He's a murderer!"
"Leave him alone!" said Tony, climbing onto his feet and hurrying toward Loki. Agents shoved him away, closing their body barrier around Loki as they bound him with every bit of cruel metal they had in their possession. "Stop it, what the hell are you doing?"
Loki was doubled over, his wrists before him bound tightly. When he tried to fight away from the hands, an agent kicked him down.
"He's a monster. Look at this!" said the agent. "Look at this! He killed—he murdered—don't you see this?"
Tony knew. Tony saw it and he knew and it appalled him. Appalled that he had failed.
"Listen to the council, Fury!" said one of the agents. Fury's clothes were singed and a cut bled across his head, but he was otherwise all right. He positively seared with anger. "Listen to the council—he's a monster and he needs to be put down."
Tony's breath hitched in his throat.
"Was that the council's orders, Fury?" he said. "They wanted to execute Loki?"
Without further ado, Tony grabbed the collars of two agents and hauled them aside, fighting his way to Loki.
"Get away," said Tony. He snatched the keys from one of the agents and unclasped the lock; the handcuffs fell from Loki's wrists. He bent down onto his knees to be eye level with Loki, whose head was bowed.
"Are you okay?" said Tony.
Loki raised his eyes to Tony for only a second before he pushed himself away. He tore out of the circle of agents and darted out of the room of destruction, away from the threats and accusations, until Tony could see him no more.
"Go after him," said a captain. "You five—chase him and bring his ass to the barracks."
Tony spun around to face the captain head-on.
"No, you shut the hell up," said Tony. "Get your priorities straight. Get the men to help the wounded, tend to the dead, everything else, but don't you chase after Loki like he's some beast."
"Do you really think you have any right to make orders, Stark?" said the captain. "We've got a war criminal wreaking havoc and blowing shit up again and—"
"It was me," said Tony. "It was me. I did that to him. He wouldn't have ever done that; I know. My device made his magic go haywire. He had no control. It was me. I told him I could fix him and he trusted me and I did this to him."
"You don't know that—"
"For God's sake, why?" Tony felt anger pulse in his voice until it made his hands itch. "What is it with SHIELD and placing the blame? Don't you look at me like that, you know what the hell I'm talking about. The very time that Loki doesn't try to hurt anyone and accidentally does, you call him a monster. And it's no mystery how SHIELD thinks about Bruce because of the other guy, and how you've got a glass cage ready to drop him to his death any time something goes beyond his control. Is that what SHIELD is? Is it?"
Silence. Anger and hurt nearly choked Tony. It nearly blinded him because life was thrown into high definition in anger. All angles were too sharp and colors too brash. Anger made him feel alive.
"Listen to Stark, Winston," said Fury. "Help the wounded and tend to the dead. That's our priority."
The captain—Winston—clenched his teeth but turned away from Tony, directing his men to follow the orders. Tony unclenched his fists.
"And Stark?"
Tony turned to Fury.
"Find Loki, and fast," said Fury. "If last time he ran off he got attacked by Chitauri, I don't want to know what'll happen this time."
Tony raised his chin.
"I don't take orders," he said.
And with that, he turned on his heel and ran out of the room toward Loki's direction.
Monster.
Monster, murderer, monster, murderer.
Beast, savage, brute, Frost Giant—
(No, Frost Giants wouldn't try to kill an entire race. Even Frost Giants wouldn't destroy a realm)
Monster, oh monster, what have you done, you've killed, you've burned, you've destroyed, you've decimated
You can never go back can never go back there was nothing to go back to in the first place
Oh Loki, you knew all along, didn't you you knew it would come to this you knew there was nothing else
But it hurts, oh it hurts so bad, it breaks
(oh but wasn't this fun for you once wasn't this a breeze wasn't this positively satisfying once ha ha ha HA HAHAHA HAH HAHAH AHAHA HAHAHA—)
Go home I just want to go home
Stay away, stay away
Unfortunate, unlucky child
Blood on the walls like oil stains
What you deserve what do you deserve isn't it unfair?
(Am I cursed?)
A scourge a blight an infection best cut off
Did they not know did they not realize?
If only time can change if only things were never meant to be if only if only
If only—
If
only…
It was a grotesque babe—an ugly child, even for Chitauri standards. Its head was large while its limbs were thin, its scales sickly and flaking with illness. It was pathetic, like a wounded animal with an even more injured pride. It was shameful just to look at it.
But look at it Loki did, and he couldn't stop.
He had wandered only with the permission of the Chitauri—exercise for the pet, they said. Can't let it lose its pretty little legs, after all.
Only to stumble upon a deep crater within the rock, miserable mewling calling out from it. He let himself be drawn by his curiosity, and instead found the baby in the rock.
It screeched the moment it saw him—not of fear, he reckoned, or of disgust, as the rest of them did, but because of pain, of loneliness, of the desire to be held. It looked no older than several days; he wondered if it was ever held at all.
He bent low, his weak knees cracking from the action as he crouched at the edge of the crater. The baby howled, reaching its arms out toward Loki, hands grasping as if it yearned to pull him closer to it. Its cries hurt Loki's head.
He turned back to look for the guard that watched him. It was several paces away, looking as if it did not notice the baby. He faced the baby again and swallowed down a grimace. It was black and mottled, discolored for a Chitauri and almost blending into the shadows. If Loki could not see how it thrashed and cried, he would have mistaken it for a screaming stone.
"What is it doing here?" he said to the guard.
The guard turned its head to Loki. It was one of the more silent ones, the ones that could and could not care less for Loki.
"It is a half-breed," said the guard. "Disabled and weak. The Chitauri have no use for it."
The baby wailed louder. Loki wondered if it could understand words.
"What of its parents?" said Loki.
"The father a runt of another race," said the guard. "Its mother a slave."
He imagined a mother sobbing as they took the child away, deeming its life worthless. He imagined a mother tossing her baby into the abyss, cold and unfeeling.
He questioned if her heart had been broken at all.
"It could grow to be strong, if it can learn," said Loki.
It could grow to be wise, if it can be loved.
"It would never grow."
Loki nodded. He saw tears stream down the baby's face, creating puddles down its temples.
"You mean to leave it to die?" said Loki.
"We have no use for monsters," said the guard.
For a brief second, Loki had the strongest desire to laugh.
That night, when all had taken their rest and left Loki alone for the first time in a long time, he slipped out of his bundle of rags and trekked through the empty crevices, retracing his steps. He wondered if he could follow the sounds of its cries again, like the first time. He wonders if it had already withered into death, and he was too late.
But even in the darkness of night, where no sun could bless them, Loki found it. Its cries died down to whimpers, curled against the stones as if afraid. Did babies already know of monsters at their age?
(What are the monsters of your soul, child?)
(What haunts the would-be beast?)
He bent low next to it until the baby noticed his presence. Immediately it rolled onto its back and reached out to Loki again, sobbing. Loki remained unmoving, watching how the baby feebly kicked its spindly legs, how its malformed scales cracked like dried snakeskin. It certainly looked nothing like Chitauri; he wondered what claimed half of its heritage. If such a fact even mattered at birth's doorstep.
When it realized that Loki would not touch it, the baby's face contorted in sorrow and it wept. Its cries rattled Loki's head until the sound shook his heart. He wondered if it knew how lonely it was, how miserable and abandoned it was.
(How wise a child must be, if it understands love the moment it draws breath, to know how cruel it is to be so alone)
Finally, Loki sank down into the crevice, resting his back against the tall and cold rocks. He gingerly lifted the child off the ground—even in the coldness of the night it was still warm with life.
(Don't monsters bleed just as well?)
He held the child in his shaking arms. It was far too thin for a baby, and far too impossible to save. Not when he could barely save himself. What would the Norns have in store for it should it have survived? A lifetime of slavery to the bidding of liars and killers? Its head ripped off its neck?
It whimpered in his arms, its gangly fingers grabbing the front of his shirt. It had unusually large eyes for a Chitauri and he wondered if that was why its kind so detested to look upon it; perhaps they feared to see too much of its emotions, its thoughts and fears flash behind those pale eyes, when proper Chitauri were meant to be soulless, thoughtless, lifeless, all potential of life and meaning sucked out of them.
No, the baby would never have survived in this life. If the cold did not kill it, fate would.
"Shh, shh," Loki murmured, rocking the baby. "It's all right, child. It's all right."
At the sound of his voice, the baby hiccupped, swallowing its salt cries and gazing up at Loki. Its eyes almost looked green and he nearly choked. He held it close, trying to comfort it with his meager warmth.
"You have nothing to be afraid of," he said. He grazed his thumb gently over its rough cheek. "Death is nothing frightening. It is life that is cold and cruel."
The baby hiccupped again and pressed its cheek against Loki's chest. He rocked it gently, wondering if it had mistaken him for its father. What would life take them through should he raise it? A life of love, of hope? Of deceit?
"You're very lucky, you know," said Loki, bending his head low to the baby. "Death is simple and sweet, much like sleeping without the nightmares. Except you do not have to wake up and lose all of yourself, and try to start over." He offered it a small, broken smile. "I've been trying to die for a long time, but you're a fortunate, fortunate child."
His soft voice lulled the baby to a doze, its eyes half-closed hazily. The hideous baby looked so human and it made his heart hurt. Lies. Whoever said mercy was a sign of weakness had lied.
"Did you know that in death, everyone is equal?" he said. "There's so much hatred in life, so much pain and fear. But in death, everyone is loved all the same. No matter what you are or what you've done."
With his stronger hand he cradled the baby's head. It nestled deeper into his palm, the warmth of its life heavy upon its fingers. Breathe in, breathe out. It was a curse.
"You will be safe, little child," said Loki. "Life would not be kind to outcasts like you. Now, you don't have to learn to hurt, to speak lies or anger, to learn to walk only to run away—to learn to cry or laugh, to find you have a heart because someone broke it, to be lonely or cruel, to cause others sorrow, to learn to love and let it die. You'll never have to regret or wish for what will never come true. You'll never have to grieve or suffer, lose what you held most dear, nothing. I promise you that you will be happier in death."
If the baby understood him, then it believed him. It let its eyelids slowly droop with comforted sleep as Loki continued to speak his lullaby, rocking the baby. The night was cold, but they were both so warm.
"Don't be afraid, little child," said Loki as the baby fell asleep in his arms. He twisted his body just enough to lean his side against the wall. His fingers gripped the back of the baby's head protectively. "Everything will be better for you. The world has no place for you, but it's all right. You will die, and you will never become the monster that they demand of you. And you will be at peace, and happy, and never, ever alone."
His voice shook and he couldn't breathe, but he rocked the baby so tenderly. The baby slept on in his arms, its delicate head so warm in his tense hand. He felt his heart race, his breath hitch, his muscles sob. No, they cried. No, no, no.
But his heart told him, you must.
You must.
(And his tongue said, no more. Two monster outcasts shall be silenced forever tonight. No more. Give up. None shall hear, none shall know, none shall suffer because of you. No more.)
"Will you do me a favor, little child?" Loki said. "When you depart from this body, this life, will you guide me? Guide me to the end as soon as possible? To Valhalla or to Helheim, I care not. But light a candle, so I may follow you into the dark."
The baby smacked its lips in its sleep and shifted its head. Loki liked to think it nodded in agreement.
He closed his eyes.
His fingers tightened.
"You will be at peace."
He breathed in heavily. Breathed out.
He raised his arms and swung.
He bashed the child's head against the rocks.
There was no cry, no choked scream of betrayal. Not even a whimper. The splintering of a skull—and hollow silence.
The blood streamed down the rock, so heavy was its flow. It coated his hands that still held that shattered shell. He held no baby—he held dead, cold, worthless weight. He held what could have been, what should have been, and what did.
He did not open his eyes. Could not.
He let the broken body fall from his arms. It clattered pointlessly like kindling at his feet.
He could smell the blood, and it poisoned him.
His heart did not want to beat at all.
Slowly, he rose to his feet. He felt so, so heavy, and yet impossibly hollow.
His hands at his side, dripping with blood.
(Fortunate, fortunate child)
He stumbled forward, out of the crevice and toward the camp, still blind. His feet were ripped with the jagged rocks jutting from the soil. He felt the pain, but his heart was too numb.
Even in his breathing he made no sound. He was silenced, so empty that even echoes had no place within him.
(Oh Death, have mercy)
And as he walked, he did not cry. He did not moan or scream. He was gone, gone, and unsalvageable. He was gone.
If only.
Blood followed his footsteps. Blood followed his reeking soul.
He craned his neck until he faced the sky, his eyes still closed. He imagined the luxury of feeling rain fall on his face, onto his lips and on his tongue. He imagined the luxury of feeling the sunlight. He deserved none. He shall have none.
Blood rained upon him.
He breathed in. Breathed out. A curse. Punishment.
(Torture)
And everything crashed down on him without warning. The weight of the world, of his guilt, his heavy heart, his regrets, his cries and lies, his anger and pain, his betrayal and sorrow, everything—everything fell.
And he knew he could not take it anymore.
And he knew there was nothing he wanted more than sweet nothingness.
He fell.
Blood coated him. It was not unfamiliar.
He fell, and he was filled with nothing.
He would have wept, if anything was left inside of him.
He would have screamed, if he had wanted anything else, anything at all.
He would have died that night, had they not found him and put the Mind Gem within him in time.