I hope that your week of no update still went well and that you guys did productive things with your lives~ I'm sorry for not replying to most people's reviews this past chapter; I had been away all week so I have been really busy. I still am super thankful and happy for each and every one of you for reading this ol' thing!
I am a little uncertain about whether or not there will be an update next week (frankly, the whole two-week updates isn't that bad). I know I will be going out of the country at one point in this month, but as for how that will affect my updates I still am not sure. So in general, check around on Mondays for updates and if I can update, I will. If not, you won't find one.
Thank you for reading everyone! I've waited a long time to publish this chapter.
Steve couldn't stop the bleeding on his side. His uniform was torn and his flesh cut deeply, spilling blood between his fingers when he clasped his hand on the wound. He knew he needed a medic, a healing stone, something, but he had no time to think of this. Not when the war waged.
He couldn't remember how he received this wound. It could have been an hour ago; it could have been days ago. But it bled and he could barely keep his thoughts straight, now that every step shot pain through him and his own blood was not the only thing that covered him.
With the scraps of his strength left, he hurled the shield, watching it snap the spines of many Chitauri before spiraling into his hand. But the Chitauri were still plentiful and destructive, like locusts devouring Ancient Egypt, and Steve saw no end to this. A stalemate, for all they knew, or a Pyrrhic victory if they were lucky—he could not see the light beyond this.
The dead could not be hidden away. Steve could no longer try to look away anymore. He barely had the strength to keep his head raised.
His blood left trails behind.
"Cap!"
Tony's voice jarred him, even though Steve was so tired he could barely hear him. A metal hand roughly grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him until Steve had no choice but to lift his eyes. Tony was before him, a large gash across his nose and his suit more woebegone than the last time Steve saw him. Steve couldn't truly remember when or how exactly he and Tony separated in the war, but he remembered sleepless nights alone in the cold battlefield and could only guess.
"By Jove," Steve said, breathing heavily. "Never thought it'd be a good thing to see you again, Stark."
Tony's eyes fell on Steve's side and widened.
"Shit, that's not good," said Tony. "You're bleeding out. Why the hell didn't you do anything?"
"Can't exactly ask for a time out, can I?" said Steve. "Can't go to the Chitauri and say, hey, Steve Rogers has to call in sick, has to make a rain date for this war thing, and that he can make up his work afterward."
"Okay," said Tony. "It's when you get all snarky that I know you're in bad shape."
He pulled Steve's arm over his shoulders, supporting him as they stumbled through the bloody field. Steve couldn't suppress a groan of pain when the movement pulled at his already torn side.
"Medic!" said Tony. "We need a medic over here, and pronto!"
Steve wondered if there were any medics still alive. He couldn't recall seeing any; in fact, he couldn't recall if he ever knew what they looked like.
"Medic! I need a healing stone, some voodoo, anything!" said Tony. "We've got a melting Capcicle here and I need help!"
"Tony," said Steve. "Tony, just leave me. I'll get along, I promise. Just keep going, I'll be along."
"No," said Tony. "Hell no. I'm not leaving you. Medic! Medic, I need—yes!"
Steve's eyes were blurring with pain, but he could catch sight of a figure making its way toward them. Tony laid him on the ground and Steve winced when the pain heightened on his side. Unfamiliar and cold hands touched his sensitive skin and he flinched.
"Easy there, Cap," said Tony. "The doctor's a friend. Have you got a healing stone or anything?"
"Yes," said the medic. "Hold still—"
"Get down!"
Steve felt Tony and the medic fall to the ground around him, hands over their heads. He heard the roar of bullets coming far too close overhead and he too covered his head. If he closed his eyes and only listened, he could easily have been back to the war he grew up in, when he was only a kid from Brooklyn. Before he could control himself, he thought of Peggy and Bucky, and it wasn't only his side that hurt.
"Sons of bitches!" Tony sat back up and fired away at the Chitauri. His suit was running low on both ammunition and energy; it would only be a matter of time before his advantages were spent.
When the firing from the other side ceased, the healer continued his work. Steve felt the healing stones fall upon his wound, urging the pain to subside. He breathed a sigh of relief as his senses sharpened once the injury melted away, pushing himself back in a sitting position. He ran a hand over the now closed wound, his side slightly welted with a scar but otherwise all right.
"Thank you," he said.
"All in good shape?" said Tony. "Good. Let's get back to work."
Steve pulled himself onto his feet, giving a nod of farewell to the medic before following Tony back into battle. His shield protected him from the Chitauri's rifles, leaving him only long enough to knock down the enemy. The Chitauri fell, their necks broken, and moved no more.
"Do you know how the others are?" Steve said to Tony.
"Hell if I know," said Tony. "Point Break seems to be doing all right. I still see the lightning."
"You sure it's from his attacks and not him having a really bad day?" said Steve.
"Frankly, I don't see a difference," said Tony. He shot a bolt of fire from his metal palm, scalding the Chitauri. "Seriously, though, if Point Break got any bad news, there'd be a whole hurricane."
"I don't doubt it," Steve said. He ran forth, shield held aloft, and knocked down a line of Chitauri, slamming them down onto the ground and delivering the finishing blow to their necks.
"I see Natasha and Loki every now and then, so they've got to be all right," said Tony. "Bruce is with the healers, he has to be all right. The other guy's looking out for him, anyway."
"And Clint?" said Steve. "What about Clint?"
"I don't know," said Tony.
His eyes widened as they fell upon something arcing behind Steve. He immediately rushed forward, pushing Steve out of the way.
"Get out of there!" said Tony. He spoke to several Asgardians grouped together, preparing their charge. "You've got to get out of—"
Tony could not get the words out of his mouth quickly enough. His voice was immediately drowned out by the howl of a grenade that detonated at the Asgardian's feet. Steve did not even have time to close his eyes before the carnage burst in full bloom before him.
"Dammit," said Tony, and his voice was loud and hysterical. "Goddammit!"
Only two of the Asgardians were left fully intact, and one of them was already dead. The other had a gaping, bloody hole in his stomach, his metal armor useless and his carefully sharpened helmet useless and the tears in his eyes useless. Steve and Tony rushed to the soldier's side.
"I've been hit," the young man said, wheezing. He squeezed his eyes shut, baring his teeth. "I don't want to die. Oh, Norns, please—don't let me die."
"Stay with me, okay?" said Steve, covering the wound.
The soldier's labored breathing was hard to ignore; Steve tried to pretend he could not feel the soldier's innards leaking out of the wound underneath his gloves. "We're going to get you help—don't look at it. Please don't look at it."
He tried to shield the young man's line of vision so that he could not see the cause of his own imminent death. Tony spun around on the spot, trying to find the healer that had aided them just moments ago.
"Tony, have you got anything on you?" said Steve.
Tony shook his head. His face was white beneath the dirt and blood. Steve swallowed hard and turned back to the young soldier, whose face was so gray he looked already dead.
"Help will come," Steve said, and his tongue felt heavy. "Please hold on a little longer. Help will come."
"Somebody!" said Tony. "Anybody!"
But no amount of screaming could bring a healer any faster to them. Not when everyone around them cried.
"We need more help here!" Tony said.
Steve gripped the young soldier tight, as if that could change anything.
"Please, somebody!" said Tony. "He's a fucking child and he's dying!"
"Tony," Steve said, his voice no louder than a sigh. He stared into the young soldier's face, imploringly, resignedly.
"A healing stone, a painkiller, a miracle, anything!"
"Tony!" said Steve.
Tony turned back to Steve, to the soldier whose eyes were already blank and empty. Like a cracked doll whose head was hollow.
"He's already dead," said Steve, and his voice hurt his throat.
He could still hear the young soldier's last words—a plea for life that reality refused to grant. He looked still young enough to be a son, or a new husband, and Steve did not want to think of who would be left behind when blood was still wet and warm on his hands.
"This has to end," said Tony. His voice shook with fury and pain. "This—has—to—end."
A loud, ominous rumble shook the battlefield. Tony and Steve turned to see the cause of the distraction—the cause of the destruction.
Steve had never seen him before. Never even knew what he looked like. But when he saw the towering titan, as towering as the Hulk and sickly in color, he knew.
Thanos.
"It's him," said Tony. His voice was low and dangerous. "It's that son of a bitch."
Thanos stood among his throng, not so close that Steve could see his face, but Steve could tell he was separate from the rest—that he was meant to lord over them, watch from a foppish theatre box as death spread itself over them. How his shoulders shook with laughter at the dying screams he found so comical, how he killed those around him with a mere wave of the hand, not even turning his head to see whether he killed friend or foe, if he had either.
Shivers crawled down Steve's back at the sight of him.
"Cap," said Tony. "On his breastplate. The bastard encrusted the Infinity Gems on his damn breastplate."
Steve would have missed it if Tony did not point it out, and now he could not look away from the gleaming, dangerously powerful Gems shining on the war titan's armor. He looked to Tony and sucked in a sharp breath.
"Tony, don't jump into this," said Steve. "You don't like making plans, but dealing with Thanos needs one—"
"Thor wanted us to get that Reality Gem for him, didn't he?" said Tony. "I'm just going to fly over there and ask for it nicely, and Thanos will say something along the lines of, 'Over my dead body' and I will oblige."
"You're going to die, Tony," said Steve. "You're going to die if you do this by yourself."
Tony turned to Steve.
"Will you come with me?" said Tony.
Steve hesitated. He wanted to defeat Thanos—wanted to pummel him into defeat right here and right now, put an end to this war and to this destruction on all the Realms. His logic told him that not even he with his superhuman strength could stand a chance against Thanos, but at the sight of all the dead criss-crossing on the ground around them, he burned to fight Thanos, to keep him away from hurting any others.
"Yes," said Steve.
Tony gave a short nod before power his suit, rising from the ground. Without another word, he rocketed toward Thanos, burning power building up in his palms.
Steve followed, and never stopped to think back.
When Clint found Thor, Thor was a madman with a hammer. Tens of Chitauri fell at every swing of Mjölnir and Clint was nearly hit by the flying bodies that came his way. He dived out of the way, striking at those that evaded Thor's reach but taunted him with their rifles. They fell before they knew Clint was even there.
Thor spun around and caught sight of Clint, nodding in acknowledgement before flinging his hammer through the crowd, parting the crowd like the Red Sea colored by Chitauri blood. Clint fought alongside Thor and his other companions of the Warriors Three. Hogun's spiked mace was swift and formidable, Fandral's sword skewered all who came near, and Volstagg moved agilely for someone so bulky.
Clint couldn't shake off the feeling of missing someone. He gritted his teeth and fought back-to-back with Thor, only now realizing how very tall the god was.
"Thor, where's Loki?" said Clint.
Thor made another hefty swing before answering, his voice strained.
"I do not know," Thor said.
Despite the stress of war, Thor let himself be worried for the sake of his little brother. Clint couldn't help but wryly hope that for the Chitauri's sake none touched Loki else Thor would not hesitate to raise all nine circles of hell on them.
He looked upon the Warriors Three fighting with such powerful synergy together, like a bloody trinity, and his heart sank. They must have fought together for centuries, always watching each other's backs. Maybe they knew how lucky they were that none of them had fallen before. Maybe.
"We are changing our course," said Thor. "It matters not what path they take, so long as we stop them in their tracks. Keep them quarantined within the valley and our catapults and our powers will corner them."
"Thor," Clint said, and he immediately regretted opening his mouth. Thor turned to him expectantly and Clint's mouth felt dry.
"What is it, Barton?" said Clint.
He wished he could say nothing. He was barely saved when Fandral let out a yell.
"Thor—Thor, it is Thanos!"
Thor looked up immediately, his eyes landing on the war titan a good eight hundred yards away. Clint watched the emotions change on Thor's face—from horror to unquenchable fury. Clint knew there was no notion of mercy or ease in Thor when it came to Thanos. He could see the burning anger in Thor as the memories of what exactly Thanos did to Loki and the many promises Thor made to destroy Thanos in the most painful way possible flooded his mind.
"At ease, my prince," Fandral said, who probably also noted the growing fire in Thor's heart. "We cannot rush into this—"
"There is no planning, no tactic, no other way, Fandral," said Thor. His voice was uneasily calm. "To fight him—to fight him here and now—is the only way."
Immediately, Thor swung Mjölnir toward Thanos' direction until it lifted him off his feet and toward the war titan. Clint let out a derogatory shout before running after Thor, shooting his bow and arrow at any Chitauri he passed. The Warriors Three were hot at his heels, but none could match the speed that Thor moved as he approached his enemy.
"Thor!" said Clint, and he didn't know why he would shout. What could he say? What could he do, when nothing could come between Thor and his revenge?
He could see Tony in his suit flying toward Thanos as well and he ran faster.
Thor's hammer met Thanos's fist as it flew toward his direction, knocking Thor out of the air and into the ground. Clint felt himself yell Thor's name, but he couldn't hear himself before shooting at Thanos. The arrows were nothing but matchsticks against his skin.
"Thanos!" Thor was on his feet as if nothing hurt him, hammer ready in hand. His voice was that of the thunder he conjured. "You will pay today—for the horrors you've wreaked on my home and people, for the threat you make to all the Nine Realms, for the nightmares you plagued my brother with. For everything!"
Thanos motioned for the surrounding Chitauri to back away, breathing a laugh that rumbled like breaking mountains.
"Asgard's prince," said Thanos. "How fitting that I meet you here."
Thor threw his hammer at Thanos before Thanos could squeeze in another word. It threw Thanos off balance, but before the hammer could return to Thor's grasp, Thanos thrust his fist at Thor, sending a force-field projection that launched Thor and Mjölnir flying back into the crowd. Thor landed heavily on his back, teeth gritted in pain; Mjölnir was chucked out of sight.
Immediately, Tony shot at Thanos, bursts of dangerous fire aimed to sear the titan's skin. Tony only managed to catch Thanos' arm before Thanos too swung his weapon at him, slamming Tony onto the ground.
Nothing fazes the guy, thought Clint, itching for his explosive arrows. He barely had time to check if Tony or Thor were all right before pulling out the Chitauri rifle and shooting at Thanos. The shots didn't do so much as scrape Thanos' skin before an invisible force knocked Clint off his feet and the air out of his lungs.
He's invincible. Clint's mindpanicked in the midst of the pain in his head and back. He's invincible, nothing we can do can stop him, nothing—
And yet he pushed himself off the ground and scrambled to grab the rifle, aiming for Thanos' eyes. Thanos growled as the bullets ripped his cheek and forehead before giving a loud, mirthful laugh.
"How resilient you are," he said. "Like insects to be trodden upon. Ants never stand a chance against the boot."
Clint couldn't explain why the surge of anger in him rose so greatly.
"You motherfucker," said Clint.
He pulled back the string of his bow once—twice—three times, three arrows at his fingers, before releasing them at Thanos' face. Thanos batted them aside like moths, but one found its mark at his jaw. Blood dripped and Thanos snarled, but Clint had no time to relish in his victory. He ran around Thanos and leapt onto his back, keeping a firm grip on Thanos' armor so he would not fly off.
Steve immediately caused a diversion, slinging his shield at Thanos's knees. They made contact, forcing him to buckle, but his bones remained steady and strong. Clint pulled back an arrow and shot it at the back of Thanos' neck.
And he be damned if the arrow did not bounce pathetically off of Thanos' nape with as much damage as a pebble.
Clint barely had time to register the shock before he was flung roughly off of Thanos' back and thrown into Thor. The two men tumbled on the ground, every muscle and bone aching in their battered bodies.
"Oh, this is exciting," Thanos said, smiling with as much politeness as a savage. "Lady Death always enjoyed the taste of rarer dishes."
"Thor, where the hell is your hammer?" said Clint, pulling himself off of Thor. "Get your damn hammer!"
Thor clambered onto his feet and recalled Mjölnir. After a delay, the hammer soared into Thor's grasp.
"Check on Stark, Clint," said Thor. "I will deal with this monster."
"You cannot focus all your attention on Thanos and not the Chitauri," said Volstagg. "He is not the answer to ending the war."
"Yes he is," Clint said, his voice low.
"What?" said Thor. "What do you mean?"
Clint remembered a white, metallic room and a hook swinging on a chain from the ceiling. He remembered inky, poisonous words and a growing fear.
"The Chitauri had dedicated their lives to Thanos, to serve him," said Clint. "They live for him—it's like the mothership. That's what Gath had said. Their lives are bound to Thanos. Kill Thanos, the Chitauri will have nothing, and they'll be over."
"Then it is clear what I must do," said Thor.
"Thor. Thor," said Clint. "You can't beat him. Not alone."
"I will not be alone," said Thor. "You and the others will fight alongside me, and the Warriors Three. Go forth and find Odin, find Loki, find Natasha, find Sif, find everyone to aid us in this fight."
"Thor, Sif's dead."
The words escaped Clint's lips before he could stop himself. He felt the blood drain from his face when he realized what he had admitted, and he could not bring himself to look at Thor. Thor breathed heavily beside him, and the Warriors Three were stunned into silence that made Clint's blood run cold.
"You do not lie," said Thor, and that was all he could manage to say.
"I'm sorry, Thor," said Clint.
He pushed his way away from Thor, rushing back to Thanos with his rifle and bow at the ready. They were nothing compared to Thanos' strength and resilience, but there was nothing else he could do.
Nothing else he could do.
Natasha fought to breathe. Each breath was like swallowing fire; her throat screamed for water, for rest, for anything, and her lungs withered.
She lifted her head. She was on all fours, her arms shaking underneath her weight. She could tell that her ankle was twisted or sprained or broken cleanly off or something because it could barely support her. But she could not think of this, not when she had to push herself off of the ground and continue fighting.
The nearest Chitauri had its neck broken immediately when she lunged at it, snapping its head back with a hit on the chin with her palm. She twisted the rifle out of its grasp and shot it until it ran out of bullets before chucking it at the nearest enemy and trying again. She did not fight alone—she was with an anonymous platoon of Asgardians, but their numbers were dwindling, whether because of casualties or because they kept losing one another in the crowd.
But her attention was not spent. She could see the crowding of Chitauri near them, how their attention was diverted to something unseen. Even though there were fewer Chitauri to fight, they were as fiery and violent as ever, and the sight of them conglomerating like vultures perturbed her.
"Tyr!" she said.
Tyr, the officer she met only hours beforehand and now had to trust her life with, turned to her. One of his eyes had been blown out of its socket, leaving a gaping hole that reminded Natasha too much of Fury and of Odin.
"There's movement stirring in the east," said Natasha. "Something's going on there—something big."
"Will you scout out there for me?" said Tyr.
"I—"
She had no time to answer when a bullet skimmed her neck, barely missing her chin. She gasped and spun around, firing away with her handgun at the offender. The Chitauri crumpled immediately and she turned back, her answer ready on her lips, before she saw with horror that while the bullet failed to take her, it sank into Tyr's leg. He fell onto one knee, teeth bared in pain.
She rushed back as her fellow warriors gathered around him. He waved them away vigorously, eyes wild.
"Don't gather, it attracts their fire!" said Tyr.
The others backed away, but Natasha lingered. The wound was bleeding steadily, and she feared that it may have hit his main vein by the knee.
"You need to get help," said Natasha.
"Leave me, all of you," said Tyr. "You will not help Asgard by trying to tend to me."
She hesitated, knowing that he spoke truthfully, but how was she supposed to leave him behind, especially if he may bleed to death or be targeted by Chitauri sooner?
"You all go ahead of me!" she said to the other Asgardians. "I'll be along. Go!"
"Do not be a fool, Agent Romanoff," said Tyr.
"I'm not just going to leave you, for goodness' sake," said Natasha. She turned back to her comrades. "Go and fight!"
The Asgardians hesitated, unsure whether it was in their duty to follow the orders of a mortal, but one glare from Natasha sent them running to the east. She centered her attention on the hope that they all will still be able to walk when this was over.
"You are disobeying my express command," Tyr said through pained, gritted teeth.
"Well, it's a good thing I don't actually work for you, isn't it?" said Natasha.
She stood behind Tyr and grabbed him from underneath the arms, dragging him further from the heat of the battle. He groaned, his hurt leg leaving a trail of blood. She cursed before setting him back down, rushing to the side of a fallen warrior and ripping off their cloak.
"What are you doing?" said Tyr, eyes widened with horror as Natasha ripped the cloak into strips and bound his wound tightly. "That is dishonorable. That is—that is blasphemy."
"I don't see the dead guy objecting," said Natasha, finishing the knot. "Neither should you."
A howl in the air called her attention overhead and she gasped. Thor flew through the air, straight to the gathering crowd, with Tony coming from the other side soon after. Whatever was coming—she knew was wicked.
"Leave me be, Agent Romanoff," said Tyr. "You will be easily killed if you stay tending to me."
"You have a wife back home, waiting in the caverns, don't you?" said Natasha. Tyr's eyes widened and she raised her voice. "You've got a wife and you've got kids—you've got a family who want nothing more than for you to go back to them. Think about them waiting for you and say those words again."
Tyr said nothing, his face gray and pained. Natasha looked around, trying to find some sort of foxhole or crevice in the ground to hide him. The best she could find was a pile of fallen, splintered trees at the edge of the half-decimated forest.
But before she could bring Tyr toward that direction, many shots rang behind her. She dived out of the way, whipping out her handgun and aiming at the oncoming Chitauri. There were so many, and her bullets could only do so much before it sputtered and choked in her hand, empty of its power. She cursed and chucked it toward their direction, searching wildly for another weapon.
"Run!" Tyr said. He was half-sitting, half-lying on the ground, very white from the injury. "Get yourself away from here!"
The offer was logical—she could easily slip away from the Chitauri's attention, and they would feast their bloodthirst on one already fallen. But it never crossed her mind as tempting. With the threat she made to Tyr, she had made a promise—she would see his protection to the end, for the families waiting to hold him, for the lives needing to be saved.
She shielded Tyr with her body, tugging his sword from his scabbard and fighting off the Chitauri with it. It was heavy and unfamiliar in her hands, but each swing combated the Chitauri's rifles, and it was more than she could ask for.
The Chitauri cackled at her, joining her dance and fencing with her with their rifles as if this was nothing but a game. She growled before knocking one of the Chitauri to his knees, swinging her leg until her foot connected with the side of his head and she stomped down hard, snapping his neck. Before the others could react, she ran the sword through another's throat.
"Stay away from him!" Natasha said as the Chitauri advanced toward the officer. "I said get away!"
"Pretty little lady says not to touch him," said one of the Chitauri, leering at her. "Is the little wench in love? Is that what fuels her protection?"
"You sick bastard," said Natasha.
She kicked the rifle out of its grip and caughtit with her other hand, spinning around quickly so that the sword would arc and slice across the Chitauri's chest.
Before she could catch her breath, she was violently knocked down, both the sword and rifle loosened from her grip as she flew back several feet, crashing against the freshly snapped trees. Her back burned with pain and stars spun in her eyes.
The Chitauri stepped forward, rifle aimed at Tyr, and she moved without thinking.
Her hand found the hammer's handle before her eyes knew it was there among the debris.
Her arm swung the hammer and she let go before she understood what to do with it.
The hammer flew leagues she never thought were possible until they slammed against the Chitauri, knocking them down in a swift blow before they could touch the officer. They toppled like block towers, shattered bones and all, and the hammer skidded on the ground and spat soil. She rushed back to Tyr, pulling him into the hiding place and ignoring his incoherent sputters.
"What was it that you just did?" said Tyr.
"Which part?" she said with a grunt. She looked around, making sure none had seen her hide Tyr in safety.
She caught sight of him, and her heart nearly stopped.
Loki.
She saw him running toward the tumultuous crowd—only the back of him, and she saw how he limped. Saw how he bled.
Her heart leapt to her throat and his name was already on her lips.
And she saw—farther off, within the crowd, the source of the melee: Thanos.
Loki.
"I will be safe here," said Tyr.
She turned back feverishly toward him. He nodded shortly.
"Go," he said. "The wound is stemmed. I will be all right. Go."
She nodded and searched for Loki again. He had already vanished, without even a trail of blood behind him.
And with that, she ran for him.
(She did not notice Mjölnir skyrocket in the same direction overhead)
Loki couldn't feel his ankle; it was angrily swollen after he wrenched it out from underneath the debris that had pinned him down. He already felt his own energy running thin and squashed the magical impulse to heal his wound. The moans of the agonized dying battered his eardrums.
He pulled himself onto his knees, gasping for air as he forced himself to stand. His leg wobbled dangerously underneath him and he collapsed again. He yelled a curse before taking in a deep breath and forcing himself onto his feet again. He limped heavily, knives already in hand as Chitauri approached him. He thought he might recognize them and it struck him deeply.
One of them opened their mouth to speak—or was it to take a breath? It mattered not, because the dagger flew from Loki's fingers and straight into its throat. The others stood no chance before Loki's daggers sank into their chests and they fell as easily as fragile mortals. Loki could no longer tell if he recognized them and he tried not to look down when he passed them.
He fought—and fought—and fought—and how was it that he was always fighting and never living? That no one was ever living, and soon he could no longer tell the difference between the Chitauri corpses at his feet from the Asgardians?
He was so, so tired.
His strained magic made his hands shake, but he could not risk this show of weakness as he conjured daggers in his hand and attacked the Chitauri. They died quickly and without knowing what hit them—far from what his past self would have craved in vengeance, far from the fate that Gath faced long ago. When their blood drenched Loki's hands, he tried not to breathe and smell its stench.
One Chitauri flung its arm out in a last attempt of life before dying. It slammed against Loki's chest and it was enough to knock him off his feet, landing roughly on his back against the grassy knoll. He coughed, tasting blood in the back of his throat.
"Loki!"
He barely raised his head up a millimeter, but he could see a familiar figure running to his side, dodging the attacks. He wished he could yell out, to say, get away, this isn't safe, but his breath ran thin.
Bruce knelt by Loki's side, a messenger bag of healing supplies at his shoulders. He checked wildly around Loki's body for any dire wounds, but Loki waved Bruce away, pushing himself up by the elbows.
"Where is your green friend when we need him?" said Loki.
"I have some control over the other guy," Bruce said, though Loki could see the green blush against Bruce's skin. "And I think you need Bruce Banner right now more than the Hulk."
"Debatable," said Loki.
Bruce pulled out a small healing stone from his bag. "Your ankle's banged up. I've only got minor healing stones on me. It won't fix the bone, but it might keep it set so it won't get in a terrible angle."
He crushed the stone in his palm and sprinkled its residue on Loki's purpling ankle. Loki laid his head back as he felt the stone work its magic, knitting the bones loosely together in its proper place, but it was far from healed. He nodded his thanks to the doctor, trying to keep his breathing steady.
"You look awful," said Bruce.
"Believe me," said Loki, "I am usually much better than this during battle."
He clenched and unclenched his metallic hand, trying to time his breathing with that of this mind-consuming pattern. How far the Gem has dragged him down, that it would reduce him to this in the time of dire need!
"You should be in the tents," said Loki.
"I switched out with some other medics," said Bruce. "I couldn't stand not being out here with the rest of you guys."
"But you can get killed," said Loki. What happened to Bruce being the sensible one of their little dysfunctional family?
"I think we both know how hard it is for me to get killed," said Bruce. "With the Other Guy and all."
"You two may share the same body, but not the same strength," said Loki.
"My life depends on his, in a way," said Bruce, rubbing the healing stone's dust on Loki's ankle. Loki suppressed a wince. "And his depends on mine."
"I don't see why it should," said Loki. "He does a better job protecting, honestly."
"Maybe he does, and maybe that's why I'm still alive out here," said Bruce. "Stop moving." Loki ceased his squirming underneath Bruce's hand. "He kept me from dying after getting shot in the mouth and falling a couple hundred feet. I guess this is nothing."
"His strength floods into your own?" said Loki.
"And my weakness floods into his, so it's an even deal," said Bruce.
Loki felt his heart nearly stop.
"What?"
Bruce looked up to Loki. "The Hulk isn't invincible, even though he damn well seems like it," said Bruce. "Sure, he spits out bullets, but the more I age, so does he. When I croak, he's coming with me. When I get ill, he's out of order. It's a balance of sort."
Loki could barely breathe.
"Sharing the same body makes you stronger, yet him weaker," he said, his voice low.
"It does," said Bruce. He frowned at Loki's paling face. "Loki, you—"
"Doctor," said Loki.
He scrambled back onto his feet, breathing so heavily that he could be close to hyperventilating.
Of course—of course—this was what must be done. Thanos was strong, Thanos was nearly invincible—this Loki knew for a long time, since The Other swore to Loki that he would know something as sweet as pain. Thanos could not be beat, no matter what powers Asgard could wield.
Not unless—
Loki ran—ran even though his ankle was wrung in pain and though his weakness grew heavier and heavier. Good—good, let him be weak. Let him be fatigued. Let him be vulnerable.
He could hear Bruce shouting his name behind him, and he only ran faster. He could see Thanos in the distance, see him battling his friends and his brother, and his heart beat wildly, as if it knew exactly what was on Loki's mind and reacted too instinctively, too desperately, as if it did not know whether to fight or fly.
He tried not to think of anything else, to remember anything else—because he could not afford to falter. He could not afford to stop. Asgard depended on this. The entire Nine Realms depended on this.
(He thought of Thor's hopeful face when he spoke of the Reality Gem, of the possibility that Thor clung to, and he pushed the thought away, because an aching heart could not help him now)
Loki pushed aside his fellow soldiers, taking in deep breaths as he drew closer and closer to the creature that made fear pulse through his every vein. He could remember how it felt to be underneath Thanos, to be bent and twisted to Thanos' will, to wish his existence erased because of Thanos, and he ran toward him.
He was afraid—afraid—afraid, but he ran because he must.
And when he came, when he ran until he stood before Thanos, until he looked at his worst fears straight in the face, until he could no longer feel his heart beat—he knew he must be alone.
With Thor by his side, with Tony and Steve and Clint by his side, with Bruce at his tail, and with Natasha behind him—he must be alone.
Thanos ceased in his fighting—and for a moment, it felt as if time stopped.
Loki could hear Thor cry out his name.
Thanos looked down on Loki, pale eyes studying Loki's weakened form, before his face lit with a terrible smile.
"Laufeyson," said Thanos.
Loki was not shaking, and wondered if it was whether because he could no longer be afraid, or if because he had no energy left to do so.
"I was wondering when you would come to me," said Thanos.
Loki felt Thor reach out for him, to grab him and pull him behind, but Loki pulled away. This was his fight. This was his choice.
"End this, Thanos," Loki said. "You will not get what you want."
He knew it was hopeless, knew it was nothing—but he had to try. He had to try.
"Your head is empty," said Thanos. "You know nothing about what will come."
"I do," said Loki, his body growing cold. "I know this is for your Lady Death. This is for your want of her. I know. I suffered because of your love for Death."
"Loki, get back!"
Natasha's voice broke Loki's heart, but it also strengthened his will. He must. He must. He must.
"End this, Thanos, because Death will not come to you this way," said Loki. "You will destroy worlds, you will destroy lives and beings, but you will not win. You will not win Death. Don't you see?"
Thanos' smile slipped from his face, leaving its residue on stony fury. Thanos did not stand so much taller than Loki, more or less the same height as the Hulk, yet to Loki he was a mountain—a volcano.
"You love Death because Death is fair to everyone—Death does not discriminate anyone," Loki said. "Or does it? You kill in hopes to gain favor of Death, but you in all your invulnerability and immortality can never be with her."
"Silence," said Thanos, his voice reverberating with vehemence. "Silence!"
Loki could barely breathe or stand up straight, but he refused to back down.
"You love Death because it is equal to all, and you don't know what that is like in real life," said Loki. "All your life, in all of your powers and glory, you knew no one and no one knew you. Your life is empty, so you crave Death. You love Death because you are alone."
Thanos did not move a muscle, nor did he make a sound. Loki breathed heavily, refusing to take his eyes off of Thanos. He felt his entire body shudder, and he knew that there was little time left to waste.
"Must you be?" breathed Loki.
He wished that it were true. He wished that it could be this easy, and even though he extended the hand, extended the chance, in his heart he knew Thanos would not take it.
But wasn't that what Earth's mightiest heroes once thought of himself?
He took a step forward and heard Thanos growl like a beast. He held out a hand and tried to forget how his fingers shook and how the corner of his eyes burned. Each breath was labored as it suppressed a cry.
"End this, Thanos," said Loki. "And with it, end everything—your loneliness, your brokenness, all of it."
His hand was still outstretched when Thanos' sword came flying toward him.
Natasha screamed—she could not help it.
Loki stood—vulnerable, open-hearted—and Thanos' weapon moved to run him through, and Natasha couldn't run forth and push Loki out of the way.
And her heart would have failed her—failed her in that very second—had Thor not bent to his will and shoved Loki out of the way, combating Thanos' sword with Mjölnir.
The clang of metal was loud and painful as Thor tried to beat down on Thanos, but Mjölnir could not strike Thanos' skin as Thanos parried every blow. Loki gathered his powers at his fingertips and shot it toward the war titan, knocking against his stomach until Thanos stumbled back. The surrender and hopefulness in Loki gave way to a face of pained determination, and Natasha wished he could just look at her—look at her so she could reassure herself that he was alive and well.
"Pin him down!" Loki said to Thor. "You must pin him down!"
"Make him stay down first!" Thor said.
Loki dodged one of Thanos' blow and Natasha dived to the ground to avoid it herself. She wanted to help—she needed to help—but she had absolutely no weapons on her, no strength to stand a chance against Thanos, nothing.
Loki drove a dagger behind Thanos' knee, forcing the war titan down on one leg. Thanos hissed in pain and slashed at Loki, barely catching his arm. Thor pummeled Thanos's head over and over again with Mjölnir, as if determined to reduce his skull into dough. Thanos struck Thor, sending Thor sprawled on his back upon the ground.
"Thor!" Loki said, eyes wide and wild.
With one shove of painful magic, Loki slammed Thanos down onto both knees. Loki tore away from Thanos to Thor's side, helping his older brother back onto his feet.
Before Loki could even touch Thor, his body jerked and fell, yelling in agony. His hand clutched at the arc reactor on his chest, eyes flashing between green and blue as Thanos enslaved the Mind Gem in his chest.
"No!"
Natasha ran toward the two brothers, pulling Thor to his feet and dragging Loki's hand away from the arc reactor before he could claw it out and lose all sense and control. His body convulsed in pain as the arc reactor fought Thanos' influence, eyes gaping for light as he choked for air.
With a roar that rivaled his thunder, Thor flung Mjölnir squarely on Thanos' chest. Thanos slammed onto the ground on his back; immediately his concentration on the Mind Gem broke and Loki collapsed in release, drawing air desperately. He clambered onto his feet, still clammy, still shaking, and pushed Natasha away from him before she could say his name.
Thanos howled; Mjölnir planted itself firmly upon Thanos' chest, and no amount of energy or power could make Thanos worthy enough to lift the hammer from his body. Thor and Loki climbed upon Thanos' chest and for a moment Natasha could breathe freely again—a flit of jubilation flooded her nerves before she remembered that Thanos was not yet defeated, not entirely.
"Take the Reality Gem, brother," Thor said, breathing heavily. "Upon Thanos' armor. We must save you first."
The Reality Gem gleamed a sickly gold upon Thanos' armor, to be plucked and claimed like fruit—but Loki had no eyes for it. Instead, Loki's eyes rested on Thanos' contorted face, chest rising and falling too quickly to be calm.
"Brother?" Thor said.
Loki closed his eyes.
"Forgive me," said Loki.
He swiped his arm at Thor and with a burst of power, sent Thor flying yards back.
Thor crashed onto the ground, nearly knocking down Bruce and Clint in the process. Before Thor could gather himself to his feet or before Natasha could run forward, Loki cast a powerful force field around him, barring anyone from coming closer. Natasha tried to run forth, but she was met by a hazy golden barrier that was as clear as gas and as solid as glass. She banged her fist against it, screaming Loki's name.
Loki fell to his knees on Thanos' chest, pulling away his own armor at his chest.
"NO!" cried Tony.
Loki wrenched away the arc reactor, throwing it aside. Natasha's heart pounded and she felt like vomiting.
Loki, please—Loki, stop—LOKI!
The blue illuminated scars crept upon his chest as Loki pulled down the collar of his tunic, stretching farther and farther like a plague.
No amount of banging or screaming weakened the barrier, and Natasha could only watch.
Watch as Loki grasped Thanos' hand and pressed it against the Mind Gem in his chest.
Watch as Loki's slight body jerked and shuddered from the effects of the Mind Gem, as Thanos writhed underneath stubborn Mjölnir.
Watch as slowly, but surely, Loki and Thanos' mind and life became one.
And as Loki took his other hand, despite Thanos' screeches and buckling as his body weakened from his connection with Loki's fading life, and gathered his most potent powers, Natasha felt the world stop around her.
Time stopped.
Sound stopped.
Lungs stopped.
In one swift motion, Loki reaped his magic—every ounce of magic he saved for this—and directed it to Thanos.
And in a moment of denial, of shock, Natasha realized just how powerful Loki was—how his magic poured from his hand into Thanos' chest and tore the life out of him, battered his body until it failed, destroyed him, how it shed a light about them that almost made it look beautiful. Thanos, rendered weak, was vulnerable, was dying by Loki's hand, by his magic, by the last drop of his strength. And as the magic ripped through Thanos, it destroyed Loki.
She thought she could hear the magic so powerful that it howled, but she couldn't tell from over her own screaming.
Because she saw it. She saw Loki dying. She saw that by ending Thanos' life with the Mind Gem's connection, Loki had to end his own. That there was no escape, no trick to fall for, nothing.
She almost missed it. She could hear it, as clear and clean as a gunshot. The crack, the shatter, the crumbling of glass. Loki's magic was to its greatest power, at every bit of strength he mustered, that it shattered the Mind Gem in his chest, finally obliterating the curse that had tortured him all this time and ending the Infinity Gauntlet's full potential.
The Gem shattered, and the bond between Loki and Thanos broke, but it mattered not, for Thanos lay unmoving underneath Mjölnir, eyes unseeing—dead.
The Chitauri must have fallen around her, the source of their power destroyed.
But Loki…
Loki still knelt upon Thanos, head hanging low, hands limply at his sides. The force field flickered between them and him and died, and immediately afterward he fell sideways, slumping onto the bloodstained ground in an unmoving heap.
Thor had reached Loki first. He ran to his little brother the moment the invisible barrier fell, Loki's name fresh on his lips. He pulled Loki's limp figure away from Thanos' dead body and into his arms, cradling the very broken and very fragile form. Loki's face was so white that it burned Natasha's eyes to look at it, and it was a miracle that thin breaths still escaped his bloodless lips. His eyes were glazed and unseeing, the light already slipping away from them.
Thor held Loki tight, sobbing, begging. Loki did not even have the strength to raise his head.
"Oh Thor," Loki whispered.
He closed his eyes and with one last sigh, his body shuddered and fell still.