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Of Twisted Emotions

Summary:

It's been over a year since Loki Laufeyson vanished. Over a year since you were supposed to marry the prince of Asgard.

You've since been doing your duty as a warrior, one pledged to defend the grand city at Odin Allfather's bidding.

But when you're given news of your lost prince - that he not only lives, but wreaks havoc upon Midgard - what are you to do?

And more importantly, do you trust yourself to stop him?

 

Here for the smut? (Or want to avoid it?) Chapter 4 is NSFW, and Chapter 18 has one italicized paragraph of mild NSFW content.

Notes:

Music playlist for this series here!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Nothing More

Notes:

HEY YOU GUYS, IT'S ME
Welcome to Part Three! I'm super pumped to begin OTE, like, you have no idea. I just wanted to say that this may be a little slower to update, since I have a lot of things going on right now. I'm working on art commissions and trying to write an actual book-book, not fic-book. Of Different Emotions started as a writer's block project, and it's continued to be that. SO, it may be a little slower to update, but it's not going to stop until it's finished.
Prepare yourself for an absolute angst fest.
<3
Love you guys.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The sounds of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s evacuation are loud and chaotic, but Loki Laufeyson neither cares nor notices the minor distraction. He rises from where he kneels, the tesseract's energy leaving wisps of smoke that curl and twist around his body. 

 

His travels through space had been easier, much easier than he had anticipated. Almost natural, he would say, with the tesseract's power. 

 

Loki's eyes casually sweep the room, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He is on Midgard, just as planned. The room he finds himself in is large, and the prince guesses that it rests deep within the earth. The cavernous area is lined with glowing technologies, equipment working hard to read and understand a power far too great for humanity.

 

The tesseract. 

 

It sits within the belly of a machine, and he has to force himself to look away from it. 

 

There are mortals in the room, and the agents with guns creep closer with wary caution. However, there are three who watch the God of Mischief in a different manner, whose gazes cut between him and the ornate, golden weapon clasped tightly in his fist.

 

The man dressed in black, the one with the eyepatch that reminds Loki too much of his family, is the first to speak. "Sir. Please, put down the spear." 

 

This is not a request, but an order given in a deep, commanding tone. Loki raises an eyebrow, pausing to look down at his golden scepter with an expression of something akin to amusement. 

 

It's time

 

In less than a second, before Nick Fury has time to blink, Loki thrusts the blade of the weapon towards him. The blue gem nested in the ornate scepter flashes, and a burst of energy flies towards S.H.I.E.L.D.'s director. 

 

Taking out mortals is almost too easy, especially when compared to a lifetime of facing Asgardian foes. Loki is a blur of motion, cutting through the agents as if they were paper rather than flesh and blood. Their weapons cannot break his skin – guns firing lead bullets that rapidly ping off his armor one after the other. 

 

The Asgardian leaps into the air, Earth's gravity not quite heavy enough to pull him back right away, and he comes down blade first onto a soldier. The man's breath leaves his lungs in a quiet gasp as he dies, and Loki is disgusted at the weakness

 

More guns fire from behind the prince, and he spins around impossibly fast, his hand flashing as his knives fly through the air and meet their targets. Another man attacks from the side, and Loki points his scepter towards the foe. The resulting energy sears through the agent's chest, killing him before his body hits the ground. 

 

It is quiet now, save for the alarms blaring in the distance, continuing to signal the need for escape. Broken machines spark and hiss, flashing readings to no one. Loki watches those left in the room, carefully wiping blood from his scepter's golden blade. 

 

The man with the eyepatch lives, as do several other of his agents. They look to their director, as if awaiting orders. Loki notes that they've been smart enough to stand down after witnessing his carnage, and he decides he'll make use of them. 

 

The Asgardian takes a step forward, habitually spinning his weapon, and is surprised when a fiery-eyed agent attempts to block his path. There is hatred in this man's eyes; an all too familiar burning. No fear lives there. 

 

The man goes for his pistol, but Loki is quicker. He grasps the agent's arm, studying him carefully as he struggles. "You have heart," Loki decides, nodding slowly. 

 

He brings the scepter up to rest on the center of the man's chest, the sharp blade barely pushing against him. 

 

The effect is instantaneous once the power takes hold. Clint Barton holsters his gun, his sharp gaze overtaken by a mass of starry darkness. And then blue clears the black, leaving irises of bright, piercing cobalt. 

 

The Asgardian notes the quiver strung across the man's back. An archer. An odd choice of weapon for a Midgardian. 

 

"Keep watch, won't you?" Loki asks with a smile. 

 

And then it is easy, it is nothing for the prince to move on and do the same to the other nearby agents, the gem within his scepter glowing brightly. 

 

It is a commotion near the side of the room that makes him turn. Someone has rushed in, and they grapple with the archer. At first Loki does not recognize the intruder. And when he does, he feels nothing but calm curiosity at the reason for her presence. 

 

There is a flash of light, a staff appearing in the girl's hands as she wards off the agent. Loki twirls his scepter again, pondering over whether to send others to deal with the situation. 

 

"I would suggest something with a little more electricity to it," Loki comments idly, his gaze already sliding towards another noise. 

 

The director is attempting to escape, with the tesseract in tow. 

 

"Please don't," Loki requests, meeting the one good eye of Nick Fury. "I still need that." 

 

There's a loud zap followed by a short cry. A body falls to the floor, and Loki knows the girl has been dealt with. 

 

"This doesn't have to get any messier," Fury warns. 

 

Loki laughs softly, the quiet noise devoid of any humor. "Oh, but it does. Much messier." 

 

"Who are you?" Fury asks, and even Loki is not sure which emotion lies within the question. 

 

Is it anger? Incredulousness? There is something there, an almost exasperation, that hints at something dangerous. It makes the prince smile. "I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose." 

 

Fury snorts derisively. A bold move, in Loki's opinion. But it is not the director who responds to the Asgardian's statement. 

 

"Loki? Brother of Thor?" 

 

Loki fights the scowl that threatens to spread across his features. Thor. It is his relation to Thor that defines him to these people. He turns to the man who spoke and recognizes that he needs this one, too. The scientist. The tip of the golden scepter presses just so against his chest. 

 

Director Fury watches, his eye widening slightly at the sight of Erik Selvig's gaze being overtaken with an unnatural blackness. He makes himself speak to Loki of Asgard. "We have no quarrel with your people." 

 

The statement is laughable, and so Loki's attention is again directed towards the one-eyed man. "An ant has no quarrel with a boot, nor does prey understand the motives of the hunter. Tell me, which do you think you are? Or is it that unclear?" 

 

His last question is more of a statement, a flat coldness seeping from underneath his casual manner. 

 

"Loki?" 

 

The girl is awake. The archer has left her alive. Was it a fault of the agent, or had Loki subconsciously willed this? She could be useful, he tells himself to justify this action, to override other possible thoughts of sentiment. It is logical, after all. 

 

"Healer," he greets your friend, Willow. 

 

"Wait," Fury demands, a gloved hand rising to point between Loki and Willow, "you two know each other?" 

 

She's staring at the prince, her eyes wide in disbelief, and Fury's words do not seem to reach her ears. "What are you doing here?" she whispers, carefully rising to her feet. She holds a hand to her side, where the archer struck her. "Where have you been?" 

 

He watches her take tentative steps forward, and he turns to keep both the girl and Fury in his sight at all times. "I've been on a grand journey," Loki informs Will, a smile once more twisting across his face. "Seen sights you cannot imagine. Learned things you will never comprehend." 

 

"But... but what about...." And she says it. The one thing that breaks through his armor, a single word he does not wish to hear, that he cannot hear. 

 

She says it. 

 

She says 

 

your 

 

name

 

He fights within his mind, pushing things down as soon as they arise: a wash of memories, feelings, sentiments, attachments. His jaw clenches, his muscles drawn tight. And in the end, he wins. 

 

Your friend is still watching him, waiting on an answer. But there's nothing that will make what he has done okay. He is beyond retribution, which is something he feels no need to explain. How can he? The girl has walked to him now, her accusing gaze staring up at him. 

 

"You would not understand, Healer. And you shall not get in my way." 

 

And he lifts his scepter, the blue gem glowing brightly. It reflects in her eyes as he brings it closer. 

 

--- 

 

Walking towards the city of Asgard feels surreal. It's been a few months since you last returned, and you cringe at the thought of seeing the golden palace appear in the distance. The closer you grow to the bustling city, the more your mood begins to dip. You're sliding quickly towards apathy, and those who normally keep your side begin to give you space. 

 

All except Bjorn. 

 

He's told you that his name means 'bear', although you think the term a misnomer. The man isn't a hulking brute like some of the other soldiers you march with. His hair is curly and dark, his skin the warm color of sandy earth. He is stoic, but pleasant to have conversation with. He had been the first to speak to you when you had first set out with the company. 

 

It was nice to hear something other than whispers. 

 

At the thought, words cascade through your mind, bringing with them a flash of heated anger. 

 

 He left her, and right before the wedding, too.... 

 

the Prince of Wickedness and the Bloody Warrior.... 

 

why do you think he …. 

 

not worthy of a prince, anyway. Even him.... 

 

perhaps he isn't missing. Maybe she offed him.... 

 

You do your best to ignore the echoes of the past. It's been over a year. No one speaks about it anymore. 

 

Not where you can hear, at least. 

 

"Buck up, now," Bjorn insists, nudging your shoulder. "It'll be good to see the city again." 

 

"I guess," you reply, your voice holding no real emotion. 

 

It makes your walking companion frown. "At least something will be going on in Asgard. I'm bored of roaming the countryside. Our last battle was ages ago." 

 

"A week isn't 'ages ago'," you correct, shrugging. 

 

But a year is.... 

 

You beat the thought back, but it doesn't scurry away as fast as you'd like it to. A group of soldiers nearby break out into raucous laughter, and you turn your face away to hide your scowl. 

 

"A dark look at something as bright as laughter," Bjorn comments, and you cut your eyes to his. 

 

You sigh, a small smile lifting the corner of your mouth. "You can go join them, you know. Sounds like Tormund told a mighty funny joke." 

 

"A crass joke, I'd imagine," Bjorn says, chuckling. "By now, we've heard them all. He's not good at making up any new ones." 

 

You allow yourself a short laugh, and then fall into silence once more. 

 

The sun is slowly disappearing over the horizon, and the captain calls for everyone to set up for the night. 

 

Odin Allfather had offered you such a position, but you had declined. For months you'd set out on your own, doing the king's bidding, fighting his chosen battles. Eventually, others joined you. You did not care who you were with, although you always preferred to go alone. 

 

Thor, the god of thunder, and his companions accompanied your battles at times. However, nowadays, the Warriors Three and their prince are kept too busy within the city to travel. You had thought to be alone again, but Odin had instructed you to fight alongside the Asgardian soldiers. And so you had. 

 

You lie on your back, staring up into the night sky. You can hear the fire crackling, hear the conversations of your campmates. You're tired, but you cannot sleep. You're worried over what your dreams will bring you tonight. 

 

"So, what are your plans, warrior? Once we reach the city?" 

 

You glance over at your fellow soldier. Bjorn lays on his bedroll, his face also upturned to the starry heavens. The night is clear and cloudless. 

 

"I've got a ceremony to attend," you say, looking to the sky once more. "Meeting a friend, and then we're both going. It's a wizard thing." 

 

"A wizard thing?" Bjorn asks curiously. 

 

You grimace. "Sorcerer thing. Whatever, you get what I mean." 

 

The man laughs. "Yes, by now I do." 

 

It helps to have a companion, a friendly voice to listen to. Still, you want to fall silent, to let your mind ease into unconsciousness. But you haven't shaken your apprehension. Your dreams as of late... they've been nothing more than memories, replayed before your closed eyes. You don't want them tonight. 

 

They hurt too much. 

 

--- 

 

You wake with a choked shout, darkness flaring out as a dagger forms in your palm. You're staring frantically around the room, your eyes seeking danger. Sweating and shaking, your mind replays your dream, the blood vivid, the pain all too real. 

 

And then a cool hand wraps around your wrist, easing the dagger from your grasp. 

 

"You're all right, love," a voice soothes. "It's fine." 

 

Only now can you truly take in your surroundings. The familiar, extravagant  room, the silky bedsheets beneath your legs. The moonlight filtering in through the emerald curtains highlights the table where you love to draw, your bag sitting in one of the chairs. 

 

The cool hand pulls you back, your dagger disappearing from his pale fingers and into the shadows from whence it came. You sink down to the bed, your warm back pressed against the smooth skin of his chest.

 

"A dream," you murmur sleepily, your fingers intertwining with his as he lays an arm across your waist. 

 

You can feel his breath in your hair, his arm hugging you closer to him. "A dream, and nothing more," Loki whispers. 

 

And then you wake. 

Notes:

So, that's a lot of names under the 'gift' section lol
Let me explain
First of all, this whole series is a gift to ShootingStarSojourner, who is my bestie irl. I originally wrote OSE for her. :P
I gifted this part of the series to Auria223 for their awesome comments and the pieces of !FANART! that they did (which you can find on my Tumblr blog).
I gifted to sunmoonandstars for being an awesome supporter with great, thoughtful comments, as well as recommending my series to their own readers. <3
And finally, FlightlessAngelWings, lovetoread2much, and Iplaydead have been fantastic consistent commenters that always made my day.
I know there's more of you out there that supported me and commented on almost every chapter, and I want to thank all of you for being absolutely amazing. :_)
I love all of my readers, and you guys are why I publish on AO3. Thank you!

Chapter 2: Strange Familiarity

Notes:

Jeezums, it's been a hot minute since I published a chapter.
I apologize. I had to wrangle my mental health and anxiety these past few weeks, so thanks for being patient with me. <3
I've also had to switch to Microsoft Online to write my chapters, and the formatting is always a little funky when I try to copy it over. :/ Sorry about some of the weird gaps. I try to go back in the html and fix them, but a lot of times it's hard to find where they are!
ANYWAY
Let's get back into this!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 You decide to focus on the dust. 

 

The spring day is hot, the sky unbearably blue and full of puffy, white clouds. You notice birds flitting from tree to tree, tittering as the people passing by disturb them. There’s laughter in the ranks, boisterous and loud as the soldiers approach their home. Their city. They let out a joyous cheer as the first sight of the palace rises on the horizon, as golden as the sun itself. 

 

It’s an absolutely beautiful afternoon that does not match your mood. 

 

And so you focus on the dust. It billows around the marching army, the dry spell making every footstep kick up an earthen cloud. There are many feet on this path, and the dust sits in your nose as a result. You can taste it, you blink it from your eyes, and it is the only negative thing you try to dwell on. 

 

Because the other is looming in the distance, glinting in the light; a golden taunt, already loud in your ears, although you’ve yet to look upon it. You focus on the many footsteps, the taste of earth in your mouth. On the dust. 

 

“Where will you go?” Bjorn asks. 

 

You glance over at the soldier, whose brown eyes are locked on the palace ahead. You look back to trees and the complaining birds. “The ceremony’s at the guild. So, guess I’ll be at the back of the palace grounds.” 

 

“Would you mind awfully if I accompanied you?” the man asks, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword – a nervous habit. “I require a break from this crowd, and they’re all that’ll be awaiting me in the barracks.” 

 

You understand why it is that he asks. Bjorn is a foreigner, too; he has no one to visit once he returns to the city. His family does not reside in Asgard, although he’s told you he sends a fair amount of gold back to them. Back to his home. 

 

Why haven’t you come home? 

 

A past echo of a prince’s voice, and still it makes you grimace. These things always get worse when you have to return to the city. Bjorn sees the expression that crosses your features and immediately jumps to apologize. “I don’t mean to impose, of course. I can always walk the market.” 

 

“No, it’s fine,” you state, waving your hand dismissively. “It might bore you is all. I’m meeting up with a friend for a bit, and it’s a ceremony, so it’ll just be all of us standing silently in a crowd. Not the most exciting time.” 

 

Bjorn chuckles, white teeth flashing as he smiles over at you. “I do not fear boredom or silence, my friend. But I shan’t come if you do not wish me to.” 

 

You return his smile. “If you want to, I wont stop you.” 

 

“Very well,” Bjorn states, nodding as he returns his gaze to the city ahead. “Quite a sight though, isn’t it? Never do get used to it.” 

 

You finally allow yourself to lay eyes on the golden city of Asgard. It is now stunning once more, the restorations completed, the city whole again. 

 

One would never have guessed that a little more than a year ago, most of the grand houses and buildings had fallen as Asgard’s foes laid waste to the city. No, now its previously destroyed buildings were raised from their ashes, as if they had never burned. By all appearances, everything is as it should be. 

 

But you know better. 

 

“Never do,” you agree with Bjorn, focusing again on the dust. 

 

--- 

 

Sigrid is worried about leaving Brenna home alone. Asmund's mother is unwell, although Sigrid notes that her mind is slowly healing. There are many days that the woman lives in the past, acting almost as her normal self. She works her shop, socializes with customers, speaks of her sorcerer son and his talent. And there are other days where she is aware, too aware of what has happened to her family.

 

It's usually in the dead of night. Her cries of panic and confusion always send Sigrid down the hall with comforting words and care. These nights are usually followed by long days of needlework, of the woman sitting in a chair by her hearth. The sewing keeps her hands busy, and keeps her fragile mind occupied. Sigrid sits with her when she can, silently embroidering her commissions from the shop, so that Brenna does not have to be alone. 

 

But today, Sigrid leaves the poor woman to her own devices. Brenna sits by the hearth as she always does, needle in hand, and she wishes Sigrid a good day as the girl locks the door. 

 

Brenna did not want to attend the ceremony, even when Sigrid had pled, had said that it would greatly please Asmund. Brenna had smiled, but the girl could see panic building in her blue eyes. 

 

And so Sigrid has gone on her own. 

 

There is already a crowd gathered outside of the sorcerer's guild. A small platform has been erected, with seven pillars of gold lining the back. The Asgardian palace grounds are as green as ever, the foliage blossoming with life and beauty. On either side of the stage are small swathes of calla lilies, and the sight makes Sigrid smile. 

 

Asmund still thinks of her. 

 

Sigrid scans the area and almost immediately spots you. You’re already in the crowd, hovering at the back as if you’re uncomfortable being present. 

 

She draws closer, and when you meet her golden gaze, a true smile breaks across her face. 

 

Seeing you is an almost-relief. You are alive, for one. You sport a new, thin scar across your left cheek, but she knows it will vanish within the next few days. Your leathers are in need of repair, which she’ll offer to do once the ceremony has reached its conclusion. You’ve seen battle recently, but you are alive and well, and that is what matters. 

 

“You came,” Sigrid says, her gratefulness apparent in her tone. 

 

“I did,” you tell her, giving her a warm smile. You jab a thumb towards your fellow solider. “Bjorn came along as well this time.” 

 

“Pleasure to officially meet you,” Sigrid states, realizing that you do indeed have a companion standing beside you. 

 

“Pleasure’s mine, Miss,” the man answers respectfully. 

 

Bjorn looks exactly as you’ve described him. Sigrid wonders why he wanted to attend a ceremony for a young man he does not know. 

 

Regardless, there is no time to ask. The ceremony begins as the masters of the guild step onto the platform. The crowd claps politely, Bjorn following suit, but you and the girl do not. 

 

The both of you watch as Asmund walks up to stand before the guild masters. You haven't seen him in months, and you're taken aback by how he's grown. He's not such a half-pint anymore. His shaggy, brown hair is pulled back from his face, allowing all to see that his determined blue gaze is locked onto the man in charge of the guild. 

 

This man should be Loki, Prince of Sorcery. Instead, it is the Master Hammond, a familiar face that sends a pang of loss through your chest. It is how you feel when you see Asgard, when you walk the palace grounds, when you see those Loki once held company with. It makes the loss of the prince even more apparent. It makes you sick. 

 

How different it is now, since the last time you stood here. 

 

Hammond is speaking, but you do not hear. You are present for Sigrid and her half-pint, Asmund, not the ceremony itself. It passes in a blur, the words, the vows. Asmund is finally presented with sorcerers' robes of gold, to match the color of his magic. The crowd claps happily, some cheering the young man as he takes his place among the masters. 

 

You know Sigrid is tense at your side, watching the proceedings with a mask of bravery. This change means her beloved will see less of his family, of her, and more of war. It is a powerful position to hold, but the exchange is time and danger. 

 

You reach out and take her hand. 

 

She's a girl much too young to be holding such responsibility. She reminds you of yourself. The worlds were cruel to you, and you pray to whatever is listening that she will not suffer the same fate. 

 

She clasps your hand tightly, her face impassive as she watches Asmund bow to the crowd. 

 

He wears a similar expression. 

 

--- 

 

You, Bjorn, and Sigrid have made it around the front of the palace, politely chatting as you avoid the dispersing crowd. You've decided to walk the market after all, and invite your companions to join you. It will be good to buy food before night falls and you retire to the barracks. Bjorn reminds you of the feast hall, which will hold a celebration tonight in honor of the soldiers' return. 

 

"I'd rather not," you state. You clear your throat. "I'd rather not do the whole 'feast' thing." 

 

Bjorn purses his lips, nods his head, and opens his mouth to speak. “Very well, I-”

 

"Warrior!" 

 

The three of you turn, surprised by the interruption. Sigrid and Bjorn immediately dip into bows as the god of thunder approaches. He looks ever the same, blond and brawny, although you'd wager that his beard has grown longer. You grin weakly at Thor Odinson, your gaze taking in his smile, his regal attire... and the ornate eyepatch that covers his left eye. 

 

You still feel guilty every time you see it. 

 

"Hey, Thor," you say, raising your hand in greeting. "Good to see you!" 

 

"Aye, likewise," Thor comments. "It is good that I caught you, warrior. We've servants out at the barracks to fetch you. You've been asked to the throne room." 

 

"Ah," you say, for lack of anything better. "All right, then. Wonder what it'll be this time." 

 

"I know not," Thor answers, shrugging his broad shoulders. "I'd only overheard that they search for you." 

 

"Huh. Thanks, then. You coming, too?" you ask him, nodding your head towards the grand entrance of the golden palace. 

 

"Not today," Thor states. "I've other business." The god of thunder seems exhausted, and yet still he manages to give you another smile. "Perhaps we'll work together again, should my father will it." 

 

"Maybe so," you say. "See you around, then." 

 

"Stay safe," Thor Odinson tells you, and he briefly rests a heavy hand on your shoulder before he walks away. 

 

You turn back to your two companions, apologies already on your lips. You're met instead with Sigrid wrapping her arms around you. The contact shocks you, but you quickly shake it and return the gesture. You miss the girl. You miss a lot of people. 

 

"Listen to Thor," Sigrid advises you as she pulls away. "Stay safe. And if you aren't required to leave right away, come by the shop so that I can mend your leathers." 

 

"Yeah, yeah, all right. I'll see you soon," you acquiesce, a small smile on your face. 

 

The girl makes her departure, and you turn to your fellow soldier. "Don't know how long I'll be." 

 

"Don't worry," Bjorn insists, thumb hooking around his belt. He nods his head towards the Asgardian palace. "Go on. Best not keep the Allfather waiting." 

 

"Thanks," you say, giving him a half-smile as you turn to go. 

 

The palace is a daunting, golden monstrosity that threatens to swallow you whole. You walk through its wide maw and into the belly of the beast, down its throat to familiar marble halls. 

 

The palace leaves you feeling lost, your memories chasing ghosts that no longer reside in the grand building. 

 

The throne room is large, with banners, archways, torches, and golden columns positioned around the walls. Intricate metalwork laces across the throne, crafting geometric patterns and swirls, some of which are repeated in the etchings of the marble floor. It is a grandeur that no longer impresses you. You've never understood the necessity of ornate Asgardian design. 

 

Your eyes go immediately to the throne, where you expect to find the Allfather and his guards. The golden seat, however, is quite empty. There is a sole person standing to its side, her gray eyes watching you expectantly. 

 

You complete your walk down the throne room and stand before Frigga Allmother, taking a knee at once. She is one you do not mind showing respect to. "Queen Frigga." 

 

"My lady," she replies, her voice softer than you had been expecting. 

 

There is something wrong, you can tell. The queen guards her emotions well, remains poised and regal, but her hands clench together, her mouth drawn tight. You rise and take a hesitant step forward. "What is it?" you ask. 

 

Frigga searches for a way to explain, to begin to say what she has brought you here to tell you. She finally chooses the same two words that Heimdall had stated to Odin Allfather. The two words that Odin had then whispered to his wife. She tells them now, to you. 

 

"He lives." 

 

--- 

 

Loki sits alone in the dark apartment, his eyes unfocused as he stares at the bland wall across the room. The golden scepter lies across his lap, the gem glowing slightly and illuminating the room in a cool blue. He is tired – exhausted even – but the odd meditation is undeniably preferable to sleep. Sleep brings dreams, visions and threats hissed from across worlds, which leaves him awakening more tired still. But a god does not need rest every night, and so he makes do. 

 

His underground "lab" of sorts is nearby, although Loki does not wish to reside among those he's taken hold of. He needs to be alone, to clear his mind and think... plan. The little room was not hard to acquire, and he has a man standing guard in the hall. As for the others, he's left Agent Barton in charge. The man seems more than capable of leading, and his knowledge of S.H.I.E.L.D. is invaluable. Your little friend helps him and Selvig with whatever they require. 

 

The doctor works on the tesseract. He's making grand progress, but it is not fast enough for Loki's taste. And the Other. He always speaks of making haste, lest everything fall through. Loki has no qualms about this urgency. He's always hated latency. 

 

And yet, he reminds himself; it won't be long, now. 

 

And he smiles. 

Notes:

As always, I've got to get through the setup before we get to the good stuff! Bear with me :P

Chapter 3: Undone

Notes:

I am so tired
I saw Thor: Ragnarok
I want to see it, like, another 1,000 times
There's something in it that happens that I want to scream about but I don't want to spoil it for anyone
Did I mention I'm tired?
That is all

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

You stare blankly at the Allmother, your mind repeating her words over and over. It's as if she speaks a foreign language; the sounds simply do not make sense. Although you've yet to understand, to form any kind of coherent response, your body reacts to the knowledge Frigga has given you. 

 

Your heart picks up – it's a drummer pounding out a rhythm in your chest, the resulting beat deafening only to your ears. Your stomach feels as if it has vanished, leaving behind an empty hole where worry once festered. 

 

"What?" you ask in a whisper, sure that you have misheard her, misunderstood the meaning behind her words. 

 

"He lives, child," Frigga tells you once more. "Loki is alive." 

 

The name of the lost prince banishes the growing feeling of relief, your missing stomach returning and now full of writhing snakes. You don't realize you're clenching your fists until your nails bite into your palms, breaking the skin and leaving red crescent moons. 

 

"Where?" You feel as if you're simple, as if the news has whisked away your vocabulary and left you with only single-worded questions. 

 

"My son is upon the realm of Midgard," Frigga says, working hard to keep any emotion out of her voice. "Why that is, I cannot fathom." 

 

You swallow, forcing yourself to accept it, to move past it, to not ask another one-worded question. The face of Thor flashes through your thoughts, his exhausted expression. "Does Thor know?" 

 

Frigga watches you carefully as she shakes her head. "Odin is meeting with him later." 

 

You catch it this time, the solemn undertone of her words that makes you put two and two together. "It's dangerous," you realize quietly. "You don't want Thor to go. Something happened." 

 

"I sent five of the palace guard," the queen says, holding your gaze. "None have returned." 

 

"And you called me here," you state, cold anger worming its way into your chest as you think, as everything starts to finally set in. "Just to tell me? Because you know I have to go." 

 

"I know," Frigga agrees, her features stiff and rigid, as if she was sculpted from the same marble as the Asgardian halls. "I called you here, child, because I know you will return." 

 

There is a certain finality in her voice, one that leaves you uneasy. There are words unspoken, hidden in her sentence. 

 

The guards now rest in Valhalla. But you... he wouldn't harm you . 

 

"It doesn't matter," you tell Queen Frigga. "Either way, it doesn't matter." 

 

And her regal mask breaks for a brief moment, for less than a second. You see a burning woman, her kind gray eyes filled with painful, distraught worry for her family, for those she loves, and yes, for you as well. 

 

For Frigga is mother to all, especially the lost and broken. 

 

"The guards will have retrieved your belongings from the barracks," Frigga tells you, taking one of your hands in between her own. "They await you outside." 

 

The Allmother's touch stings the four bloody semicircles in your palm. "Will Heimdall have a more specific location for me? Earth is pretty big," you say flatly. 

 

"There's no need," Frigga tells you, and then touches two fingers to your forehead. 

 

At once, your gaze is gone from Asgard, from the golden throne room. You see instead an average-looking concrete building, unremarkable save for two men staring out from the shadow of its doorway, towards the quickly setting sun. 

 

"This is where Heimdall last saw him," Frigga's voice tells you. "This is where we sent the guards." 

 

You blink and find yourself back in the palace, staring once more into the face of the Allmother. You feel her magic's presence lingering in your mind, pulling you towards the place she revealed to you. She releases your hand and steps away respectfully, and you realize the sting in your palms has vanished. She's healed both of your hands, the crescents completely erased. 

 

"Thank you," you tell her, although you feel as if this is the wrong thing to say. But what else is there? "I'm... I'm going now." 

 

And Frigga bows her head, her braided blonde hair catching the light beautifully. She is the epitome of a queen, one of hope and strength. Even in her distress, she is regal. 

 

And you turn from her, a chaotic, troubled mess. 

 

--- 

 

Sigrid thinks it is Brenna who enters through the back door of the shop, and she calls out a greeting as she continues sorting and restocking the selection of herbs. But it is the voice of her beloved that answers, and it makes her drop a few bundles in surprise. She sets the rest to the side. 

 

"Asmund?" Sigrid questions, turning to face him where he stands behind the counter. "What are you doing here?" 

 

"Looking for you, of course," he answers, a smile flashing across his face. 

 

It's not the same grin he used to wear. They both know it. But this one seems genuine enough, and it prompts a smile of her own. "That's excellent. I wasn't sure when I'd see you again, now that you're a master sorcerer." 

 

Asmund smirks conspiratorially. "I'm supposed to be utterly overcome to have such an honor bestowed upon me. But I don't feel much different, if I'm being honest. Don't tell the others." 

 

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sigrid replies, walking over and wrapping her arms around him. 

 

He returns her embrace, the familiar smell of basil wafting over him. She's still got a few herb bundles in her dress pockets, waiting to be put away. It reminds him of when he was younger, running about the shop to help his mother set up the product bins. 

 

"I've come for a purpose, you know," Asmund says to Sigrid, his voice muffled in her dark hair. 

 

"What's that?" Sigrid questions curiously, peering up at him. 

 

He's lost in the gold of her eyes for a moment, and it feels right. He'd rather be lost in her than in the past or present. She grounds him, makes him feel as if he still has something solid in his life. And he can't lose that. He doesn't want to. 

 

"Sigrid, I love you," Asmund states. He waits a beat before continuing. "I'm a master of the guild now, which means long days and nights of training and studying. I'll probably have to travel, and go to war. And... well... I won't lie. It'll be hard for us. I... I want to give you an out. If this is too much for you, if you'd rather –" 

 

She doesn't let him finish. "Don't be stupid!" Sigrid's cheeks go red at the outburst, but she still shakes her head and lets out a weak laugh. "I won't be going anywhere. My place is with you. I am proud of you and your accomplishments, Asmund. And I...." She trails off and then looks away. "I'm well aware of what it all means. And I'm willing to accept that. I love you, and that is that." 

 

A boyish glee passes over Asmund's expression, clearing away the stoic man he has become. He picks her up and twirls her, her orange skirt billowing out as he does so. And they laugh together, alone in their shop, as he sets her back on her feet and holds her close. 

 

He lowers his face to hers and kisses her, then pulls away and asks, "Marry me, then? If you're intent on staying by my side, I'd much rather it be as my wife." 

 

--- 

 

You backtrack through the beautiful halls, your mind numb as you focus on your goal. Get to the entrance. Get your pack from the guards. Get to Earth. 

 

It's simple, and it would have remained simple had you not had a soldier awaiting you outside of the palace. Bjorn approaches, dark brows furrowed as he watches you accept your bag from a palace guard. "What's this?" 

 

"Bjorn," you say, the sight of him bringing your racing thoughts to a grinding halt. "I.... Well, something's come up. And I've got to leave. I'm sorry." 

 

The man gives you a slow nod, his hand habitually resting on his sword handle. "Ah, that's all right. Where the Allfather sends you, you must go. I will miss our companionable silences, however." 

 

He's jesting, the sentence followed by a grin. Your mind is spinning, and it's all you can do to keep your feet at this point. Bjorn's smile fades, and he carefully puts a hand on your shoulder. "Warrior, are you well?" 

 

His hand is not heavy, as Thor's always is. Even so, you're surprised at how familiar this Asgardian gesture has become to you. 

 

"No," you say, the word escaping before you're able to stop it. It's as if someone other than you had uttered it. "No, I'm... I'm not. I feel like I'm dreaming. Or... like my life just got turned upside down. I don't fucking know, I just...." 

 

You shake your head, ignoring a group of nobles who eye you and mutter about your swear. You don't have the time or the want to explain everything to Bjorn, friend or not. But he seems to sense that this is something big, something that will change everything. 

 

This is not Odin sending you to fight a different battle in the name of the realm. This is something that has shaken you to your core, and it unnerves him to see you this way. 

 

Bjorn doesn't know what to do, but he knows he's running out of time in this conversation. You stare up at him and rub your face, shifting your bag to a more comfortable position on your shoulders. "I... I've gotta' go." 

 

You start to turn away, but his voice calls you back. "Will I see you again?" 

 

The question hurts more than you'd like to admit. He's the only true friend you've made within the army. Sure, there are others you enjoy the company of, but none that put up with your surly mood swings. You and Bjorn are both outsiders to this nation, and it built a certain rapport between the two of you. You cannot look at him as you shake your head. "I... I really don't think so." 

 

"Ah," Bjorn replies, clearing his throat. "Aye, all right then." 

 

You extend your arm to him, a farewell between soldiers. Comrades. The both of you grasp forearms, and the action makes your throat tight. "Thanks, Bjorn." 

 

For everything, you think to yourself. For not treating me any different from the rest. For not whispering. 

 

He nods, brown eyes searching your face, and just as you start to pull your arm away, he leans in and kisses you. 

 

His lips are soft, and warm, and full of 'what ifs'. 

 

But you are not soft

 

And you pull away, already shaking your head, already vanishing into the shadows before his eyes. You close the dark rift you had created, separating yourself from Asgard and its soldier. 

 

You are finally alone in the darkness, your power allowing you to traverse where others cannot. 

 

It is always quiet in this alternate space, but you fill it with a single, dry sob. You bend over and put your hands on your knees as you focus on breathing deeply, blinking away any tears before they fall. 

 

It would be easy to break here, where no one else can see you. Because it's been a year, and even then, nothing ever feels right anymore. Because finding out that the prince is alive is too much. And also because you're furious

 

--- 

 

Frigga's magic creates a pull in your mind that leads you through your dark passageways, past echoes of the world around you, which zoom by in a blur as you travel. It takes mere seconds to locate the building she showed you. 

 

You step out of the shadows and into an alleyway nearby, the exhaustion of using so much power and energy hitting you physically. You lean over and press your forehead against the cool concrete wall, sucking in air through your teeth. It takes you a minute to adjust, and the entire time you feel extremely exposed. 

 

The encroaching night helps soothe this fear, however. The sun has recently set, the sky to the west a deep indigo with stars already dotting the heavens. It clears your head, settles your thoughts, and you feel Frigga's magic once more tugging you towards the building across the street. 

 

You creep up the alley, searching for the two men you had seen in the Allmother's vision. But even as you stare at the building in front of you, something deep in your mind whispers that Loki does not reside here. The thought grows louder and louder until you cannot ignore it. You have no good explanation, nothing to base this thought upon. 

 

It's simply because if it was you that had set up an operation such as this, you would not sleep within. 

 

You know that he’s aware anyone looking for him will attack the base. No, he won’t be there. You bet that he'll be somewhere nearby; close enough to hear if any trouble arises, but far enough away to flee if he deems it necessary. 

 

And so you mentally sever the pull of Frigga's magic and begin to search with your eyes instead of your mind. 

 

Your gaze lands on an apartment complex on the corner, where a sign boasts 'Grand Opening - Coming Soon! Luxury Apartment Homes'. 

 

And you roll your eyes. 

 

--- 

 

The thud of a body hitting the floor shakes Loki from his trance. His eyes shoot towards the source of the noise, and he's displeased to hear movement from outside of the room's door. His guard has fallen, it would seem. 

 

Someone has found him. 

 

He rises from the chair and rolls his shoulders, swinging his scepter towards the door. He figures his visitors will be S.H.I.E.L.D., a mass of agents, maybe even the one-eyed Director Fury himself. Humans never learn. If they wish to die in droves by his hand, so be it. 

 

Loki's sharp gaze watches as the door handle jiggles – it's obviously locked. The idiocy of the situation makes him sigh. He waits for the inevitable smash and splintering of wood as the agents kick in the door. 

 

It never comes. 

 

Instead, there is a silent tear in the middle of the room, a rift opening, a familiar darkness expanding out from the seam. And it makes him freeze, makes him forget to draw breath as he watches, disbelieving. 

 

Then out you step, across the room from Loki Laufeyson. 

 

A simple action. 

 

And in an instant, everything in his mind comes undone. 

Notes:

Alternate Title: "When 'Hey, it's been a while.' Just Isn't Gonna Cut It"
;p

Also:
MY KIDS ARE GROWING UP, GONNA DO THE MARRIAGE, ACK MY STONE COLD HEART HAS FEELINGS, SEND HELP

Chapter 4: Types of Fire

Notes:

Wellllllll, angstville, here we come, guys
Little warning here, this chapter delves down in the NSFW for a bit towards the end.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

You stare into the face of a stranger, who watches you intensely. 

 

The dim room is absolutely silent, lit only by the blue glow of the scepter in Loki's hand. The shock of actually locating him keeps your tongue still, your thoughts too chaotic to voice. Your entire body is rigid, your jaw clenched so tightly your teeth begin to hurt. 

 

You cannot seem to look away from him. 

 

Loki stands near the wall, dressed in his familiar green regalia. The ornate clothing and leather armor are as pristine as ever, but you cannot say the same for the prince. 

 

He is but a shell of himself, of the Loki from your memories. He has always been pale, but now his skin seems unnaturally white, all color drained from it. His dark hair, normally slicked back, is longer now, more wild. Dark circles sit beneath his eyes, strikingly noticeable and loudly screaming for a night's sleep. And his eyes, these eyes that stare at you from across the room, they are not the ones you remember. Gone are the glittering emeralds, removed from their sockets and replaced with burning sapphires. You're trapped by them, paralyzed by this physical change that you cannot understand. 

 

"Ahh," he finally says, the noise hushed in the dark room, and he puts a hand to his head. 

 

He hurts. There's a part of Loki that bellows angrily in his mind, spitting orders, telling him to look away, kill her before she becomes a problem, fight or flee, act now or it will be too late, she jeopardizes everything, at least turn her if you're going to stand there, what are you doing? 

 

Don't hurt her. 

 

He doesn't know why, but it makes his head ache. He searches your face, the familiar angles and planes, the steel (stars, the steel) in your eyes as you look at him. He takes in your tattered leathers, catalogues the rips that mean blades bit into your flesh during battle. 

 

With the silence broken at last, you find your words. "You're alive." 

 

His gaze (the blue is so wrong!) shoots once more to your face, two pinpoints of ice in the dark. And he says nothing. 

 

So, you say more. 

 

"You're. Alive." You can feel your fury building, roaring up from your chest and into your throat. You try in vain to swallow it. Your next inquiry is quieter, more restrained. "Do you know how long it's been?" 

 

You wait with clenched fists for a reply. Loki holds his silence, his expression impassive. It tears at you, rips another question from you in a shout, your voice like the sharp crack of a whip. "DO YOU?!" 

 

"Three hundred and seventy-two days," he answers abruptly, his lips pressing together into a thin line once the words have escaped. 

 

"A year!" you shriek. "A year! God, I could kill you! What the ACTUAL – FUCK, Loki?! What the fuck?!" You suck in a huge breath, doing your best to calm down. And then you think about it. "No, you know what? We're not going to talk about this calmly. We've done the calm, mature thing before. I AM GOING TO SCREAM AT YOU." 

 

He quirks an eyebrow, but again, says nothing. Something in him still calls for your subdual, and that something simply cannot comprehend why he does not act. What makes him stand and watch, eyes taking you in after so long, catching your every furious gesture? 

 

And he remembers, all at once, a night in his bed with you by his side. You were angry with him, your voice low and tired. It floats through his thoughts, pushing back the louder voice that demands he hurt you. 'Let's just try to be calm and mature, okay?' 

 

Loki's silence makes you all the more wrathful. "You're an absolute fucking asshole! You left! You fucking left! No real explanation, just a bunch of cryptic ass bullshit! And now, like, what, you're on EARTH?! A year of nothing, and then just," you deepen your voice, making it as dramatic as possible, "'Hmm, yes, Midgard. Humans and mortals and such. That's where I'd like to be. Love me some of that!' I mean, WHAT THE HELL? What the FUCK are you doing here, in this shitty ass apartment in a dead ass town?! The fuck, Loki?!" 

 

Don't answer, his inner voice hisses. 

 

But you don't pause long enough, you can't bear the thought of him remaining silent, and so you just continue shouting, screaming out everything you've been holding in. "You're a dick, you know that?! A heartless bastard! People talk, they said all sorts of stuff, and I just…. It's like, what, the ultimate trick, right?" You hate it, you hate everything, and your eyes fill with angry tears. "Get a girl to love you and then ditch out on her right before the wedding! The Trickster God, everybody!" You gesture from him to an invisible crowd around the room and then slowly clap your hands. "There you have it! Hope you've been having a good laugh! Asshole!" 

 

Loki opens his mouth, expression conflicted – a mix of bitter anger and something else, something you almost recognize as regret – and that's when you really lose it. You lack any more words to express yourself, and an outraged shout escapes from behind your bared teeth. "No!" you scream, clenched fists releasing so you can wipe at your eyes. "NO! Don’t start." 

 

The apartment is barren of anything truly good for throwing, but you make do. You sling your bag from your shoulders and promptly chunk it at the Prince of Lies. "No excuses, you bastard!" 

 

He catches it by the strap with his free hand, the momentum of your throw causing its body to thump him on the chest. He looks up at you again, a hint of incredulousness breaking through the blue ice. You're looking for something else to throw, but the apartment living room is lacking of objects other than generic furniture. Too big to quickly hurl at him. 

 

"Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?" Loki asks, his voice tight but still ringing with authority. 

 

His first true words to you in a year, and he says that?! "No!" you shout back, wiping at your eyes again. “No, I don’t, you unreliable piece of… you twisted bastard… you… you…!” 

 

The damn tears won't stop. Your speech devolves into loud strings of swears as your feet automatically carry you closer to the prince. Your fists are clenched, your whole body taut, and you're half convinced you're going to sock him in the jaw once you reach him. 

 

Loki drops your bag, and again, his hand goes to his head, his eyes closed, face drawn tight as if he's in pain. "Don't." He snaps out the order, the warning clear in his tone. 

 

Stay back, it says. It's dangerous. 

 

You've never been much for heeding warnings. You fell in love with the God of Lies, after all. You stop in front of him, less than an arm's length away. "I hate you!" you say heatedly, your face flushed from your rage. "I fucking hate you!" 

 

And in the blink of an eye, you shove him. His back loudly hits the wall, which cracks from the force, but in an instant he's lunging forward, hand wrapping around your right wrist, squeezing too tightly. He's in your guard, the golden scepter pushing against your left arm, and the cold metal sends chills across your skin. 

 

"Choose your next words carefully," Loki snarls, his breath ghosting across your cheek. 

 

Your tears do nothing to lessen the seething anger in your glare. "Fucking do it then,” you tell him. “I was supposed to die years ago." 

 

Turn her, his inner voice orders. Her powers are beyond useful. Between her and the healer, you may not even need the ChitauriEither way, she must be dealt with. Kill her or turn her, you fool. Do it now! 

 

The gem in the scepter begins to glow brighter, the blade tilting towards you. You don’t break eye contact with him, staring him down as you wait. 

 

His right hand begins to shake; the motion exemplified by the quaking light of the scepter in the dark room. He doesn’t notice. He’s glaring down at you, teeth bared in anger and frustration. 

 

Don't hurt her. 

 

It wouldn’t hurt, his inner voice argues. Turning them doesn’t hurt. 

 

“What are you waiting for?” you hiss, flexing your fingers on the hand he holds captive. “If you want a fight, I’ll fight.” 

 

“I don’t want a fight,” he snaps, the words tumbling from his lips without permission. 

 

“Then what do you want, Loki?” you ask in exasperation, snarling up at him as you try and fail to jerk your hand from his grasp. “Because I am about two seconds away from setting fire to this whole fucking town.” 

 

Do it now! his mind screams. 

 

The scepter trembles in his grasp, his knuckles white against the gold. Every muscle in his body works to push the weapon closer to you, to have the blade brush lightly against your skin. 

 

It should be easy. 

 

It isn’t. 

 

His left hand is the first to betray a lost part of him, his thumb mindlessly rubbing across your wrist. An affectionate habit born of useless sentiment. His unnatural blue glare is fierce as he stares at you. 

 

Loki lowers the scepter, uses it to push your left arm down. His eyes narrow into a calculating look that you recognize all too well. “I’ve decided to let you live, despite the insufferable insolence you’ve displayed here tonight. Be gone from me, or has my absence not been clear enough? You should never have sought me out. I don’t care what you’ve come for, whether it was of your own volition or another’s. You’ll leave at once, by my grace, and you’d best hurry before I change my mind.” 

 

“I can’t,” you state shortly. 

 

His nostrils flare at the statement, black eyebrows rising dangerously on his forehead. “You always were a fool, so eager to throw away your life. Why, then? What keeps you here?” 

 

“You’re holding onto my wrist,” you growl out. 

 

Loki’s fingers are still wrapped securely around your wrist, so tightly that you fear you’ll soon lose circulation. You watch as his sharp gaze finally leaves yours, cutting to the side as he stares at his hand. 

 

“This is your fault,” he says, blue eyes flaring as he looks back to you. 

 

“I haven’t done anything!” you retort, your numb fingers curling into a fist. Your other arm presses against the scepter, pushing roughly against it. 

 

You're going to punch him. 

 

“You sought me out,” Loki says from behind clenched teeth. His nose practically brushes against yours as he leans closer. “You weren’t supposed to be here.” 

 

“Start. Making. Sense.” Each word is punctuated by a jerk from your fist, but still, he does not let go. You prepare to step back into the shadows, gathering your energy and flexing your fingers. 

 

"But nothing makes sense, don't you see?" he says to you. "I see it. And that's the beauty of it all." 

 

You're too close to him. Even your scent is familiar, bringing up past nostalgias that he didn't ask for. He'd committed it to memory after all, one that ambition had snuffed out. But here he stands with you once more, and the both of you glare at one another in hatred, and such a thing is all too reminiscent. 

 

The scepter vanishes from Loki's grip, the sudden absence causing the arm you'd had pressed against it to rocket forward. You follow it through, with purpose. Your fist collides with his side, producing a satisfying sound that you're sure means a bruise. 

 

Loki barely seems to notice. He still hasn't released you, and you still haven't backed away, and you're too angry to try to understand what that means. He's scowling at you when he tilts his head and roughly presses his cold lips to the side of your neck. 

 

You're back in the halls of Asgard, taking the hand of a prince as he leads you quickly to his room. The night when he swore to you that you could both forego the messy emotions – complications  that such an act would bring. 

 

This is not about something as soft as love. This is wild and violent anger, and forgiveness plays no part. 

 

It's been a year

 

The fist that collided with Loki's side clutches at the leather, and you can feel your pulse point racing beneath his teeth. You shudder at the familiar sensation, which makes you glare at the cracked drywall over his shoulder. You manage to finally pull your wrist from his grasp, his chilly fingers leaving marks on your skin. "What the fuck are you doing?" you ask, failing to keep your voice from wavering. 

 

You were already close, but he tugs you closer still, lifting his face from your neck as he fluidly slides one of his daggers from his belt. "As you've said, it's been a year," he breathes, flipping the blade around and holding it up to your collar. He meets your gaze with a mean, chilling look, and you'd swear, you'd swear, those stranger's eyes flashed green. "And we've yet to kill one another, although I'm sure that's still very much at play." 

 

"It would be easier," you state coolly, "to just fight it out now. Get it over with." 

 

His free hand runs across your shoulder and then grasps it much too tightly. "It would be," he agrees, those blue eyes altogether too close to you again. "But there's no fun in an easy victory, darling." 

 

And he jerks the dagger down. It slices through your leather chest piece, catching on the material and nicking skin in the process. You shove him back again, his shoulders further breaking the drywall. But once more, instead of moving away, you step up. Loki's hand and the dagger are trapped between the two of you, the flat of the blade cold against your stomach. His other hand has traveled from your shoulder to your back, fingers sliding underneath your ruined leathers and gripping forcefully at your skin. 

 

"There's no victory here, bastard," you hiss. "God, I hate you." 

 

And then you kiss him, all tongue and teeth, and you find that while he has a stranger's eyes, his lips still make sense. You hear the dagger fall, although the sting it left behind is only intensified when Loki's hand pushes up to your chest. His whole body is stiff beneath your fingers as you search for other familiarities. His shoulders are the same, his jaw, the texture of his hair. You grab a fistful as you kiss him, and he quickly returns the painful favor. 

 

Loki feels as if he's falling, memories parading past his eyes of nights like this, thoughts he'd pushed away. It was easy to push without you here. His head aches, his mind shouting words like logic, and power, and fool. It burns him, this rage. He's back in the hallway outside of your door, when your hands clutched at him, your thumbs skated across his cheekbones. 

 

With your lips on his, fierce and insistent, a face swims in his mind's eye. Images flicker, different scenes blinking in and out erratically. It makes him freeze, his brow furrowed as he pulls away from you. His glare is icy with dangerous anger. "Who is this man?" 

 

"Trying to figure that out myself," you answer breathlessly, shooting him a glare of your own. "You're still in there somewhere, I think." 

 

"Not me," he snaps, swiftly pushing you to the right until you're the one pressed against the wall, and he's the one towering over you. "This man I see, who stands beside you on the battlefield. Who keeps your company. I see him kissing you, warrior. Who is he? Name him." 

 

You feel your mouth drop open for half a second, your stomach jolting at the threat you see in Loki's eyes. But you're immediately all steel once more, glaring up into the face of the God of Wickedness. "No way. Absolutely not. Stay the fuck out of my head." 

 

"If you do not tell me, I'll search for it myself," he hisses, cheek pressed to yours, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I will find out." 

 

"Crazy, that I would spend time with someone who was actually there this past year," you state frigidly. "Unheard of. It's kind of weird, right? That he was there and you weren't?" 

 

You're toying with him on purpose, wanting to wound him (if such a thing is possible). You know full well Bjorn had acted on impulse, a farewell, that it was a soft kiss and nothing more. You'd left the soldier standing alone on Asgard, and yet you have not left this apartment. But Loki does not know all of this. 

 

"Silence," he growls out, hand clenching into a fist right beside your head. 

 

"Funny, that's not what you usually want," you answer maliciously. 

 

"Then scream," he states. 

 

He hooks his fingers around the waist of your pants and tugs violently. The buckle of your belt pops off and falls at your feet, the other fastenings thankfully coming loose before they break. 

 

“Fuck you, Loki,” you snarl. 

 

“Tell me to stop, then,” he challenges, eyes glinting in the dim light. 

 

You hold his glare, the both of you standing frozen for a long two seconds. 

 

And then you’re a blur of furious movement, your hands undoing his own belt as he jerks your bottoms down around your thighs. 

 

“Hang on,” you snap heatedly, using your left foot as leverage to wiggle your other foot out of your boot. 

 

You’ve barely gotten a leg out of your pants and underclothes when Loki’s pressing against you, parting your thighs with his body. You’re pinned against the wall, your back threatening to further break the already weakened and cracking sheet rock. 

 

When he enters you, it’s obvious no one has taken you since he’s been gone. You inhale sharply next to his ear, your fingers tightening on his arms. No plea leaves your lips, but he still pauses, slows, allows you a moment to adjust. 

 

He’d never admit to it. 

 

Your hands slide up his arms as the pace of his hips quicken. Your breath is already coming too fast, your heart thundering loudly in your ears. Your fingers seek out the fastenings of Loki’s armor, working to release them. 

 

“Don’t,” he orders in between gasps. “Leave it.” 

 

He’s roughly pounding into you, a fist in your hair and the other on your breast, pinching and twisting and making you swear. 

 

This act of carnality is not draw out. It does not take long, not for either of you. You refuse to say his name. Instead, as your muscles start to tighten, you allow yourself a low moan. It swiftly escalates to a higher pitch as you reach your climax, more curses escaping you. 

 

You’re lucky you finished first. This is a union born of selfish anger, not pleasure. Loki’s quickly approaching his own release, groaning as his hips start to snap erratically. His grip on you is painful as his body shudders, his movements stuttering to a stop as he buries himself in you. 

 

You’re both panting, the collective noise loud in the quiet room. Once more, his thumbs start to trace circles where they rest on your skin. It gives you chills, reawakens your fury. 

 

Your fire is gone, replaced with cold anger. You push on Loki’s shoulders, but he’s already backing away, blue eyes narrowed, a sneer on his face. 

 

You mindlessly pull your bottoms back in place, slip your boot onto your foot and adjust the buckles, and Loki’s decent in half the time (as decent as the man can be). He says nothing until you cross towards the door, reaching for the handle. 

 

“A bold move, to leave in such a state,” he jeers, eyes noticeably scanning your ripped top. 

 

You shoot him a look and open the door, quickly locating the body of the man that had been standing guard. You strip him of his shirt, a uniform that you recognize. 

 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. working with you seems odd,” you state, tossing your ruined clothes to the side and slipping on the man’s shirt and jacket. 

 

“You’d be wise to do the same,” he comments, noting the bloodstains on your new, oversized garments. 

 

“Whatever the fuck you’re doing, Loki? Forget it. Go the hell home. Your mom wants you back. Thor’s moping around. Go back to Asgard and leave the little earthlings alone,” you tell him as you walk over towards the wall and pick up your bag. 

 

“Ah, but I can’t,” he answers with a cruel smile, eyes practically gleaming blue. “I’ve made my choices, darling, and I’m more than content with them. They’d counted you a weakness, but I’d much prefer you as an ally. Why not join me in my conquest? It’s in your blood as much as mine.” 

 

You stare at him, more exhausted than you’ve ever been. His words echo in your thoughts, hurting more than his absence ever had. I’ve made my choices, darling, and I’m more than content with them.’ 

 

You realize that you don't want to hear what happened to Loki over this past year. The mystery, the blue, his odd references to people you do not know. None of it will explain away his actions, and you cannot stand and listen to him talk in riddles. Not right now. 

 

“Go back to Asgard,” you say with finality. 

 

And with that, you step into the shadows, alone again. 

 

This time by your choosing. 

Notes:

So, this is technically a smut chapter, but I didn't want that part of it to be super detailed and drawn out, because it isn't really what the scene is about, so.... Hope that makes sense!

Chapter 5: To Seek

Notes:

Let us step off the angst train for a lil bit, yeah?
We've got a mystery to solve!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The darkness plays tricks on you. You find that once the path closes, you cannot seem to move on. Your heart pounds in your ears, but it isn't loud enough to drown out Loki's next words. 

 

It's as if he knows you have not truly left, that you remain close by, a step away in an alternate space that he cannot reach. But he speaks, regardless, and you hear. 

 

"Am I to understand that you've forgotten our ledger, my dear?" he asks quietly, his words dripping sweet poison. They pass through the dark like an echo, bouncing around and then fading away into nothing. "You've been indebted to me since our very first meeting. And paying a debt to a god is never an easy task. It would be easy to take a step in the right direction, however. Why not take part in this war against Earth?" He says the word with clear disdain in his tone. "I hold true power here, and I know you would revel in it." He pauses for a moment, waiting. When he's met with silence, he offers a final plea. "After everything we've been through together, you would simply walk away?" 

 

And why not? You think to yourself as you shake your head. Didn't you? 

 

But in your mind, there is an odd sort of pull that accompanies his words. It brings up images of you at the Trickster God's side while he sets out to accomplish his goal. You have always been a rebel without a cause, wandering aimlessly in search of meaning, of a next battle. And here he offers you a battle, a grand battle at that. A war against Earth. You've never much cared for the denizens of this planet; would it really be so wrong to test the limits of your power? 

 

You close your eyes and breathe in deeply through your nose, trying to clear your head. Something is off. You feel... not quite yourself. Loki doesn't sound so insane to you anymore, and you know that screams danger. Willow's face flashes behind your eyelids, followed by the two astrophysicists and the intern. Will has always had a soft spot for humanity, much like Thor has grown to care for them. There are a few humans you admit you feel friendly towards as well. So, why are you entertaining these mad thoughts? 

 

You feel a rising instinctual urge to flee, chills running down your spine at the sudden rush of fear. It's as if you've been poisoned by Loki's terrible blue, like it's slowly planting seeds and rooting in your thoughts. 

 

Your eyes had always searched out the scepter, where it lay on display in the prince's trophy room. But it had been in passing each time, as you walked from one room to another. You had never lingered... at least not purposefully. Never given it much thought. But now with the weapon clearly playing a hand in Loki's demented state, you fear you have tarried too close for too long. 

 

You pull away from him, forcing yourself through the dark, out of the dead town and down familiar paths towards your initial destination. 

 

You have to see Willow. 

 

--- 

 

Sigrid and Asmund stand near the barracks, golden and blue eyes searching for any familiar face. Sig's initial joy at Asmund's proposition had shifted towards apprehension when she found she could not contact you. He had suggested they give you time and search for you once evening fell, and she had agreed. 

 

And now night has fallen, and Sigrid's unrest is quickly growing as she realizes you are truly gone once more. But where has the Allfather sent you, that her mind cannot find yours? The last time this had occurred, you had been lost to Midgard. 

 

Asmund's hand is wrapped tightly in her own. She is thankful that he stands beside her; to be in the presence of a sorcerer lessens the oddity of the pair hovering near the army's barracks. 

 

The majority of the soldiers are in the feast halls, but Sigrid knows she will not find you there. The rest are milling about the area, chatting and talking, speculating when and where their next march will take them. It is when she spots a familiar face walking towards a small, seated crowd that she tugs on Asmund's hand. "I'll be right back." 

 

The girl steps away, eyes locked on the man you'd introduced her to. He smiles as he listens to another soldier speaking, although he does not join in their spirited laughter. Amsund shadows Sigrid uncertainly, wondering what she could hope to gain from talking with these warriors. 

 

Bjorn spots the pair as they approach, his brown eyes widening slightly in surprise. He sets his mug of ale to the side (where it will surely be kicked over by one of his companions), and meets the both of them halfway. "Greetings," he says cordially. "Sigrid, I believe it was?" 

 

"Yes, indeed," the girl answers, dipping her head respectfully – a servant's habit. "And this is Asmund." 

 

"Pleasure," Bjorn states, nodding as he hooks a thumb through his belt. "I am Bjorn. I attended your ceremony today, you know. Congratulations, Master Sorcerer." 

 

His smile is warm and genuine, which Asmund was not expecting. There are some soldiers who look distrustfully upon the arcane arts, which creates tension when the two types of fighters must work closely together. "Thank you," Asmund says appreciatively. His inquisitive nature is quickly getting the best of him, and before Sigrid can say anything, he further questions, "May I ask why you gather outside of the barracks rather than within?" 

 

"Oh," the man says. He glances over his shoulder, where the other soldiers are talking and drinking. "You know, I never considered it until now. I suppose we're used to standing around campfires and spending our time outdoors. To be inside is just not the same anymore." 

 

"And your accent, if you don't mind my asking, where are you –" Asmund begins, but Sigrid cuts him off. 

 

"You'll have to pardon us, sir, but we don't mean to keep you," Sigrid says, squeezing Asmund's hand apologetically. "I'm seeking our mutual acquaintance." 

 

"Yes, the Bloody Warrior," Asmund agrees, quickly getting back on track. "Is she around? We'd thought to venture inside the barracks, but weren't sure we'd be welcome." 

 

Bjorn takes a subconscious step back, his impulsive action earlier in the day flashing again to the forefront of his mind. He looks away in shame, cheeks warming. "She's gone, now. Sent away by the Allfather, but where, I do not know. She left in a rush.... Seemed all out of sorts. It was as if she'd seen a ghost." He looks over at Sigrid and Asmund, who cast a long glance between one another. "That's all I know," Bjorn promises. 

 

"Thank you for your time," Sigrid answers, although her thoughts are miles away. 

 

Speculating. 

 

--- 

 

You've been to Will's apartment once before, and it is therefore not hard for you to find again. You're truly exhausted on all fronts: mentally, physically, and emotionally. You have to talk with her, someone who understands, who you know will not hesitate to help. And you desperately need help. 

 

You haven't been writing to Willow as much as you once had, although you are sure to let her know where you are and what battles you face. She has always been one to respect your privacy and need for space, and you'll be forever grateful. 

 

You figure she will be asleep, probably with her captain, and so you step out of the shadows and into the apartment's living area. The room is lit by a single lamp, which casts a warm glow across the vintage furniture. It's a welcome change from the cool gleam of the jewel embedded in Loki's scepter. Your mind feels more at ease immediately, and you breathe a sigh of relief as the shadows close. 

 

There's a soft snap from your left, and your gaze cuts over. 

 

A woman is in the room with you. And it isn't Willow. 

 

You quickly take her in, assess the situation. She's holding a gun on you, aimed right at your head, but has yet to pull the trigger. She has thick, brown hair that is pulled back into a tight ponytail, tawny brown skin, and red lips that are pressed into a thin line. There's a laptop sitting on the table in front of her, papers scattered around it with a very familiar emblem at the top of each page. It matches the one on the woman's uniform. 

 

S.H.I.E.L.D. 

 

You silently stare her down, debating on what to do. Do you have enough energy to avoid a gunshot? Who is this intruder, and where is Willow? You don't necessarily feel threatened by the woman, but your fingers itch to call up a sword or at least a dagger. The silence stretches on, the tension in the room mounting every second, and then the woman speaks. 

 

"Who are you?" she asks, and her voice wavers slightly (although her gun does not). 

 

"Who are you?" you counter. "What are you doing in Will's apartment?" 

 

You see recognition spark in the stranger's eyes. "You know her?" 

 

"Will?" you call out, briefly breaking gaze with the woman as your eyes flicker over towards the bedroom. 

 

"She isn't here," the woman informs you tightly. "Now, who are you? What are you... what are you wearing?" 

 

Shit. The S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform you took off the guy in the hall. That probably wouldn't look good to another agent. You turn back to the stranger, and you can feel your anger and exasperation rising once more. "Did you do something to her?" you demand. "Is all of S.H.I.E.L.D. working with Loki, or what? What are you doing in Willow's apartment?" 

 

"Listen, now, I'm the one asking questions," the woman snaps at you. "The safety on this is off, you know. So, one last time, who are you?" 

 

You're sick of this absolutely hellish day. You cave, angrily spitting your name at her. "Your turn, now. Who the hell are you?" 

 

She stiffens, as if she doesn't want to tell you. But at last, she says, "I'm Carla. I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. And judging from the blood on you, I'm guessing that you don't." 

 

She gestures with her gun to your attire, and you sigh. So far, she hasn't shot you, and she's missing the ominous blue glow in her eyes. You figure this woman isn't under any orders from Loki, although that doesn’t mean she isn't an enemy. You work to calm yourself down; you can't just kill her. You need information. "Look, Carla. It's been a long fucking day for me. I didn't have a shirt, so I took one. Just so happened to be from a S.H.I.E.L.D. guy. There was a fight, yeah, and I won, but the circumstances were a little weird. I have nothing against S.H.I.E.L.D. I've met some of your agents before, my friend works for you guys.... I just really need to see her, okay?" 

 

The woman stands silently, her gun still trained at your head. You wait rather impatiently, and she finally speaks again. "How did you do that? Just appear here? You're like Willow, then?" 

 

"We're alike, yeah," you state shortly. "She has powers, I have powers. That's not really what I'm focused on right now." You wait a few beats, and when she still says nothing, you blurt out, "Look, I'm not going to hurt you, all right? And if you're not going to hurt me, then just put the gun away, because all I really care about right now is Willow!" 

 

Carla's red lips press into a thin line again, and then she abruptly lowers her gun. "Willow is missing. I've been stationed here in case she returns or someone tries to contact her." 

 

Your thoughts pull up short. "Will's missing?" 

 

Carla nods, her features serious. "Rogers is out with S.H.I.E.L.D. looking for her. That's the last I heard." 

 

"What happened?" you ask, pulling your bag around and searching through it for your notebook. 

 

When you glance up, you find that Carla has drawn her gun on you again. You show her the book and roll your eyes. She warily lowers the weapon once more, and then says, "As far as I know, she went out on a mission and didn't return." 

 

"Probably bullshit," you say idly, thumbing through the pages until you find your last entry to Will. 

 

It was yesterday, when you'd been approaching Asgard (had that been only yesterday?). She hasn't replied. You fish out one of your pens and scrawl a hasty message to Willow as Carla answers your comment. 

 

"I... honestly think so, too. Something's going on, although I'm apparently not cleared for the information. Now, I care for this girl. She's a good soul, if that's something you can understand. So, if you're truly her friend, and you can do... that," she gestures towards where you had stepped from the shadows, "then do you think you'll be able to find her?" 

 

"What the fuck is going on?" you groan, rubbing your face as you stow your pen and notebook away. "Weirdest day of my damn life, I swear." You look back up at Carla, distrust clear in your gaze. "I don't think I can find her, I know. Where was she last? I can start there." 

 

"They tried that," Carla states, tapping a finger on the edge of the table near her, where the laptop sits. "The base is completely destroyed. But... I... have a theory on how to locate her. My superiors don't like it, not that anyone listens to me anyway." 

 

Now, you're interested, your guard lowering slightly. "Yeah?" 

 

"Willow creates flares of energy when she uses her abilities. That's how we tracked her in the first place, when she initially landed here." 

 

Your thoughts immediately go back to the Bifrost disaster, which had landed you in New Mexico with Thor, and Will in New York. "Okay, and?" you ask. "Can you track that again?" 

 

"I don't have the capabilities here," Carla tells you, and you sigh as you start planning out your next course of action. But then she continues, "However, I've been monitoring power surges in the nation. And there's been several. I can't run the data from here, but I know someone who can. And he's nearby." 

 

Your brow furrows as you consider this. "Why hasn't S.H.I.E.L.D. already brought him in, then?" 

 

"I think S.H.I.E.L.D. knows where Willow is, if I'm being honest," Carla answers. "So, they really don't need him. But as they aren't sharing their information, we need him. He..." she purses her lips, "doesn't play well with others. But he'd be your best bet of quickly getting the information you need. If you can convince him to do it." 

 

"I can be very convincing," you say bluntly, and Carla frowns at you. You ignore the look. "Where can I find him?" 

 

You're throwing yourself into this new problem, pushing your thoughts of Loki back on purpose. If your friend needs you, you'll be there for her. But first, you have to find her. 

 

Carla turns towards the apartment window and points at the dark skyline, red fingernail tapping against the glass. "Head that way. He's in Stark Tower. It's a tall building with its name lit up at the top like a neon sign. You can't miss it." 

 

You consider her, wondering about the likelihood of this being a trap. You slowly nod your head, lip between your teeth. "All right. Thanks. If you're right, that is. If this is some sort of ambush, you'll be hearing from me real soon." 

 

Carla snorts and rolls her eyes. "You can't intimidate me. That's why S.H.I.E.L.D. hired me. But there's no need for any hostility. Not towards me, anyway. Save it for Stark." 

 

You decide that if this woman doesn't get you killed, if she isn't a liar that has hurt your friend, you may end up liking her. "Yeah, okay," you answer, and then step backwards into a rift of shadows once more. 

 

Time to visit Stark Tower. Whatever that is. 

Notes:

WHERE IS WILL?! WHO KNOWS? NOT READER!
*dramatic irony*

Glad to have Reader meet Carla, who is a character from the sister fic, "To Walk Together" by ShootingStarSojourner :)

Chapter 6: Warriors and Wit

Notes:

Alternate Title: Tony Time

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Tony Stark is up late, which is not at all unusual for him. His busy mind is always at work on something or other deep into the night, when it is said the most intelligent and creative are at their best. Miss Pepper Potts always tells him he should search for creativity that can't be found at the bottom of a bottle. Tony thinks of this quote as he takes a sip of his drink – from a glass. 

 

He leans over his workstation, which holds a half-constructed model of a component for his Iron Man suit. It mirrors the design depicted on the nearest holographic screen, which Tony brings closer with a flick of his wrist. He rubs his jaw and swirls his drink as he thinks. 

 

The glass and its contents are the usual, his late night is the usual; it is the sudden, blaring alarm that is not. 

 

"Um, cut that off?" Tony orders, looking quizzically around his workshop. "What gives?" 

 

"Motion sensors indicate that there is someone here, sir," the automated voice of J.A.R.V.I.S. informs him. 

 

The alarm shuts off, making the abrupt silence seem tense and uneasy. "It's midnight, I'm not seeing anyone unless it's Potts. Keep 'em out," Tony says, his tone implying that this should have been obvious. 

 

"Impossible, sir. They're already in the building," the A.I. replies. 

 

Tony frowns. "What? Where?" 

 

Another hologram flickers to life at the edge of his workstation, this one displaying a map of the tower. One of the rooms is flashing red, where the computer system is picking up motion. Tony frowns deeply, and he tilts his head to the side. "Okay, then...." 

 

It's the next room over. 

 

Baffled, and more than a little curious, Tony picks up his glass and walks towards the room's side door. He's beginning to think J.A.R.V.I.S.'s motion sensors need a tune up. He rolls his neck as he steps into the next room – he's been hunched over his workstation for a while now. 

 

He stops in his tracks when he realizes he is indeed not alone in Stark Tower tonight. 

 

"J.A.R.V.I.S., there's a woman here," Tony Stark says. 

 

You lift your gaze at the statement, blinking quickly to clear your vision. You're breathing heavily, a hand gripping the first thing you touched when you stepped out of the darkness – a modern looking couch. It's the only thing keeping you on your feet right now. You've hit your energy limit with all of your shadow travel tonight. Using power to move between worlds and across the country has taken its toll. 

 

But you've got to focus, because you're almost positive that this is the man you're supposed to be talking with. The silence seems to have stretched on too long for him, because he asks, "Long night?" 

 

His tone is nonchalant, but you have a feeling that it's meant to be sarcastic. He looks almost comical, holding a drink and dressed in casual clothes worn underneath an untied, striped men's bathrobe. There’s a blue circle of light in the center of his chest, the glow showing through the fabric of his shirt. Peculiar, but not a priority at the moment. "Are you.... Are you Stark?" you ask, attempting to stand up straight. 

 

"Maybe," the man answers, shrugging as he shifts his weight. Ice clinks against the side of the glass in his hand. "Depends on who's asking. Say, I've got a question of my own. Um, how did you get in here?" 

 

Doesn't play well with others, Carla had said. You suck in a breath and grit your teeth, curbing your impatience as best as you can. "I have abilities...." You waver in your explanation, trying to figure out how best to get across essential information in the shortest amount of time. "I, uh, don't have a... name for it. It's like teleporting?" 

 

Tony's eyes survey you skeptically, noticeably taking in the blood spattered across your top. "J.A.R.V.I.S., have a suit ready." 

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

You jump, searching for the disembodied voice. "The fuck was that?" 

 

Tony's eyebrow rises at your swear. "Oh, that's my A.I. He's 'Just A Rather Very Intelligent System'. Don't mind him. Sooo, what are you doing here?" 

 

You stare at him blankly and slowly shake your head. "Okay, I don't care. Look... if you're Stark, I'm here for.... I need...." It tastes gross; you hate saying it out loud. It makes you think back on an earlier time, when you were rendered useless and weak by your enemies. "I need your help." 

 

The man stays silent for a moment or two, staring at you with an unreadable expression. Eventually, he lifts a finger from the glass he's holding and gestures to you. "S.H.I.E.L.D., right? They override the system or something, get you up here? Or wait, no, bloody and ill-fitting uniform. Enemy of S.H.I.E.L.D., then? Can't really blame you there. Nosy bastards." 

 

You bare your teeth in anger, leftover embarrassment at asking for help shifting and adding to your irritation. "This fucking thing, I swear," you hiss, grabbing at the uniform's emblem on your left shoulder. Once the fabric is balled in your hand, you form a shoddy dagger and swiftly cut the emblem off. You throw the wretched thing down and glare over at the man in the room with you. "Fuck S.H.I.E.L.D., fuck this day, and fuck this planet." 

 

"J.A.R.V.I.S., how's that suit coming?" Tony interjects, fingers tightening around his drink. 

 

You talk over him. "I'm not lying, okay? I've got powers, or whatever!" You brandish the dagger and then throw it backwards, letting it dissipate into the darkness. Tony's eyes follow it and linger where it disappeared (too much to drink?). "Let me lay it out really simply, all right?" You lean over and grip the couch again – black spots dance across your vision. "Because I've had the worst fucking day." You inhale sharply and then speak very quickly. "I went to see someone I thought was dead. He'd taken over the mind of a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent – move past it, the mind control thing's not the point – and the agent tried to kill me. My top was... ripped, so I took this one. I came to New York looking for my friend, met another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who said she's missing and I should come here. So, now I'm here, and for the love of God, just help me find Willow and I'll leave you the hell alone. I'm so fucking tired." 

 

You rub your eyes before tears can well up and overflow. You have no idea if they originate from stress or anger, but you won't allow any to fall. 

 

"That's..." Tony trails off and then swiftly throws his drink back, draining the glass. He clears his throat. "Who the hell are you again?" 

 

You give him your name in a blunt and emotionless tone. 

 

"Never heard of you," Tony says. 

 

"Never heard of you, either," you retort. 

 

"Must not be from around here, then," he says. 

 

"Absolutely not from around here," you agree. 

 

"Like New York?" 

 

"Like Earth." 

 

Tony squints at you. "Are you, uh, saying you're an alien?" 

 

"I don't really prefer that term," you answer. You feel light headed, and you're fighting the urge to sink down onto the couch. "Can we get to the point, please?" 

 

"Anything on the scans, J.A.R.V.I.S.?" Tony questions without breaking eye contact with you. 

 

"There is nothing unusual in our immediate area, sir, and no bugs that I can detect. I cannot get a reading on her, however. It's quite peculiar, and does not register well with my system. I can liken it only to Captain Roger's companion, Willow." 

 

"Willow," Tony mutters before you can speak. "Willow, yes, you mentioned her already, didn't you?" 

 

"She's my best friend, and she's missing," you state. 

 

"And, what, I'm just supposed to believe you?" Tony scoffs, and then goes to take a drink from his glass before realizing that it's empty. He shakes his head, a disbelieving smirk plastered across his face. "You show up in my tower in the middle of the night, spattered with blood, threatening me with a weapon –" 

 

"I didn't –" 

 

"– claiming to be an alien with superpowers that needs my help looking for someone. And I'm not even getting into the crazy you spouted off about some kind of mind control thing." He looks at you pointedly. "Mhm. I'm not buying it. Go ahead and skedaddle on out of my building before I have to remove you myself." 

 

"Your computer guy just said I'm like Will!" you exclaim heatedly. "And if it knows about her, then I'm sure you know she has powers and abilities. Like me. We come from the same place. And she's missing. What, is it so hard for you to search for her?" 

 

"Search for her?" he asks incredulously. "Look, lady, I don't know what S.H.I.E.L.D.'s been feeding you, but I don't just have a magical radar that can find whoever needs found, okay? I –" 

 

"Carla said you could track the energy flares Will makes when she uses her power," you interrupt. "She said she didn't have the equipment, but you could do it. So, without you, I'm shit out of luck until I can think of something else." 

 

"Carla?" Tony asks. "Carla Castillo?" 

 

You shrug. "I guess?" 

 

Tony chews on his lip as he thinks. He's seen Carla. He knows she's an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., and he knows she knows Willow. J.A.R.V.I.S. likened you to Rogers' girl, and Tony has seen first-hand the power your friend wields. Maybe you aren't as crazy as you seem. Trustworthy, no, not at all. But maybe not certifiably insane. "So, Sunshine is really missing, huh?" 

 

"If 'Sunshine' is Willow, then yes," you state in exasperation. "If you can tell me where she is, or even just point me in the right direction, I will be out of your life before you can blink." 

 

Tony looks off to the left as he considers his options. After a few moments, he pulls a cell phone out of his pocket. 

 

"What are you doing?" you ask. 

 

"Calling Rogers," Tony answers, shrugging. 

 

"No one's at their apartment but Carla," you say, exasperated. "She said he's out with S.H.I.E.L.D., looking for Will." 

 

Tony shoots you a look and then ignores you. 

 

"I'm going to scream," you mutter, and then succumb to your urge to sit down on the couch. 

 

--- 

 

Talking with Carla Castillo did not lessen Stark's suspicions of you, but it did confirm that Willow is indeed missing. You watch him type into the most advanced computer system you've ever seen on Earth, which includes holographic, floating screens that you thought far beyond the planet's technological advances. You sit in a rather comfortable chair, rubbing your eyes as you try to stay awake. You like the modern design of the large rooms in Stark Tower. Things are simple and sleek here, which contrasts heavily with the ornate Asgardian palace. 

 

Even thinking about Asgard makes you wince. 

 

"So, how long is this gonna' take?" you ask into the silence. 

 

Stark sighs heavily. "Jesus, if that doesn't equate to an 'are we there yet?'…." He looks over at you, his guard still noticeably up. "Uh, let's see. How can I put this in layman's terms...." You glare over at him, which he returns with an air of arrogance. "I can't just search out your little friend if she's not setting off any 'flares', as you and Carla so eloquently put it. I've set up a system of sensors that will let me know the next time there's, uh, a large 'flare' in the country. So, that's where we're at now." 

 

He presses a final key, swipes a few screens to the side, and then walks away towards the back of the room. Your head swivels as you watch him. "Are you telling me we're just sitting around, waiting for Will to use her power?" 

 

"Yep," Tony states, stepping behind his bar and selecting what he needs to refill his drink. He looks up at you, notes your expression (which is surely a mix of horror and outrage), and then tells you, "Or you could always leave." 

 

"Fuck," you growl, turning away from him and slumping down in your seat. "That could take forever. This isn't working." 

 

"Oh, it'll work. Trust me," Tony says. 

 

"Shut up," you snap, rubbing your temples. "I'm not questioning whether or not it'll work. I just don't have the time to be sitting around doing nothing." 

 

"Charming," Stark says dryly as he returns to his workstation. "You're just a pleasure to be around, you know that? I'm really glad you're here. So, hey, since I'm helping you out, how about you help me out, and not tell the person helping you to shut up." 

 

You angrily swallow your reply before you can make things worse. Your thoughts bounce chaotically around in your mind, your fatigue making them extremely scattered and impossible to focus on. How long will it be before Will needs to use her power? Or what if she's in a situation that won't allow her to use her power? Well, you know one thing, you aren't sticking around with Stark. You'll give it 'till tomorrow, and if nothing's changed, you'll find some other way to track her down. You figure Willow's captain will know something, if you can locate him. Maybe you can ask Carla. And if she doesn't know? On to question S.H.I.E.L.D. 

 

You heave a sigh and prop your head up with your hand. Earth isn't necessarily a big planet, but it sure seems bigger when you have to think about finding a single person somewhere on it. 

 

"So, can't help but notice that you speak pretty good English. You know, for an alien," Tony says without looking up from his work. 

 

"English," you repeat. "A lot of places just call it 'Common'. It's kind of a low language. Tricky at first, but a lot of worlds know it. Easy on the tongue, but not really pretty." 

 

"Uh huh," he responds, the disbelief hard to miss. "You're also good with the lingo and swears." He pauses a moment and then adds, "Especially the swears." 

 

"Been here before," you inform him after a yawn. "Earth curses are my favorite. They just sound bad when you say them." 

 

"Right," Tony states. "Yeah, okay." 

 

You think he asks you something else, but you slip into unconsciousness before it can register. 

 

--- 

 

You subconsciously fear you will dream about your past lover, your dying soldier on the battleground, who stares at you with eyes that no longer see. He always haunts you when you are stressed. But it is not dead eyes that find you in your sleep. 

 

It is a laugh. Cruel and low, right next to your ear, one you have not heard for ages. It makes your fists clench, your blood run cold, your entire being quake. This is fear, a feeling that brings about the desire to fight or flee, which is the basest instinct in any creature that does not wish to die. 

 

The owner of this laugh, you had counted him to Loki when the prince had asked of the men in your past. This is the one you killed, when he was at his most vulnerable. This is the one you did not want. 

 

But he's weaved his way into your dreams once more, with the laugh you'd thought you'd silenced forever. There is nothing but darkness surrounding you, no one near save for him hovering behind you, running unwanted fingers down your spine. 

 

You call out in a wavering voice, seeking help once more, wanting to escape this weakness. This laugh, why it has risen again now, you do not know. You muster up the courage to face him, to kill him again if you have to. 

 

And you turn to find not the owner of the laugh, but your prince. 

 

--- 

 

You jolt awake in a cold sweat, almost leaping out of your seat in your terror. 

 

"Fuck! You scared me!" 

 

Your frantic eyes search out the voice and land on Stark, and you finally remember where you are and what you're doing. His exclamation was full of indignation, although he's quickly regained his composure. 

 

You can't believe you fell asleep. In a stranger's place. You're going to get yourself killed, no doubt about it. You can't afford to exhaust your energy like you have been. 

 

You realize you're squinting as you look around the room – it's daytime. Sunlight streams through the many windows of the tower's wide room, and the city outside is noisy. Stark's working on a new project in the corner, casting dark glances your way. You note that he's changed his clothes, and you can't say you're sad to see the bathrobe go. There's a blanket at your feet, as if he'd haphazardly thrown one over you sometime during the night. 

 

You pretend you don't notice it. "Anything on Will?" you ask, all business as you walk off your dream. 

 

"Nope," Tony answers shortly. 

 

You let out a frustrated groan from behind your teeth. "This is the worst. I'm... I'm worried about her," you admit. "I can't wait around. Is it midday yet?" 

 

"Midday?" Tony questions, looking up from his project. "Uh, it's almost three. So... after midday?" 

 

"Shit," you swear, pacing back over towards your chair. You slept much too long. "Fucking stupid. I've got to do... I dunno', something." 

 

"Well, don't let the door hit you on the way out," Tony says. 

 

You glare over at him and then hold a hand up, darkness flaring as you begin to create a rift. 

 

"Whoa, okay, wait, wait," Tony orders, setting aside his work and striding over towards you. "What is that?" 

 

"Uh.... I don't really... have a name for it?" you answer. "It's how I get around. Like... teleporting, but there's this whole thing involved, and... yeah." 

 

"Uh huh," Tony mutters, still staring at your hand with an analytical eye. "Is there a way to, uh –" 

 

You guess where he's going with this. "It dissipates if I'm not controlling it. Trust me, Jane Foster tried to do all sorts of tests. There's no point. I just use it, it's what I do." 

 

"Foster," Stark repeats. He finally makes eye contact with you when you lower your hand and withdraw your power. "So, you're friends with Sunspot, who does her light stuff, and that makes you like her opposite, with all of that." He gestures widely toward you. 

 

You let out a huff of breath. Everyone always refers to things they cannot understand as 'that'. "Sure, I don't care. I've got to go find someone at S.H.I.E.L.D. to...." Your words taper off, your hand clutching the hem of your uniform top. You look up at Tony again. "Hey, you have an old shirt or something I can wear? I'd find something along the way, but I just feel like that'd be wasting time." 

 

Again, you're affixed with Tony Stark's unreadable gaze. After a few seconds of silence, he calls out, "J.A.R.V.I.S.?" 

 

"I believe Miss Potts has previously left some belongings here," the automated voice promptly replies. 

 

"There you go," Tony says to you, shrugging. "He'll tell you where to look." 

 

You make a face, your nose scrunched up and a frown twisting your lips. "Thanks." 

 

You're uncomfortable as you follow the voice's instructions through the tower rooms, but the payoff of a new shirt is worth it. The A.I. seems all right. It's at least more amiable than Stark, although you feel like it has some of his sass. 

 

You've just gotten changed when the voice says, "Oh. Mr. Stark has requested that you hurry back. It seems there's been a new reading in the system." 

 

"A new reading as in a flare from Will?" you ask. 

 

"Well, we can't be sure, but the probability seems very high," J.A.R.V.I.S. answers. 

 

You head back towards the room Stark was in, and as soon as you step through the door, he's talking. "And there you are." 

 

"What was it? Was it Will?" you ask again. 

 

"Biggest burst of energy so far, much bigger than anything else around," Tony says quickly. He stares at the screens in front of him and then muses, "So, Willow's all tangled up with S.H.I.E.L.D., and now Rogers is running around with them." 

 

"Yeah, so?" you ask impatiently. 

 

"And you needed my help, and yeah, an agent pointed you my way, but no one else at S.H.I.E.L.D. thought to ask for my assistance?" Tony continues. 

 

"She said no one would listen to her, and that you didn't play well with others, or something like that," you say without looking away from the confusing computer display. 

 

"That's what they said to me about...." The end of his sentence fades to nothing as he thinks. He narrows his eyes at the readings on the holographic screen. "It's moving. It started in New Mexico, and it's heading east." 

 

"New Mexico. That's where –" you cut yourself off before you can mention Thor or the Bifrost. That's a whole thing you don't want to get into right now. 

 

"Oh, so you're an alien, but you know where New Mexico is," Tony jeers. 

 

"I said I'd been here before, dammit," you say. "Will you just fucking tell me where she's going?" 

 

"Hang on," Stark says. "This is science, not some freaky mumbo jumbo." 

 

You tap your foot, fighting the urge to pace. The beautiful day outside seems to mock your anxiety; you can't help but feel like something is terribly wrong. If things were fine, Will would've written you back by now, or found some other way to get a message to you. 

 

"Does Sunshine need anything in Germany?" Stark asks you after a long silence. 

 

"In what?" you ask. 

 

"Oh, so you know New Mexico, but you don't know Germany," Tony scoffs. 

 

"I'm assuming it's a place, then," you say. "Is that where the flare ended up? In... Germany?" 

 

"Yep, right in Stuttgart," he affirms, pointing at something on his monitor. 

 

You shoot him a look. "Now's not the time for these stupid games, Stark. Stop making fun of me and just tell me where the hell she is." 

 

"Stuttgart is a real place!" Tony exclaims with a laugh. "Wow, you're just maddeningly inconsistent." 

 

"Fucking shit, just tell me how to get there!" you shout. 

 

"You want directions to Germany?" Stark asks, laughing again. "Are you serious? You can't just magic yourself there?" 

 

"I like to have a general idea of where I'm going, unless I just risk chancing it and getting lost," you say. "I... well, usually I can kind of get a vibe of where she is, but I... I can't right now. So, yeah, I'm gonna' need directions to fucking Germany." 

 

"You usually get a 'vibe' of where she is," Tony echoes. "Wow, this just keeps getting better and better." 

 

"Sarcasm not appreciated right now," you state with a withering glare. 

 

Tony remains unwithered. "I'll level with you, all right? I'm interested. I feel like I'm being left out of the loop here, what with Rogers being in on everything, and S.H.I.E.L.D. acting shady. I can fly us. We can be there in six hours." 

 

"Six hours?!" you exclaim. "That's way too fucking slow. We need to be there now." 

 

"Well, unless you have a mumbo jumbo solution, that's the offer on the table," Tony says, casting you a side glance. 

 

You habitually clench and unclench your fists as you consider your options. "I can't get us there in one go.... That's too long of a distance across places I don't know with landmarks I won't recognize. I'll get lost God knows where. But if you come with me, and you know your way around, and we take it in small steps...." You look up at Stark. "Um....” 

 

“What?” he asks. 

 

“You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?" 

Notes:

This chapter got long, so I kept it in Stark Tower instead of jumping around, but things are happening in other places, and we'll get to it, I promise!

Chapter 7: Limbo

Notes:

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, FRIENDS
STAY SAFE, EAT SOME COOKIES, READ SOME FANFIC
CHEERS!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Loki does not necessarily prefer traveling with your little friend, but the method is a means to an end, and it is quick. It is arguably more pleasant than traveling via the tesseract, which has been left in the charge of the good Dr. Selvig. If all goes well, the prince's little posse will be returning shortly, with more in hand than when they came. 

 

The German town is surprisingly quiet, although the houses lining the street are awake, their windows bright like staring eyes. Loki begins to walk past them, focusing less on the sleepy town and more on his goal. The museum, the gala, is just up ahead. 

 

A vehicle passes, its occupants openly gawking at the sight of a man dressed in such foreign clothing, wielding such an odd, glowing object. 

 

"Are you trying to stand out on purpose?" 

 

Loki feels a sneer twist his lips, and he graces his short companion with a fleeting glance. Even under his influence, Willow retains the essence of her spirit, meeting his eyes without fear. He focuses on her clothing, on the fact that she stands out as much as he does, and comments, "I do recall those being Asgardian leathers. Though I do not remember the addition of such colors." 

 

Blue, white. The girl's captain bears these colors as well. 

 

"A friend mended them," she obediently answers, bright blue eyes subtly glancing at her outfit before adding, "I don't know about you, but I at least plan to look the part before going into a gala." 

 

The prince gives her a tight smile, unsure of whether to be irritated or amused. It’s true that they will have to blend in for a time, until Barton is in position. “As do I, healer.” 

 

Loki continues on without another word, and Willow keeps pace with him from behind. His strides are long and purposeful, and although she has to work to keep up, she does not complain. The closer the pair draws towards the heart of town, the more onlookers stare. Homes soon give way to storefronts (the museum sitting noticeably up ahead) and Loki’s eyes begin darting from window to window. 

 

He finally spots something he likes, something formal and fitting for the occasion. He pauses in front of the store window, casually surveying the clothing on the mannequin display. His companion steps closer, intrigued. “Are we planning on stealing these?” she asks. 

 

Loki cuts his eyes to the heavens and then lifts his hand, the one holding his scepter. His magic flashes out, bright emerald, an old color. 

 

He uses the suit on the mannequin as a guide to craft his illusion. The magic clings to him, settling across his body until his princely attire has shifted into that of Midgardian formalwear. He adds an illusion to his scepter, as he surmises that a jeweled cane will not draw near as many eyes. 

 

Perfection, he thinks to himself, satisfied. 

 

For the healer, however…. He heard the attachment in her voice. ‘A friend mended them’. No, the clothing will have to go. Objects have always been easier to teleport than living beings, especially when they’re right in front of him, separated only by a layer of glass. 

 

For your friend, he’s simply swapped her modified leathers with the dress of the mannequin she’d been observing (which he notes, with a bit of ironic pleasure, is green). 

 

He reads the confusion on her face as she processes what has just occurred. “Better,” Loki states before promptly continuing on his way. 

 

He’s not gotten far before he hears the healer call out to him. “Whoa, wait. I still want those!” 

 

Loki turns to find your friend standing before the store window, staring at the Asgardian clothing that now decorates the mannequin. He frowns at her tone and begins his admonishment. “Is that sentimentality I hear again?” 

 

Your lips on the back of his neck, morning light peeking through the palace windows, soft covers and caresses as he turns  

 

Sentimentality. 

 

Her blue eyes flash brightly for a moment. “No,” the girl insists. “I just like them. They’re practical for what I do.” 

 

What you do is serve me, a voice within him snaps. 

 

He quells his anger, the logical side of him determining that this tiff is a waste of time. “We can fetch them upon our return. We currently have other important matters to attend to. Priorities, healer,” he says snidely. 

 

Loki turns on his heel, once more focused on his destination. He can hear the huff of breath the healer lets out before she follows. 

 

He does not intend to return for her clothes. 

 

He’s itching for the events of this evening to unfold. Too long has he been waiting, holed up in Selvig’s makeshift lab. He’s ready to move on with his plan, ready for everything to fall into place. 

 

He’s ready to acquire an eye. 

 

The museum where the gala is taking place is truly elegant; a large courtyard out front, many stairs leading up to the entrance, tall white marble pillars lining the edifice. 

 

Loki barely notices. Willow, however, surveys the area with a hint of awe behind the blue of her eyes. 

 

The expression fades when she takes note of the guards standing on either side of the building’s entrance. Loki strides up to them confidently, giving them both a winning smile as they step closer. 

 

He’s never bothered to learn all of the tongues of Midgard, but with the scepter, with the stone’s influence, the words come easy, even when they are foreign to his mouth and mind. 

 

“One moment, sir, madam,” one of the men is saying. “Identification please.” 

 

Loki’s smirk is smug and full of dark promises. “I am Loki, soon to be the ruler of this realm.” 

 

The language dances across his lips, as if he has spoken it his entire life. The jewel of the cane in his hand glows brighter, its power flaring out, expanding its reach. The guard stutters, his eyes wide with confusion. “Of… of course.” 

 

Loki’s smirk widens, breaking into a satisfied grin as he brushes past the man and enters the building. 

 

It will be quite a party. 

 

--- 

 

“Just give me some kind of landmark to work towards,” you snap, peering at the blurred shapes of the world around you, things only you can see in the darkness. 

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the tinny voice of Tony Stark replies, “let me just magically find a steady signal in this weird, uh, limbo-hell. And while I’m at it, I just want to thank you for your overwhelming understanding and patience.” 

 

You turn to scowl at him, glaring at the red and gold mask that covers his face. You can hear the little mechanical sounds the suit’s thrusters make as they keep Tony airborne, hovering in the dark space. 

 

You’d finally understood what Stark had been referring to, when he’d asked his A.I. to have a “suit” ready for him. He’s told you that the people call him “Iron Man”, although the suit itself is not made of iron. 

 

“Well, if that’s the case,” you’d told him, “then the name’s pretty stupid, don’t you think?” 

 

His scowl had been reply enough. 

 

"Are we even close to Stuttugut?" you ask impatiently. 

 

"Jesus, that's not even close to right," Tony mutters, shaking his head. 

 

He tries to pull up the map again, but the signal is spotty at best. He hasn’t spoken up about it, but he finds this place... unnatural (scary). J.A.R.V.I.S. has been cutting in and out, which only puts Tony's nerves even more on edge. He feels as if things are watching him, hidden just out of sight. Nothing here makes sense, and if he hadn't initially acted like such a damn hero, his curiosity pushing him to set out and fearlessly face the unknown (maybe take some readings, get some data), then he'd have demanded you take him back. This is a trust exercise he hadn't been banking on, and he most certainly doesn't trust you. 

 

The suit helps, he tries to tell himself. 

 

But it doesn't, not really. Any light he's attempted to shine in this place has been... absorbed. That's the word for it. It is unnerving, and it makes his heart beat just a little faster than is normal. 

 

"Can't we just pop out for a second?" Tony says this as more of an order than a question. "My tech will settle, and we can get a signal, and be on our merry way." 

 

"Yeah, sure, okay," you concede, heaving another sigh. "Shit, this is taking longer than I thought." 

 

You cut a path through the darkness and step out on the roof of a building. Evening has settled in this part of the world, and you feel a clear night creeping in swiftly. Tony flies out after you, and you don't miss the electronic-sounding sigh of relief when he can once more see the world around him. 

 

"Sir, I'd suggest not going back into that... space," J.A.R.V.I.S. says in Tony's ear. "The readings alone indicate that –" 

 

"There you are, buddy," Stark says happily. "Maps up." 

 

The A.I. complies, your destination flashing in front of Tony's eyes. "Of course, sir. But if you would –" 

 

"Which way, Stark?" you ask, unknowingly cutting into the conversation. 

 

"Well, we're close...ish," Tony answers. "Close enough to fly from here." 

 

"My way is faster," you say. 

 

"It's fast, I'll give you that," Stark states with a shrug. "But I'm fast, too." 

 

"Well, I can't just fly," you tell him, frowning. "That uses way too much energy. And I'm already getting tired." 

 

"Hey, I'll take you with me if you hang on tight," he says nonchalantly. "You've shown me how you travel, I'd say it's my turn." 

 

A slow smirk starts to spread across your face. "You sure you aren't just avoiding going back into the dark?" 

 

"Hardly," Tony scoffs. "C'mon, clock's ticking." 

 

You roll your eyes, but you can already feel yourself caving. It'll be an undignified entrance, that much you know. 

 

But finding your friend will be worth it. You just pray she isn't in trouble. Hopefully, all of this has been a giant misunderstanding on your part. 

 

You know better than to hope. 

 

--- 

 

Now. 

 

Willow shoves the target forward, the music in the room dying at once as the instrumentalist turns towards the commotion. The target stumbles towards the waiting prince, who casually flips his cane. The hidden scepter smashes into the blond man's face with a resounding crack.

 

The screams begin, and Loki smiles, his intense gaze zeroed in on his victim. He hoists the doctor up by his collar and drags him towards the grand sculpture in the center of the room. It makes a perfect platform for Loki to complete his task. He forcefully flips the man onto the smooth stone, fishing in his pocket with his other hand for the device Barton had said would be necessary. 

 

It makes a delightful whirring noise once Loki activates it. He stares down at the man, ignoring the cacophony of noise in the background. The healer is already taking care of things, launching into action to dissuade the guards from attacking him. So, Loki takes his time, pursing his lips as he decides which eye to plunge the device into. 

 

Loki can tell that the man's fear is building, although he has yet to cry out. Perhaps he's too shocked. Unperturbed, Loki gracefully stabs the machine down into the doctor's left eye. 

 

He wonders what it was like when his brother lost his eye. He wonders if Thor screamed as much as this man did. 

 

A light on the device blinks green once the task has been accomplished, and Loki pulls the machine free, tossing it casually aside. Crimson, he thinks to himself, adds a bit of life to the sculpture. He straightens up and rolls his shoulders as he leaves the dying man. Your friend is watching him, waiting for orders. 

 

"Come, healer," Loki says easily. "The sheep must be rounded." 

 

He walks out of the building, the illusion of his Midgardian garb fading as he releases the magic. He sees vehicles approaching from the street, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Loki raises his scepter, blasts of energy soaring over the crowd and colliding with the cars. The people scream as the vehicles flip, metal screeching loudly against the pavement. 

 

"Kneel before me," Loki calls out, but the crowd's panic is too great. He frowns and resorts to an old trick, one the simple mortals are sure to fall for. Illusions of himself appear, blocking the mass of people from fleeing. "I. Said. Kneel!" Loki roars, his tongue twisting with the new language. 

 

And silence falls as those present comply. The healer stands at his side, also surveying the crowd. It is time, now, to make Midgard understand. 

 

"Is this not simpler?" he asks. "The natural state for your kind, the unspoken truth of humanity, to have your knees bent and heads bowed low before another. Life's greatest lie, the illusion of freedom that sits before you while you all scramble for power, for identity. When in reality, you are simply a people made to be ruled. And in the end, you will always kneel." 

 

There are quiet, fearful murmurs in the crowd, and for a moment, he has won. But then an elderly man rises, a statement of rebellion on his lips. It's laughable, Loki thinks. In fact, he does laugh. 

 

"Should I take care of him?" the healer wants to know. 

 

"Hardly worth it," Loki comments to her. He then turns to the mass of people before him, eyes falling on the defiant individual. "If you wish to volunteer as an example, so be it," Loki crows. "Look to your elder, mortals!" 

 

The jewel in Loki's scepter glows brightly as energy gathers. There are people turning their eyes to the heavens, to a jet hovering high above. The beam shoots out from the scepter just as a falling figure hits the ground. 

 

The energy deflects, bouncing off of Captain America's shield and blasting back towards Loki. It explodes against a wall of light, brought into existence by your friend, leaving the pair unharmed. 

 

The captain stands in front of the crowd, staring down the prince with a level gaze. The quinjet lowers, guns aimed and at the ready. 

 

"The soldier," Loki acknowledges. "The man out of time. Delightful to officially make your acquaintance." 

 

"Can't say I share the sentiment," Steve Rogers quips, his voice tight. His blue eyes flit to Willow for a moment, the look betraying a hint of pain. "Doesn't sit well, seeing a man standing above everyone else. Didn't sit well last time I was in Germany, either. Let her go. We're not going to let you hurt these people, or anyone else." 

 

"Loki, drop the weapon and stand down," Natasha Romanoff orders from the quinjet, her amplified voice echoing around the courtyard. "This ends now." 

 

"Demanding, aren't they?" Loki asks, looking over at your little friend. 

 

"They are," she agrees, and Rogers almost winces. 

 

"Star, I know you're in there," he calls carefully, shield at the ready. 

 

And that's when Loki makes his move. 

 

--- 

 

"Looks like a party," Stark comments over the roaring wind. "And I wasn't invited. Shame." 

 

"That's a battle!" you shout back, arms still locked painfully tight around the suit's neck. "That's Will's light! Take us down, quickly!" 

 

"Already on it," Tony replies, and you can hear the eyeroll in his tone. 

 

By the time your feet touch the ground, you can already feel your breath catch in your throat. The people locked in this battle... you know two of them. 

 

It's not like in the movies and books, where there's a moment of fluidity, of slow-motion, where the chaos ceases, the shouting falls silent, everything stops. Nothing stops but your heart. It takes less than a second for your eyes to fall on Loki, golden helmet gleaming in the lights of the courtyard, an odd mixture of regal madness in his every movement. He faces off against a man bearing a shield, who you do not recognize. 

 

It takes a second more for your gaze to zero in on the other person you do recognize. There's a madness in her face as well, golden light flaring from one of her eyes as she screams and grips the sides of her head. Her other eye is blue, bright and unnatural. She's at war with herself, pained, confused. 

 

Blue. 

 

A moment more, just another heartbeat, and you understand. 

 

It only takes around three seconds for your world to fall apart. And a sound tears from your throat, a purely instinctual scream that rings out across the courtyard, that hurts, hurts, hurts. 

 

"NO!

 

You're scrabbling forward, tripping over yourself in your shock, unable to feel your limbs let alone control them. You can hear Stark shouting something at you, feel the cold metal of his fingers as they close around your forearm. But that's irrelevant. 

 

"NO! NOLET HER GO!

 

Loki looks up at the sound of your voice, that handsome, terrible face portraying genuine surprise. You know this time, you can see when the blue fades from his eyes, revealing his green, your green.

 

"LOKI, PLEASE!

 

You're fighting against Stark's hold now, tears rolling freely down your face, your throat on fire, a coppery taste in your mouth. Did you bite your tongue? Your eyes are locked onto Loki's, your vision blurred, mouth stretched in a silent wail. 

 

His eyes never leave you. 

 

He lifts his scepter, the action almost mechanical. There's a flash. Willow falls silent. 

 

Her body hits the ground as Loki vanishes from sight. 

Notes:

Just want to say, I know updates are coming super slowly, especially in comparison to how OSE and ODE updated. I just want to thank you guys for being patient and understanding with me, especially around the holidays! Every comment and kudo gives me life, and I appreciate every single one of you.
<3
I'll be taking a short break until the holidays are over, but I'll see you soon! ;D

Chapter 8: In the Face of Adversity

Notes:

Happy 2018!!!
Here's to an awesome year of fic writing and reading to each and every one of you! :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

You're pulling against Tony's hold, jerking your arm repeatedly until your joints hurt. He's talking to you, saying something, asking questions, but you do not hear. You watch as the man with the shield rips off his helmet and sprints towards your friend's fallen form. He drops the spangled disc, the metal clanging against the street, and hurriedly turns Willow so that he can see her face.

 

"Don't touch her," you growl out. You're too volatile right now for any sort of logical thought. "Don't touch her!"

 

You let out a blast of energy that finally causes Stark to lose his grip. And then you're dashing forward, using even more energy to push yourself faster, because what if she's dead and what will you do and you can't even bring yourself to think about any of that, not right now, not yet.

 

The humans are still watching; the crowd has yet to disperse. There's flashes as pictures are taken, mouths moving quickly, people calling out. They're making a lot of noise, you know, and yet you do not hear them. And the blond man kneeling by Will, he's making noise, too. Asking you something, staring down at her with worried blue eyes (what a normal blue, you think to yourself).

 

And you're angry.

 

And there is nowhere to direct your anger, and so you wear it. It is written in the tightness of your face, your muscles, tensed for a battle that is already over. It can be seen in the tears that fall across your cheeks, and the way your hand trembles as you hold it out towards the soldier. You're a finger-twitch away from ending all of this. A single movement, and the crowd could be gone, the blue eyes could be gone, the man in a suit of metal could be gone. Maybe you'd die using that much energy, you don't know. But you'd do it, you could dump them all into the darkness and let them rot.

 

It is very tempting. Your power flares out across your arms, your back, a sight that the watching crowd does not understand.

 

"She's alive," the soldier says, two fingers pressed to Willow's neck.

 

Your mind goes quiet. Slowly, the darkness subdues, your hand falling to your side. You regard him with clear distrust, and those blue eyes briefly leave Will's face to flick to your clenched fists. "Easy, now," he says quietly, his face pale. "She's alive."

 

He's repeating the statement, as if trying to convince himself. You force yourself to look at her now, truly look, and sure enough, there is a rise and fall to her chest. You crouch, tucking your head to your knees, and choke on a sob.

 

Dead eyes, your mind whispers.

 

"Not today," you whisper back.

 

"I don't know about you, but I'd love an explanation for all of this," a voice drawls out from behind you.

 

"Stark," the soldier greets, his voice like ice.

 

"Captain," Tony replies.

 

Willow's captain.

 

You must have missed the sound of the quinjet landing, although you do hear the crowd murmur as someone begins to make their way towards your little group. You look up to see a woman clad in all black, her hair a striking red. Her expression is purposefully blank, impossible to read, and you immediately know she's practiced this talent. "There's less of an audience on the jet. Fury says we need to clear out. Loki and his team are long gone," she says, her voice smooth and controlled.

 

"She's not waking up, Natasha," Steve Rogers says, taking one of Willow's limp hands.

 

You're struck by how cemented in this world your friend has become, how much of an outsider you are. You don't care about this planet or its people – you wouldn't have lost any sleep over eviscerating the entire crowd of watchers earlier – but Willow cares. She makes you care. You're glad you didn't dump her captain into the dark alternate space out of misplaced fury.

 

The one you're mad at is long gone, according to the red-haired woman.

 

"Let's get her out of here," Romanoff says, motioning back towards the quinjet. She then fixes you with a guarded stare. "And you?"

 

Your cheeks are wet, your mind swimming with exhaustion from the situation as a whole. Your voice comes out strained, raw from your shouting.

 

"I go where she goes."

 

---

 

"And you've no choice?" Sigrid asks, her slender hands clasped tightly in the skirts of her dress.

 

The house is silent, save for their hushed conversation. The pair sits in the living area while Brenna sleeps soundly in her room, unaware that anything is amiss.

 

Asmund fixes Sigrid with what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "No, love. No choice. The army marches to aid the eastern kingdom. Asgard's indebted to them, you remember. They sent men when we needed them, and now they are in need of us. A master must go, to lead the sorcerers that accompany our troops."

 

"I don't understand why it has to be you," Sig retorts, her pretty lips pulled into a frown. "You've only just become a master."

 

"And that's why it has to be me," Asmund says with a shrug, taking her hands in his so they will quit tearing at her dress skirt. "They don't expect any problems. Our forces are more than capable of dealing with whatever threat has come upon the east. This is not a war, but merely a battle. One that's expected to be very dull. Which is why it was decided I would attend the march. The others can't be bothered to go." He smiles again, and then adds, "A beginner's mission."


Sigrid worries her lip and sighs deeply. "When do you leave?"

 

"In three days' time," Asmund replies. He rubs his thumbs over the tops of her hands, an uncertain expression wilting his easy smile. "Will you... will you wait for me? Or does this change things?"

 

"Oh, by the Nine, of course it changes nothing," Sigrid scolds, rolling her eyes. The two find themselves grinning at one another, although the expressions inevitably fade. "Just... you have to be safe, all right?" Sig continues, squeezing Asmund's hands. "There's something going on. I know it. I still cannot contact the warrior, and I could not bear it if... if... you...."

 

"I'm right here, Sigrid," Asmund says, and leans in to tenderly kiss her. "I love you, and I will return. I swear it."

 

---

 

Thor kneels in the throne room before his father, and as is customary, he waits until he is asked to rise before he gets to his feet. "You wished to see me, Father?"

 

"I did," Odin says shortly. "We have... much to discuss."

 

Thor's interest is piqued, blond eyebrows rising as he waits. When Odin remains silent, Thor speaks up. "I am listening."

 

The Allfather sighs. "Thor, my son. You are the future of Asgard," Odin says, gazing down at him from the throne. "You are bound by duty to serve this kingdom, your people, and ensure they will not be left leaderless when this old king sees Valhalla. Once before, we initiated your coronation in this very room, and all present heard the conviction ringing in your voice. It is high time that we follow through."

 

"I'm to be king?" Thor asks.

 

"You were always meant to be king," Odin responds, his deep voice carrying throughout the golden throne room.

 

Thor is silent for a time, his mind chewing on Odin's words. Words that had once brought him so much joy... and now he feels nothing. "My brother...." Thor starts, but cannot think of how to end the sentence.

 

What is he trying to say? That Odin is wrong in stating that he has always been destined for the throne? Had their father not told them either brother would be worthy? It seems only right to bring up the lost prince now, as a diversion if anything. Thor cannot divulge the fact that his thoughts on ruling have been quite shaken by his time on Midgard....

 

"Is not here," Odin answers firmly.

 

"He's not dead," Thor states, not for the first time. "Despite what others think, what you think."

 

Odin meets eye with Thor, mirror images of one another. "I said there was much to discuss."

 

"I do not understand," Thor says, frustration bubbling in his voice.

 

"I know Loki is not dead, Thor," Odin tells him. "Heimdall has seen him. And he is lost to us."

 

There is a heartbeat of silence.

 

"What?" Thor asks incredulously, shock making his voice come out in a whisper.

 

"Frigga has done all she can think of to bring Loki to his senses, save for going after him herself. His ambition has poisoned him. He is a different man, one you will not like," Odin warns.

 

"How long have you known?" Thor asks tightly.

 

"It matters not," Odin says.

 

"It does to me!" Thor exclaims, rolling thunder sounding in the distance.

 

"Calm yourself!" the king snaps. He rubs his face, and Thor can see the worry that hides in the weary action. "Asgard does not know. Not yet. But I am certain this will not last. Thor, I entreat you to consider the kingdom, your future kingdom, and hold yourself from rash action."

 

"Where is he?" Thor questions, mind racing, piecing apart his father's speech.

 

"Midgard," Odin states.

 

"Midgard?" Thor says in horror. "Midgard?" He thinks on the Lady Jane Foster, on Darcy and Erik Selvig. "Why?"

 

"Who understands the machinations of a mad man?" Odin questions softly, hand again going to his face.

 

"You've given up," Thor says, pointing at the king accusingly. "Just like that, you'd give up on your son?"

 

"Nothing has swayed him, Thor," Odin says. "Nothing. Pleas from his mother, a band of Asgardian soldiers. Not even his warrior, who he claimed to love so dearly."

 

"I must go," Thor states, the same conviction in his voice as when he once took his kingly vows. "You may be ready to give up, Father, but I am not. I will not."

 

"And if something goes wrong, what then?" Odin asks darkly. "Think of Asgard, boy. The people need you."

 

"My brother needs me," Thor says flatly. "It's been a year, Father. Would you not even allow me to try?"

 

The kingly mask of Odin slips away, replaced with the broken countenance of a torn father. "I cannot lose both of my sons."

 

"You won't," Thor vows with finality. "By the fates, you won't."

 

---

 

Loki paces around the underground lab, ignoring the bustle of activity surrounding him as his agents ready everything to move. He cannot stay here, not anymore. His little base has been compromised in light of the recent circumstances. He's surprised it isn't crawling with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents already.

 

He paces in the lab.

 

Until suddenly, he does not.

 

Loki's feet still when he finds himself in a very familiar place. The scepter has brought him back to the Other's throne room (a dark and ugly excuse for a throne room in his opinion). His stomach twists, knowing what this meeting means.

 

"You summon me, and yet you are not here to greet me," Loki says in a jovial tone, eyes quickly scanning the room.

 

"Are you even worth a greeting?" the voice of the Other responds.

 

Loki seeks the sound and finds the being walking down the throne's steps. The prince scoffs. "Such callous words towards someone who holds the final thread in your grandly woven tapestry."

 

"Save your silvertongued threats," the Other orders. His yellow eyes peer eerily at Loki from under his cloak's dark hood. Loki tightens his hold on the scepter while he waits for the Other to speak. And when he does, it's in a hiss of malice. "You broke, Asgardian."

 

"I did no such thing."

 

"Liar," the Other states coldly. "A year apart, and still, she broke you."

 

"NO," Loki shouts, baring his teeth, mad blue light dancing in his eyes. The word echoes, bouncing back at him in a mocking way. He pointedly collects himself, although his jaw remains tight. "You doubt me."

 

The Other does not answer, which is the answer in itself.

 

"Everything is going accordingly," Loki states levelly. "I'm in possession of what you're after, and you'll get it when I get what's due to me. Have no doubt about that."

 

"You are but words," the Other says.

 

"As are you," Loki counters. "What else is there but words until everything comes to fruition?"

 

The Other approaches him, and Loki holds the scepter up as a warning. The being is close, too close. Loki can smell his breath when he speaks. "Fail again, Asgardian... fail to deliver the Tesseract, and there will be no desolate planet, no hidden realm where he cannot find you. You think his revenge will bring you pain?" The Other laughs, his hand rising towards Loki's head. "Pain is sweet in comparison."

 

A blinding, searing burn shoots through Loki's mind, one that makes him clench his teeth....

 

He's back in the lab, on Midgard, with the mortals he controls. The scepter feels heavy in his hand, the blue jewel pulsing with an energy that mimics the pounding in his head.

 

Loki looks around, grounding himself in reality.

 

"Let's move," he barks out. "Now!"

Notes:

Side note: "Of Darker" just reached the 550 kudos milestone! :D THAT'S CRAZY TO ME! And "Of Softer" is almost at 450, "Of Twisted" just shy of 250. I can't believe it. You guys are the most awesome readers a girl could ask for. Truly.

I'm really curious as to of how everyone found this fic. Did you see it on the Loki/Reader update page on AO3? Did someone recommend it? I'd love to know, if you have the time! :)

Anywho, thanks again, and remember that deep in his angst-filled heart, Loki loves you. ;]

Chapter 9: Something More

Notes:

This past month was rough you guys. Had some personal stuff to deal with, but things are starting to look up. Regardless, it feels good to finally have this long-ass chapter done.
Thanks for your patience. Seriously, I've never been more thankful.

LET'S CHAT WITH LOKI, SHALL WE?

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The ride in the quinjet is a blur to you, the tense conversations, the questions thrown your way. You have no doubt that those present are growing frustrated with your stoic silence, but your eyes never leave the face of your friend. To your surprise, it's Willow's captain that makes the questions stop. You don't know why he cares, why he'd bother to step in on your behalf. Maybe he's tired, too. Maybe it's all just a little too much, and he's craving quiet like you are. 

 

You barely register the landing inside of the Helicarrier hangar. It doesn't matter. You’ve seen hovercrafts before, albeit not one of this size on Earth. 

 

But what does matter is when Rogers carefully picks up your friend, cradling her in his arms as he walks off of the jet without a word. You silently follow after him, ignoring the agents that have gathered in the hangar. 

 

Natasha Romanoff strides confidently towards Director Fury, whose one good eye is locked onto the backs of you and Rogers. Tony Stark trails behind her, curious gaze darting around the massive hangar. The Helicarrier is impressive, there's no doubt about it. 

 

You are not impressed. You follow the captain through seemingly endless metal halls, passing large rooms, countless agents. Eventually, he stops before an unremarkable gray door, adjusting Willow in his arms so that he can open it. 

 

You walk in after him, swiftly taking in your new surroundings. It's a small, simple room, holding only the necessities. A bed, with a chest at its end, upon which sits two duffle bags. You notice a door to the right that leads to a bathroom, and across from the bed is a couch. 

 

Military quarters; everything clean, simple, and in its proper place, with bland gray walls, no décor, and furniture designed for functionality rather than leisure. This is nothing like the ornate palace of Asgard (as even the Asgardian barracks have comfortable and aesthetically pleasing lodgings). 

 

Quarters like this take you back to a past time and place – to your own home planet – and given a different set of circumstances, you might’ve called the simplicity comforting. 

 

Steve lowers Willow onto the bed, fussing over her, making sure she's comfortable. You sit on the couch, perched on the edge of the stiff cushion as you watch his every move. The spangled shield on his back shines in the light of the room, unmarked despite the earlier battle. He's gentle with her, clearly worried about the state she's in. There's a soft glow coming from Willow's chest, proof that her light still remains. You feel your throat tighten as you stare at your unconscious friend. 

 

Rogers cautiously removes the bag Willow carries, holding it in his hands for a moment before placing it beside her. You stare dully at it, wondering if all of her belongings still remain within. She's been with... with Loki. Maybe he made her ditch the notebook. You hope not. 

 

The captain clears his throat and your eyes shoot to his face. You're on guard at once, unsure if he’s going to try to throw you out. Instead, he holds a hand out towards you, his expression open, as if to show you he means no harm. "I'm Steve Rogers." 

 

You stare at his palm without taking it, your eyes narrowing as you give him your name. 

 

He takes your lack of friendly reciprocation in stride, lowering his hand as he says, "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. She talks a lot about you." His eyes cut to the side, to Willow lying on the bed. "She's missed you," he adds softly. 

 

Your fingers curl into fists and tears bite at your eyes as a new wave of guilt washes over you. The feeling is strong enough to keep you silent. Did he mean these statements to add insult to injury? He doesn't know you, he isn't aware of what you've been through this past year. You know you should've kept in better contact with your friend, you know that. You don't have to have some human telling you. 

 

Steve continues speaking, reaching out and taking one of the duffle bags from the foot of the bed as he does so. "Before I left, Carla packed some clothes for her." He gestures toward the remaining bag. "If you'd like to rummage through and find something to change into, I doubt she would mind. Feel free to use the amenities as you wish." 

 

You still don't have any words to offer him, but you're grateful for one thing: he's clearly realized you aren't going anywhere. You glance at the bag and then back to the captain. 

 

"Um, get some rest," he states, pulling his duffle’s strap over his shoulder. "I'll check back in, sometime tomorrow." He walks to the door, his fingers slipping around the handle as he adds, "Please let me know if she wakes up." 

 

And then he finally leaves, the door closing solemnly behind him. You breathe a quiet sigh in the following silence, frozen on the couch as you return your gaze to Willow. 

 

Your fault, your mind hisses to you. You're the reason she's wrapped up in this mess, why she's involved with this world at all. The paths of your lives have careened off track, tumbling into areas and scenarios that were never meant to be. If she doesn't wake, you'll never forgive yourself. 

 

And Loki? That demented stranger of a man, you'll take him down with you. You owe it to Will, if anything. 

 

You feel sick, your stomach roiling uncomfortably. 

 

You force yourself into motion – you need to wash. You can still feel Loki’s fingers pressing into your wrist, your shoulder, your skin. You leave the door to the bathroom open, just in case something changes with Will. The warm water is welcoming, and you have to admit, you much prefer a human shower to an Asgardian bath. 

 

Willow's clothes, you know, will be too small for you. You sort through the items in her duffle bag and find a shirt that is tight, but not too tight. You settle for that, although you are aware that none of her pants will be even close to your size. Your leather bottoms will have to continue to suffice for now. 

 

You settle back on the small, uncomfortable couch. Sleep evades you. It's laughable, considering that you're so exhausted, but your mind is too busy to shut down, too caught up in the tumultuous emotions that plague you. You can't stop looking over at Will, hoping that she'll wake. You can't stop raging silently at Loki, fighting imaginary battles, seeking a way to win against him. 

 

Could you kill him? You'd... you'd like to think you could, if it came down to it, if there was no other way.... But.... 

 

You rub your eyes and sit up, beating back the urge to cry. 

 

Tears don't fix problems. 

 

You abandon your attempts at rest, nervously getting to your feet and starting to pace. Willow remains unconscious, her chest slowly rising and falling. Her state is a reminder of what Loki is now, what he's capable of doing.... That no one is safe, and he'll stop at nothing to achieve his desired goal. 

 

Your pacing and your dark thoughts make you feel trapped in the small room, and eventually, you convince yourself that walking around in the hall will be all right. You'll be right outside the door – close enough to be at Will's side in a moment's notice. You step out, looking over your shoulder at your friend's still form, and suck in a deep breath. 

 

"I take it nothing's changed," a level voice states, and you jump, heart flying into your throat as you instinctually drop into a fighting stance. 

 

Natasha stands in the hall, leaning against the smooth, metal wall as she surveys you. 

 

“Fuck,” you say as your heartbeat slowly falls back towards normal. You rise from your defensive crouch. “You scared me.” 

 

“Sorry,” Romanoff apologizes, although you aren’t quite sure it’s genuine. She crosses her arms, red hair bobbing with her movements. “I was going to knock, but you saved me the trouble.” She waits a moment to see if you’ll respond. 

 

Dead air. 

 

The agent’s sigh is the only outward hint of her irritation. “I wanted to talk to you, before… everyone gets together.” 

 

You suppress a groan. You know you’re going to have to talk to these people eventually, if you want to stay around your unconscious friend. You don’t have the energy to take Willow and ditch out on Earth yet, so you need to play it safe. For now. 

 

“About what?” you ask bluntly, wondering if she’s just going to repeat the questions they’d tried to ask you on the quinjet. 

 

There’s a flicker in Romanoff’s expression, an emotion you can’t quite read. She purses her lips and then asks, “How’d you do it?” She inclines her head towards Willow’s door. “Get him to… let her go.” 

 

Gods, you don’t want to get into this right now. You don’t know or trust this woman, you’re not about to explain your entire life to her. “I don’t know.” 

 

She pushes off of the wall, standing up straight in front of you. Her sleek agent’s uniform accentuates her body’s natural curves and hard-earned muscle. Although her posture is casual, everything – from the way she holds herself to the set of her jaw – says danger. “You two have history. That much is obvious. I don’t know in what way, or how much pull you have with Loki, but whatever you did worked.” 

 

There is an unspoken statement here that you easily pick up on. Natasha suspects you to be in league with Loki, that this may perhaps be nothing more than an elaborate ploy. 

 

“She’s still out,” you state coldly, tilting your head towards the room you’re beginning to wish you’d never left. “I don’t count that as a win.” 

 

“You should,” Natasha tells you. “There’s some who’d much rather be dead to the world than under Loki’s thumb.” 

 

You watch her, unsure of what to respond with. The agent meets your eyes, her gaze steady and intimidating. Finally, she asks, “Do you think you could get him to release someone else?” 

 

“He’s got someone you know?” you ask flatly, now understanding the reason for this encounter. “That sucks.” Her eyes narrow in a glare, so you continue, “Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I don’t know exactly what I did to make him let Will go, and even if I did, I doubt the same thing would work twice.” 

 

The following silence is heavy. Natasha looks away from you, her calculating gaze settling on the floor for a few moments. She rolls her shoulders, shrugging off this whole encounter. This has been a waste of time, just as she suspected. And she has somewhere to be. 

 

Finally, Romanoff turns and walks away, calling back to you over her shoulder. “Thanks for your time.” 

 

Her tone is not friendly. Not in the slightest. 

 

--- 

 

You sulk in the hall for an hour or two, sitting against the wall next to Willow’s door with your legs stretched out in front of you. Your mind keeps feeding you unpleasant thoughts, and you ponder over what kind of interrogations Will must go through if she is to wake. She’s been under the influence of the enemy. Anyone trying to stop him will be desperate to pick her brain.  

 

You’ll have to get her off this fucking planet before that happens. If you had the energy, you’d whisk her away right now. 

 

But to where? your mind asks. And you hate admitting that you have no idea. Trooping across galaxies with an unconscious body will not be easy work. You’ll need a fuckton of energy. 

 

And for that, you’ll need sleep. 

 

--- 

 

You're in the prince's bed, your back pressed to his chest, his voice like silk tickling the shell of your ear.

 

"Tell me you love me," he pleads softly, because when it is dark, and quiet, and he has you in his arms, it is not such a bad thing to hear.

 

Please. 

 

He needs to hear it, is desperate for it. 

 

“I love you," you whisper with a small chuckle and an eye roll. “What, did you forget or something?” 

 

And you know how the memory should continue. He should pull you closer to his chest, bury his face in your hair, string his arm over your waist and lace his fingers through yours, and he should reply (in an embarrassed way that you can’t help but find adorable), “… I’ll admit, it is good to be reminded sometimes.” 

 

But this is a dream, and not a memory, and you are not so lucky. 

 

Instead, he does not answer your joking inquiry. “Tell me you’ll be mine forever,” he requests, hand settling at the curve of your waist. 

 

You snort. “Yeah, okay. That’s why I’m marrying you, dumbass.” 

 

“Tell me you’ll do whatever I say,” his voice demands. 

 

You realize this is different. 

 

“What the... fuck?” you mutter, growing increasingly aware of the sinister atmosphere in the room. You attempt to sit up or turn around, but find you cannot move. 

 

“Tell me you’ll do whatever it takes to assist me.” His fingers are digging into your side, his voice no longer tender and caring. “Tell me you’ll kill for me. Tell me you’ll die for me.” 

 

“Get the fuck off!” 

 

You shout, you pull against him, but it’s no use. You’re losing track of yourself, of the room, of the bed beneath you. Only the hand remains, fingers boring into your side, a laugh bubbling up from the man behind you that makes your skin crawl. 

 

It's the same laugh from your previous dream - not one from your prince, but a cackle remembered from the past, from the one you'd silenced forever.

 

Your stomach hurts. 

 

Everything shifts. You realize it’s snowing. You’re standing now, staring out at a large expanse of white, a land with roaring winds and gray skies. 

 

The hand is still on your waist. You try to force yourself to turn around, heart thudding in your throat. You don’t want to see the face of your unwanted lover – his laugh is haunting enough. 

 

You feel as if your boots are made of lead. But you do turn, and you find yourself staring into the blood-red eyes of a grinning Jotun. 

 

“Loki?” you ask, utterly confused and terrified beyond reason. 

 

“Did you forget?” he asks with manic enthusiasm, his long, blue fingers locking around your upper arms. “Did you forget what I was? I told you didn’t I? I told you, but you didn’t understand, when we spoke of monsters!” 

 

You jerk away, but his chilly grip remains firm. His smile is wide, too wide, and he laughs the laugh that isn’t his. 

 

You pull and pull, and his mouth is opening wider and wider, full of sharp teeth that threaten to tear you apart, to swallow you piece by piece… and you finally break away. 

 

You sprint from him, across the snowy plain. You can hear him pursuing you, laughing loudly with the voice he does not own, and you push yourself faster because you have to get away. 

 

But this is a dream. And in this dream, you have no powers, no way to defend yourself. You fall, snow scattering from the impact, although you can no longer feel the chill. 

 

You can no longer feel anything. 

 

You nearly trip again as you get to your feet, and now you find yourself running through the dark. Your pursuer vanishes, lost to the dreamscape of snow and ice and monsters. You’re sprinting as fast as you can, tears in your eyes, to a familiar place, between hell and hel. 

 

It’s as if he’s been waiting for you. The prince is a solitary figure, standing in the blank expanse that breaches his world of demons and your own. 

 

Your frantic dash ceases, your fear falling away and replaced with a mixture of other troubling emotions. But it’s ultimately his eyes that make you step forward. 

 

It’s just a dream. It’s okay to give in, for a single moment. You’re allowed a little weakness in the safety of your own mind. 

 

Loki walks towards you, to meet you halfway, and his expression is an old one, a softer one. When you reach him, he immediately wraps you in his arms, and you cling to the prince – a raft in a stormy sea – and your only coherent thought is: green

 

“What are you doing here, love?” he asks, arms tightening protectively around you as you press your head against his chest. “I didn’t think you’d….” 

 

“I’m dreaming,” you tell him quietly. Your fingers fist in his clothes, holding tightly to this version of Loki lest you lose him, too. 

 

“A dream, is it?” Loki asks, lips brushing ever so gently against your forehead. The edge of his mouth curls up into a cheeky smirk. “Do you dream of me often?” 

 

“Every night,” you answer, your voice hushed. You swallow hard, tears coming unbidden as you feel Loki’s hand rest securely on your back. “Every damn night.” 

 

The smirk vanishes at once, and he gathers you to him as if this is the last chance he’ll have. Finally, he begins to talk. “This is selfish of me,” he murmurs in defeat. “…. You’ve always been the epitome of my selfishness. Your spirit, your mind, your body – my weakness, as they’ve rightly reminded me. I’ve betrayed you. And I’ve no right to hold you now.” 

 

“I’m… so… mad at you,” you state, teeth clenching as you try to keep your voice from wavering. “I can’t forgive you.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

“And Will…. Willow, Loki. Why?” you ask desperately, looking up into those shrewd green eyes. “She won’t wake up. I’ve lost you, and her, and now I’m alone in a ship of strangers.” 

 

There is a slight edge of apprehension in his tone as he answers. “Strategically, the healer could have played a paramount part in my victory. But hearing you….” He takes a deep breath, arms once again tightening around you. He continues to speak, his voice purposefully level. “The fact that she has not woken is not of my doing, if you’ll believe me. Her power fought the scepter’s influence from the very start. I’d not be surprised if her state is a defensive maneuver of her own mind’s doing.” 

 

“I thought you cared,” you say through clenched teeth. “You know what she means to me, and you still – did it.” 

 

He’s silent for a beat, his muscles rigid. “Logically speaking –” 

 

“Fuck your logic,” you tell him, anger once more starting to course through you. “You’re acting crazy, there’s no logic here. Cut the bullshit.” 

 

He chuckles darkly, the sound thrumming in his chest. The two of you stand in tense silence for a few lengthy moments. At last, he asks under his breath, “How often have you thought about killing me?” 

 

Your hands tighten into fists behind the prince’s back. “You mean over the past few days, or this last year?” 

 

Another dark chuckle, although this one holds no humor whatsoever. “If we’re counting back, I suppose we should start from the very moment we met. I assume you plotted my untimely demise every day from that infirmary bed.” 

 

“I’m. Not. Joking,” you spit, wave after wave of hurt prompting tears to silently slip down your cheeks. 

 

“Ah. I suppose I’ve earned that,” Loki says, attempting to sound casual, uncaring. But then he sighs, leaning the side of his head against yours. “You… You can’t say you don’t understand. There’s a part of this… power that calls to you, too. I always saw the tint of color in your eyes, leftover from your curious, subtle glances. A blue to the steel. And when I finally saw you again, I thought….” He pauses, hesitant, his tone failing to hide the undercurrent of genuine hurt. “I simply do not understand what’s holding you back. You care not for this planet, so what purpose would it serve for you to defend it? And from me?” He trails off, clearly following the silent train of thought. “And don’t preach to me of morality, warrior. You would’ve killed them all in the museum’s courtyard, we both know it.” 

 

It’s just a dream. You can be honest in a dream. “I’m no saint,” you say after a moment. “Things could’ve been different, if you weren’t such a fucking idiot.” You have to take a couple of deep breaths to calm the overwhelming rage that burns in your chest. “You want to take over a planet? A realm? That’s your business. I don’t give a shit. I’m not interested in ruling over people, but clearly that’s your thing, so whatever, right? You can’t have Asgard, so go set yourself up somewhere else. I get it. I’d’ve suggested a less… upfront way of going about it. Because honestly, where’s the class here? There’s none, you absolute moron.” 

 

“Shall I give you the speech again, about the consequences of insulting those who hold status above you? Although you must have that one memorized by now,” Loki quips sarcastically. 

 

“Shut the fuck up. I’m not done talking,” you snap, pulling back to glare once more into those familiar green eyes. “Like I said, taking over a planet – that’s your business. You know what’s my business, Loki?" You jab a finger towards the middle of his chest. "It’s my business when you don’t tell me. When you fucking ditch out on me – without an explanation – for a fucking year. When you mindwipe my best friend, you bastard.” You blink angry tears from your eyes. “And you’re right. I don’t give a shit about this planet. But Will does. So, go play god somewhere else. I don’t care what you do anymore. Just don’t do it here.” 

 

It feels good, to finally get out some of the ‘what ifs’ you’d pushed to the back of your thoughts. You take a few steps away, wiping at your eyes. Even in a dream, you hate crying. 

 

Loki’s slowly shaking his head, his gaze downcast. “You don’t understand. You can’t understand. But that doesn’t mean… that I’m not at fault.” He looks at you, something akin to shame flashing across his face. “The scepter, the power…. It does something to the mind.” 

 

“Don’t start trying to feed me bullshit,” you warn icily. 

 

“Each action is my own,” he says softly. “Calculated… yet also instinctual. Acting on what will further myself and my ambitions.” 

 

There’s a half a second, where the green starts to fade, growing brighter, shifting into a colder color…. You take a step back, heart beginning to pump faster, and he takes note of this with a jolt of surprise. The change stops, your green settling once more to its normal hue, and Loki winces and rubs his temples. 

 

“This is unfair. To the both of us. It’s only going to make what’s to come even harder. So… I will say it while I still have the sense… while I continue to delve deeper into this stolen moment of weakness.” Loki stares intensely at you, and you find yourself unable to look away. “I... am sorry,” he whispers. “It’s unfortunate that my actions have led us to this ugly outcome. They cannot be undone, nor forgiven. And you deserve better.” 

 

“I do,” you agree firmly. 

 

An easy smirk skates across the pain. “I’ve not regretted any of my actions, you know. Although, if given the chance, I can’t say I wouldn’t change a decision or two. It’s as you said. Things could’ve been different.” 

 

You let out a dry laugh, your throat tight as you stare at the man in front of you. “Yeah… no kidding.” 

 

Your surroundings are starting to fade…. He’s starting to fade. 

 

“This… won’t happen again,” Loki says sullenly, his voice echoing in the nothingness. “I can’t afford the risk. And… I’ve hurt you. Even now, once you wake, this will hurt you, too.” 

 

“Used to it,” you tell him quietly. 

 

You'd swear those emerald eyes are trying to memorize your face. Loki reaches for your hand, but his fingers pass through yours as if the both of you are made of nothing more than air. You think you hear someone say your name. You think you’re crying again. 

 

“Tell me you love me,” he requests in a broken whisper. “Even if you don’t mean it, even if it’s a lie. Lie to me. A last time, please. Before I decide again that this weak part of me is illogical and unnecessary, before I cast it aside as I’ve consistently done so, because I am afraid –” He chokes on the word. “… I-I am afraid I can’t stop loving you.” All you can see of him is the green, but you still catch his voice saying your name, almost desperately. “I don’t deserve to hear it, but I cannot help but beg. Just… Just in case.” 

 

Just in case. The words ring in your ears. You’ve both said this phrase before. He’s acting as if one of you…. As if the outcome is inevitable…. “It doesn’t matter, Loki,” you say softly. “It doesn’t matter, because this is just a dream, a dream-you that my mind made up to say what I wish you would say. What I wish you would’ve said a long time ago. It doesn’t matter if I love you or not.” 

 

The green is gone. A vaguely familiar voice is calling your name, for sure this time. 

 

You hear Loki’s words, as if from a distance, a canyon between the two of you. “Sometimes a dream is a dream, love,” he tells you hoarsely. “And sometimes it’s something more.” 

 

--- 

 

There’s a hand on your shoulder, shaking you, bringing you back to the real world. The familiar voice says your name again, worry spiking in the tone. Your eyes fly open and you shoot up into sitting position, gasping for air as you panic. 

 

You’re in the little room, on the uncomfortable couch, staring up into the face of Steve Rogers. Loki's voice echoes in your mind, whispering remnants of a conversation you can't fully remember. 

 

“I’m sorry,” the captain says hurriedly, backing up a few paces. “I knocked and there was no reply. You were muttering, but you wouldn’t wake up.” 

 

He glances over at Willow, who has yet to regain consciousness, and you realize where his fear has stemmed from. “No, no, I’m… I’m fine. I’m awake.” You wipe the wetness from your face without meeting the captain’s eyes. Your voice is rough, your throat stinging from your screaming in the courtyard. “How long has it been?” 

 

“It’s barely dawn,” Rogers says, taking Will’s limp hand as he sits beside her on the bed. “Time zone change has us all a little… off schedule. But I was hoping she’d….” He trails off, looking down at his and Will’s intertwined fingers. 

 

“She was always an early riser,” you say quietly. “Earlier than me, at least.” Rogers doesn’t reply immediately. You watch him for a second or two, and then you say, “You really do care about her.” 

 

“I really do,” he affirms, meeting your gaze at last. 

 

You pull your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around them. “She’s told me about you. Showed me your picture a few times. Said you’re some kinda super hero.” 

 

Steve snorts, gaze flickering towards Will’s face. “She didn’t say it like that,” he retorts. When you shrug, he rolls his eyes. “‘Super hero' is a big exaggeration.” 

 

“It’s what I got out of it,” you state. “Didn’t recognize you with the helmet on yesterday. Granted, there was a… lot going on at the time.” 

 

Rogers grimaces and nods his head. “Understandable.” 

 

There’s a short silence. You can hear the distant, muffled noises of voices and footsteps from the Helicarrier’s other occupants. 

 

“I don’t know if we’re going to get along, Steve,” you blurt out in an expressionless tone, rubbing one of your eyes with the heel of your palm. “But whether we do or not… thanks. For loving my friend. And being good to her. And all that romantic shit…. She likes that kind of stuff.” 

 

He chuckles, albeit a little awkwardly, as if he isn't quite sure what to make of your comment. “I do love her. I thought… I thought I’d lost her. But you know, you’re the reason she’s back, so really, I should be thanking you.” 

 

“I didn’t…. I….” You rest your forehead on the top of your knees, as if this will somehow help you hide from the guilt. “She’s not back,” you finally get out. 

 

“Don’t,” Rogers says, his tone gentle but firm. “Don’t do that to yourself.” 

 

You can’t respond. You have nothing to say to Willow’s captain, and you know he's unsure of what to say to you. The continued silence is thick with unspoken words. 

 

Steve finally sighs, gently releases Willow’s hand, and gets to his feet. He seems tired, as if there’s an unbearable weight on his broad shoulders; invisible, but oh so heavy. He meets your gaze. “Fury wants to talk to you. Director Fury.” 

Notes:

Special thanks to my Tumblr pals LittleMissSyreid, amityasta, temerey, danobonano, and pandemoniumforsupernatural for leaving me words of encouragement on my posts and in my inbox during my struggle to get this chapter done. And always a huge shoutout to my bestie and beta reader, shootingstarsojourner for sticking with me <3
Thanks!!!

Chapter 10: Breaking Ice

Notes:

We interrupt your daily dose of Pain™️ to bring you Sass Levels 9000.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“If what you say about this… Banner is true….” Loki muses, rubbing his jaw as he thinks.

 

“It is,” Barton confirms from the pilot’s seat of the stolen jet. “Their next move will be to bring him in. They’ll have sent Nat. Fury’s starting his collection.”

 

“’The Avengers’, you said?” Loki asks, not bothering to hide the scorn in his voice. “What a ridiculous name for such a ragtag group.”

 

“I didn’t come up with it,” Barton replies with a shrug. “Either way, Banner could be an issue.”

 

There’s a moment of silence between the two, the low hum of the jet filling the air of the cockpit.

 

“Or… the solution,” Loki states slowly. A grin creeps across his face, growing ever larger as his mind races down several possible paths. “Yes…. Potentially, all of my problems could be solved…. It will take some finesse… but it is possible.”

 

Clint raises an eyebrow, eyes still trained on the dark sky through the jet’s windshield. “Banner? A solution? You’ll have to explain that one, because all I’m seeing in our future is a big, green problem.”

 

“We’ll have to split up,” Loki continues, ignoring Barton’s statement. His grin transitions into a smug smirk. “Ah. I wonder how long it will take for them to locate me.”

 

---

 

"Hello. Sit down."

 

You comply to Fury's order, settling into the very uncomfortable chair in front of his desk.

 

The director has an intimidating presence, one that even you don’t fail to notice. He wears all black, from his gloves to his boots, and you can’t help but admire the trench coat. You suddenly feel very out of place in your Asgardian leather pants and borrowed T-shirt.

 

He surveys you, his one eye seemingly scrutinizing every little detail. Finally, he sighs, shakes his head, and relaxes into his chair. "You want to know where this silent act's getting you?" he asks, tapping a gloved finger on the desktop's edge. "Nowhere."

 

He continues watching you, and you continue not saying anything. Finally, he speaks again, his tone holding a hint of amusement. "You just seem dead set on making enemies instead of allies.” He shakes his head. “Do you really want to be alone here?”

 

You stare at his desktop, maintaining your silence. However, this time, it’s because you honestly don’t have an answer to the question.

 

Fury ends the dead air. "We're talking right now, privately, because the morning debrief is in about ten minutes. And I expect you to have a thing or two to say.” He locks gazes with you. “And if not? I want you off – my – motherfucking – ship. Are we clear?”

 

“Uh, huh. Sure,” you state. “Crystal.”

 

Fury’s eye narrows and he leans forward slightly. "Look, you've already dragged one snarky asshole into this mission, and I don't need another one.”

 

"Well, no one needs two assholes, sir."

 

Fury stares at you for a second and then rubs a hand across his face. "I'll choose to ignore that." He sighs and leans back in his seat again. "Speaking of Tony, I already had a little meeting with him, too. And he had a lot to say about how you get around. Some kind of dark dimension void shit that just lets you pop up wherever you want to be. Now, with a power like that, you'd understand why I'd be suspicious of you... disappearing. And I'd bet money you want off this boat. That you'd like nothing more than to disappear and take your friend with you. Right? How close am I?”

 

Your stomach lurches uncomfortably and you cross your arms. “What’s the point of sticking around in this tin can, huh? Will’s still not awake, and it’s not like humans will be able to do anything about it. Might as well look for some actual help.”

 

"I can't imagine ol' Captain America taking that in stride,” Fury comments offhandedly. “He's grown pretty attached.”

 

“Blondie’s nice and all, but if you think I’m about to trip over myself to make him happy, you’d be mistaken there, sir,” you say.

 

Fury’s gaze suggests he doubts your statement’s sincerity. "All right, and what about Willow? How do you think she'll react if she wakes up anywhere other than here? She's put in a lot of time on Earth, with S.H.I.E.L.D. and Rogers. I mean, even the people love her. Dubbed her ‘Lady Light’.” He spreads out his hands, his fingers flaring out to emphasize the nickname. “You're telling me she's not going to demand you take her ass right back here? Or… I suppose she could just do that herself, but I can’t imagine she’d be very pleased with you making decisions for her.”

 

“Hey, I’m just doing what I have to do,” you state defensively. “I don’t know any of you fucking people, I don’t know what your organization is capable of, and I don’t trust you to keep my friend safe. So, yeah, if I want to get her out of a bad situation, I’ll go ahead and make that choice. It’s called survival.”

 

"I'd call it cowardice, running away like that. A warrior my ass.”

 

You move before you fully process what you’re doing. You shoot out of your chair so fast that it clatters backwards. Your teeth are clenched, your jaw hurts. You’re torn between assaulting the director or marching out of his office. Neither seem like bad ideas.

 

But before you can make another move, Fury slams a folder down on his desk between the two of you.

 

"Take a look," he tells you as he slides the folder towards you.

 

His tone is an order disguised as an offer. He knows you’ll look.

 

You stare at the manila folder for a good ten seconds before glancing up at Fury. He’s not even looking at you; he’s sipping on a mug of coffee and going over what you think is a schedule on a notepad.

 

That bastard.

 

You flip open the folder, and your heart drops into your boots. A familiar face stares back at you from the page – your own. Years ago. Your first time on Earth.

 

"Underground lab out in Colorado...” Fury says slowly, setting his mug down, “and then you two went on to destroy another one in Arizona.... Killing humans at fourteen. That's pretty young.”

 

You’re absolutely floored as you stare at the list of information S.H.I.E.L.D. has on you, blurry photos taken from hidden locations, details you’d never told a soul. “How…?” you choke out.

 

"Yeah. We found you." Fury reaches over and flips a few pages. "And then all that mess in New Mexico last year. You've had quite the time on Earth, it seems.”

 

Your mouth has gone dry, and you back up a few paces until your legs knock into the fallen chair. “Stop it. Just. Leave us alone.”

 

"That's no longer a viable option."

 

You can’t stop staring at the folder. At terrible pieces of your life laid out in bullet points.

 

Fury’s voice cuts the silence once more. "Let's get in a little practice, huh? Before the meeting. Why don't you help me fill in some of these blanks here?"

 

“Not a lot to fill in,” you state in disgust. “Guess you guys are thorough.”

 

“Indeed,” Fury replies. “We are. But I was hoping for the name of this organization. I don’t care for blank spaces in my files.”

 

“The Ordinat," you say, the words heavy on your tongue. "They took us, all right? We didn’t want to be here.” You clench your fists as you stare at the folder. After a second, you continue speaking, your tone soft, almost urgent. “We were young, me and Will. Didn’t understand for a long time that not only had they taken us from our home, but that we were actually off-planet.” You jab a finger at the file. “The Ordinat had bases all over, doing experiments where our world’s government couldn’t find them. They’ve always latched on to whatever disgusting group of evil people they could worm their way into, whoever would help them gather power or tech. Or whoever was stupid enough to not know they were being used. Back then they had a group of humans helping them.”

 

"Hydra."

 

“I never knew their name,” you state. “Never wanted to. They were all the same to me. So, yeah, when we got the chance, we got the hell out. Killed them however we could. Fucked their base up, found the next one, and fucked it up, too.” You shove the folder back across to Fury, who stops it with a finger before it reaches the edge of the desk. You meet his gaze. “What do you want?”

 

The director closes your folder and steeples fingers. He’s won. "I assume you've heard the saying: an enemy of my enemy is my friend.” He gives you a wry smile. “Now, I'll be the first to admit, 'friend' isn't the right word for this situation. But Willow? She knows how to make friends, and friends in high places at that. You want to sit here and talk to me about survival? Well, I'm telling you, your chances are slim if you don't have the right people by your side.”

 

“The right people, huh?” you echo, your voice tight.

 

Fury opens a drawer in his desk and tucks the folder out of sight. "Let's be clear: I don't like you, you don't like me." He shrugs and makes a face "Fine. No one has to like each other on this boat. But our common enemy has united us to a singular cause. And I am here to orchestrate that cause." He gestures between the two of you. "Cooperation."

 

“And what’s that supposed to entail?” you ask.

 

"Any and all information on Loki, we need. That's just the way it is, if we're going to beat him," he states plainly, as if such a thing is simple. “And I won’t say ‘no’ to having your abilities as an asset. Could make for an effective team.”

 

You hate this entire conversation, this room, this man. You hate him because the things he’s saying make sense. You know you have to concede, that you have to admit you cannot do this on your own. “…. Fine.”

 

"Good. So, let's take a little walk, shall we?" Fury rises from his desk, carefully pushing in his chair. He steps past you (and your toppled chair) and out into the hallway. "And when you're asked to speak, you'll speak."

 

"I'm not a dog," you say coldly, following behind the director.

 

"What are you then? An ally, or a pain in my ass?" he asks without turning around.

 

"Ally," you answer begrudgingly.

 

"Then fucking act like it." After a few more paces, he slows to a stop and then turns to face you. "The people out there? They care about your friend. And if you do, too, you'll drop this bullshit cold exterior. No one's allowed to have secrets on this ship but me.”

 

---

 

The first thing you notice is the pile of plates in the center of the meeting table; the team has apparently had a small breakfast. The second thing you notice is Tony, spinning around in his chair to say, “Oh, look, they’re here. Morning! You’re late.”

 

“We’re on my time here. I’m not late – you’re all early,” Fury replies, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and taking a seat.

 

You realize that the one empty seat is between Rogers and Stark. Not ideal, but it’s your only option. To Steve’s right are two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents you don’t recognize.

 

“Well, I for one think we should get started,” Tony comments, spinning back around to face the table.

 

Fury ignores Tony and states your name. “This is Maria Hill and Phil Coulson. You already know Stark and Rogers.”

 

“Oh, yes, we’ve met,” the agent named Phil Coulson says, nodding towards you and giving you a smile.

 

“We… have?” you ask, a bit thrown.

 

“New Mexico,” he says, holding a hand out as if this statement will remind you. “Those creatures, Thor, god of thunder. I mean, we didn’t officially meet, but –”

 

“Fuck those monsters,” Tony butts in, pointing towards Coulson and opening his mouth to start on what is likely a very long tirade. “One of those freaks ruined my –”

 

“This isn’t why we’re here,” Maria Hill states quickly. “New Mexico is in the past. We have new problems to deal with.”

 

“Oop, you’re right,” Tony replies, immediately shifting gears. “And I believe those problems go by the name ‘Loki’.”

 

“For once, I’ll agree with Stark,” Fury says. All eyes are now on him as he states, “Let’s talk Germany.”

 

“Actually, this, uh, all starts before Germany,” Tony points out, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at you. “Got people showing up in my tower without knocking. S.H.I.E.L.D. having agents go missing, aliens popping up on our planet with superpowers. I mean, come on, guys, are we not going to talk about this?”

 

“Start at Germany, Stark,” Rogers states from your right side.

 

“Yes, beings from other realms have visited Earth,” Fury says. “But this one in particular poses a large threat. He’s got a massive energy source at his disposal, and that scepter is nothing to overlook either.”

 

“I know he has the tesseract,” Steve states with a very disapproving frown, “but I have no idea where the scepter came from. Unless he just grabbed the both of them on his way out of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

 

“What now?” Tony asks.

 

“We had nothing to do with the scepter, Rogers,” Fury tells him bluntly.

 

“Okay, wait. Tesseract, like, the glowy blue energy cube that Rogers dumped into the ocean?” Tony asks.

 

Steve narrows his eyes at Tony, and you feel like rolling your chair backwards out of the line of fire.

 

“That’s the one, yes,” Maria states. “We need to know what Loki’s planning regarding the tesseract.”

 

“Well, he went to Germany for iridium,” Phil pipes up. “He’s building… something.”

 

“But the scepter,” Steve repeats. “I’ve never seen it before.”

 

“Neither have we,” Fury states, and then looks over towards you with an eyebrow raised. “Unless I’m about to hear differently.”

 

And now everyone’s looking at you. Tony’s chair squeaks as he swivels to turn towards you. You would like nothing more than to sink into the floor. This will not be fun.

 

“Yeah, I’ve seen it before,” you admit sullenly, forehead creasing as you try to wrangle your anger.

 

“Really?” Fury asks, leaning back in his chair. “And where might that be exactly? Knowing the origin may help us combat the problem.”

 

“Asgard,” you answer.

 

“Asgard,” Tony states. “What a vague answer. And once you take into consideration that the place doesn’t exist, I’d have to go ahead and say you’re lying.”

 

There’s a resounding silence, and he eventually looks around the table. You can visibly see the realization dawn on him. “Loki,” Tony says in disbelief. “Like, Norse mythology Loki?” No one verbally confirms his answer, but he can see it on everyone’s faces. Quietly, he adds, “Oh, my God.”

 

“So, this thing is from Asgard, then?” Hill asks you.

 

“Uh, I think so,” you tell her.

 

“Do you know how Loki came to have possession of it?” Fury questions.

 

“He kept it after a fight, I think. He’s not, like, the original owner,” you add for clarification.

 

“Who was?” Coulson asks.

 

“I don’t know, he just brought it back,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “He’s always keeping random shit that he’s won from battle.”

 

There’s another resounding silence, only this time you know what they’re all thinking. It’s only a matter of time before they ask.

 

And Fury does.

 

“What exactly is your connection to this… person,” the director questions. “You seem to know him quite well.”

 

“Well enough to pull a little favor and free Sunshine back there,” Tony adds.

 

“Yes, I know him,” you say. “Obviously. He’s an Asgardian prince, all right? A lot of people know him.” You pause for a moment, to see if Steve Rogers will rat you out. When the soldier remains silent, you add, “Loki disappeared last year. This is the first time he’s resurfaced.”

 

“So, he wants Earth, then?” Hill asks. “He’s said as much. He has the tesseract, and a way to gather followers. Albeit unwilling.”

 

“We don’t have enough information to work off of,” Steve mutters.

 

“So, wait,” Tony interjects, glancing over towards you. “You supposedly know this psycho, and we’re just supposed to trust you?”

 

“I’m not working with him, if that’s what you’re implying,” you say shortly. “He brainwashed my best friend.”

 

“Supposedly,” Tony states.

 

You’re working up to a loud swear when Steve cuts in. “Enough, Stark,” he says, shaking his head. “I believe her. I’ll vouch for her credibility.”

 

You do your best to keep the shock from showing on your face. The captain doesn’t even truly know you, and yet he’s standing up for you. A soul too good for this world, to be sure. Of course Willow would find someone like him.

 

“That’s good enough for me,” Phil states with a smile. “So, what’s the next step, here?”

 

“The next step is finding that bastard,” you growl.

 

“We should pull up street cam feeds from the area around the museum,” Hill suggests. “We’ll hopefully be able to see where he was headed after the incident.”

 

“Or, or,” Tony says quickly, “we could use your facial recognition program in an expansive search and figure out where he’s been slinking around. Won’t take long to set up, if I'm right about the sort of tech you've got on this ship.”

 

“Fine,” Fury agrees.

 

“Oh, and I’m going to need, uh, a packet of information on this whole situation, like stat,” Tony adds. “Not really appreciating being kept in the dark, here, guys. I’ll accept info in paper or digital form. Thanks.”

 

“We’ll reconvene once the scans are done,” Fury decides, and rises from the table. “Stark, we’ll get you set up in a room.”

 

Everyone gets to their feet, following Fury out. Steve breaks off and heads down the hall towards Will’s room. You assume he’ll be back after he checks on her. You find yourself lagging at the back of the group, and you’re more than a little surprised when you find Stark is matching steps with you.

 

“Sorry about the whole accusing you of working with the psychopath thing,” he states. “But hey, gotta’ cover all our bases. Hard to trust people.”

 

“You’re telling me,” you mutter.

 

“So, quite the one-eighty you did yesterday, huh?” Tony asks casually. “One second you’re dragging me through hell, the next you’re… screaming.”

 

You wince. “Yeah, whatever. I don’t know. She’s my best friend. For a bit, she was my only friend. Just… shut the fuck up.”

 

“You can ask anyone around us, they’ll all tell you I don’t know how to do that,” Stark replies with a faux, jovial tone.

 

“Why’d you try to stop me?” you ask suddenly, remembering the cold metal of the suit as Tony’s fingers wrapped around your arm. “Back in the courtyard.”

 

You don’t receive an answer immediately. “Seemed like the thing to do, I guess,” Tony finally says. “Shit happens. People do dumb things when they’re upset.”

 

“I do dumb things all the time,” you say with a shrug.

 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he replies.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“So, anyway, what’s the deal with Asgard, huh? You’re… Asgardian?”

 

“No, I’m not,” you inform him. “But I’ve lived there a while now. I fight battles for Odin.”

 

“Interesting,” Stark comments. “Still hard to believe, but I blame being left out of the loop.” Before you can reply, he continues. “Speaking of interesting things, I’ve noticed you’ve yet to ask me about the glowing circle in the center of my chest.”

 

“I mean I noticed it,” you inform him, surveying the front of his shirt. “I just didn’t think it was important.”

 

Stark puts a hand over the aforementioned blue circle, feigning pain. “Ouch. Really? You didn’t notice that I was the only one sporting this lovely accessory?”

 

“I don’t know!” you exclaim. “Humans are always on some sort of weird trend! I just thought that was your thing! I mean, I’ve got bigger problems than trying to figure out why your chest glows. I guessed it had something to do with your suit or… something.”

 

“What? No!” Tony says, absolutely offended. “This bad boy was the only thing keeping me alive for a while there.” He taps on the front of the circle, and you can hear the little pinging noise it makes.

 

Before you can answer, a deafening thunderclap sounds from outside of the ship, and you can feel the vibrations in the metal beneath your feet.

 

Almost immediately, alarms start blaring. The noise echoes loudly in the hall, and you can hear people shouting up ahead. Fury stops dead in his tracks, yelling out questions to whatever agents are near as he tries to identify where the problem is.

 

You swiftly follow, half of your mind planning a route back to Willow and the other half wondering if the ship has flown into a storm and you’re about to fall out of the sky.

 

You can hear people screaming about cabin pressure, about a sudden storm, about an intruder… but it doesn’t really click into place until you hear a very familiar voice bellowing out your name.

 

“WARRIOR?! I KNOW YOU ARE HERE!” He can’t keep the excitement out of his tone, even in the face of a dire situation. “REVEAL YOURSELF! WE HAVE A MISSION TO COMPLETE!”

 

“Oh, my God,” you state, although no one hears you over the thunderous voice and screeching alarms.

 

And then you take off down the hall, sprinting past Fury, knocking into agents that scramble to get out of your way but aren’t quite fast enough. You work your way towards the voice’s yelling, dashing around corners until you practically barrel into a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with a gun held on the god of thunder.

 

You ignore the guards, the alarms, the sound of wind rushing through the door Thor bullied his way through, and run straight into the arms of a familiar friend.

 

“There you are!” he says, and that’s when you start crying.

Notes:

Sooo the Fury convo was supposed to happen in the last chapter, but these chapters are SO LONG, I COULD NOT PUT IT IN THERE. But yes, someone had to tell our dear Reader to play well with others lol
Anyway, WELCOME BACK THOR

Chapter 11: Unplanned Honesty

Notes:

It's ya girl, back at it again with a FUCKING UPDATE.

It only took a thousand years. This one fought me, every single word. Sometimes writing is super easy and flows well and everything is fan-fuckin-tastic, and sometimes you sit and stare at the same chapter for over a month.... lol

Anywho, I'm dedicating this chapter (and my life) to Temerey, who has translated OSE and has started translating ODE into German!
Seriously, Tem, you're the best.
<3

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Thor finds your tears amusing, and he can’t help but laugh kindly as you hug him. “Aw, there now, warrior! You’re all right!” His upbeat attitude slips, the chuckle dying in his chest. He gently pats your back as he says, “It has been hard, I’m sure.”

 

The care in his voice both hurts and heals, and it almost makes you lose your composure again.

 

You clue in to the confused shouting of the agents surrounding you and step out of Thor’s embrace. The group from the briefing meeting has finally caught up, including Steve Rogers, who runs into the room in a mad dash with his spangled shield held at the ready. Fury sends Hill on ahead, to gather a repair team and silence the alarms. You then fully realize everyone’s attention has been turned to you and your companion. Despite the audience, you cannot make yourself leave Thor’s side.

 

He’s dressed in his battle armor, the design intricate and impressive, and his winged war helm rests securely on his head. He is a grand representation of Asgard itself, his very presence giving off a power that none in the room miss.

 

It takes a bit for things to calm down, for the agents to realize that the brawny, blond man with the hammer is not a threat. You hurriedly stifle your crying and dry your face, because what sort of warrior cries over every little thing, as you have been as of late? The fuck is wrong with me? you think crossly to yourself.

 

“Thor.” The voice of Director Fury rings out over the noise of the alarms and roaring wind. “Wasn’t really expecting you, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

 

“You know of me,” Thor states, surveying the one-eyed director.

 

“Like, Thor-Thor?” Tony pipes up with a groan. “Actual-Thor? Asgard-Thor?”

 

“New Mexico,” you say in answer to Thor, talking over Stark. Your voice is still slightly hoarse from your crying, and you have to clear it before you add, “Eyepatch is the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

 

“Director Fury,” Fury states, narrowing his eye at you.

 

“I remember S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Thor says with a nod. He casts his gaze over all present, an amused expression crossing his face. “Quite the crowd, warrior! Although there is no time for pleasantries. We must be off!”

 

“Whoa, wait a second, now,” Steve says, taking a step forward.

 

“Who are you?” Thor questions curiously, his one eye lighting on the man.

 

“Steve Rogers,” Steve answers.

 

As he speaks, a group of S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives rush in between you and Thor and his self-made, alarm-causing entrance. They set to work, fixing the door with tools and gadgets you do not recognize. You and Thor move out of their way, Thor uttering a jovial apology as he does so. One of the agents shoots him an unfavorable glance, and as the repair begins, the alarms finally shut off (although their red lights continue to flash).

 

“Are you here for Loki?” Fury asks, his authoritative tone ringing in the sudden silence.

 

Thor’s eyebrows go up, and instead of answering, he turns to you. “What of these people, my friend? Do you trust them?”

 

You immediately grow uncomfortable, as even though Thor had “attempted” to lower his voice, his question was most certainly overheard by all present. You clear your throat again and cut your eyes off to the left. “Yeah, whatever, they’re all right I guess.”

 

A genuine smile lights on Thor’s face, and he states, “Ah, I see. You must really like them to say as much, warrior!”

 

“Shut up,” you mutter hurriedly, a deep frown pulling at your lips.

 

Thor turns back to Fury and states, “Indeed, I search for my brother.”

 

“Your brother, Loki,” Stark confirms. “Thor and Loki, of Asgard, gods and Odin and magic and all that?”

 

“Who is this odd man?” Thor asks, amused. “He seems to very much enjoy stating obvious facts.”

 

You can see Tony’s eyes narrow as he draws himself up, preparing to defend himself. Out of the corner of your eye you notice Rogers trying not to smile.

 

“That’s Tony Stark,” you supply with a smirk. “He loves facts, especially obvious ones.” As an afterthought, you add, “So, these guys are like, eh, super heroes. Got powers and whatnot.”

 

“That’s beside the point,” Fury interjects.

 

“What powers do you possess?” Thor asks, directing his question to everyone in the room. “I am most curious. I must admit, upon first glance, I thought you lot regular mortals.”

 

“Well, some of us are regular mortals,” Phil Coulson pipes up in a joking manner.

 

Fury shoots him a look, and then turns his gaze back to the god of thunder. “Thor, how did you find –”

 

“You seem familiar,” Thor muses, rubbing his jaw as he stares at Coulson. “Have we crossed paths before?”

 

“Yes!” Coulson exclaims. “Phil Coulson. I was there in New Mexico, when you had the, ah, incident with your eye.”

 

“Ah, I remember now,” Thor states, grimacing as he nods. “You’ll have to pardon me, that night was admittedly not one of my best.”

 

“That’s all well and good,” Fury cuts in. “But I’d appreciate an answer to my question. How’d you find us?”

 

“My mother thought it prudent to lead me to the warrior,” Thor replies, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Although, I had asked her to send me straight to Loki. She claimed I should not go on my own. She worries,” he adds warmly.

 

“She has a right to,” you tell him, all humor leaving your expression. “Thor, he’s not right. It’s… it’s bad.”

 

“Understatement of the year,” Stark comments dryly.

 

“Do you know where Loki is?” Fury asks Thor before anyone else can derail the conversation.

 

“I’ve no idea,” Thor informs him with a shrug. Now that he’s refocused on the purpose of his mission, he turns again to you. “Warrior, we should be off! Lead the way, and I will follow.”

 

“Lead the way?” you ask, your brow furrowing. “Thor, I don’t know where Loki is any more than you do.”

 

The god of thunder stares at you with a wide, blue eye. “But in the past, the two of you have always been able to –”

 

“Yeah, well, count that shit out,” you state quickly. “I have no clue where he’s at. Swear.”

 

Thor pauses to think and then shrugs nonchalantly. “No matter. The healer should be able to trace him, regardless.” He looks around the room, his smile warm. “Where is the tiny woman? I’d’ve imagined her to be by your side from the moment you set foot on Midgard!”

 

You can’t bring yourself to say it, even though you want to tell him. You worry your lip and cross your arms.

 

“Your, ah, brother took her out of commission,” Stark informs Thor before Fury can get a word out.

 

“What?” Thor asks in alarm. “Pardon?!”

 

“Unconscious. She’s unconscious,” Steve corrects heatedly, frowning at Tony.

 

“By the Nine,” Thor mutters, shaking his head.

 

You aren’t sure if it’s relief or shock you hear in his tone.

 

“We should get out of the hall,” Coulson suggests. “There are better places to hold this conversation.”

 

“I’ll second that,” Fury says with a nod.

 

---

 

You feel uncomfortable in the hovercraft’s lab, especially knowing that Fury has a folder documenting your experience on Earth as a glorified lab rat. Everything is extremely high-tech, in a different way than Asgard’s technological and magical advances. The room is not necessarily large, and the sleek metal, huge glass windows, and bright lights give a clinical feel to the area.

 

Fury’s disappointed to find that Thor has virtually no helpful information on Loki. He’s not seen his brother in a year, after all, and only recently learned he was still living. And Thor is likewise appalled at the stories the team divulges to him, in regard to Loki’s more recent actions. Erik Selvig, Willow… Germany…. He looks to you for confirmation after each claim, and needs only your expression to ascertain their validity.

 

Thor blames the scepter.

 

You know better.

 

You learn a lot of things during this informal “meeting”. Thor is intent on explaining his position as a prince of the realm of Asgard, asking about Jane Foster (who you discover is under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s protection), and reliving the New Mexico debacle with Phil. And then, once this is settled, he wants to know about everyone else.

 

You’ve heard Steve’s story before, Willow having explained some of what the man has been through. Phil Coulson is much more talkative on Steve’s history than Steve himself, claiming the soldier is being modest about his accomplishments. Rogers looks more uncomfortable than thankful for the praise, although he puts on a nice face for the agent. Thor is certainly impressed with Coulson’s tales of Steve’s bravery, whether exaggerated or not.

 

Phil has less to say about his own history, although Thor seems quite pleased to add another mortal to his circle of acquaintances.


Stark is eager to talk about his intellect, his money, his advances in the modern world. He speaks proudly of his alter ego and his research into sustainable energy. Stark Tower, Stark Industries, Stark, Stark, Stark. But when Thor asks of his reasoning for becoming “the man of iron”, the smile on Tony’s face becomes less genuine, no longer filled with a sort of selfish, boyish excitement. It’s a smile that does not quite reach his eyes. This change draws your attention, your gaze catching his as you wait curiously for his answer. Whereas he spoke so grandiosely of his achievements, he explains his failures in a casual, “no-big-deal” sort of way. Which lets you know it’s a very big deal.

 

There’s regret hidden here. Guilt. Something hurting, something torn that lies just beneath the man’s massive ego.

 

But then Thor moves on to questioning the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., and the moment is over.

 

“My name is Director Nick Fury,” Fury states. “And that’s all you need to know.”

 

This seems to put a damper on Thor’s attitude, the smile slowly fading from his face. The serious mood has returned, Fury asking a few more questions that lead to no new answers.

 

Eventually, conversation dies, leaving only the low hum of the machinery filling the room. Coulson heads out after a little voice buzzes from the communicator in his ear, and Fury stews in the back corner of the lab, lost in his thoughts and theories. Thor seems uncomfortable in the silence, and you can tell he’s close to blurting out a question or statement to Rogers.

 

Before this can happen, Stark cracks his knuckles, the little popping noises surprisingly loud. “All right, seems we’ve learned all we can here.” He walks towards one of the control panels, searches for a moment, and then powers up the lab’s holographic screens. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

 

“Yes,” Thor says, relief bleeding into the word. “Let us locate my brother.”

 

As Tony gets acquainted with the Helicarrier’s computer system, he casts a look at you and Thor over his shoulder. “So, how’d the two of you meet, anyway?”

 

“Oh, my friend, that is a grand tale,” Thor says, the grin reappearing on his face.

 

And he launches into it, speaking ostentatiously of the first time he saw you, the battle with your enemies, your long period of unconsciousness….

 

“You see,” Thor adds, “we did not truly speak until she had awoken. A fearsome sight! Downright hostile, she was, rising from the sickbed, ordering both princes of Asgard to stay back with murderous intent. I thought I’d saved a helbeast!”

 

He claps you on the back and guffaws. You let out a huff, your eyes shooting up to the heavens.

 

“Hostile. I can see that,” Tony muses, and he smirks when you glare at him. He redirects his attention to Thor and asks, “So, what, the two of you a thing?”

 

“What?” Thor questions as you try to splutter out a response.

 

“Stark, that’s irrelevant,” Fury cuts in.

 

“Like, a thing,” Tony continues, ignoring Fury and rolling his eyes. “Like, together. A couple.”

 

“Oh, stars no!” Thor exclaims, aghast. “Has she not told you? The woman is practically my sister! And whether the marriage happens or not, I count her as such.”

 

“What?” Stark questions at the same time Fury asks, “Excuse me?”

 

“Fuck,” you say under your breath.

 

You hadn’t even thought…. You’ve been too caught up in conversation to think about Thor and his honest transparency….

 

“Really, we should be focusing on finding Loki,” Rogers interjects.

 

You decide right then and there that you like (and maybe… maybe even trust) Steve Rogers.

 

“You haven’t made mention of your engagement?” the god of thunder questions, genuine confusion upon his face.

 

“Previous engagement, Thor,” you correct, your arms crossed and a blush creeping across your cheeks. “Gods, it’s been a whole fucking year, and I mean, we’ve told you what he’s done.”

  

“So, you’ve given up on him as well?” Thor asks, defeat and disappointment in his tone.

 

He gave up on me,” you counter heatedly, staring into Thor’s eye for a long moment.

 

“I feel like this isn’t going to help us accomplish our goal right now,” Steve says, glancing between you and Thor.

 

“No, Rogers, I’d say this is relevant,” Fury says. He turns to you, fixing you with a level look. “Quite a personal relationship you’ve neglected to mention.”

 

“It doesn’t change anything,” you state, your voice cold. “I want to stop him as much as you guys do. He put Will in a fucking coma. And I don’t care if it kills me, I’m going to make him fix it. Or pay for it. Whichever comes first.”

 

Thor says your name, and the distraught tone in which he speaks almost makes you flinch.

 

Fury’s eyeing you now, sizing you up. You meet his scrutiny with a level gaze, and you feel as if the two of you are holding a silent conversation.

 

I mean it. I’m not his ally. If I was, I wouldn’t be fucking here, trust me.

 

“Stark, any luck on pinpointing Loki’s location?” Steve asks. “The sooner we deal with this, the better.”

 

Fury holds your eyes for a moment more, and then looks away. “I agree.”

 

“It’s loading. Give it a bit, damn,” Stark says, shaking his head.

 

The room falls silent again, and you can’t remember if you’ve ever felt more uncomfortable.

 

After a long period of silence, you realize Stark is staring at you. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, as if he is dying to say something. It comes out as an “mmmMMM” that grows increasingly louder until he blurts out, “MMMM the horse thing.”

 

You stare at him blankly. “What?”

 

“The horse thing,” he says again, louder, making a vague hand gesture. “According to Norse mythology, your boyfriend fucked a horse. Or, rather, was… fucked by a horse, although I really don’t think the technicality matters.”

 

Now Thor is also staring at Tony, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“The fuck?” you ask.

 

You know Loki has no true preference between men or women, but you’d never heard rumor of…. What?

 

“I actually do think I’ve read about that,” Steve says, more to himself than to the room.

 

“Oh yeah, and there’s more,” Tony says, opening a new page on one of the computer’s monitors. “I’ll find the whole story.”

 

“Stark,” Fury warns.

 

“I don’t know how much stock you can put into mythologies, Tony,” Steve says.

 

“Oh, shit,” Tony responds, eyes widening as he stares at the computer screen.

 

“Seriously, now’s not the time,” Steve tells him.

 

“No, shut up,” Tony says, waving a hand towards Rogers. “I found him.”

 

“What?” Fury asks, and you and Thor share a decisive look as you both walk over behind Tony.

 

“Look at this,” Stark states, shaking his head. “That bastard. His smug face, plastered all over the internet. Look, there are posts from five minutes ago. Facebook, Twitter. This fucker.”

 

“Twitter?” Thor asks, looking over to you for answers.

 

You shrug, your brow furrowed as you try to make sense of the screen Tony’s scrolling through. The monitor is filled with images of Loki taken from a distance, strolling down the streets of some city with an entourage of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents shadowing him.

 

“It’s a challenge,” Fury says tightly. “He’s daring us to come after him.”

 

“Fuck the facial recognition,” Tony says, canceling the loading screen on the lab’s holograph. “We know where he is.”

Notes:

Ayyy last transition chapter before we get to that scene I KNOW all of you have been waiting for...
Which is Loki in the box lmao

Some news:
I've gone back and done some editing to OSE and ODE, as well as added the fanart you amazing people have drawn for me into the end notes of their respective chapters! (OSE: Chapter 6. ODE: Chapters 12, 20, and 33.)
And I've also got a Discord for my fics, if any of you are interested in joining me there! It can serve as a way to know when I update, if you don't have an AO3 account!

As always, thanks for being patient with me! It's been a while since I've had writer's block that bad, but I'm FINALLY FREE. :D
See you next chapter!

Chapter 12: The City of Love

Notes:

Aight, bois, here's the dealio
I had so much going on these past few months! Buying a house, moving, getting settled, trying to sell our old house.... It sucks! I mean, the new house is sweet, but the moving and trying to sell our old house sucks!
BUT I'VE SAID IT BEFORE AND I'LL SAY IT AGAIN, NO THIS FIC IS NOT GOING TO BE ABANDONED!!! I mean, c'mon, we've made it to the third part of the series lol no way is this going to be abandoned.
Updates boutta be slow, but they will be there, I promise!
Speaking of updates, I apparently lied in my last author's note, because there was no way I was able to fit everything I wanted into this chapter, so the Loke in a Box scene will have to wait a bit longer!
PLEASE FORGIVE ME, I AM BUT HUMAN!
That being said, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The farther Stark scrolls down the computer’s feed, the more complicated things get. As Rogers quickly points out, there’s a whole new problem. “Look at the pictures,” he states, gesturing towards the holographic screen. “They show different cities. London, Paris, Berlin, Tokyo, Egypt, Moscow.”

 

Tony frowns, quickly scanning the feed as he refreshes the browser. The timestamps indicate all of these pictures were posted roughly around the same time, but in vastly different locations. The captions range from curious bystanders asking who this strange man is to fearful people warning others away from him. Stark turns to you and points at the stream of conflicting photos. “How… exactly… is he in multiple places at once?”

 

“Illusions,” you say, narrowing your eyes at the screen. The obviousness of it is troubling to you. What are you doing, Loki?

 

Stark shoots Thor a glance, eyebrow quirked as he waits for confirmation. Thor gives him a short nod before returning his attention to the photos.

 

“Right, of course,” Tony mutters under his breath, rubbing at his chin as he looks back to the screen. “Illusions. Obviously.”

 

Director Fury steps up to the console, Stark begrudgingly moving over to make room. Fury swiftly types in a few commands and begins the process of mapping out all of the geological locations of the photos. “We need to find the real Loki,” he states to the room. “Thoughts?”

 

You lean in a little closer, eyes locked on Loki’s face in each picture. He wears a broad, shit-eating grin, as if he’s having a blast strolling through the streets of Midgard. One picture in particular draws your eye, a side shot of Loki taken mid-stride. You shake your head. “Something’s not right. He’s setting a trap.”

 

“What’s new?” Rogers questions, weariness leaking into his voice.

 

“He has quite a large accompaniment in this image,” Thor says, pointing towards one of the pictures. It’s hard to see Loki through all of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and the amassed crowd of onlookers. “Perhaps this is him. And it’s in the heart of a town. Very showy.”

 

“Good God, even his own brother’s just taking guesses,” you hear Stark mutter.

 

“That one’s in New York,” Fury says, enlarging the picture. Everyone in the room stares at it, and you frown. That isn’t the photo that initially caught your eye, the one you can’t help but look at. The director glances around and then states, “It would take us a while to reach New York. I could dispatch some other agents until we get back over.”

 

“But he’s just guessing,” Stark interjects. “Do you have the kind of manpower it would take, to chase these illusions around?”

 

“It does feel like we’re playing into Loki’s hand,” Steve admits, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “He knew we’d find these. The fact that they’re there means he’s already put some sort of plan in motion. We’re a step behind.”

 

“We’re not just a step behind, Captain, we’re three steps behind,” Fury says.

 

“I say we go,” Thor says. He picks up his war helm, which has been resting on one of the lab’s counters, and slides it securely onto his head. “I tire of standing around when there is action to be taken. Warrior –”

 

“Hold up, Thor,” you tell him, eyes still fixed on the computer’s large screen. “I don’t think that’s him.”

 

“What?” Thor asks.

 

You point to a different photo, the one you’ve been staring at for a while now. The one that something in your mind is inevitably nudging you towards. You scrutinize the picture for another second and then nod your head. “This is where we should go.”

 

“Why that one?” Fury asks you.

 

You can’t say you just have an uncanny… feeling about it (… Loki can’t be worming his way back into your head… can he?), so instead, you stick with facts. “Look, I’m not the most observant person,” you start, “but I’ve seen this fucking scepter way too many times. And say what you will about me, but I know my weapons.” You gesture towards the photos. “A lot of the other ones are wrong. I mean, come on guys, this one’s not even the right color blue for fuck’s sake,” you add, pointing to a different picture. “And see this here, the embellishment’s all wrong. This one’s silver, although I guess that could just be the light. But like, really, it’s like he’s not even trying.” You frown again, eyes flitting from photo to photo until you look back to the one you’re drawn to. “Where is this one at, anyway? Probably somewhere pretty famous, knowing him. There’s a big crowd and… whatever the hell that huge thing is.”

 

“The Eiffel Tower,” Steve Rogers tells you. “It’s a landmark. Yeah, I’d say it’s pretty famous.”

 

“And close to us,” Fury adds, checking the ship’s location on a different console. “… A little too convenient.”

 

“You think this is him?” Thor asks you, squinting at the photo. “But he has no entourage, warrior. Why would he travel without those he has… ah… collected?”

 

“It’s not like he needs a group of people to be dangerous,” you say with a pointed glance towards Thor.

 

“This is true,” Thor agrees, stroking his beard as he thinks. He then meets your gaze again and says, “A famous Midgardian landmark…. It does sound like him. Very well. Let us be off!”

 

Fury grimaces and then looks over at you. “How sure are you?”

 

“If it’s not him, I’ll be surprised,” you answer honestly. “But no matter what, I’d expect a fight. A trap, a trick. Something.”

 

“He is the god of trickery,” Thor says, nodding.

 

“Weird,” Tony supplies helpfully. You shoot him a look, and he shrugs. “Well, I’m tired of playing ‘Spot the Difference’. Let’s just get on with it.”

 

“Fine,” Fury says, rolling his shoulders as he steps back from the computer. “Everyone suit up. If he’s not there, we’ll relocate.”

 

“Oh, you coming with?” Stark asks, raising his eyebrows and smirking as he watches Fury start to walk out of the room.

 

“No, I’m not,” Fury answers bluntly without turning around. “I’m expecting someone.”

 

---

 

You can’t deny that you’re happy to finally have a new outfit that fits you, however the accompanying accessory – an earpiece communication device – is rather uncomfortable. You’ve been supplied a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, although before you had set out, the Director was sure to inform you that you were not a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

 

You had assured him you were well aware (and glad) of that fact.

 

And now, clad in all black, you stand before a very tall architectural structure. Steve Rogers has already said the tower is a big deal to humans, but you’re still slightly taken aback by the amount of people gathered around, posing in front of it with their friends, kissing their significant others.

 

You do not see the two ravens that circle high in the sky, wings skimming the clouds as they peer down at the scene below, watching over Odin’s sons.

 

The trees are perfectly trimmed, the grassy lawn around the landmark a lovely green. Your group lingers underneath one of said manicured trees, trying to locate exactly where the picture of Loki had been taken. It’s a cloudy day, threatening storms, although that has done nothing to lessen the peoples’ interest. Busses of various colors line the sides of the roads nearby, loading and unloading occupants. The group you’re with is garnering a fair amount of attention as well, despite the proximity to the famous tower; you’ve definitely seen a camera flash your way more than once.

 

And Loki is nowhere in sight.

 

“So, were you wrong, or…?” Stark asks, the faceplate of his Iron Man suit opening as he looks around with his hands on his hips.

 

“I wasn’t wrong,” you say, glowering at him.

 

“Perhaps Loki is nearby,” Thor suggests as he adjusts his eye patch. “We could venture further into the open. Upon seeing us, he may come forth.”

 

You can’t quit surveying your surroundings, eyes jumping from face to face. The crowd makes you nervous, and you feel as if you’re being watched. As if something is off.

 

“Let’s not be hasty,” Rogers speaks up, although it sounds as if he’d much rather get this ordeal over with sooner rather than later. “We need to –”

 

In the middle of his sentence there’s a loud crack, the sudden noise echoing around the area. On instinct you jump back, your hand outstretched as you gather the energy to form a sword. Thor and Steve keep step with you, Thor pulling Mjolnir from his belt and Steve lifting his shield. The projectile whizzes past Rogers, striking the ground and sending up a small bit of dirt as it sinks into the grass.

 

If he didn’t have superhuman reflexes, you’re sure he’d be gravely wounded.

 

Stark’s helmet closes as his suit hovers above the ground, and not a second too soon. Another bang, and this time it’s a bullet pinging off his faceplate. Someone in the crowd screams something in a language you feel like you almost understand, and at once, everyone scatters.

 

From Loki’s vantage point, perched two hundred feet above the ground on the Eiffel Tower’s first level, he likens them again to ants. He sits, relaxed, his feet dangling over the tower’s edge. He holds the scepter in his lap, his hands gripping it tightly, contrary to his casual position. He bides his time, letting the blue glow of the gem fill his mind and body, bidding its power to flow through his fingers, up his arms, into his chest.

 

And, invisible, he watches.

 

“Where the hell did the shots come from?” you shout to your companions, muscles tensed and ready to dodge again.

 

But no one has time to answer. More shots fire, multiple this time. Something socks Thor in the jaw, something else sweeps Rogers’ feet out from under him. You hear a rustle to your left and leap away. Pain blossoms in your arm, and when you jerk back your skin opens, blood from the wound seemingly floating in midair, outlining what you think is a knife.

 

“Invisible! He’s cloaking them!” you shout at the same time Stark’s voice over the com in your ear exclaims, “I count ten heat signatures!”

 

Fuck. You hate fighting things you can’t see.

 

“Stop the gunners!” Rogers yells to Tony as he gets to his feet and blocks another shot with his shield.

 

“Roger,” Stark’s voice answers as he jets closer towards the tower. “Or rather, Rogers. Heh.”

 

“Not the time!” Steve shouts back.

 

You focus on the bit of blood you can see, hovering above the grass in front of you, moving closer. When the person raises their weapon, you slip to the side, wildly grabbing at where you think the person’s arm is in relation to the blade. When your fingers grasp fabric you latch on, determined not to let go.

 

There’s a sharp pinch in your side – probably a small knife in their other hand – and you bare your teeth as you tighten your grip. You bring your knee up, slamming their arm down at the same time. A bone snaps, the person cries out, and the invisible illusion is banished.

 

You go in for the kill, sword rushing up, just about to sink into the man’s gut –

 

You hear your name.

 

“Wait!” Steve Rogers calls out. “They’re S.H.I.E.L.D. agents!” He bashes his shield forward, and a woman suddenly flickers into sight as she flies backwards. “Under Loki’s control!” Steve continues, finally meeting eyes with you. “They don’t need to die!”

 

“Oh, shit, yeah, sorry, sorry,” you say sincerely, dropping the man in your grip.  You relinquish your sword, dissolving it back into the shadows it was forged of. “I forgot.”

 

“I thought as much,” Thor says, looking over smugly at the two men he had knocked unconscious. “It truly only takes a single punch, warrior. These mortals are surprisingly fragile, if you recall.”

 

Because you definitely don’t enjoy smashing people’s faces in, you think snidely.

 

“Rogers, on your left!” Stark’s voice crackles in everyone’s ears.

 

Steve turns abruptly with his shield, and the resulting sound is that of metal scraping against metal. You and Thor both move to assist, but you get there first. You miss a punch, but your kick connects, revealing the man. The knife flies out of the agent’s hand, and all of the air leaves his lungs when he hits the ground.

 

“That’s five,” Rogers says as you finish knocking your opponent unconscious.

 

“I’ve got four stunned over there,” Stark says as he flies back to the group. “Don’t see the other one, though. Maybe they got outta’ dodge with Loki. Either way, Fury’s gonna’ have quite the cleanup.”

 

Two things occur at once.

 

Thor hears a quiet, “That he will,” from behind him, followed by a flash of white-hot pain in his side, under his ribs, spreading, burning.

 

Tony finally touches down in front of the group, and you see a shimmer right behind him. A dagger, glowing with uncloakable magic or power, you aren’t sure which, an invisible hand rising to strike.

 

That’s death, you realize, in the same way that you were able to suss out Loki’s true location. You simply know that this weapon will sink straight through Tony’s armor and into his body; that its design, its purpose, is to kill.

 

“Loki!” Thor roars, whirling around frantically only to see no one behind him.

 

“Stark!” you shout, rushing forward, forming a blade of your own.

 

Tony’s not turning fast enough, you aren’t going to make it in time, but you have to make it in time.

 

Thor’s movement jars the dagger from Loki’s grasp. Rogers comes to Thor’s aid at once, tossing his shield as hard as he can at the space the god is facing.

 

Slam!

 

You crash into Tony’s shoulder, your momentum enough to make him stagger out of the way as you bring your sword up in a sweeping arc.

 

Loki, now visible, recovers from the strike of Rogers’ shield and brings the scepter around towards Thor. Steve rushes in, catching his shield and landing a punch right across Loki’s cheekbone. The Asgardian doesn’t seem to be much impacted by the action, although it gives Thor a chance to grab him. Rogers strikes Loki’s wrist repeatedly with his shield, grasping him by the shoulder for leverage until Loki finally releases the golden scepter.

 

You watch the glowing dagger drop to the ground, accompanied by the hand that had wielded it. There’s a high-pitched scream and a woman blinks into view, holding the bleeding stump of her wrist and staring at the space where her hand used to be. Her eyes roll up and she joins her extremity on the ground, passed out cold.

 

“Brother!” Thor growls heatedly, a hint of a wheeze to his words as he secures one of Loki’s arms behind his back. “Yield at once!”

 

“I missed you, too,” Loki states with a smirk.

 

Rogers exchanges a look with Thor from Loki’s other side. The god of thunder appears troubled, his handsome brow creased. The captain and Thor both grasp Loki’s shoulders, although to Thor, this does not seem secure enough. After a moment’s pause and some deep thought, he slides Mjolnir’s leather strap around one of Loki’s wrists, twists the loop until it draws tight to his skin, and then lets the hammer fall to the ground.

 

The chaos ceases.

 

“Jesus,” Stark says, picking up the glowing dagger.

 

“Are you all right?” you ask him with a worried frown.

 

His faceplate lifts, revealing a conflicted expression. He stares at you, his eyebrows knitted together, as if he can’t quite figure out what he wants to say.

 

And from the side, witness to this exchange, Loki’s eyes narrow.

 

But you aren’t looking at him. You aren’t looking at anyone anymore. You suddenly can’t focus, lost in your mind, a connection renewing with such force it makes your heart jolt.

 

Tony turns away, thinking you to be fixated on what’s going on behind him. His eyebrows rise at the sight of Loki tethered to the ground by one wrist. “What? Caught him without my help? Now, that’s something.”

 

As you shake off your daze, you ignore everyone around you – Stark, Thor, Loki – and stare straight into the eyes of Steve Rogers.

 

You’re positive he feels it, too.

 

“She’s awake,” you say, doing your best to keep your voice level. “Are you coming?”

 

“What?” you hear Thor question.

 

Emotions dance across his face, complicated and conflicted – he will have words with his brother. Many words. Be it in front of others or not.

 

Steve keeps your gaze, but then his eyes flick to Loki, whose back is bent from the weight of Mjolnir.

 

You refuse to let your eyes wander – you refuse to look at him. You continue to watch Steve, who seems torn between his heart and his duty.

 

“We’ve got Reindeer Games, Rogers,” Tony says, walking to the soldier’s side. He pats Steve’s shoulder as he looks down at Loki. “It’ll be a fun jet ride back to the base, right Rudolph?”

 

There is no reply.

 

You feel his eyes on you.

 

Don’t, you think to yourself. Don’t look at him.

 

You hold up a hand, tearing a dark rift in the space around you.

 

Steve Rogers steps forward.

Notes:

Tfw you see your ex in public and it’s super awkward...
Haha jk
..
Kinda

Chapter 13: Temptation

Notes:

BruuuuuUUUUHHHH. This chapter is fourteen. pages. long.
Thanks to ShootingStarSojourner for being an awesome beta reader, thanks to Temerey for helping me with some translation stuff in this chapter, and thanks to all of you for sticking with me thus far!
I've literally got the whole rest of OTE mapped out in chapters now, this is gonna be a crazy ride

Chapter Text

Your right hand is clasped around Steve Rogers’ wrist, your fingers too tight for comfort. He hasn’t acknowledged your vice-like grip, which you’re thankful for. The dark void surrounding you… it had reacted to him when you both stepped through your self-made portal. It’s much like when Willow travels with you through your shadows. You still feel it, as if the blackness beneath your feet wishes to swallow him. You refuse to lose him to the Dark, not when he means so much to Will. And yeah, maybe Blondie means something to you now, too.

 

Willow. You focus on tugging Steve forward, following the pull you feel coming from your friend’s mind. Up and up, climbing ever higher in a space that Earth’s gravity has no hold over.

 

You’ve finally found the room, the lab, and you can see her, and there are others present, but they don’t matter. You reach out your free hand, fingers digging into the black edges of reality.

 

And you pull.

 

Willow cries out at once, calling for you and her captain. Her clothing is rumpled and torn from the gala, and dark circles lie beneath her eyes despite her long rest. Your friend pushes off of the wall she leans upon and staggers forward, trying to reach the two of you.

 

“Will!” you exclaim in alarm, rushing forward just in time to catch her before she goes down.

 

You kneel to hug her, knowing she doesn’t have the strength to stand back up. Willow says your name, as if making sure you’re truly there. “Friend.” Her arms tighten around you, her shoulders shaking. It’s been so long since she’s seen you – too long. “I’m so sorry,” Willow whispers.

 

And in your mind’s eye, you see everything she’s referring to. Everything you’ve been through in the last year. All of the things you’ve boxed away.

 

Your face is pressed against her shoulder, your throat tightening, tears pricking at your eyes as you try so hard to smile through it. Because it’s almost funny. You want to take Will by the shoulders, laugh it all off, tell her that it’s just silly that after what she’s been through, she’s telling you she’s sorry. It’s ridiculous that she’s still making other people her priority.

 

You should be the one apologizing to her.

 

You hurriedly shut down your hysteric sobs, push back the grief that sits shallowly underneath. You release your friend, wiping at your face as you let out a strangled laugh. “Why are you making me cry, dammit?” you ask. “This isn’t a good look for me.”

 

Willow laughs with you, brushing her tears away and sniffing. “Still could be worse,” she tells you, her tone light.

 

She grasps your forearms firmly, as if grounding herself. It helps ground you, too. “It’s about time you woke up,” you tease, although the statement is quite serious.

 

Willow grimaces, her head dipping in a nod. “Took me a bit. Kinda got lost in transit.” She gives you a tight smile and then glances over your shoulder. “I’ll explain later,” she adds quietly.

 

You mirror her nod, knowing there’s a lot to talk about. And someone else is waiting anxiously to speak with her. You glance behind you at the worried Rogers, whose blue eyes are locked on your friend. He’s kept a respectful distance from your reunion, and with Willow awake and well, it’s a little easier to admit that you’re more than thankful to him.

 

“Hey, Star,” Steve says quietly as he takes your place in front of Will.

 

You step back, letting them have their own reunion. The adrenaline is slowly bleeding out of you, making you tired, reminding you of the wounds in your side and arm. For the first time, you take in the people in the room with you.

 

The fiery Natasha has returned, her eyes finding yours almost at once. There’s less hostility in her gaze than the last time you met, although she still seems guarded. If she’s heard about your history with Loki, you have a feeling she won’t be pleased with the half-truths you provided her in your previous conversation. But perhaps her softer look stems from understanding, after seeing you express something other than cold apathy.

 

You don’t know the man standing near her, looking on at the captain and Will as he subconsciously wrings his hands. You note his wavy, dark hair, his brown eyes. His mannerisms practically scream that he’s uncomfortable.

 

There’s movement in your peripherals, and you feel yourself tense as the door to the room opens. Nick Fury striding in does little to alleviate the stiffness in your shoulders.

 

“I’m so sorry!” you hear your friend exclaim to Rogers, tears flooding down her face yet again. “I’m so… sorry… for-for attacking you… and hurting you!” Will’s hands visibly tremble as she weeps. You fold your arms across your chest and turn your head, almost as uncomfortable as the man across the room. “I-I didn’t want to!” Will says miserably, lip trembling as she presses her face against Steve’s broad chest. “I’m so, so sorry, love!”

 

“How can we know that for sure?” Fury speaks up, a deep frown on his lips.

 

Rogers noticeably tenses. “We’re not doing this right now, Nick,” he states in a deadly tone.

 

Bless you, Steve Rogers, you think to yourself, turning to face Fury with an accusatory glare. The captain helps Willow to her feet, and she clings to him to stay upright.

 

“And why not?” Fury asks, a brow arching upwards as his eye flickers between you, Rogers, and Will. He crosses his arms, amplifying his already intimidating presence. “This seems like a perfectly good time for it.”

 

You open your mouth to spit out a nasty retort, but the dark haired stranger speaks first. “I don’t really think this needs to be an interrogation,” he says, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks from Willow to Fury. “She can barely stand.”

 

At once, with fluid movements, Natasha hooks her boot around one of the small, rolling stools tucked under the nearest laboratory counter and kicks it towards Steve. He shoots her a thankful glance as he stops the stool’s momentum and makes sure Will sits down.

 

Willow doesn’t seem to want to take a seat, but her shaking legs disagree with her.

 

Fury’s face may as well be carved out of stone.

 

“Let’s just talk,” the anxious stranger suggests. He looks over at you and Steve, one of his hands lifting in a small wave. “I’m Bruce Banner, by the way.”

 

“Dr. Banner,” Steve says with a nod.

 

You give him your name, also nodding your head.

 

This seems to satisfy Bruce, whose hands fall to his sides. He meets the tired eyes of your friend and says, “Why don’t you just tell us what you’ve been through? If it’s not too much…?”

 

Natasha nods in agreement, crossing her arms as she leans against one of the lab’s counters. “If you need a break, that’s all right. We’re here to listen, however long it takes.”

 

Willow takes a few deep breaths, her fingers tightening around Steve’s hand.

 

And then she begins to talk.

 

The more the story unfolds, the more uncomfortable you become. You can’t help but fiddle with the bracelet Sig gave to you, more than a year ago now. The intertwined silver knots are firm around your wrist, not as shiny as they once were, but still intact, which is more than you can say for a lot of things in your life. You remember how Loki had scoffed at the little gift. You remember how Bjorn had asked you about the bauble, sincerely curious. The memory makes you wince.

 

You miss him.

 

Every sentence from Will sends agony stabbing through your chest, every mention of Loki’s name. Your fault, your fault, your fault, your mind chants at you.

 

Sensing your silent turmoil, Willow shoots you a glance in the middle of her story, her words tapering off into silence.

 

Her eyes ask you if you’re all right.

 

Your fists clench and unclench as you meet your friend’s gaze. You give the smallest of nods.

 

At the end of her explanation, everyone is quiet. All present know that Fury will be the first one to speak.

 

You can’t read the Director’s expression. Is he uncomfortable? Dissatisfied? Appeased? He continues to stand in the doorway, his arms crossed, same frown still etched across his face.

 

Finally he sighs, sounding truly exhausted. “Do you know how complicated all of this is?” he asks, attempting to sound more irritated than tired. He points towards Willow. “I’m ordering a psychological evaluation for you.”

 

“What?” Willow asks incredulously.

 

“We’re dealing with a lot here,” Fury continues, “and we can’t risk having you compromised.” Steve and you both move to rebuff him, but Fury holds up his hand. “Protocol. This is the best outcome of the scenario. Trust me.”

 

Something in his tone stops you from continuing with your outburst. Again, it’s just the fact that you know he’s right. Something you don’t like admitting, especially when it’s regarding someone you care about.

 

The Director holds a finger to his ear, listening to a voice crackling over his com.

 

Fury meets your eyes. “I have confirmation that the others have delivered our target,” he says gruffly. “I guess you were right. The other locations were clean.”

 

The other… locations. It takes a second to process exactly what he’s saying. “It… was a test,” you state slowly. “You thought I was lying.”

 

Fury raises an eyebrow, a dry chuckle underlying his tone. “You thought I wouldn’t have agents investigating the other cities?” And now he does laugh, the sound very abrupt. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

 

“Neither was I,” you say coldly, although as the words leave your lips you realize you have no true point to make.

 

He acknowledges this with a grim smile.

 

“So, what now?” Natasha asks, eyes traveling carefully over each person’s face.

 

“We find the cube,” Banner says, glancing towards the holographic computer screen hovering over the nearest lab counter. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have dragged me into this.”

 

“If it’s not with Loki,” Fury amends, his cynical tone holding what you think might be a true hint of hope.

 

“I don’t think it is,” Steve states, drawing the attention of all present.

 

“I agree,” you say, backing him up. “I feel like I would’ve sensed something that powerful. Plus, if he had it at his disposal, he would’ve used it.”

 

“He doesn’t have it on him,” Willow speaks up, slender fingers rubbing at her temple. “I think… it’s somewhere else. Someone was working on it.”

 

“Working on it?” Fury questions, turning towards her. “What about it?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Will says, her expression pained as she presses her hand to the side of her head. “But someone else is in charge of it. He was a nice guy. Really smart.”

 

“Any idea of his name?” Romanoff asks, and she lets out a soft sigh when Willow shakes her head.

 

“Does one Doctor Erik Selvig ring any bells?” Fury asks.

 

Will winces, but then her eyes go wide. “Yes, I… I think so. He’s the one… He’s… working on the tesseract.”

 

“Thought as much,” Fury mumbles, gloved hand rubbing his chin as his mind races.

 

“Don’t push yourself, Star,” Rogers tells your friend, clearly noticing her pained expression. “We’re just glad to have you back with us.”

 

“You got that… right….” you say, your words trailing off as you stare out the lab’s large front windows.

 

All eyes follow yours, a tense chill settling over the room as the object of all of this mayhem comes into view. Swarms of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents surround Loki, and even though his hands are secured in high-tech cuffs, his blue gaze lights up when he peers into the room. The god stares at Banner as though the man is a gift, a cheeky smile tilting his lips. He looks to Willow, to Fury, to you.

 

There’s an uncomfortable jolt in your stomach, like you missed a step on an invisible staircase and now you’re tumbling through thin air without any way of catching yourself.

 

Oh darling, his voice hisses through your mind, snaking through your defenses, come and talk with me. I will wait.

 

---

 

Everyone watches as Fury speaks with Loki, interrogates him, describes the glass holding cell and how it’ll send the god hurtling down thirty thousand feet if he tries anything. Everyone watches except for you, Thor, and Willow. You three listen.

 

Thor stands with his back to the room, his arms crossed, his breath still holding a hint of a wheeze from where Loki’s dagger had slipped into his side. He tries to hide just how torn he is, but you can see the pain written plainly across his face. It’s different, him hearing the stories versus seeing the truth for himself.

 

Willow sits at the conference table, eyes tracing the grains in the wood. Steve shadows her, hand on the back of her chair as he stares at the monitors. Natasha and Banner sit beside Will, eyes focused on the screens as well. Bruce grimaces every time Loki makes insinuations regarding… him. Stark paces on the left side of the room, eyes going to the footage when his steps bring him towards the front.

 

And you stand near the back wall, arms crossed, teeth worrying your lip as you listen to the God of Mischief.

 

To no one’s surprise, Fury’s questions garner nothing new. Silence falls as the director walks away, presumably to reconvene at the room you’re all currently gathered in. Banner rolls his stiff shoulders and lets out a breath, forcing himself to look away from the smirking face of Loki, who stares up at the camera as though he can see straight through it. “He really grows on you, doesn’t he?” Bruce quips lightly.

 

“Loki’s going to drag this out,” Steve states, shaking his head. “So… what’s his play?”

 

All of this, you think to yourself. All of it’s his ‘play’. Just a stupid fucking game.

 

Thor glances around the room, his mouth pressed into a frown. “Loki speaks of waging war against Midgard. For that, he’d need an army.”

 

“Well, apparently he’s working on that one,” Tony speaks up, gesturing towards Will. “Taking over people’s minds. You guys said he’s basically been collecting people since he got here.”

 

“He doesn’t have enough agents under his control for an army,” Natasha says, brows coming together as she thinks.

 

“No,” Will mutters, rubbing her face as she shakes her head.

 

“I was thinking of a different army,” Thor says to Romanoff. “My father has been receiving reports from Heimdall of strange activity among the Kree, the Chitauri, the Jotnar –”

 

“Chitauri!” Willow exclaims suddenly, a look of utter confusion on her face at her own outburst. Her cheeks flush slightly as everyone in the room turns towards her. “I-I recognize that word.”

 

“What’s a Chitauri?” Stark asks.

 

“An army,” Thor states grimly. “Aliens, not of Asgard or any known world.”

 

“Then…” Bruce says slowly, “operating under the assumption that he’s using an alien army, Ch-uh-Chitauri or not, then…. Well, that would explain why he needs the tesseract…. Erik Selvig…. Yeah.” Banner looks up at the room, meeting everyone’s expectant gazes. “So, he’s building another portal. That’s what he needs Erik Selvig for.”

 

“That’s a grim explanation,” Natasha notes in the following silence. “So then why the op at the gala, and the iridium?”

 

“And Loki seems perfectly content to be on the ship,” Rogers adds, nodding his head towards the monitors at the front of the room. “He’s not leading an army from here.”

 

“I don’t think we should be focusing on Loki,” Banner says, clearly distracted with a different train of thought. “That guy’s mind is a bag full of cats. You can smell the crazy on him.”

 

“You would do well to watch your tongue,” Thor growls defensively. “He has changed, yes, but he is still of Asgard, and still my brother.”

 

“Well, since your brother’s arrived he’s killed over eighty people, and counting,” Natasha informs him.

 

Thor’s frown deepens, and he looks to you in hopes you’ll take his side.

 

Tony snorts at Romanoff’s comment, unable to hide his amusement. “Iridium’s a stabilizing agent,” he tells Banner. “Means the portal won’t collapse on itself, like it apparently did the first time. Also means it can open as wide and as long as Loki wants it to. Ha.” He raises an eyebrow, unable to let the so-so innuendo pass without comment.

 

“I fail to see the humor in this situation,” Thor tells him.

 

“Regardless,” Tony continues, “it seems like the other raw materials will be easy for his S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to get a hold of. Only major component missing is a power source. Something with a high energy density, something to kick start the cube.”

 

“Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?” Steve asks, his hand resting protectively on Willow’s shoulder.

 

“He’s got to heat the cube to a hundred and twenty million Kelvin just to break through the Coulomb barrier,” Banner muses.

 

“Unless Selvig has figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect,” Stark counters.

 

You watch in amazement as Tony and Banner fire ideas back and forth, spouting words you’ve never heard of.

 

“Thank God, finally! Someone who speaks English,” Tony states happily. “It’s great to meet you, Dr. Banner. Your work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled. And I’m also a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster,” he adds.

 

“What?” you ask abruptly.

 

“Move past it, that’s not the point,” Stark replies, happily echoing your words back to you from the first time you met him. He turns back to Banner. “Shall we play, doctor? There’s a whole magical scepter to inspect in the lab, and I can hear it calling our names.”

 

“Let’s play,” Bruce agrees, a hint of a smile on his face.

 

---

 

They want you to speak with me, don’t they? Why wait?

 

---

 

You sit alone with Willow, back in the room where she had once slumbered. She speaks of what she had experienced while in her coma, of a gray, hazy world, endless walking, and then… a visit.

 

“Frigga?” you ask, absolutely floored. “Frigga talked to you?”

 

“She did,” Willow says, her expression carefully composed. “She found me. She… well, she wanted my help with Loki. She asked me to save him.”

 

You aren’t sure how to react to that. You let out a little laugh, if only to break the silence. “Wow. This whole thing, this whole, crazy thing…. I can’t wrap my mind around it.”

 

Willow laughs as well. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

 

“You mean what have I gotten you into,” you correct quietly.

 

You can’t meet her gaze anymore. Willow takes your hand and gives it a squeeze. “You stop that right now, okay? You didn’t do this.”

 

“Yeah, but –” you begin to counter, but she cuts you off.

 

“No, listen to me, please,” she tells you earnestly. Will waits until you look up at her and then continues. “I don’t blame you. Nobody blames you but you. If anything, it was a bunch of unpredictable circumstances that led to all of this. And we’ll make it through together, like we always do. Right?”

 

You copy her smile, putting as much of your heart in it as you have left. “Right.”

 

---

 

Where are you?

 

---

 

Tony and Bruce pour over the scepter every moment they’re able, taking readings and suggesting theories, and yet nothing conclusive comes from any of it. They spend hours speculating over data, which will take weeks to process and undoubtedly lead to dead ends.

 

And suspicions.

 

Stark has grown very suspicious. He’s looked over the information Fury chose to give to him, and he can’t help but wonder what’s between the lines. Why did S.H.I.E.L.D. have the cube in the first place? Why did they have Selvig working on it, and for what purpose? No, Fury had definitely handpicked the information to be provided to everyone, and he had picked from a much larger picture.

 

And damn, Stark doesn’t think he likes doing this puzzle without looking at the box first.

 

---

 

Ah, the anticipation is killing me, darling.

 

---

 

You like Banner. He’s easy to get along with, and his practiced calm helps ease the tension that always seems to slink around the Helicarrier.

 

“It’s like Tony said,” he confesses to you, focusing very intently on the data sheet he’s looked over twice now. “When I get angry I… turn into a monster. A literal monster, mind you.”

 

“Huh,” you reply, pursing your lips as he tells his story. Once he’s finished, you take a moment to digest the information. Finally, you say, “The Hulk? That’s an… interesting name.”

 

“You’re one to talk,” Stark pipes up from across the room.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” you question, rolling your eyes.

 

“Oh, you haven’t seen?” he asks, pushing the stool he sits on away from the table with the scepter – the scepter, your mind stutters – and over towards the monitors. “You made the news! You don’t choose your name, sweetheart, the public does.”

 

You scowl at him, but before you can say anything he pulls up several different articles on the screen. “Der Schatten!” Tony exclaims grandiosely, pointing to the headline above a grainy picture of you. It’s from Germany, when you were losing it in the courtyard with darkness spreading up your arms. “The Shadow. So edgy. And this one, ‘Meister der Schatten’, I’m sure you can guess what that means. Oh, wait, this one’s my favorite: they just called you ‘Dark Spark’.” He practically cackles. “Quite inventive, that one.”

 

What?” you exclaim, your jaw falling open in disbelief.

 

Banner snickers. “I do feel a bit better now, yeah.”

 

You roll your eyes again, and while Tony continues picking at you, you stare at the picture of yourself in Stuttgart. After a bit you look up at Bruce and say, “You know, when I get too unstable… my power tears through reality and sends things into the void.”

 

Banner raises an eyebrow.

 

Tony looks from you to the picture of you in the courtyard. “Well, that certainly changes the tone,” he states.

 

The door opens and Steve Rogers steps through. He looks tired, as if he’s in need of some good news. “Seems like a party in here.”

 

“Science party,” you tell him.

 

“We’re studying a little R&R,” Stark says, rolling his stool forward so his torso leans back against the counter and he has room to kick his legs out. “So that no one turns green or tears a hole in the dimension or something.”

 

“Right,” Steve says slowly. “Well, is there anything new to report?”

 

“Not to you,” Tony says with a shrug. “I was under the impression we all report to Fury.”

 

I was under the impression that we’re all working as a team here,” Rogers counters.

 

“You really believe that?” Stark asks with a scoff. “Fury can call it a team all he wants, but I’d take that with a grain of salt. S’matter of fact, I’d take everything he says with a grain of salt. No, smaller than that. A half-a-grain of salt.”

 

“You think Fury’s hiding something?” Rogers asks.

 

“He’s a spy,” Tony says matter-of-factly. “Captain, he’s the spy. His secrets have secrets. I mean, come on. I can’t be the only one questioning this whole operation. It’s bugging him, too, at least,” he says, jabbing a finger at Banner.

 

And judging from Steve’s face, the bug is infectious.

 

---

 

You must be bored here. I know I am.

 

---

 

Willow refuses to enter the lab, not with the scepter sitting in the middle of it. You’re the opposite. You find yourself absentmindedly staring at it when you’re in the room, thinking about it later. You confess to Will that you dream of it, of the dangerous blue, of Loki. And that leads you to tell her of your dreams about him – the one with the haunting laugh. And of Loki now being the owner of it.

 

“What’s wrong with me?” you ask her in horror, dark circles prominent under your eyes as you describe your twisted visions.

 

“Nothing,” she says to you firmly, rubbing at her own tired eyes. “Nothing is wrong with you.”

 

“I thought I’d put all of that behind me,” you tell her. “I haven’t dreamed about him in forever. Not until recently.”

 

“Are you… are you feeling helpless?” she asks you, and as soon as she says it, you understand.

 

“I… I guess so,” you tell her softly. “I guess I am.”

 

---

 

How much longer will you let it eat you, I wonder?

 

---

 

You hear your name called as you walk towards your room, the word echoing up the metal hallway. You turn to find Stark, and you wait as he catches up to you, your curiosity piqued. “What –” you start to ask, but he holds up his hand.

 

“Nope, just let me get this out, all right?” When you comply with his request, he carefully meets your eyes. After a few beats, he says, “Thanks. For Paris. It’s nice knowing… well it’s nice knowing that when it comes down to it… you’ve got my back. Literally, I was going to be stabbed in the back, so, yeah.”

 

You huff out a laugh, giving him a grin despite yourself. “You’re welcome.”

 

“What, no snarky remark?” Tony asks, opening his mouth in faux surprise.

 

“You made an effort to be sincere,” you tell him with a laugh and an eyeroll. “I’m not gonna’ ruin that.”

 

“A sincere statement for a sincere statement?” Stark asks, eyebrow raised. “Huh. Guess Romanoff was right.”

 

“About what?” you question suspiciously.

 

“You’re nicer now that your friend’s awake.”

 

---

 

Surely you have questions. And I won’t be here long, darling.

 

---

 

You walk with Thor and Phil Coulson, the latter insisting the two of you eat something whether you think you need to or not. Stark’s made passing comments on everyone’s lack of appetites, but Phil is the only one who’s persistently tried to ensure everyone gets some sustenance. As you near the lab, you hear a loud exclamation before you even round the corner. You usher your companions forward, promising you’ll meet them for lunch, and then divert your path towards the source of the argument.

 

Willow wavers beside the lab’s doorway, listening. Her back is against the wall, her whole body taught like a bowstring. You give her a look and stand beside her, pressing your shoulder against hers in a show of comfort.

 

“… In a few hours, we’ll know every dirty secret S.H.I.E.L.D. has ever tried to hide,” you hear Tony say. There’s a rustling sound, and then he adds, “Blueberry?”

 

“And you couldn’t figure out why they didn’t want you around?” Rogers asks, his voice tight.

 

You raise your brows and look over at Will, who glances at you briefly and then returns her gaze to the wall across from you.

 

“An intelligence organization that fears intelligence? That’s just asking for trouble,” Stark states, the sentence muffled by what you guess is the result of him popping a blueberry into his mouth.

 

“Loki’s trying to wind us up,” Steve warns. “This is a man who means to start a war, and if we don’t stay focused, he’ll succeed. We’ve got our orders, and we should follow them. All of us.”

 

“Following’s not really my style,” Stark states.

 

“And you’re all about style, aren’t you?” Steve asks coldly.

 

“Of the people in this room, who is A: dressed like an action figure, and B: being super unhelpful?”

 

There’s a heartbeat of silence.

 

“Just find the cube,” Steve states shortly.

 

---

 

Come and chat.

 

---

 

Fury watches Natasha talk with Loki, his quick mind picking apart the trickster’s words, his mannerisms, how he responds to the things the agent says to him.

 

He does not know that elsewhere, Tony Stark is reading through some very confidential files.

 

He does not know that elsewhere, Steve Rogers has breached some very confidential areas of the Helicarrier and has found some very confidential weapons.

 

And as Natasha turns away with some interesting information, and Fury issues the order to meet up in the Helicarrier’s lab, he most certainly does not know that you step out of the shadows to face Loki in his glass prison.

Chapter 14: Caged

Notes:

Yo waddup it's meeee
I'm traveling over the next few days, so I'll be answering comments on the last chapter slowly, but I'll answer them, I promise :)
Anyway, if you're still here, thanks for sticking with me
<3

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Loki’s still a shadow of his former self, more so than when you last saw him, if such a thing is possible. His pale face reminds you of a skull, his already sharp features even more pronounced by the deep hollows in his cheeks. But although you compare him to the dead, his fearsome gaze proves he is still very much alive. Too blue. Calculative.

 

… Pleased.

 

It’s painful to see him, your breath catching in your throat for a second as you meet his gaze. But it’s just a second. I hate him, you tell yourself, narrowing your eyes at the man in front of you. I do. Nothing he says can change that. And I’m sure he’ll have plenty to say.

 

But he doesn’t speak for a long moment, his stranger’s eyes flitting across your face, your body. The black S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform you continue to wear. It’s a stark contrast to your first reunion – there’s no trace of the furious anger he struggled with when you found him in the apartment. In its place is something akin to satisfaction, his dark smirk assured; a feral predator in a cage it knows cannot hold it.

 

No, it is different. You haven’t surprised him, not this time. He asked you to come, after all.

 

“Oh, darling,” Loki says, each syllable rolling off his tongue like silk, “have you come to release me?”

 

Your heart dips, and that further fuels your anger. You survey him with a scowl. “You want me to dump you into the air?”

 

Loki laughs, unaffected by your threat. He spreads his hands from his sides, a habitual gesture. “There’s no need to be so hostile, murderess.”

 

“I could literally choke you right now,” you retort viciously, your fingers twitching, reacting to the barely contained rage coiled in your stomach.

 

“Oh, we both know I’d enjoy that far too much,” he says with a twisted smile.

 

Memories of a particularly lascivious night between the two of you suddenly parade before your eyes, and you realize it’s him toying with your mind, exploiting your weakness. It makes you feel naked, exposed as you stand before him.

 

“Stop it,” you hiss at once, attempting to repair your mental wall, to patch whatever crack has allowed him to regain purchase inside your head.

 

“You haven’t been practicing,” he admonishes tauntingly. “It’s child’s play to slip into your mind, warrior.”

 

But he acquiesces, allowing you to forcefully shut him out, and he smiles at the enraged look on your face.

 

“What do you want?” you ask in the following silence. “You bother me, and then I show up just so you can bother me some more? Not interested.”

 

“If you were uninterested, you wouldn’t be here,” Loki says. His strange eyes are still trained on you, although the mischievous glint within them is rather familiar. “But regardless, I’ve already requested that you release me.”

 

“Don’t play games with me,” you state. “You know I won’t do that. And I know you want to be here. That this is some part of your plan.”

 

He doesn't respond, although the edges of his lips curl upwards in a wicked smile. Your breath catches once more as a jolt of recognition hits you. You used to love that smile.

 

Shut the fuck up, you tell yourself.

 

You sneer at him as you say, “And you were so dramatic about it, like good God. Although, yeah, it’s not your style to just show up with your wrists out. Which I guess explains Paris.”

 

“Why not take out a few as I went?” Loki replies grandiosely. “Kill one, overtake another. I hadn’t truly expected to succeed, so the outcome was no surprise. Although it was fun to watch the show.” He pauses for a heartbeat, a darker expression clouding his face. “It would’ve been ideal to have Thor under my control, I can’t deny that. How satisfyingly ironic, to have him kneel to me, alongside the masses of humans that he so favors.” He lets out a short, savage laugh.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be the Trickster God, or whatever?” you ask as your eyes shoot to the ceiling. “What’s with all this destroying people, enslaving humanity bullshit? Or did you become the Idiot God of Death, Doom, and Fuckery without me knowing?”

 

Loki chuckles, the sound somehow very disconcerting. “The God of Death, you say? I believe you’ve mistaken me for my sister.”

 

You make a face at him, thinking that surely you’ve heard him wrong. “I’m sorry, what?”

 

He laughs again, as if he’s privy to a joke you don’t understand. “Oh, I’ve learned a lot about my adopted family over the past year. That I’m not the only liar, not by far.”

 

The word hisses through his teeth, true rage flashing across his face. Liar.

 

You’re the only liar I’m concerned with right now,” you say at last, jabbing a finger towards him as you shove the rest of what he’s said to the back of your mind (sister?!).

 

Loki holds a hand up to his chest, feigning pain. “Oh, how you wound me.”

 

You don’t have to stand here and take this. You know you don’t, and yet… you haven’t left.

 

“Get to the point,” you growl, flexing your fingers, trying to convince yourself to slip away into the shadows. “Or did you really call me here for no damn reason?”

 

“I had thought you’d seek me out yourself,” he says genuinely, his analytical gaze considering you. “That you’d want to ask things of me. Perhaps yell? Demand explanations? Swear at me? You have always loved to swear at me.”

 

You find yourself a bit surprised by his words. You had indeed wanted to do all of those things, especially after Germany. And yet now that he’s in front of you – trapped in front of you, no less – you feel as if… as if you’ve already shouted, already gotten whatever answers you could from him.

 

You hesitate in the increasingly long moment of silence. “Why, then?” you finally ask, wondering when the feeling of déjà vu will subside. “Why Willow, Loki?”

 

You can feel yourself getting choked up, thinking on it all once more. Only you can’t seem to conjure up the same feelings of hate you once held, a cold defeat settling in your heart in its stead.

 

The lost prince also seems to hesitate. “Strategically, the healer could have played a paramount part in my victory,” Loki tells you. Something seems to flicker in his gaze as he notices the pained expression on your face. Faintly, he adds, “Logically speaking, it was a sound decision.”

 

And these phrases sound… familiar.

 

A half-remembered dream floats through your mind, things slowly becoming clearer. But it won’t help you right now. You can’t afford any vulnerability, any cracks in your shield. Your emotions are already volatile and confusing as it is.

 

Loki frowns, although you aren’t sure why. Is it your lack of response? The fact that his voice has noticeably softened? Or perhaps he’s feeling a bit of the déjà vu as well? He glares at you, as if this irritation is your fault. “Why don’t we discuss other, more important topics, hm?”

 

You can’t deny that the proposition seems appealing – you don’t want to dwell on your moment of weakness, on the memories of being wrapped in the prince’s arms, dream or not.

 

“Yeah,” you agree heatedly, anger reigning over your features once more. “How about why you’re so fucking crazy, where you went for an entire year, what’s the deal with the scepter, where did you hide the tesseract, wh–” you name off, counting each topic on your fingers until you’re interrupted.

 

“Where have they put the scepter?” Loki asks you, his gaze bright and manic once again. “They study it, I’m sure. They’re self-proclaimed scientists, after all. And that one-eyed fool will want to understand it, the power it holds, what it can do.”

 

“Like I’d fucking tell you,” you say, attempting to hide your uneasiness. You hadn’t meant to bring up the scepter.

 

“I’ll need it again soon,” he mutters, almost to himself. He looks up at you, although you feel like he’s staring through you this time. “I drew enough power from it to tide me over, but I’ll need it again soon. I’m quite certain that at this point I’d die without it, and you, you’d gladly leave me in this box to perish, wouldn’t you? And I’d deserve it, I know.”

 

“What?” you ask in alarm.

 

Now, his wild eyes do focus on you. “It influences others, yes. Calls to you. Very tempting, I know it is. But it’s different with me, it’s like it was made for me.”

 

You feel chill bumps run up your arms, and you take a step back from Loki’s enclosure. He watches you, noting your anxious expression. It makes him pause, and he slowly blinks.

 

Focus, he thinks to himself. Focus. You have a plan.

 

“Who did this to you?” you ask.

 

There’s no anger in your tone, no edge. It’s as if you truly want to know, your voice even bordering on concern.

 

“I did this to myself,” Loki replies bluntly. Confusion crosses his face, but after a second or two he shakes his head, eyes narrowing into a glare. “Done what to me?” he asks you vehemently. “Handed me true power? Offered me my birthright, one my supposed father could have never followed through on?”

 

“Yeah, but like, who’s doing the offering?” you ask coldly. “Because if it’s a person, then I can just go kill that fucker and make the rest of this fiasco really simple.”

 

Alarm shoots across his face, so quickly you’re left wondering if it was truly there at all. Loki grimaces, a hand rising to rub at his temple. “I’d not advise that.”

 

Not yet. That would unravel everything.

 

“Yeah, sure,” you say, glaring at him. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

 

“I’ve come to know some very dangerous people, warrior,” Loki tells you. “Dangerous people with large ambitions. And I was hand picked to join them, you might say.”

 

“Dangerous, huh?” you ask dully.

 

“Quite,” Loki says. “Allow me to frame it in a way that even you will be able to comprehend.” You scowl at him, but he continues. “You remember the man, the one who savaged my dear brother’s eye?”

 

“Trenchcoat?” you ask, more confused than upset now.

 

“I saw him, warrior,” Loki says, almost under his breath. “I saw him die. He sought out someone who could give him what he wanted, but failed to do what was asked of him. And the soldiers that Thanos calls his children, they picked him apart, like cruel youths do to whatever insects happen across their path.”

 

You want to ask who it is Loki names, but scenes, brutal and bloody, flash through your mind’s eye before you can slam your guard back up.

 

The man’s head spins, dark glasses flying off his face, a spew of blood, arms bending the wrong way, a gurgle in his throat, he’s still alive, they laugh, they plan to skin him, since he says he hates his own flesh so much –

 

Loki looks over at you, eyes perhaps not quite as bright. “When his beast tried to stop them, they slaughtered it as well. Quite effectively, might I add. It was over in seconds.”

 

You remember New Mexico. How hard it was to fight the man and his monsters, their yellow eyes, your failure, Thor…. After another moment of consideration, you meet Loki’s gaze. “You… You’re scared of them, aren’t you?”

 

He doesn’t reply, although his expression shifts, his mouth frozen between a straight line and a frown.

 

Perhaps he’s said too much.

 

Fool, his mind whispers.

 

You feel like you’ve gotten your answer. “Jeez, Loke, then just admit that you majorly fucked up. Cut your losses and leave. Just be done with all… all of this,” you say, gesturing to him, exhaustion apparent in your voice. “It’s not that hard! Who gives a shit anymore?! I mean, come on, fuck Earth, fuck whatever or whoever you’re supposed to be answering to. Just fuck everything.” You rub a hand across your face. “I’m so done with this.”

 

But instead of the anger you thought your words would be met with, Loki flashes a brief smile. Again, it’s like you’ve pleased him in some way, like when you’d first appeared from the shadows in front of his glass box.

 

“I’ve a plan,” he says conversationally, taking you aback. “It could be the answer to everything, warrior. But we’ll have to go about it carefully.”

 

“We?” you ask irritably, your eyes shooting to his. “I don’t want anything to do with your fucking plan! Or you, for that matter!”

 

Is that… is that true? You aren’t completely sure, even when you know you should be.

 

“That’s neither here nor there,” Loki replies dismissively, thoughts clearly elsewhere. “You’ll come around in the end.”

 

He’s plotting ahead in his mind, thinking of the different paths, the different ways events could unfold. The things you’ve said to him already ensures that at least part of his plan will wrap up nicely.

 

“But first, Banner,” Loki says aloud, looking up towards one of the room’s cameras with a nasty smile.

 

“Leave him alone,” you hear yourself state, your demand leaving no room for argument.

 

Loki raises an eyebrow at you, his smile transitioning into a cheeky grin. “Defensive, I see.”

 

“Spilling your plan to the cameras, I see,” you say, mocking his tone.

 

“My dear,” Loki says with a slow shake of his head. “I promise you, no one watches right now. No one will watch later. These so-called ‘Avengers’, your ‘acquaintances’ no doubt turn on one another as we speak.”

 

“Avengers?” you ask, confusion clouding your face.

 

Loki sneers in response, rolling his eyes and sighing. “So, he’s said nothing of it, then? So many secrets they keep from you, warrior,” he adds tauntingly. “Although I doubt you’d have to worry about being recruited to the cause. They’d be mad to want such a flighty monster among their ranks.”

 

You flinch involuntarily. A monster? It’s not a new term, one you’ve often applied to yourself during especially low moments. But… to hear him say it….

 

It shouldn’t matter.

 

“Whatever,” you mutter, cutting your eyes away from his. You force malice into your tone, covering up your other feelings with anger as you always have. A monster, you can act like a monster. And you want this to hurt, if there’s any of the old him still left to hear it. “God. I can’t believe I was going to marry you.”

 

You hear Loki take a step back from the glass. There are another few moments of silence, the quiet hum of the ship rather loud in your ears.

 

“In truth, I never could’ve committed to our union,” he finally admits, tilting his head up without meeting your gaze.

 

“Yeah?” you ask, burying the twinge of pain deep in your chest.

 

“I’m already married to Lady Chaos,” he says, putting on a wistful tone, “and she stole my heart long ago. You bore witness to the choice yourself. She called, and I? I answered.”

 

You see it all over again, the memories cold and painful and too much.

 

‘Loki, what the hell are you talking about?’

 

‘The future. Something much bigger than the Nine Realms, than who is king and who is not. I’ve been chosen…. And I must go.’

 

“Lady Chaos,” you repeat numbly. “Wow.” You heave a sigh and cross your arms, your hands balled into fists. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”

 

He offers you a shrug, looking down at you with uncaring blue eyes.

 

And even though this isn’t your Loki… it hurts to see him look at you in such a way. Like you’re insignificant, unimportant to him, like there’s no history between the two of you at all.

 

So much history.

 

You feel yourself seeking out the killer’s coldness, trying to force yourself to let go of the angry fire in your chest. If you let apathy take charge, then you won’t hurt.

 

“Does that sting, my warrior?” Loki asks, words dripping sweet poison. “Or, no, you’ve already moved on, isn’t that so? You’ve yet to tell me his name, that Asgardian soldier.”

 

“That’s none of your fucking business,” you say.

 

“I know your heart, darling, I held it for so long,” he says with a snarl. “You care, and yet look at you. Even you know he’s soft, thought as much, and still his face lingers.”

 

Bjorn.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” you tell him venomously, trying to force all thoughts from your mind in case he decides to follow through on his threat and rip the information from you.

 

“Can you imagine it?” Loki asks with a short, humorless laugh. “Not you, no. You need someone who can stand by your side, who’s just as dangerous as you are. You like that the hand that has touched your cheek has also killed in cold blood, don’t deny it.” He steps closer to the glass, his aggressive smile too wide. “That soldier, he kills for Asgard, for honor. And Stark?” He laughs again, an eyebrow raised as he looks at you. “That man is soft, too, warrior.”

 

Stark?” you ask.

 

“Of course Stark,” Loki says viciously, still smiling. “I know you, I see the signs. I hear all of their thoughts about you, warrior, I hear them all so easily. I don’t even have to search.”

 

Your heart is in your throat, your pulse racing. “You’re insane,” you state, working to keep your voice level.

 

“I heard him in Paris,” Loki tells you, eyes boring into yours. “Witnessed with my own eyes. I should’ve killed him myself. He’s the loudest on this despicable aircraft; he thinks of you often. Soft, weak, disgusting mortal, thinking of you.” He spits the last part, a possessive glint in his gaze.

 

“No,” you snap, your fists trembling. You feel like a different person, your own voice wavering, betraying you as you say, “He’s a good guy. They’re all good… good people.”

 

“There is no such thing as good people, darling. Haven’t you always said as much?”

 

You take a step away from Loki, shaking your head, your throat tight. You force out a derisive laugh. “You’re fucking insane, jealous over things that aren’t there, you presumptuous asshole, don’t act like you know shit about me or my friends or… or….” You splutter into silence, the realization of what you’ve said slowly sinking in.

 

“Friends?” His eyes seem to glitter – a snake’s eyes. “You see them as your ‘friends’, do you?”

 

Acquaintances,” you tell him heatedly. They aren’t your friends; you know that. But Willow is your friend. Thor’s your friend. Have you been subconsciously lumping some of the others in with them? “Can’t even think straight, I’m so mad.”

 

“Of course,” he answers, a slow, mean smile spreading across his face.

 

“Don’t,” you say, already knowing what’s coming. Tears bite at your eyes, and you’re afraid you won’t be able to handle anything else, not after what’s already been said.

 

“I’d warn you off them,” Loki tells you with obvious false concern. “I told you, I hear their thoughts, murderess, and these ‘acquaintances’ don’t trust you.”

 

“They don’t have to trust me,” you answer, cutting your eyes to the side. Your lip trembles. “Hell, it’s not like I trust them.”

 

He’s worn you down, struck at things you’ve never even admitted to yourself. If his goal was to make you feel even more lost and unsure, then he’s fucking nailed it. You can’t stop the hurt that spreads across your face, your forehead creasing as you bite your bottom lip to stop its quivering.

 

“Ah,” you hear Loki say.

 

The sound makes you glance up as you hurriedly compose yourself. You find the prince’s face surprisingly troubled, his green eyes studying you.

 

Blue.

 

Blue eyes.

 

You’re seeing things again.

 

“What?” you ask sharply.

 

His gaze refocuses, his sordid smile reappearing at once. He says nothing this time, which permits you a moment of clarity.

 

Your body feels heavy, as if you’ve expended all of your energy just to have this conversation. You’re tired of his smirks and sneers, his haughty attitude and useless banter. All of the things that used to be so familiar are simply echoes of what once was, exhibited only to flaunt the differences between then and now. To mock what used to be yours.

 

“This was a waste of time,” you mutter, glaring at him through the glass. You lift a hand, darkness gathering around your fingertips.

 

“You’d leave so soon?” he asks, smile faltering slightly.

 

“Yeah. I’m done,” you state, opening a rift of shadows behind you.

 

A few steps back, and you’ll be gone. And you don’t care who asks you – Fury, Thor, or even the bastard himself – you aren’t coming back.

 

“Until we meet again, then,” Loki says, sounding as if he’s grown bored of your presence. His eyes, though, are intense, his gaze unsettling. “Perhaps here. Perhaps in battle.”

 

“Oh, you don’t want to fight me,” you warn, glowering at him.

 

“A fight to the death, then,” he says in response to your tone, his grin widening.

 

It’s as you begin to turn away that you notice his expression change once more, the smile rapidly dropping, his brows furrowing.

 

“If it comes down to it, you kill me,” he says in a rush, a flash of green. “Kill me if you have to. Do you understand me, warrior?”

 

“What?” you ask, stunned by the urgency in his voice.

 

But perhaps you need more sleep. Perhaps you imagined it. Because Loki’s mouth simply twists into another smirk, eyes bright and blue and locked with yours. “Well, we both won’t make it, you know.”

 

It’s quiet between the both of you. You shake your head at him, heart aching. “I hope neither of us do.”

 

And then you vanish, stepping backwards into the shadows.

 

---

 

The following silence is heavy, your mind spinning as you mentally pull yourself away from Loki’s prison. But you have to pause, unable to focus long enough to continue navigating your way around the alternate space. You crouch, covering your head with your arms as you listen to your thudding heart. Your throat is tight. Hurt radiates from your chest, making your limbs shake. Your whole body shakes.

 

Alone, you think. Somehow more alone than ever.

 

Much like when you found out Loki was alive, you allow yourself a single, dry sob.

 

How often had you imagined Loki coming back to you, of things returning to what you had come to know as normal? But you know there is nothing normal about the man in the box, not to you. Had you been secretly wishing… secretly hoping… is that why you had gone to see him at all?

 

You press the bottom of your palms against your eyes, the pressure causing you to see bright lines and bursts of color.

 

You’re close to crying, although you do your best to override the well of emotion by focusing on your more logical thoughts. What have you learned? Can any of that be of use to anyone? You can at least tell Fury to check the tapes, if he wasn’t already listening.

 

You rise, rubbing at your eyes and ignoring when your fingers come away wet.

 

You pull at your connection with Willow, following it through the darkness. You want to talk to her first. You’re not sure you can handle the others in your emotionally bedraggled state.

 

But as you draw closer, you realize that your friend is outside of the ship’s lab, standing in the doorway. You can tell there’s quite a crowd gathered in the room. The last fucking thing you need.

 

You take a deep breath as you step out of your shadows… and into a full-blown argument.

Notes:

If you want to know what the deal is with the long breaks in between the uploads, here's a link to my Tumblr post about it!
I really hope you guys understand, for those that are reading that for the first time.

Chapter 15: To Build a Team

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The shop door opens, and Sigrid looks up to find a familiar face.

 

“Lady Freydis!” she greets with a bow, setting aside the herb bundles she has been tying.

 

It has been a slow day in the shop. The room is bathed in swathes of soft, orange light, the Asgardian sunset slipping through the curtains of the windows. Frey always comes in when it’s almost closing time.

 

“Lady Sigrid,” Frey greets, a small smile crossing her face. She extends a golden bangle, the jewelry held tightly between her fingertips. “Just here for the usual.”

 

“Of course,” Sigrid says, nodding as she retrieves the bangle and walks to the back of the shop. “Is it maybe… well, a little soon since the last time?”

 

“I had a bad night,” Freydis admits quietly, her blue gaze suddenly finding interest in the wooden floor of the shop.

 

“I had not meant to pry,” Sig says, her voice also hushed.

 

She sets the bracelet on the shop’s counter, her back to the Lady Freydis. Sig focuses, remembering the charm Asmund had taught her, her fingers glowing white as she trails them around the flat part of the bangle.

 

Charms for anxiety are easy to attach to an object, but do not last long when called upon by the person using them. Sigrid hears Freydis come up behind her, the woman setting her payment on the counter as she leans closer to watch the girl’s magic.

 

“I suppose I assumed it was Asmund that performed all of the spells,” Frey says, curiosity bubbling in her tone. “I’ve never seen your work.”

 

Sigrid blushes. “I… well, now that I think on it, it normally is him, yes. Although, he’s away at the moment, so I’ve taken the duty upon myself.”

 

“Ah. I see now why there are whispers,” Frey says, poking the girl’s shoulder in a teasing manner. “They’ve been calling you the White Witch. I’ve never seen white magic before.”

 

The glow dies from Sigrid’s hands, the bangle shimmering for a moment longer before the magic settles within it. She holds the piece out towards its owner, calming energy humming within it. “It’s the same as any other magic,” she says quietly, blush grazing her cheeks.

 

Freydis slips the bangle onto her arm, careful not to activate the charm as she does so. “I suppose,” Frey replies. “Although I must say, I’m jealous nonetheless. Had I any magic, I’d be able to keep this damn thing charged on my own.” She laughs, although Sigrid fidgets uncomfortably. Freydis notices and raises a slender eyebrow. “Pardon my tongue, if the swear offends.”

 

“No, no,” Sig replies hastily. “It is fine.”

 

“Do you not magic things for your own use?” Frey asks.

 

“At times,” Sigrid answers, a bit defensively. “Although, I’d rather use my energy to assist others.”

 

“Ah, so noble,” Frey gushes with a smidge of sarcasm, waving a hand in the air as she turns to leave. “Between the Bloody Warrior and the Boy Sorcerer, I’m sure you’ve a lot on your plate.” She pauses at the door, fingers sliding against the brass handle. “I do appreciate the charm, though. Truly.” She shoots Sigrid a final smile and calls a last farewell as she makes her exit.

 

Sigrid stands alone in the shop, hands clasped together tightly as she stares at the shelves of merchandise, enveloped in the sunset’s warmth.

 

And she worries.

 

She knows good and well that she’s done all she can. You and Asmund, the both of you hold your tokens from her tightly.

 

Yet still… she worries.

 

---

 

This is the absolute last thing you want at the moment. The lab is full and the tension is high; the air is thick with it. No wonder Willow refuses to enter. You immediately feel sick, having already been so uneasy.

 

Fury, Stark, and Rogers seem to be at the heart of the dispute, Banner and Natasha standing nearby. Thor hovers near the edge of the confrontation, a slightly amused expression upon his face. You walk to him automatically, skin prickling uncomfortably at the amount of fierce emotion building in the room.

 

“I’m sorry, what were you lying?” Stark asks an enraged Nick Fury, pushing one of the lab’s monitors towards the director.

 

Weapon plans are displayed across the screen, none of which you've seen before. Your eyes graze over the plans, doing your best to catch up on what’s going on. Steve glares at the blueprints and then turns his attention to a gun-like weapon that has been placed upon the center lab table. His expression is one of absolute disgust.

 

“I was wrong, Director,” he says solemnly. “The world hasn’t changed a bit.”

 

“Did you know about this?” The accusation arises from Banner, who stares pointedly at Romanoff.

 

“You might want to remove yourself from this environment, doctor,” she states flatly.

 

“I was in Calcutta,” Banner says. “I was pretty well removed. You – S.H.I.E.L.D. – you’re the ones that dragged me back in.”

 

“Loki’s manipulating you,” Natasha says slowly.

 

“And you’ve been doing what exactly?” Bruce shoots back. You’ve never seen Banner so upset, his fingers twitching at his sides. Romanoff tries to debate him, but the argument falls on deaf ears. “I’d like to know why S.H.I.E.L.D. is using the tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction.”

 

“We all would,” Rogers affirms, and even Stark grunts in approval.

 

Nick Fury has a murderous glint in his eye, and something in your mind likens him to a cornered animal. He looks to be about two seconds away from pulling his pistol and emptying it.

 

“Because of them,” he states frigidly, jabbing a gloved finger towards you and Thor.

 

“Us?” Thor asks, completely befuddled.

 

“The more we learned about what’s out there, the more we realized how unprepared Earth is for dealing with beings of that magnitude,” Fury expounds. “Not only are we not alone in the universe, we are hopelessly, hilariously, outgunned.”

 

“Asgard wants nothing but peace with Midgard,” Thor tells him, as if this is obvious.

 

“Yeah, but you’re not the only people out there, now are you?” Fury asks. His eye cuts to you. “Look at them, at the things that follow them around. Organizations of dangerous people with powers we can’t even dream of. Threats. People that can’t be matched by the likes of us. Can’t be controlled.”

 

You feel yourself bristle at the comment, but Steve speaks out before you’ve thought of anything to say. “Like you controlled the cube? That seemed to turn out very well for you.”

 

Stark lets out a low whistle in appreciation of the slight, which only serves to fan the flames.

 

“Our hand was forced,” Fury tells the captain. “We had to come up with something.”

 

“Nuclear deterrent. Cause that always calms everything right down,” Tony notes happily.

 

“Would you care to remind me about how you made your fortune, Stark?” Fury asks coldly.

 

“I’m sure if he still made weapons, Stark would be neck deep,” Steve mutters at the same time that Tony exclaims, “Wait! Wait, hold on, now! How is this suddenly about me?”

 

“I’m sorry, isn’t everything?” Rogers asks, glaring at Tony.

 

“I truly thought humans were more evolved than this,” Thor says, nudging you with his elbow as he watches the ongoing argument continue to unfold.

 

And normally, you would agree with him. You’d smile, watch the squabble with amusement. But your stomach is still in knots and your mind is screaming at you that there are more important things to talk about, more important things than who’s making weapons out of what, who gives a fuck? Voices, voices everywhere….

 

Fury.

 

“Excuse me, did we come to your planet and fuck things up?”

 

Romanoff.

 

“Are you all really that naïve?! S.H.I.E.L.D. monitors potential threats –”

 

Rogers.

 

“I swear to God, Stark, one more crack –”

 

Thor.

 

“The tesseract belongs to Asgard! No human is a match for it.”

 

Stark.

 

“Who do I think I am? A genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. And you’re a… right, an action figure.”

 

Banner.

 

“I mean, what are we, a team? No, no, no. We’re a chemical mixture. We’re a bomb. A time bomb.”

 

But it’s more than a bomb in your mind. It’s a game board, and Loki’s collected all of the pieces, thrown them into a bag and started shaking them.

 

“Everything special about you came out of a bottle!”

 

“Put on the suit, let’s go a few rounds.”

 

It could stop.

 

“You people are so petty… and tiny!”

 

“Yeah, this is –”

 

You could make this stop.

 

“Agent Romanoff, would you escort Dr. Banner back to his –”

 

“My what? You rented my room!”

 

It would be easy.

 

“The cell was a failsafe, in case –”

 

“In case you needed to kill me, I know! But you can’t! I tried!”

 

Just over here, a little closer.

 

Your feet are moving. You’re walking while Banner talks, his back turned.

 

“I got low.”

 

Closer.

 

“I didn’t see an end, so I put a bullet in my mouth, and the other guy spit it out.”

 

Closer.

 

His laugh is cold. “So I moved on. I focused on helping other people. I was good, until you dragged me back into this freak show and put everyone here at risk.”

 

Closer .

 

 

Silence.

 

You stop walking, a bit surprised to find yourself near the back of the room. Banner’s to your right, and he turns away from the lab’s counter with the golden scepter clenched in his fists.

 

“You wanna know my secret, Agent Romanoff?” he asks, staring the woman down. “You wanna know how I stay calm?”

 

“Banner?” you ask, your confusion at the situation leaking into his name.

 

Bruce looks at you, brown eyes still narrowed in frustration. From the corner of your vision, you notice Rogers hold up a hand cautiously. “Dr. Banner,” he says slowly. “Put down the scepter.”

 

Bruce’s gaze drops to his hands, which are grasping the golden weapon so hard that his knuckles are white. “Oh,” he says, and takes a step back. “I… I don't think I….”

 

You look up from the scepter, your attention drawn to the lab’s entrance. Willow is standing there, framed by the doorway, her eyes on Bruce. You follow her gaze and watch as Banner carefully turns back to the counter. He sets the scepter on its stand, releasing it finger by finger, until finally he’s no longer touching it.

 

Closer.

 

BOOM!

 

An explosion, the screeching sound of metal tearing, you lose your footing. The cold floor of the lab is vibrating with the force of the blast, the entire hovercraft shaking.

 

You lift your head, your ears ringing. Your cheek stings from where it bashed against the floor. A warmth seeps from the spot, and you figure you’re bleeding. Your eyes fly to the door and you catch sight of Willow sitting up, rubbing one of her shoulders. You then look to Thor, who has picked himself up off the ground and is gazing around with concern. Steve and Stark are fine as well, staring at one another with almost identical stunned looks on their faces.

 

Natasha and Banner were thrown farther by the blast, down from the lab and into the adjoining equipment room. You can see the both of them stirring, and the two being not-dead is all the attention you have to devote to them.

 

You get to your feet as the alarms start blaring, loud and angry and insistent that something is wrong. Fury coughs as he rises from the ground, a finger going to his ear as he shouts, “Hill?! Coms on, everybody, now!”

 

You fish the communication device out of one of your pockets, seeing as the others follow suit. Everyone is seemingly of one mind, at least for the moment. Bonded by the goal of figuring out what’s going on and how to stop it.

 

“Put on the suit,” Rogers says hoarsely to Stark.

 

“Yep!” Tony answers, eyes wide.

 

“Star!” Steve calls out, and he seems relieved to find her both alive and well.

 

“I’m with you,” Will says, lightly touching the captain’s hand as she turns towards you.

 

You both nod, and she follows Rogers and Stark as they go to retrieve their gear. You don’t care for splitting up, but you know Willow will be able to help if they run into any trouble.

 

“Banner? Lady Natasha?” Thor calls out, peering down at the pair. “Are you quite all right?”

 

“We’re fine!” Romanoff groans. After a short silence, she adds a bit softer, “We’re fine, right?”

 

Thor begins to head down towards them, but pauses as a hand goes to his ear, surprise crossing his face. You hear it as well. There’s a static crackle that sounds in your earpiece, and it feels as if time stops as the voice of Maria Hill patches through.

 

Turn up that engine! Number three engine is down, sir! Can we get a run in? Talk to me.’

 

A man’s voice comes on the channel, more distant than Hill’s had been. ‘Turbine’s loose. Mostly intact, but it’s impossible to get out there and make repairs while we’re in the air.’

 

“But what caused it,” you hiss to yourself in frustration, knowing, just knowing it is somehow Loki’s doing.

 

You need the scepter. You need to take it and get it the fuck out of here.

 

We lose one more engine, we won’t be,’ Hill’s voice states grimly. ‘Somebody’s got to get inside and patch that engine.’

 

You move towards the scepter, hand reaching out towards it.

 

“Stark!” Fury shouts, his voice echoing in your ear as well as in the room with you. You freeze, fingers hovering over the golden weapon. “You copy that?”

 

‘I’m on it!’ Stark replies, sounding quite serious.

 

“There’s going to be a lot of shouting, but nobody turn your coms off, you hear me? Tune out what doesn’t apply to you, but we need everyone in the loop,” the director states.

 

Fury then turns his eye to you, his gaze cutting between the scepter and your outstretched hand. “I’ll watch it.” It’s a statement and an unsaid order at the same time: Leave it.

 

You blink, your eyes narrowing as you mentally check yourself. The scepter isn’t the problem right now, what the fuck are you thinking? You shake your head, brow furrowed as you take a step back.

 

You can’t waste anymore time here. Will, Steve, and Tony are already on the move, Thor’s helping Natasha and Banner, and you’re still standing in the lab.

 

Fury begins barking orders to other agents, maybe to you as well, but you’ve already started moving.

 

People have been sprinting by outside of the lab; you could see them through the large windows. You join them, following the direction of their panicked rushing. Your heart has picked up speed, a sword in your hand, and you’re trying to pinpoint where the danger is originating from, where you can be the most helpful.

 

‘We’ve got hostiles!’ a voice in your ear informs you. ‘S.H.I.E.L.D. agents!’

 

“Shit,” you swear aloud.

 

And then there’s a roar, one you’ve never heard from any animal, man, or monster. It echoes through the ship, loud enough to be discernable over the deafening alarms. The floor shudders as the remaining engines attempt to keep the helicarrier in the air.

 

‘What… was that?’ Phil Coulson’s voice asks in your ear.

 

‘Banner!’ The grunted name comes from Thor, and there’s another roar and a crash from somewhere deep in the ship.

 

You can hear Natasha in the background. ‘Bruce, please, we’re gonna be okay, all right? Swear on my life, I will get you out of this, you will walk away, I –’

 

Calm. Him. Down,’ Fury’s voice demands. Now.’

 

You can practically see Loki’s smirk in your mind’s eye, that knowing smile.

 

Pieces on a board.

 

The board is breaking.

 

The ship shudders again and you hear Thor attempting to tell everyone he has Banner under control.

 

HULK!”

 

You didn’t need the com to hear that. The shout was distant, but the voice was loud, bestial.

 

You hear your name over the speaker in your ear, and you realize it’s Willow. ‘Do you have enough energy to stay in the air for a bit?’ she asks. ‘Tony went on ahead; Steve and I are headed to engine room three. But I think… I think I’m needed elsewhere.’

 

It feels like there’s a hole where your stomach should be. You had managed to keep pace with the rest of the agents the entire time, but now you slow to a stop, standing frozen in the hallway, people swearing at you to get out of the way. Will sounded… hesitant. Afraid. And now, you are, too.

 

‘Star, no.’

 

That’s Steve. She must’ve already broken off from him, making her way to Thor and Banner.

 

“I’ll go with you,” you say, holding a finger to the button on the device so your voice will carry over the channel.

 

The ship dips again, and you stumble around a bit in the hall before you regain your balance.

 

‘No, help Tony and Steve,’ your friend tells you. ‘You’re better suited for that, and I think I can… I think I can calm him down.’

 

You chew on your lip, your fists clenching and unclenching as you stare down the hallway that leads back towards the lab, where you last saw Natasha and Bruce. People are yelling in your ear, but you make a decision, affirming it with a single nod. You press the button on your earpiece once more and start running. “All right, Will. I trust you. Call for backup if you need me. I’m heading to engine three.”

 

---

 

Natasha Romanoff is not having a good day.

 

Thor had been a great distraction, his godlike strength enough to temporarily go hand to hand (or rather, hammer) with the Hulk and allow her to slip away from what used to be Bruce.

 

She’s shaken. More so than she has been in a long time, which is particularly troubling. She knows full well that she stared death in the face today, and there’s no reason she shouldn’t have met her fate in the bottom of the helicarrier. Potentially dying is nothing new, of course, and yet…. She shudders, an involuntary chill shooting through her body.

 

She is capable, more than capable to go up against men with guns or knives, people, humans. She doesn’t want to doubt herself, but lately… she can’t deny that things have escalated. What could she have done in the face of the Hulk but escape?

 

And the things Banner had been saying….

 

It is a lot to take in, especially in such quick succession. Things such as these are not so easily compartmentalized, but she makes do.

 

Because a name has been bouncing around the communication channel for a while. People shouting it as a doubting question, reporting it as a just in case. And the just in case becomes an even greater worry when the hovercraft tilts, Natasha sliding into the wall so hard all of the breath leaves her lungs.

 

‘Sir, we’ve lost all power to engine one.’

 

The report was for Fury, whose reply begins with a loud, double gunshot. ‘It’s Barton. He took out our systems. He’s headed for the detention level. Does anybody copy?’

 

Natasha’s heart is in her throat. She pushes off of the wall, making her way towards the detention level with solid determination. However, despite her assured steps, her hand shakes as she raises it to her ear, presses the button, and speaks. “This is Agent Romanoff. I copy.”

 

---

 

‘Stark… Stark, I’m here!’ Steve’s voice says over the com.

 

‘Good. See what we got.’

 

You pick up your pace, cutting a corner rather quickly as you put a finger to the device and say, “Almost there.”

 

Stark starts explaining what he needs to do, but his words are too technical for you to truly follow. Steve seems to feel the same, which makes you feel a little better.

 

‘What’s it look like in there?’ Stark asks Steve as you finally find the engine room.

 

It’s been blown open, the wind howling above and below where you stand. Smoke billows from the engine itself, creating large, black clouds overhead. You spot movement and watch as Rogers launches himself up through the broken railings and jagged metal, finding the engine control panel Stark had been asking about.

 

‘It seems to run on some form of electricity,’ Steve’s voice says in your ear, clearly exasperated.

 

‘Well, you’re not wrong,’ Tony mutters.

 

“What can I do?” you ask.

 

‘Hey, Dark Spark, welcome to the party. Let’s put you on debris clearing duty, yeah?’

 

You roll your eyes, but nevertheless, launch yourself into the air, hovering for a moment as you adjust your energy. It’ll take a lot to keep you up for a long period of time, so you need to be careful not to overextend. You pinpoint a hunk of metal that is definitely not supposed to be in the engine, and set about removing it.

 

‘It’s bad, but still fixable,’ Stark says, the ear-splitting shriek of metal on metal echoing over the channel as the two of you continue to dislodge debris.

 

‘All right, the relays are intact,’ Rogers reports, accompanied by the sound of something thunking into place. ‘What’s our next move?’

 

‘Even if we can clear the rotors, this thing won’t reengage without a jump. I’m gonna have to get in there and push.’

 

“That sounds like a bad idea,” you say in between kicking at a particularly large piece of shrapnel.

 

‘It does,’ Rogers agrees vehemently. ‘Stark, if that thing gets up to speed, you’ll get shredded.’

 

‘Then stay in the control unit and reverse the polarity long enough to disengage the mag –’

 

“What the fuck does that mean?!” you shout, giving the large piece of debris a final kick and sending it flying.

 

‘Speak English!’ Steve snaps angrily.

 

There’s a heartbeat of silence over the coms, where you can hear another agent give a quick report to Fury about someone named Barton.

 

‘See that red lever?’ Stark says, his words purposefully slow and clear. ‘It’ll slow the rotors down long enough for me to get out. Stand by it, wait for my word, and then pull. Easy. And in English, by the way. You’re welcome.’

 

You scoff, but are cut off from saying anything by the voice of the director saying, ‘Stark, we’re losing altitude.’

 

‘Yeah. Noticed.’ You turn as Tony blasts away a last bit of debris, his sigh loud in your ear. ‘All right, that’ll have to do it. Hop on out, Shadow Master. It’s time to get this puppy rolling.’

 

“You’re the worst,” you mutter as you make your way out of the engine.

 

‘Hey now, I could die in here. You want those to be your last words to me?’

 

“Can I help you push or something? It doesn’t take two people to pull a lever,” you state with a frown.

 

It isn’t like you’re worried or anything. The idea of watching the famous Iron Man getting shredded into a pulpy mess in front of you doesn’t bother you in the slightest.

 

‘Nope, you’d just get in my way. Go help Cap pull the lever. It’ll be a lovely bonding activity, the two of you saving my life.’

 

Maybe Tony as a pulpy, dead mess wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

 

‘Trouble’s here,’ Steve says abruptly, and you hear shots echo.

 

---

 

Willow’s voice is soft, her tone exuding every amount of calm that she can muster. She has one hand held out towards Thor, who swings his hammer in a slow, idle motion, his shoulders tense as he watches the small woman extend her other hand towards the hulking beast.

 

The shuttle level that the three stand in has been utterly destroyed by the tousle between god and monster. Evening light from the huge bay windows highlights the extent of the damage; wings ripped from jets, large holes in the floor and walls. It’s as if a bomb detonated here as well.

 

The emotional energy coming off of Hulk is anger in its purest form. Willow winces yet again as the brute lets out a growl from behind his teeth, eyes trained on her face. It is a hard thing, to soothe the literal embodiment of rage. Human emotions are easy to wrap her powers around, but Hulk has been a test that has truly pushed her to the limit.

 

However, he’s no longer smashing things, which is undoubtedly a good sign.

 

“I know you’re not Banner,” Willow says, her hushed voice almost lost in Hulk’s angry snarl, “but I’m speaking to both of you right now, all right? It really is going to be okay.”

 

She puts everything she has into the affirmation, truly believing it herself. She’s trying once more to push tranquility through to the Hulk, and where his heart has rebuffed her power every time before, it seems as if he’s starting to relent. “They shouldn’t have done it,” she says, shaking her head. “You don’t have to worry about all of this. You can calm down… rest. Okay?”

 

Hulk lets out a low growl and frowns deeply, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. His fists clench, unclench, clench again, and then… hang limply at his sides. Will looks at them briefly before making eye contact. “Let me help.”

 

Hulk’s face slowly seems to relax, shoulders drooping slightly. Will smiles, further lifting her hand, which was still extended towards him as a show of peace.

 

A shadow, in front of the window.

 

“No!” Willow exclaims, as if her shout will be able to stop what she knows is about to happen.

 

Bullets fly through glass; a S.H.I.E.L.D. jet hovers outside of the shuttle level and fires on the Hulk. He roars, all traces of any other emotion lost to the return of his fiery anger.

 

Willow dives out of the way, Thor grabbing her arm at the last moment and jerking her into cover. The pair crouches behind a large piece of wreckage that used to be a vehicle of some sort.

 

“Fury, no!” Willow shouts into her earpiece, but the director is either too busy or not the culprit, as he does not answer.

 

Perhaps the jet is piloted by a rogue agent. Willow, however, has her doubts. Thor’s hand is on her shoulder, and she isn’t sure whether it’s a show of comfort or to keep her in place.

 

They can hear the sound of the Hulk leaping towards the jet, crashing through whatever was left of the glass. Shards ping against the ship’s metal floor, followed by the furious bellowing of Hulk as he begins to tear the jet apart. The noises begin to fade as the jet spirals through the air, and Willow looks to Thor, who nods.

 

The pair leaves cover just in time to see the pilot pop his parachute and, off in the distance, a green shape falling quickly towards the earth.

 

---

 

You vault towards the sounds of gunshots and spot Rogers, bullets pinging off his shield as he tries to return fire at the blue-eyed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

 

‘Hey, um, maybe one of you guys could stand by the lever?’ Stark’s voice says in your ear, a little strained. ‘Red one, just over there. Kind of important. To my life.’

 

‘A second!’ Steve says, taking cover once more.

 

“Go, Rogers!” you yell, coming at the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents from above.

 

The agents are everywhere, and they have major firepower. You manage to clock two before they understand what’s going on, swift punches knocking them unconscious. One tumbles down and out, crashing into metal until he lands on the bottom floor. You barely have time to wonder if he’s going to fall completely out of the ship when at least half of their forces turn their attention on you. The other half are still focused on Rogers, and you know you need to change that if he’s going to make it out alive.

 

‘Okay, lever time.’ Stark’s words are a little breathless, and he’s doing his best to keep them even.

 

“Going!” you shout frantically.

 

You’re running and leaping as fast as you possibly can, jumping from soldier to soldier as bullets careen around the area. Knocking humans unconscious is easy, but the amount of them makes it slow work. Steve doesn’t seem to be faring any better, although his eyes are locked on the red lever.

 

‘Guys, I need that lever!’

 

You’re about to slip into the shadows when you see Rogers make a huge leap. He barely grips the edge of a broken railing, and he dangles out in the open. All eyes look up, gun barrels sighting him in. You don’t have enough time to knock them all unconscious. You can either step into the shadows and pull the lever to save Tony, or you can kill the soldiers and save Steve. Not both.

 

Unless….

 

“Shit!” you yell, and jump between Steve and the gunmen.

 

Lever. Now!’

 

There’s a horrible grinding noise from the engine that you do your best to ignore. You hover in front of Steve and flare your hands wide, opening a large, dark rift between you and the rogue agents. They fire, lead disappearing into the void as Rogers climbs to safety.

 

‘Lever!’ Steve shouts in confirmation, followed by the sound of something opening in the engine.

 

You close the rift, your fingers tingling uncomfortably at creating such a large portal. Rogers leaps back across the gap, right into the faces of the remaining S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. You go to join him, catching a glimpse of gold and red from the corner of your eye.

 

Stark has returned.

 

‘My knights in shining armor!’ he says loftily. ‘Well, I’m the only one in armor, but still.’

 

His suit looks awful, scrapes and deep gouges in the metal. The mask’s light continually blinks in and out, and the thrusters are barely keeping him in the air.

 

As the suit gives out, Tony uses the momentum to barrel into the agents, successfully giving you and Rogers the ability to sweep the rest of them.

 

It’s almost quiet now, if you ignore the roaring wind and the loud (functioning) engine. You share a look with Rogers, and then the both of you walk over to Stark. His faceplate parts when the two of you reach him, and he groans loudly.

 

“Well, now I know what being in a blender feels like. Not a fan, let me tell you.”

 

You roll your eyes and Steve lets out a huff of breath. “Well, you must be all right if you’re talking,” Rogers notes.

 

‘It got quiet, and we aren’t falling anymore, so I guess this is as good a time as any for bad news,’ Willow’s voice says in your ear. You and Steve immediately lock eyes. ‘Banner is… he’s gone. Thor went back to check on the scepter, and he says that’s gone, too.’

 

Steve sighs and rubs a hand across his face. He looks towards the door to the engine room, blue gaze solemn. “Fight’s not over yet.”

 

“It really isn’t,” you agree grimly.

 

Now that the danger of falling out of the sky has passed, you know where you need to go next, where at least two of your other companions will inevitably convene.

 

You have to go to the source.

 

It’s time to face the chaos once more.

Notes:

We're shooting for at *least* bi-weekly updates here, guys, hopefully weekly updates, until the end. I want to get this fic done. It's 2019, and I've gotta get this story out of my head before I lose my mind haha
Expect longer chapters for a bit, and if you're still with me after all this time
Thank you.

Chapter 16: The Blue

Notes:

A Sunday updaaaaate!
We caught up with Sig last chapter, let's do a quick check-in with ya boi Azzy

Chapter Text

Asmund’s feet ache, and his legs feel stiff as he sits by the fire. He’s no stranger to physical exertion, although marching with the Asgardian army is no easy task. Obasi pushes the troops, riding and walking until neither is comfortable. The camp smells of horses and sweat, which has Asmund’s nose wrinkling.

 

He stretches his legs and rubs at his eyes, fighting back a yawn. The other sorcerers have supposedly retired to their tents, leaving him alone by the slowly dying fire. He can still hear them talking amongst themselves, however. It is not even truly dark yet, which leads Asmund to believe it is by design that he sits in solitude. Although, he supposes he’s meant to be the sorcerers’ leader, not their companion.

 

The whispers in the Asgardian army should not bother him.

 

“Ho, Master Sorcerer!” a voice calls, and Asmund looks up to see a familiar face approaching.

 

“Bjorn,” Asmund says in surprise, sitting up a little straighter and wincing at the pain in his thighs. “How do you fare?”

 

Bjorn rests his hand on the hilt of his sword, a gesture that some would deem threatening were it not for the bright, open smile on his face. “I fare well, although I have perhaps been seeking a quieter part of camp. Warriors tend to be loud, and I’ve quite the splitting headache. Would you mind if I sat with you, for a moment or two?”

 

“Feel free,” Asmund says, waving a hand in invitation. “It is quiet over here, I must say.”

 

“The sorcerers are always quieter,” Bjorn notes, settling on the ground with a relieved sigh.

 

Asmund allows the silence to continue, as it is surprisingly not uncomfortable in the other man’s presence. Bjorn’s dark curls seem almost brown in the sun’s final rays, his eyes closed as he holds a hand to his head.

 

“I know a charm, for headaches,” Asmund says, an offer conveyed in his tone.

 

Bjorn chuckles and opens his eyes. “I appreciate the thought, but I’ll be fine. In truth, it’s almost gone now that I’ve removed myself from the source.” The pair listens to the uproarious soldiers in the distance, who are particularly wound up by the presence of one of the famous Warriors Three – Fandral the Dashing. Bjorn waits a moment and then meets Asmund’s gaze. “I’m glad you don’t turn in as early as those under your command. I have been meaning to ask you a question.”

 

“Me?” Asmund asks, his mind immediately going through different scenarios of what Bjorn could possibly want to ask of him. The only other time they’d met had been when he and Sigrid had been searching for….

 

“Aye,” Bjorn says with a nod. “You and the girl, Sigrid, I believe, were asking if… I had seen the Bloody Warrior.” He says your moniker slowly, as if he doesn’t care for using it, but it is a name Asmund will understand. “I was wondering if perhaps you had ended up finding her after all.”

 

As Asmund shakes his head, Bjorn lets out a soft sigh and stares into the fire. The sorcerer watches him, curiosity eating at his thoughts. “I apologize,” Asmund says. “Why do you ask?”

 

Bjorn looks up at him sheepishly. “It is nothing.” When he realizes Asmund’s expectant gaze has not left him, he adds, “It was just… the last time I saw her. The expression on her face, I haven’t forgotten it. I suppose it is no business of mine, but I do wish I knew where the Allfather sent her.”

 

“You two were close?” Asmund asks. “I take it you’re not asking from the perspective of just a comrade in arms.”

 

Bjorn’s laugh is full of warmth. “We were close, yes. Strange to think, as I know most are fearful of her. She can be quite fierce.”

 

Asmund grins, nostalgia settling pleasantly in his chest. “You know, I’m almost taller than her now, and she still calls me half-pint.”

 

Bjorn chuckles again, his smile contagious. “Pray tell, how did the two of you meet?”

 

“Through Sigrid,” Asmund explains.

 

He recounts the tale to the soldier, and Bjorn is the perfect audience; he’s thoroughly attentive, and does not interrupt or overreact. By the end of the initial story, he is nodding respectfully, carefully considering all he has heard. When Asmund tapers off, smile wavering as more serious moments come to mind, Bjorn fills in the silence with stories of his own. Asmund is grateful; the conversation between you and him on the Rainbow Bridge isn’t meant to be shared.

 

He learns of your time in Asgard’s forces, after the Allfather had assigned you to the company. Bjorn tells Asmund of the way you kept to yourself, how he knew you heard the things people said about you, and that it was obvious you took out your anger on the enemy.

 

“Terrifying,” Bjorn says happily. “Absolutely terrifying. But, as we were both considered outsiders, I thought it prudent to introduce myself. After all, silent companionship is better on the mind than none.”

 

Asmund ponders over the statement, his brow furrowing. Being alone with his thoughts is often… troubling. Perhaps the soldier has a point.

 

“Where are you from, then?” Asmund asks.

 

“Vanaheim,” Bjorn says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “It was odd to meet someone that did not care where I was born.” He looks up at Asmund and smiles, a teasing light reflected in his eyes. “You Asgardians can be quite uptight.”

 

Asmund has to give him that one.

 

The boy asks of Vanaheim, and the two speak of homes, families, traditions, and wars long passed. It is surprising, how easy it is to converse with Bjorn, and Asmund is endlessly fascinated by his descriptions of his realm and its people. The soldier seems happy to talk, unbothered by the amount of questions Asmund continually throws at him.

 

Asmund shares a bit of his history as well, of his climb from servant to sorcerer. As he speaks, neither of them notices that nightfall has set in, the low burning fire casting deeper and deeper shadows as they continue their discussion. Talk eventually turns to the Allfather and their current march. This brings on a new round of past battle stories, Bjorn rehashing some of his favorite fights, most of which you were involved in.

 

“It was after that battle that she called me friend,” Bjorn says with a laugh. “Although, when I told her I was thankful for her companionship, she punched my shoulder and told me not to be… bjoring.”

 

Asmund snorts, and then the two are chuckling together once more.

 

---

 

You don’t have time to bother with the endless metal halls of the helicarrier, now that you know where you're going. You step into the shadows, leaving Steve and Tony behind as you navigate towards the detention center.

 

Be in that box, you think venomously, not caring whether it reaches Loki’s mind or not. Better be in that fucking box.

 

But alas, as you step from the darkness, it is not the grinning face of Loki that stares at you from behind the glass.

 

It’s a distraught Thor.

 

“Fuck,” you swear at once.

 

“Warrior!” the god shouts, his fist rising as he slams Mjolnir against the wall of the cage. “He has vanished!”

 

It seems Thor has been trying to escape, although instead of shattering, the glass has merely cracked, the lines feathering out like a spider’s web.

 

“Loki?” you call angrily, glaring at the seemingly empty room.

 

Light footsteps behind you have you whirling around, but it is only Willow rushing into the chamber. She meets your gaze, and then her eyes go to Thor in the box. “Oh,” she says under her breath.

 

“He was here,” Thor says hurriedly.

 

“I am here,” a voice proclaims.

 

Chill bumps rise on your arms as you look towards the voice, and sure enough, there he is. Loki stands by the glass prison’s control panel, smiling charmingly at you, as if he’s truly happy to see you. The scepter is in his hand; his agents must have delivered it to him. You swear at Fury in your mind, cursing him for being stupid enough to tell you to leave it and then to let it be taken anyway.

 

“Look at all of us, gathered here,” Loki says with a grin. “Just like old times, is it not?”

 

“No,” Willow says flatly, her frown deep.

 

“Brother,” Thor begins, and Loki’s attention turns to him, “you –”

 

Loki cuts Thor off, bright gaze turning speculative as he looks at the control panel. “One of these would send you flying, I’d imagine.” You form one of your swords, but Loki doesn’t even look up. “If either of you attacks, I’ll drop him immediately.”

 

“Move away, please.”

 

The order comes from behind you and Willow. The both of you turn to see Agent Phil Coulson, who is holding what your mind identifies as a big fucking gun. It seems familiar, and with a start you realize it is the firearm that had been lying on the table in the lab. Loki looks to the agent as well, a brow quirking as he surveys the weapon pointed at him.

 

“You like this?” Phil asks, his voice level as he smiles. “It’s a prototype. Even I don’t know what it does. Do you wanna find out?”

 

But unfortunately, no one ever does.

 

There’s a noise you know well – blade through flesh. The small smile is still on Coulson’s face as the tip of the golden scepter bursts through his chest. Loki reveals himself behind Phil, the illusion at the control panel vanishing.

 

“NO!” Thor shouts as the agent hits the ground.

 

“Phil!” Willow exclaims in alarm, dropping to the floor beside the man at once. “Loki!” she snaps accusatorily, her hands flowing with light as she settles them over Coulson’s heaving chest.

 

“What the fuck?” you ask in shock, your forehead wrinkling as you look from Loki to the fallen form of Phil. “Loki. Really?”

 

You should be doing something…. You feel your gaze go to the scepter, red staining the bladed tip, the blue gem imbedded within shining brightly. Thor is calling to Willow, asking whether or not she can save Coulson.

 

“He threatened,” Loki says idly, wiping Coulson’s blood from the weapon as he walks past you to the control panel. “The Healer has him, regardless.”

 

“I shouldn’t have to!” Will says heatedly. “You, you’re just… ugh!”

 

The control panel, you realize with a sickening jolt. You’re an idiot. You could’ve beaten Loki there and attempted to free Thor, what was wrong with you?!

 

Thor’s eye flicks between Coulson and his brother.

 

“I am,” Loki states conversationally to Will. He then looks at Thor, appraising him. “The humans think us immortal,” he muses aloud, long finger tapping on the control panel. “Should we test that?”

 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you state coldly.

 

Loki’s hand hovers over a button on the panel. He locks eyes with you, smiles pleasantly, and then presses it.

 

Any remaining hope in Thor’s eye dies as the hatch beneath him opens and the glass box disengages. The whole thing tumbles from sight, a loud rush of wind filling the chamber, further exemplifying just how far above ground the helicarrier flies.

 

You. Ass,” you spit towards Loki’s grinning face.

 

Without a second thought, you turn, jump, and dive after the falling God of Thunder.

 

---

 

Loki watches as you take the leap, the hatch slowly closing until the roar of the wind has died. She’ll be fine, he tells himself. He knows you’re capable, and not one to underestimate. You’ll survive, and you’ll probably manage to rescue the one-eyed boar.

 

The room is quiet, save for the ragged breaths of an almost-dying man.

 

Their team of Avengers, how ironic that term is. With Banner out of the way, things are simple once again.

 

Truly, everything has gone better than even Loki had been able to plan for. Trapping Thor had been deliciously satisfying, and sending him down had ensured you would leave the ship. Two less to stop his escape. The mortal barreling in on the scene had worked splendidly as well; something to keep the Healer occupied while Loki bides his time, drawing as much power from the scepter as he possibly can.

 

He knows time is almost up, however, as wherever your Willow is, her captain will not be far behind.

 

Even at the thought of the next part of his plan, Loki’s fingers tighten around the golden weapon. Can he truly do this? He knows it’s necessary, as it’ll have to be one of the two of you…. One of you will be unable to resist. And with the insight will come understanding, and the correct decision will inevitably be made when the time finally comes to make it.

 

But still. It is harder than he thought, now that the moment is upon him.

 

The Healer has not spoken to him, but she watches. Her shoulders are rigid, her glowing fingers pressed against the mortal’s chest with perhaps a little too much force. Her eyes stay on the lost prince as he approaches her, distrust and revulsion in her gaze.

 

Loki brings the scepter up, the tip pointed towards the girl. Her body stiffens, her eyes narrowing as if she’s pained. Neither says anything as he stands there, procrastinating for another few seconds, another few, one more, just one more….

 

He will cave if he doesn’t do it now.

 

“I suppose you won’t want me holding on to this, hm?” Loki asks, his voice tight, strained.

 

His expression is flat as he flips the scepter around and offers her the handle.

 

---

 

You squint into the brutal wind, your hair whipping back from your face as you tuck your arms to your sides. The feeling of free fall has never been to your taste, but you focus on the glass box and its unfortunate occupant rather than the ever-approaching ground.

 

You see flashes of red and the glint of silver as Thor tries to get his bearings and smash through the thick panes of glass. You expend a little energy to reach the spinning cage, thoughts racing as you try to figure out the best course of action.

 

Running out of fall time…. The once distant earth is coming up fast, too fast. The prison’s spinning is stopping Thor from landing a good hit on any of the walls. Your fingers grasp at one of the box’s edges, sliding for a moment before you gain purchase. The sudden change in direction at such a fast momentum has you disoriented at once, and you brace your feet against one of the glass panes. You grit your teeth as you use your energy to create a force pulling the opposite way of the cage’s spin; you know Thor will be able to bash his way free if he can land a solid hit.

 

The ground, the ground, the ground, the ground!

 

You let out a strained growl, your jaw clenching as your fingers start to slip. Your entire world continues to tilt, but the box’s spinning gradually, gradually, begins to slow.

 

There’s a crash, glass shooting everywhere as Thor bursts from the cage directly in front of you. You feel yourself begin to fall into the prison as the panel you’d been braced against shatters. A hand fists in the front of your shirt and you’re yanked up into the air, body leaving the box just as the entire thing smashes into the ground.

 

Thor releases you as you both begin to fall again, much slower and from a hilariously shorter distance in comparison to the skydive you’d just experienced. You both land on your feet, your knees and ankles jarring at the impact. Your chest aches with every inhale as you try to catch your breath.

 

You stand up straight after a moment and put your hands on your hips, surveying the area – it appears the two of you have landed in some sort of meadow, making the twisted remains of the glass box even uglier. You glance over at Thor to see him also staring at the wreckage, his face ashen, mouth pressed into a thin line.

 

“Are you… Are you all right?” you ask in between breaths.

 

“No,” Thor answers after a beat, the word delivered with an emotional waver in his voice. “No, I am not.”

 

---

 

Willow stands in the hangar and watches as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents cart Phil Coulson away on a stretcher, plans made to airlift him to the nearest medical facility.

 

He’ll be okay, she thinks to herself. I fixed the worst of it.

 

I saved him.

 

Some of the people that had been working to secure Phil shoot her curious glances, and she knows why. She casts a concerned look at the scepter in her hands as she remembers Loki turning it over to her.

 

Why? Why leave the scepter? Was he perhaps remaining nearby, still on the ship? That didn’t seem possible, or logical. She lifts the weapon slightly, testing its weight. It’s surprisingly heavy and a bit uncomfortable in her grip. She remembers the sharp blade stabbing through Coulson’s chest and can’t suppress a shudder.

 

‘We need to regroup,’ Nick Fury’s voice says in her ear. ‘Conference room in five.’

 

‘I need longer than that,’ Romanoff states, her tone level. ‘Do we still have the scepter?’

 

Willow’s stomach tenses uncomfortably. “I have it,” she says into the com. “Why?”

 

‘Thank God,’ Natasha mutters. ‘I need it.’

 

‘Barton?’ Fury asks, and when Romanoff confirms, he says, ‘Agent, you don’t know what using that scepter on him will do.’

 

‘Yeah, but I know what not using it on him is doing. He’s contained, but he’s pissed.’

 

Willow purses her lips, turning the scepter in her hands. She presses the button on the earpiece and asks, “Where are you, Natasha? I’ll come to you. I… well, I think it can work.”

 

‘Are you sure about this?’ Steve asks, worry threaded through is voice.

 

Worry for her.

 

“I am,” Willow says. “And I know what it feels like. I remember. It’s like….” She hesitates, her sentence trailing off as she winces. “It’s like taking something out that doesn’t belong. I can do it.”

 

There’s silence for a moment, and then Natasha’s voice. ‘Medical Bay, Room Four.’

 

“Oh,” Willow says, surprised at how close she is to the destination. She begins to walk, exiting the hangar as she says, “I’ll be right there.”

 

---

 

Willow remembers Barton. His face brings a wash of memories to the forefront of her mind, accompanied by a sharp pain in her temples. His eyes are still fiery blue, dark circles beneath them, just as hers once were. As soon as the archer sees her, he begins struggling harder against his restraints.

 

The room is small. Natasha sits in the only chair, which faces the medical bed where Barton is strapped. She gets to her feet, her expression unreadable as her hands wrap around the bed’s railing. “Clint,” she says, although it’s clear his own name doesn’t mean anything to him right now.

 

“You’re not with us anymore,” he says to Willow, intense gaze locked with hers. “What are you doing here?” His eyes flick to the scepter. “What are you doing with that?”

 

“You really think you can do it?” Natasha asks softly. “Reverse it?”

 

“Yes,” Willow says with a nod. She looks between the two agents and then meets Romanoff’s eyes. “Are you sure you want me to try?”

 

Natasha’s gaze hardens and she nods. She looks over at the furious Barton, who continues to pull at his restraints. They bite into his skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. “Anything is better than this.”

 

Willow stares at her for a moment, but doesn’t outwardly dispute the statement. Instead, she turns towards Clint, lifting the scepter up as she does so.

 

It’s not so heavy, she thinks to herself, and then tilts the weapon as the blue gem within it begins to glow. This isn’t so hard. She can remember now with brilliant clarity the final moments in which the scepter had given up its hold on her. Barton’s struggles are growing desperate, and he’s growling, “No!” over and over as he stares at her.

 

And then Willow takes the blue back.

 

The flash has Natasha shielding her eyes, but Will sees it all. Barton’s eyes go black, constellations and galaxies shining for a moment, and he shouts in anger and fear. It all spirals out of him, back to her, the black clearing, the blue gone, and he gasps his first breath as a free man.

 

---

 

Willow stands in the conference room, positioned near the wall to the right of the door. Rogers is in front of her, closer to the table. He rests a hand on the back of one of the chairs, broad shoulders taught, his gaze staring off at nothing. Stark paces along the right side of the room, thoughts no doubt running a mile a minute, although his feet cannot keep up. Only Fury and Romanoff have chosen to sit, the director leaned back in his chair, Natasha leaned forward, hunched over the table.

 

“Looks like we’re the only ones left for now,” Fury finally says. His chair squeaks as he sits up. “Let’s debrief.”

 

“Engine’s running,” Stark says at once, his tone indifferent. “My suit’s down. I’ll do what I can to fix it here, but I’m basically out until I can get back to New York.”

 

“We probably have some tools here you could use,” Fury tells him.

 

“Because you just have a little bit of everything around here, don’t you?” Steve asks quietly.

 

“Where’s Agent Barton?” Fury elects to ignore the disgruntled captain, his one eye settling on Romanoff instead.

 

“Resting,” she replies, sitting back in her chair. “Hadn’t slept since God knows when.”

 

“Is he himself?” Fury asks.

 

“Yeah,” Natasha says after a moment. “Yeah, he is.”

 

“Good. So, it worked,” Fury affirms, looking over at Willow. “We have some other agents detained. We can see if it’ll work on them, too. Anything to lessen Loki’s forces.”

 

Willow doesn’t respond immediately, and Rogers speaks up. “We’re down three, Nick. We need to talk about that.”

 

“Yeah, where’d Dark Spark and Point Break run off to?” Stark asks.

 

“Well,” Willow says, and everyone turns to look at her. “They didn’t… run off. More like… fell down.”

 

She relays what happened to those gathered, who seem upset but not wholly surprised. No one asks how she came by the scepter; it seems that the assumption is she stopped it from reaching Loki’s grasp at all.

 

“Do you think they’re alive?” Romanoff asks, propping her head up on one of her hands.

 

“Wherever they are, they’re out of range of the communication channel,” Fury notes, clearly disgruntled. “As is Banner.”

 

Banner. At the name, Willow feels a surge of anger in her chest, remembering the jet’s shadow just as she had been about to reach him…. Her fingers drum across the handle of the golden scepter.

 

“The agent he threw out of the jet reported that he saw the Hulk land alive,” Fury adds. “So we at least know his status.”

 

“It was your jet,” Willow says suddenly. Fury looks at her and she stares at him with a thunderous expression. “I had him calmed down, which is what you ordered! And then your jet shot at him! Bruce could’ve been here, but now he’s off somewhere on his own!”

 

“No offense, Sunshine,” Stark says, “but it kind of seemed like Brucey Boy wanted to be on his own, anyway.”

 

“That’s not the point,” Willow snaps at him.

 

“Banner is not the problem I’m worried about right now,” Fury interjects, barely suppressed anger bubbling through his calm, forced tone. “What I’m particularly irked by is that we are down one sociopath. We may have kept the scepter, but we still don’t know where the damn cube is.”

 

“That’s true. And while we’re at it, let’s start thinking ahead, Nick,” Steve says, narrowing his eyes at Fury. “What happens when we find the cube? Do you expect us to willingly hand it back over to you, knowing what we know now?”

 

“Point, Cap,” Stark says, as if he’s keeping a tally.

 

“I don’t see how that matters if we don’t even know where it is,” Fury says back.

 

“It matters,” Steve retorts.

 

“It does,” Willow agrees. “What are you thinking, building weapons with a power you know nothing about?!”

 

“I’m thinking about my planet’s safety!” Fury says coldly, each word stated slowly and clearly.

 

“No,” Stark disagrees as he stops pacing to look at the director. “You’re thinking about holding all of the cards.”

 

“Don’t even think about lecturing me, Stark,” Fury snarls.

 

“Will you guys stop the pissing contest already?” Natasha asks in exasperation, her hand falling to the table with a small thump.

 

“I’d say it’s important when the piss is nuclear,” Tony answers flippantly.

 

And like gasoline poured onto a fire, the fighting escalates. It is the lab, all over again. Everyone talking over one another, shouting circular arguments and personal jabs, each individual trying to get their own point across without listening to anyone else. It’s sickening, sickening. Willow’s jaw is clenched so tightly that her teeth hurt. Round and round, the arguments spin with no solutions until she can’t take it anymore.

 

“SHUT UP!” Willow shouts, slamming the butt of the scepter on the conference floor.

 

And surprisingly, everyone does.

 

All eyes are on Will and the glowing scepter in her hand. It’s as if she’s frozen them in place, having finally shocked them out of their childish squabbles.

 

“Starlight?” Steve asks softly, but Willow ignores him.

 

“I’ve listened to all of you,” Will says, glaring at the four people in front of her. “All of you! And now you’re going to listen to me. Because all of these arguments aren’t getting us anywhere! As a matter of fact, they’re making everything worse! We lost Bruce! Thor, and my best friend, both gone! Coulson was stabbed, and you’re all just sitting here arguing!”

 

“You should put that scep –” Fury begins, but Willow speaks over him.

 

“I said enough!” she says fiercely. “There’s so much to fix, and apparently none of you understand that.” What all is there to fix? she asks herself, growing even more irritated at the length of the list. She turns her attention to Fury once more. “And half of it is your fault, anyway. We need to find the three that are missing. We need to find Loki and actually confine him properly. And we still need to find the stupid teserract, can’t forget about that.”

 

It’s all about finding, which is particularly frustrating.

 

Fury looks like he’s going to cut in again, so Willow points at him. “No, your orders haven’t gotten us anywhere, Director. I told you to stay away from that cube, and you go and make fucking weapons with it. Thor’s right; humans shouldn’t have it. I’ll find the cube.” She jabs her finger towards Fury once more. “You and Tony can locate the three we’re missing, one of which is literally your fault.” She moves her finger towards Rogers and Romanoff. “Natasha and Steve can go get them if needed, once we figure out where they are. Then, once Banner is back, he can help us find the tesseract. Or maybe I can use the scepter to locate it, I’m not sure.”

 

“I don’t think you need the scepter,” Stark says, his words careful.

 

“Put it down, Star,” Steve says quietly, beseechingly.

 

“No,” Willow retorts, her voice ringing with authority. “I’m done following orders. I’ve worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., I’ve been under Loki’s command, and I’m not doing it any more.”

 

No one understands but me.

 

They just want to waste time arguing over things with obvious answers.

 

They don’t want to fix anything; they just want it all to fall into place so that it works out for them.

 

“You know what?” Will asks abruptly, fist tightening around the scepter. “I’ll do it myself. You can all sit in here and argue on your own. You’ll be more helpful if you aren’t getting in my way.”

Chapter 17: Bonds

Notes:

Sunday update! Booyah

Chapter Text

You sit beside the God of Thunder, smooth blades of grass beneath your fingers. The meadow is surprisingly peaceful, the foliage surrounding it shifting with a soft hiss in the teasing wind. The two of you face away from the remains of the glass prison, although it is impossible to forget that it’s there. Mjolnir’s handle peeks through the grass, the hammer resting beside Thor’s feet.

 

The sun is getting low. You tear at the green turf, unable to fully wrangle the anxious energy in your body. You want to be on the move, finding the helicarrier and heading back to what’s left of the group… but you’re also exhausted. And Thor… the man needs a moment to collect himself.

 

But the moment has expanded into minutes, and then ten minutes, fifteen. Neither of you has said much one way or another, because truly there is not much to say. It is a brutal realization, one that has only just sunk in for the optimistic Asgardian. The pain in his side from Loki’s attack in Paris seems to hurt doubly so after their latest confrontation. With a quiet huff of breath, Thor finally speaks.

 

“Maybe I was foolish to hope,” he says gravely, his voice low. He laughs halfheartedly as he shakes his head. “I heard what was told to me about him, yet I did not listen. A habit of mine, I must admit.”

 

You’re unsure of how to respond. You aren’t the one people come to for talks of hope and optimism. But it hurts you, to see the misery on Thor’s face. You lean over, pressing your shoulder against his. “It… doesn’t look great,” you say softly. “But… Thor, can I admit something to you?”

 

“Always,” he says.

 

You hesitate, unsure of whether you’ll actually be able to say it aloud. But… it’s Thor. Your almost-brother. The one you ran to first when your world came tumbling down in the middle of the night.

 

“I… I think he’s still in there,” you tell Thor quietly. “I’ve seen… flashes of the old him.” If it comes down to it, you kill me. Kill me if you have to. You clear your throat before continuing. “And honestly, that feels like it makes everything worse, but….” You lean foreword, pulling your knees up and resting your head on them. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m hoping, too. As stupid as that sounds.”

 

Thor does not answer right away, and the two of you listen to the wind and watch the sunset.

 

“I know that, Warrior,” he says at last. You look over to see him giving you a small, sad smile. “You’ve said as much, without saying so. It is admittedly hard to keep track of.”

 

You snort and roll your eyes. “Whatever.”

 

“But it is good to hear it aloud,” Thor says, looking back to the sunset. Silence falls between the two of you once more, although it is short lived. The god sighs and then rises, calling his war hammer to his fist and fastening the weapon to his belt. “Are you able to return us to the ship?” he asks, holding out his hand to help you to your feet.

 

“Yeah,” you say, sighing as well. “Yeah, I should be good now.”

 

You manage to return his smile as you accept Thor’s outstretched hand. The two of you stand together, and he gives your palm a squeeze before releasing it.

 

“Thank you,” he says.

 

---

 

“You’re leaving?” Steve Rogers asks, his brow creased with worry as he looks between Willow and the scepter.

 

“You’re not thinking clearly,” Fury states to Will, getting to his feet.

 

“I’m the only one thinking clearly!” Willow snaps vehemently.

 

“I don’t think you should be the one trying to calm her down, Director,” Natasha says under her breath, rising from her chair as well.

 

“Seconded,” Tony pipes up, and Willow glares over at him.

 

“Star, please,” Steve says, working to keep his tone even. “You don’t have to do this by yourself. You’re not alone, you know that.”

 

“I am,” Will refutes, narrowing her eyes at Steve and shaking her head. “Bruce was right when he said none of us are a team. You’ve all been too busy arguing amongst yourselves to get anything real accomplished.”

 

“We had to work together to save the ship,” Rogers points out, his words cautious as he takes a step forward. “It wasn’t just one person responsible. We split off, yeah, but no one would’ve been able to get anything done on their own. We all have different beliefs, but we also know it’s better to work together. That’s why we’re still here.”

 

Willow frowns at the captain. “You just don’t want me to leave.”

 

“I don’t,” Steve agrees. “But I believe in what I’m saying, and I know you do, too.” The room is deathly quiet, all eyes on Rogers and Will. He takes another step closer to her as he says, “You’ve always told me that you admired humanity’s ability to work together to create great things. To do great things.”

 

Willow wavers near the door, her expression troubled, almost confused. “I….”

 

She had said that, hadn’t she?

 

“And I thought we promised, Star. Remember?” he asks, lowering his voice even more as he takes another step forward. “That we wouldn’t be going through it all alone anymore. That doesn’t have to change.”

 

“It… doesn’t,” she answers slowly, unsure.

 

I don’t have to do everything myself – but you’re the only one who can.

 

These people care about me – or they lie so you won’t leave.

 

But… they want to help – they manipulate one another, why would you be any different?

 

She battles with herself, these quiet whispers in her own voice.

 

“Star, I’m here for you,” Steve says with finality, and he’s close enough at last to reach out and take her empty hand.

 

And emotion floods through her.

 

“I….” Willow’s eyes go wide, her fingers tightening painfully around Steve’s. “This… it…!” Light flares as Will pushes out her hand that holds the scepter, encasing the weapon in a glowing, floating field.

 

Will backs up quickly, as if the weapon has burned her. She hasn’t let go of Steve’s hand, and the captain follows her, mirroring her steps. Willow stares past him to the scepter, a look of horror on her face. She finally lowers her outstretched hand, the scepter lowering with it until it rests upon the long table. Rogers carefully takes her by the shoulders and then wraps his arms around her.

 

The conference room falls silent as he holds her, uneasy tension in the air at what has just happened.

 

“Well. Two points, Cap,” Stark says quietly from the right side of the room.

 

Natasha has backed away from the conference table, nearer to Tony, while Fury still stands at the table’s head. All three of them stare at the scepter with stony faces.

 

“Banner picked that thing up,” Fury murmurs. He turns to Stark and asks, “What is with this scepter? Didn’t you guys run–”

 

Energy shifts, and darkness spreads from the far corner of the room. You step through with Thor, closing the portal once you’re sure the god has fully crossed over the void’s threshold.

 

“Hey,” you say with faux cheeriness, fatigue bleeding into your voice, “guess who’s not dead?” And then you notice the expressions on everyone’s faces. You frown and ask, “Uh, what’d we miss?”

 

“What has happened to the scepter?” Thor asks immediately after, and you also look to the weapon in its peculiar glowing bubble.

 

Willow pulls away from Steve, although neither of them says anything. Will’s hands are shaking, and she crosses her arms and tucks them out of sight.

 

“Ah, nothing much,” Tony says, doing his best to project a lighthearted tone. “Sunshine was just telling us how incompetent we all are.”

 

Willow flinches, and Steve narrows his eyes at Tony.

 

“Say what now?” you ask, completely befuddled.

 

“Willow had the scepter,” Natasha says to you, nodding her head towards the weapon. She further elaborates on what took place before adding, “It was… kind of like she was a different person, for a second there.” The agent looks over at Will, her expression both concerned and speculative. “Were you under Loki’s control again?”

 

“No,” Willow says, a shudder visibly running through her body. “It’s nothing like that.”

 

“What do you mean?” Thor asks, his more relaxed posture going rigid at the mention of his brother.

 

“It’s… two different things,” Will tries to explain, guilt flashing across her face. “Being under the scepter’s control is… horrible. It’s like there’s something else in your head that suppresses who you are. It makes you think you want to follow the orders you’re given. Even if they’re horrible things. You’d do them. You’d happily do them.”

 

You cross your arms and look away, your gaze going to the source of all of this trouble. The scepter rests innocently inside its bubble on the table. Worry sits in your stomach, a pinch of guilt, hurt.

 

“As a wielder, it’s different,” Willow continues, her voice still hushed. “It’s… It’s a power trip. Almost like a high. You just… don’t doubt anything. Everything feels like it makes sense.” She frowns, shooting a look towards the weapon. “It’s almost like it’s alive. It gets in your head, like it’s reading you, getting a feel for what you want and who you are. You’re still you, but it latches on to the parts of you that can be twisted. It pushes logic over emotion. I…” she looks around at the faces of everyone in the room, her voice wavering. “I barely felt anything, except for… for some sort of righteous anger.”

 

The way Will’s voice shakes makes your heart clench painfully. Fury watches her skeptically, eye narrowed as he thinks. Steve has his arm around Will in a protective manner, eying the director while he deliberates on the information.

 

“If we think about this experience practically… we could see it as a window,” Natasha says slowly. “A window into Loki’s mind. How he thinks. Maybe we can figure out his plan, or at least come up with some plausible theories.”

 

“Star had the scepter for thirty minutes, tops,” Steve says, brows coming together as he speaks. “Loki’s had it for over a year.”

 

“And if it alters aspects of a person’s personality…” you say quietly, sentence trailing off as you worry your lip. Silence falls in the room, and you look up to find that everyone is staring at you. You shift uncomfortably, gathering your train of thought. “Well, it had no shortage of traits to work with.”

 

“So, he was already crazy,” Tony says cheerily, earning himself a glare from Thor.

 

“He was already ambitious,” Willow says before things can get out of hand. “Analytical. Cunning. It’s definitely amplified those, which wouldn’t have been hard to do.” She lets out a sigh, fingers absentmindedly picking at the hem of her shirt. “It’s like it’s taken away any sort of emotional weakness, and also thrown whatever morals he did have out the window.”

 

“I… I suppose that is fair,” Thor concedes.

 

“So, if this thing induces a more logical state of mind, then logically, what would’ve been his next step with the cube?” Fury asks the room.

 

“He wants to build a portal with it, right?” Natasha asks.

 

“Yep,” Tony states. “That’s the working theory, anyway. But he needs a powerful energy source to heat the cube.”

 

“Which he’ll have Selvig working on,” Fury says, nodding. “We’ve been over this.”

 

“Does this planet have the necessary natural or technological resources for something like that?” Thor asks.

 

“Sure,” Tony says with a shrug, and resumes his pacing along the side of the room. “It’s not really a matter of if they can do it, it’s more of a where. Where would be the best place for something of that magnitude, with enough energy to maintain….” He trails off, mumbling to himself rather than the entire room.

 

“Well, he’s got the means to go anywhere he wants,” Natasha points out. “But at least he has less agents in his pocket. Maybe things will go slower for him now that he doesn’t have as many people working for him.”

 

“I wouldn’t take comfort in that,” Willow says with a worried frown. “He won’t have brought what he couldn’t afford to lose.”

 

“I agree,” Thor says, running a hand across his bearded chin as he thinks. “He was always tactical in his planning, although I’ve never seen a scheme of his developed to this degree.”

 

“What if you do that scan-for-energy-spikes thing?” you ask Tony, your eyes lighting up hopefully at the thought. “Like you did when we were looking for Will.”

 

“Still just a waiting game on that, just like it was with her,” Stark replies, much to your disappointment. “Nothing will show, unless he’s already got the power source working and fired up.”

 

“He won’t fire up anything until he’s fully prepared,” Willow adds quietly, glancing at the scepter on the table. “He knows we’re looking for him. Once it starts, he’ll do everything as quickly and efficiently as he can.”

 

“Let’s get a list of capable energy sources, then,” Rogers says grimly. “Any and all possibilities.”

 

“Having an ongoing search for an energy spike could be a failsafe, though,” Romanoff notes.

 

“I agree,” Fury says to both of them. “I’ll have people look into it.”

 

The room falls quiet, each individual temporarily wrapped up in their own thoughts.

 

“What I don’t understand,” Willow says into the silence, “is why Loki left the scepter behind.”

 

“He did?” you ask, eyes widening in alarm.

 

“He practically gave it to me,” Will confirms. “It doesn’t make any sort of logical sense, so I really don’t understand why he did it.”

 

“He gave it to you?” Fury questions.

 

“It had to be a play,” Romanoff states, shaking her head. “Maybe he wanted it to overtake her. Maybe he thought she’d turn on us.”

 

“That’s not like her, though,” Steve says with a frown. “If it’s not already a part of her, then the scepter wouldn’t have had anything to tweak, right?”

 

“No, but she was about to head off on her own,” Tony points out. “Maybe it was just to split us up. Take her out of the equation. Corner her off somewhere, I don’t know.”

 

“A grim prospect,” Thor mutters. “But not unlikely.”

 

“I talked to him, right before everything went to shit,” you state, ignoring the various reactions the team has to this news. You look instead into the displeased face of Fury and say, “He mentioned that he had a plan. One that was supposedly ‘the answer to everything’. Can you pull the security tapes for the cell, right before the attack?”

 

“It’s wiped,” Fury replies, gloved hands clenching into fists. “Our systems are still down. Barton did a good job at that, before Agent Romanoff managed to take him out of commission.”

 

“Great,” you grumble angrily, glaring at the floor as you think back on Loki’s smug expression when he told you no one would see the footage. “Well, it did not go great,” you admit, looking up once more. “He did talk about the scepter, though. Mentioned something about dying if he didn’t have it, and that he was drawing power from it. He also said he was… working with some really dangerous people. Said some kind of weird name.”

 

“What name?” Fury asks at once.

 

“I don’t know, he only said it once,” you reply, your frustration rising with his. You see again flashes of the memories Loki had shared with you, of a man being torn apart and the group of people talking about skinning him. You shudder. “It’s a guy and his children? They apparently killed Trenchcoat – that freak from New Mexico,” you add, seeing the confused look on Fury’s face. In your peripherals you notice Thor’s hand rise, and he lightly touches his eye patch. You grimace and move off the topic. “Anyway, then I popped in on you guys arguing, and… well, didn’t get a chance to say anything until now.”

 

“Can you get the footage once the system is back online?” Natasha asks, folding her arms across her chest.

 

“Maybe,” Fury grunts.

 

“Hopefully,” you say.

 

Again, it is quiet, and you feel like joining Stark in his pacing. You’re exhausted, and your face hurts from where it’d bashed into the lab floor, but you’re full of anxiety with no way to alleviate its source.

 

“So, we’re back to square one,” Tony notes evenly. “Actually, no, square zero, because we lost Banner. No cube, and no one who knows how to find it.”

 

“Sounds right,” Natasha says, and the thought makes you feel even more tired.

 

“Welp,” Stark concludes, turning around at the front of the room and walking towards the back, “I need a fucking drink.”

 

He shakes his head as he walks out of the room without being dismissed.

 

---

 

You sit with Willow and Steve at a table in one of the helicarrier’s communal rooms, going through every detail of what had happened on both ends while you and Thor had been absent. Will seems more than relieved that you both survived the fall.

 

Thor himself sits nearby on the edge of a couch that faces the room’s sizeable windows. He thinks that if he were on the planet’s surface looking up, he would no doubt consider it a cloudy night. The cloudline that the ship flies above is thick, imitating a dark, solid (if not fluffy) ground that simply begs to be stepped upon. It might be possible to forget how high up the helicarrier flies, had he not recently plummeted from its underbelly. But above the false ground, the sky is clear, and Thor can see the stars.

 

He listens to you talk, adding in information from his perspective every now and then, the smile temporarily returning to his face when he describes successfully bursting through the glass wall of the box. Afterwards, he stays quiet as Rogers and Willow explain in more detail what had happened with Will and the scepter.

 

“I’m glad you were there,” you tell Steve Rogers, wincing as you realize that biting on the inside of your lip while listening to your companions has finally caused you to bleed.

 

“Me, too,” Willow says, her eyes still full of guilt. “It was… scary. Everyone needs to stay away from that scepter. No exceptions.”

 

The weapon has been confined to the ship’s lab, Willow’s field remaining around it as an added precaution.

 

The grim topic is temporarily put aside when Clint and Natasha walk into the room.

 

“Willow,” Barton says, walking up to where the three of you sit. Your friend and the archer cringe simultaneously, and Clint rubs at his eyes. “I just wanted to… thank you. For freeing me. I heard it cost you.”

 

“I don’t think freeing you was the cause of… all of that,” Will says. She takes a breath, and then looks up at Barton with a smile. “But regardless, I’m glad to see you’re doing well!”

 

He lets out a dry laugh. “Maybe not well. But better. Much better.” He considers her for a moment, and then says, “It’s nice to meet under… different circumstances.”

 

The two wince at the same time once more, and Willow forces another smile as she replies, “Yeah, it really is.”

 

Barton and Natasha choose to sit at the table with the three of you as everyone helps the archer get up to speed on what was going on while he had been under Loki’s influence. Fury has recently debriefed him, although he is still keen to share his experiences with the entire group, especially with someone that can relate to what he has been through.

 

Eventually, the topic of New Mexico is brought up as a commonality, and Thor pulls up a chair and joins the table as well, excited that Barton had been present for some of the debacle.

 

“Tracked those fucking things all over the desert,” Clint says of the monsters and their master. He grimaces and then adds, “Lost a good agent.”

 

“Well, unless I was lied to – which is pretty possible, but whatever – Trenchcoat is dead,” you tell Barton. “And the last of his beasts, too.”

 

The thought is sobering, although you don’t have time to dwell, as the door to the room suddenly flies open with an unnecessary amount of force. If Thor hadn’t been sitting at the table with you, you would’ve thought it was him making such an entrance.

 

Instead, it’s Tony, who loudly exclaims, “Well, glad I finally figured out where the party’s at!”

 

“Looks like you’ve already started the party,” you note, eyeing the way he uses the doorframe to keep himself steady.

 

“Are you drunk?” Rogers asks, his tone incredulous.

 

Stark lifts his hand, which does indeed have a flask in it. “Everyone should always carry a flask,” he says, as if it is obvious.

 

“This is true!” Thor declares with a laugh, patting the pocket on his right hip.

 

“Don’t encourage him,” Steve says under his breath, rolling his eyes as he shakes his head.

 

“Hey, Cap? Loosen up,” Stark says lightly, pulling another chair up to the already crowded table. “Prohibition’s over now. You don’t have to worry.”

 

Stark’s chosen to sit between you and Thor, and as soon as he’s settled he offers his flask to both of you. “Care for a drink?”

 

Thor laughs, clapping Tony on the shoulder. “I appreciate the offer, but Midgardian alcohol is nothing. ‘Twould be a waste of a drink.”

 

“Really,” you agree. “Sorry, Stark. That shit will only do anything for you humans.”

 

“Pity, though. I could use a drink,” Will murmurs with a little laugh.

 

Thor perks up, his hand going to the pocket he had patted earlier. Steve’s eyebrow rises, and Will gives the captain an apologetic smile.

 

Tony scoffs, waving a finger around at the entire table. “Chickens, all of you.” He strings an arm across your shoulders and doesn’t seem to notice when you shoot him a very obvious glare. “What’re we talkin’ about?”

 

“New Mexico,” Barton says, looking Stark over, as if he doesn’t quite know what to make of him just yet.

 

“Don’t get him started on the monsters,” Natasha says quietly to Clint. “He’s already complained about them enough.”

 

“Monsters?” Stark asks with a frown. After a beat, his eyes light up in recognition. “New Mexico. Right, yeah, yeah!”

 

“Here you are, Healer,” Thor declares over Tony’s exclamations, reaching across Rogers as he passes Will a rather large, ornate flask. “Aged for a thousand years, from the wreck of Grunhel’s fleet. A favorite of mine.”

 

Will appraises Thor to see if he’s serious, shrugs, and then takes a drink. Her eyebrows go up and she coughs a few times as she sets the flask back on the table. “Wow, that’s strong.”

 

“I’ll try it. Here, trade me,” Tony states at once, pushing his flask towards the middle of the table. “I wanna’ taste thousand year Grunhel feet liquor.”

 

“Fleet,” Clint corrects through a snort.

 

Thor bellows out a laugh and then addresses Tony. “Alas, that would be an awful idea, especially in your current state. It might kill you, Stark, I can’t have that on my conscious.”

 

“In that case, let’s go ahead and let him try it,” you grumble, but Stark merely laughs and squeezes you into a side hug.

 

“See? Spark believes in me!”

 

Natasha takes the flask, assures both Willow and Thor that she will not partake, and then sniffs the contents. Her nose wrinkles and she passes the container back to Will, who hands it off to Rogers to give back to Thor. The captain hesitates, staring down at the intricate metalwork on the Asgardian flask.

 

“Ah, fuck it, I guess. It’s been a long day,” Steve mutters, and takes a drink before returning the container to its owner.

 

“I’ve just said this could kill a mortal!” Thor exclaims, eyebrows rising as he stares at Steve.

 

Tony ignores Thor’s outburst and gasps as loudly as he can. “Language, Rogers! How are the children supposed to look up to Mr. America if he swears?!”

 

“Mr. America,” Natasha repeats, pressing her lips together as she tries to stop a smile.

 

Will and you both burst into peals of laughter, and the act of laughing, truly laughing, over something so ridiculous is more cathartic than you ever thought it could be. Steve puts his head down and groans in annoyance, Thor watching him with a mixture of concern and curiosity until Natasha reminds him that Rogers isn’t a normal human and not likely to die from Asgardian alcohol.

 

“If those two can handle it, he’ll be fine,” she says, nodding her head towards you and Will.

 

Rogers sits up and glowers across the table at Stark, who seems to be in an even better mood now. Tony grins and then loudly proclaims, “C’mon, guys, even Rogers is in the spirit of partaking in spirits.” He turns to face you, jostling you a bit. “C’mon, Sparks.”

 

“Don’t think it’s a good time to get tanked,” you admit begrudgingly, glancing over towards the room’s large windows. You heave a sigh and then mutter, “But gods, I wish it was.”

 

“Not until we catch him,” Romanoff agrees, seemingly following your train of thought.

 

You remember the lab’s huge front windows in New Mexico, and how vulnerable you felt as you stared out of them every night. Danger was out there in the desert, prowling in the dark. And you almost feel like that once more; you can’t help but wonder where Loki is and what his next move will be.

 

It’s a strange thought, that the danger you now fear is someone you once trusted with your heart. You force yourself to look away from the room’s windows, putting New Mexico out of your mind. Your eyes meet Willow’s from across the table, and the two of you share a worried glance. You finally drop your gaze, eyes landing on the silver bracelet around your wrist.

 

“I’ll happily drink myself into oblivion once I put an arrow through the eye of that psychopath,” Clint says, his glare cutting to the side as he’s reminded of the situation’s current reality.

 

“Psychopath? More like a diva!” Tony declares, which makes you snort, because it’s true. “Loki’s a full-tilt diva. Look at Germany, what all went on, that big crowd. Wants to win, and wants to be seen doing it. Every diva needs an audience.”

 

“Sure,” you say, amusement fading at the mention of what had happened in Stuttgart. You wriggle a bit and Stark finally drops his arm from around your shoulders.

 

“Stark,” Rogers warns with a frown.

 

But Tony’s on a roll, and he’s not listening to anyone anymore. “That was the preview, see?” he asks, tapping his finger against the table as he continues rambling. “And then next, next it’ll be opening night. Flowers! Parades! Why not throw a confetti canon or two in there? Or, yes, fog machines!” Stark hiccups, and he clears his throat as he slaps his hands down on the table in front of him. “All the fog machines. He wants lights, statues, a… a fucking monument built in the skies, with his name plastered on… with his name….” Stark trails off, his eyes narrowing as he stares at his hands.

 

“I think that’s enough,” Natasha says wearily, nimbly collecting Tony’s flask and screwing on the top.

 

“Son of a bitch,” Tony says quietly, still staring at his hands without seeing them. “Son of a bitch. It’s… he…. Son of a bitch!” he sputters, looking around at everyone with wide eyes. “My building!”

 

“What? A building?” Thor asks, head tilting in confusion as he watches Tony.

 

“Energy source!” Stark shouts, jumping to his feet and causing his chair to fall over backwards. “Holy SHIT! That fucker’s at my building, I’d bet my life, the tower, oh, that’s clever, the dramatic irony of it all, that’s clever, throwing it right in my fucking face, wow, just wow. Thinks he’s fucking smart, well, I figured it out, dickbag!” He shakes his fist at the ceiling, turning away from the table as he does so.

 

“Stark Tower,” Rogers says softly, understanding slowly dawning on his face. “Sustainable energy.”

 

“Where’s Fury?” Tony asks, his tone almost manic. He’s already heading towards the room’s exit. “I need an aerial view of the tower right now!”

 

The loud noise of chairs being frantically pushed away from the table sounds as the rest of the group rises to follow him.

Chapter 18: The Beginning of the End

Notes:

Chapter is a little late, so this is technically a Monday update 😅 Sorry, guys! I had to read over this one like, four times because I wanted to get it right.
Hope it turned out well, and thanks for sticking with me! :)

P.S. There's like, one paragraph of mild NSFW content in here, it's italicized if you want to skip it.

Chapter Text

The ship’s lab is full of nervous energy, everyone wanting to take action but having no way to do so. The lab itself is barely functional after the attack, but nevertheless, Stark persists until he finds a working program that can provide a view of his building.

 

“We have to call Carla,” Willow says to Fury. “She’s still in New York. She can tell us if there’s anything going on.”

 

“And she can start a preemptive evacuation if necessary,” Rogers adds, nodding his head.

 

“Have to go to the bridge for that,” Fury tells them, tapping a finger on the counter he’s leaned against. “Ground communication should hopefully be up by now.”

 

“Where’s it at?” Stark asks himself under his breath, squinting at the keyboard as he tries to navigate the lab’s system. “Fucking hell.”

 

“God,” Natasha mutters, but moves to assist him in his typing endeavor.

 

It’s quick work after that.

 

“Ah-ha!” Tony shouts triumphantly, turning in his seat and jabbing a finger repeatedly towards the holographic monitor as he looks around the room. “Look at that! Something’s being built up there, and I definitely didn’t authorize it.”

 

“I’ll be damned,” Clint says lowly.

 

Fury starts talking into his earpiece, contacting whoever is on duty as the helmsman. You hear him order a new heading, and as he does so, something seems to click into place in your mind.

 

“That picture,” you blurt out, looking over towards Thor. “Remember? The one of the fake Loki in New York, that you wanted to go investigate. There were so many agents around him.”

 

“He was fake. They weren’t,” Thor finishes your thought, giving you a short nod.

 

“He sent them to set up,” Natasha states grimly.

 

“We’re an hour out from the city,” Fury speaks up, attention returning to those present now that he’s done giving orders over the com. All falls silent, and his good eye roams from face to face. “And it’s time I level with you. With all of you.” The director lets out a short breath and shakes his head. “Yes, we were going to build weapons with the tesseract. I never put all my chips on that number, though, because what I had in mind was even riskier. Something I liked to call ‘The Avengers Initiative’.” He grimaces, and thumps his fist lightly against the lab’s counter. “I wanted to gather a group of remarkable people and see if they could become something more. People who could protect what needed protecting.” He stares down at his fist, where it rests on the counter. “I failed.” The sentence is short, begrudgingly acknowledged, and as his jaw clenches, you feel like he wants to take the words back. Fury looks up, his gaze passing over everyone in the room once more. “But that doesn’t mean you have to. This is bigger than New York. This is the fate of our planet on the line. I’d just like everyone to think on that.”

 

You glance between Thor and Will; Thor’s arms are crossed, his expression serious. Willow’s fingers fiddle with the hem of her shirt, her gaze intent on the director.

 

Fury clears his throat and then gestures towards Willow and Steve. “You two can come with me to the bridge, if you want to talk to Agent Castillo. Everyone else should try to rest while you’re able. But be ready. And you,” he points at Stark, who looks at him expectantly. “Sober up.”

 

Fury, Will, and Steve leave the room, and it’s quiet for half a second before Thor walks up to you and puts a heavy hand on your shoulder. “We should go now, if you are able,” he says with a small, sad smile. “We can end this without further harm to the mortals and their realm.”

 

“Whoa, now, you can’t skip out,” Stark says, frowning as he turns to face you. “We all wanna go.”

 

“He’s right,” Romanoff agrees, crossing her arms. “Who knows what the hell is gonna go down. You’ll need all the help you can get. If you go now, we’re coming, too.”

 

“Exactly,” Barton states. “I don’t think any of us want to stand around and wait.”

 

“Okay, look,” you say, taking a few steps back and holding up your hands. “I’m all for heading out right now, but I’m not going without Will, and I’m not taking a drunk idiot into a fight.” You cut your eyes to Tony, whose frown deepens. You look back at Thor, an exhausted sigh escaping you without permission. “Thor, I’d love to go settle everything on our own, but they’ve been talking about Loki summoning some kind of army. And if you and I can’t….” Talk him out of it? Stop him? You fumble over your wording and start over. “If he does that, we’re fucked. We can’t….” You scowl at the ground, hating the thought before you can even get it out. “Look, worse case scenario, we can’t do this alone without a whole lot of casualties. And I know you like humans, and so does Will, so I don’t think you’re gonna be up for that.”

 

“Hurtful,” Stark says to you, and you roll your eyes.

 

“Then let’s gear up,” Natasha says, walking forward until she stands in front of you, eye to eye. “And then we’ll all go together.”

 

You stare at her for a moment, and then nod.

 

---

 

The ship wakes in the middle of the night, its crew bustling about with a sleep-deprived determination as it makes its way towards New York.

 

You feel the heaviness of fatigue weighing on your bones as you sit in the lab and wait on everyone to reassemble. But you’ve gone for longer periods of time without adequate rest, so you aren’t worried. Everyone is tired, but duty comes first.

 

Thor leans against one of the lab’s counters, blue gaze watching agents pass by the windows. Stark sits on a stool in front of the monitors, face upturned as he stares at the image of his tower.

 

You can’t stand the quiet, because if you get lost in your thoughts, if you think too hard about what’s going on, what if he hears you? Your leg bounces up and down, and you look between Thor and Tony, itching to say something, anything.

 

“What do you need, Stark?” you ask, and he looks over at you when you say his name. “It’s sober-up time. Coffee? Cold shower? Want me to slap you?”

 

The corner of his mouth twitches up into a smile. “Actually, those are all myths. Nothing sobers you up except time. Which we do not have a lot of.”

 

“Damn. Even the slapping one? You sure?” you ask.

 

“Positive,” he affirms. “Although, the circumstances are sobering enough, let me tell you. I’m ready to go.”

 

What was Loki talking about? you ask yourself suddenly, looking Tony over as he stares at you, waiting on you to say something. Stark’s thoughts are loud?

 

What does that even mean? You want to ask Tony what he thinks of the comment. He’d probably tell you, especially with the alcohol still partially inhibiting his judgment.

 

“You don’t even have your robot suit,” you say instead, raising one of your eyebrows.

 

Tony reclines on the stool, his back resting against the computer’s keyboard. “Didn’t have enough time to get it working. But I’ve got backups at home-sweet-tower. I can suit up pretty quickly.”

 

You lapse into silence at the reminder, unable to refrain from thinking about the job you have ahead of you – getting everyone to Stark Tower. Thor speaks up in the following quiet, starting a new conversation with Tony, and you begin chewing on your lip while you spiral. The taste of iron is on your tongue almost instantly, and you frown in irritation. You’d forgotten that you’d already broken skin a few short hours ago.

 

What will be waiting at the tower? You’re sure the remaining rogue S.H.I.E.L.D. agents will be on guard, ready for trouble. You won’t be surprised if Loki realizes you’re there as soon as you step out of the portal. And how far can you get, with such a large entourage? Can you even reach New York? It’s sure to stretch your power pretty thin.

 

“Don’t die in New York, Stark,” you blurt out, interrupting Thor and Tony’s conversation. Stark appraises you, his head tilting slightly in confusion, mouth opening to make some sort of smart-ass comment, you’re sure. You raise your voice and glance over your shoulder. “You either, Thor.”

 

The god chuckles, the rumbling noise quite comforting. “Valhalla shall not take me yet, sister,” he answers warmly. “You may count on that.”

 

You force a smile and set all of your doubts aside as Willow and Rogers walk into the lab. Steve is dressed in his spangled suit, his shield in its place on his back. Will looks to you at once and sucks in a deep, steadying breath.

 

“We’re going now, aren’t we?” she asks, although it’s more of a statement than a question.

 

“Yeah,” you tell her. “Just waiting on –”

 

“We’re here,” Natasha says, walking in with Barton.

 

“And we’re ready,” Clint adds, nodding his head and adjusting a strap on his quiver.

 

“We’re all ready,” Rogers states, his voice solid, assured.

 

It makes you feel better, his tone. It’s like we’re a troop of soldiers going to war, you think, and it’s nice, it’s familiar to you. You can do this. You’ve done it a thousand times.

 

“All right,” you say with a nod, confidence bolstered. “All right. Let’s go.”

 

You extend your hand, tugging with your mind until a dark portal opens in the lab. Fuck, you’re already tired. “Stay close to me,” you tell the group, eyeing each person seriously. “All of you. Just step inside and don’t move. You do not want to get lost in here.”

 

“I didn’t miss this,” you hear Stark mutter as you turn away and walk into the dark.

 

It’s quiet, blessedly so. You didn’t realize that you’d gotten so used to the constant hum of the ship, the echoes in its halls. You can feel when each person steps into the alternate space, filing through one by one. Barton is the last, and you let the opening to the lab collapse, closing all of you off from the helicarrier.

 

There is no going back.

 

“Are you… okay?” Thor asks, staring at you with concern written across his face.

 

“Don’t,” you say quickly, your eyes screwing shut as you concentrate. “Don’t talk, nobody talk.”

 

It’s a strain, surrounding them with your energy so nobody is left behind. Willow, Steve, Thor… they aren’t meant to be in a place like this. Spots of bright light in the dark. And Stark, Barton, Romanoff, perhaps dimmer, but still too much. You keep them all corralled in your head as you mentally reach out, using Willow and Rogers’ apartment as a landmark, a guide back to the city.

 

As if she realizes what you’re doing, you feel Will take your hand. You know it’s her. And it helps. You push yourself further, and further still, reaching and tugging everyone closer to the city, each pull feeling as if you’re dragging them all up a cliff with one hand. They’re heavy.

 

The apartment. Past it, you know where Stark Tower is, you’ve been there before. You mentally claw your way there, and you feel yourself break out into a cold sweat.

 

You can make it.

 

You can.

 

You can’t.

 

You’ve managed to reach the alley of the building beside the tower, and that’s as far as you’re going to get. You grit your teeth, jerking your hand up as you forcibly tear open a rip out of the dark void. “Out!” you hiss. “Now!”

 

You’re losing it, you can feel your consciousness slipping. Romanoff, Barton, Thor, Stark, Rogers. Your mind counts them off as they step out. You feel Will tug on your hand, and she pulls you out, too. There’s concrete beneath your feet.

 

You’re relieved, for a good two seconds.

 

But then….

 

There you are, darling. I’ve missed you.

 

“He knows,” you say in a groan, your body slumping over. Hands support you, Will’s, others, you don’t know. You’re out of the dark, but all you see is black. Your voice is nothing more than a whisper. “Shit, he knows.”

 

The portal slams shut as you pass out.

 

---

 

She’s here, Loki thinks to himself, surprised at the grin that curls across his face, unbidden. He wipes the expression, scowls at the smile and the feeling it was born from. His frown dips further when he realizes the scepter’s power remains farther away, whereas you and the Healer have drawn close.

 

He’s truly to understand that neither of you brought it? It will end up in New York by the end, however, that he knows.

 

He’s unbothered.

 

Your Willow, though. She held it, sensed its power and what it was. For how long? he wonders. Regardless, with her sense of justice, of good, she will not stand for the scepter or the cube to be given back to someone so dangerous. Not The Other, or Thanos. Not even the humans, she’ll have realized by now that the pathetic mortals have no idea what sort of power they’re playing with. No, she will be appalled, especially after being influenced by the scepter itself. The Healer is a strong ally, he’s recognized that from the beginning. And even if you have yet to hold the scepter, if it has yet to call to you, you will care, because she cares.

 

Because that is your weakness.

 

That’ll ensure that the both of you will rest securely in his pocket when the time comes. Loki will have Earth, he’ll have the tesseract, and in the end, he’ll have the scepter – by the Nine where is the scepter, its power, he needs that back soon – and once all is said and done, perhaps he will bargain with the Healer and his dearest brother, if they survive. What will they give up in exchange for Earth? He’s dying to find out.

 

He looks to the agent standing guard near the penthouse’s exit and nods his head up towards the roof. “Tell the good doctor that it’s time.”

 

The man dips his head and strides away.

 

Less than a minute later, there’s a bright, sizzling flash; thunder resounds at once, the noise sending a deafening boom through the penthouse. Something thuds on the balcony outside, and Loki sighs through his nose and puts a hand to his temple.

 

“Loki!” Thor bellows, “Cease this madness! I will destroy the tesseract if I have to!”

 

Loki finally meets Thor’s gaze, and the two stare at one another for a long moment. At last, he forces himself to walk, and he steps outside to join his brother on the balcony. “Thor,” Loki greets coldly, lifting his voice to be heard above the wind. “I see you survived. A shame, really. I truly was curious.”

 

The event replays in Loki’s mind, the satisfaction he felt as he watched Thor disappear, trapped in that damned box, tumbling through the air. And you…. You’d leapt after his brother, you’d been eager to save him…. He scowls, jealousy clenching at his chest at the reminder, and Thor, Thor.

 

“Stop this,” Thor says, his voice hoarse. “I’ll beg of you if I must.”

 

“It’s too late,” Loki spits, looking away from Thor’s hurt gaze. “It’s too late to stop it.”

 

“No,” Thor says solemnly, walking up to his brother and lowering Mjolnir. “We can, Loki. Together. I swear it. Whatever has happened, whatever you are mixed up in, we can find a way to end it.” He takes a breath, and then states, “You are not yourself. That scepter has changed you, brother, made you into something… else. We saw it done with the healer, but she broke free, Loki. I believe in you. I know you’re able, and you know you are not alone.”

 

Loki laughs bitterly, and Thor realizes that he sounds… tired. He lets him laugh, waits in anxious worry. And after the laughter, there is… nothing. The sound dies, and the two are left staring at one another once more, waiting. His gaze is hollow, Thor thinks, and it hurts to see such a thing on someone that he loves.

 

The God of Thunder watches as Loki’s face slowly softens, just slightly, his blue eyes hesitant, perhaps a bit unsure. Thor brightens, cautiously lifting a hand and then placing it securely on Loki’s shoulder, as he always has. And for a moment… Thor’s reminded of when they were younger, brothers and friends, a time before darker things had taken root inside Loki’s heart.

 

Blue light flares from the roof of Stark Tower, the beam illuminating the balcony, the city. And as Thor Odinson lifts his head to look, his brother puts a knife in his side, into the old wound from Paris.

 

“Sentiment,” Loki says in Thor’s ear.

 

And then the Chitauri begin to emerge.

 

---

 

You ride him, breathing hard, his hands gripping your hips, fingers digging into your skin, hard enough to bruise. You lean over towards his face, your hand slipping accidentally, your weight and his motion causing you to jolt forward. Your palm presses against his throat.

 

He inhales as much as he’s able, the sound a sharp gasp. You hadn’t realized his pupils could be any more dilated, his gaze practically black as he stares up at you, groan vibrating in his throat, you feel it in your fingers.

 

You go to pull your hand back, removing the pressure, a breathless apology on your lips, but a strong grip catches your wrist.

 

You know how this night went. Please, he had said.

 

But now, the memory has veered off course, because instead the prince hisses, “Do it.”

 

“What?” you ask quietly.

 

He puts his hand over yours, squeezing tightly, too tightly, and yet his voice is clear. Your fingers dig into his throat, deep indents in his pale skin. He stares straight into your eyes, his gaze as bright a blue as ever. “Can you kill me, love?” You try to jerk your hand back, but you’re trapped, and Loki opens his mouth and laughs the laugh that does not belong to him. But now, now his voice is gone as well, replaced with the one you both fear and loathe. “Go ahead, put a knife in my throat. End me, like you ended him. Will it be as easy?”

 

“Stop it,” you whisper.

 

“I can’t,” he answers with a mean smile.

 

His eyes are going bloodshot, his face turning red, and yet still, he smiles, he laughs that sick laugh.

 

And you’re watching him die.

 

“I can’t,” you echo, fighting his grip, your struggles growing desperate, your voice straining as you feel tears roll down your cheeks. “No!”

 

You hear your name, and everything slowly vanishes as you lose track of where you are and what you’re doing. You float up into the blackness, and then you realize that your eyes are closed.

 

You’re awake.

 

You blink a few times and are immediately struck with sensory overload. You’re sitting, your torso leaned against a brick wall. It’s still dark, yet the sky is lit up with an all too familiar blue. Natasha has knelt in front of you and she’s shaking your shoulder, her face tense as she says your name and peers upwards. The blue casts an eerie light across her features, dulling the color of her red hair. You slowly realize that you’re still in the alleyway, near Stark Tower. You follow Romanoff’s gaze and your stomach drops when you see that there’s a bright beam of blue that stretches up, and where it meets Earth’s sky, there’s a hole, revealing the deep vastness of space.

 

And something else, something wrong; shapes are pouring from the hole. Airships, your mind names them.

 

The city is loud with fear, screams and crashes, alarms and explosions that shake the ground beneath you.

 

You grab Natasha’s hand, so that she will stop trying to wake you, and she snaps her head towards you at the touch.

 

“He’s got his army,” Romanoff tells you, her lips pressing together tightly after she speaks. She puts a finger to the device in her ear and states, “She’s awake.”

 

“Where is everyone?” you ask, forcing yourself to your feet.

 

Your knees shake and you almost stumble, but Natasha briefly puts a hand on your arm to help steady you. You realize she’s got her gun pulled, and her eyes go over your shoulder towards the chaotic sounds of screaming. “Trying to help,” she says in answer to your question. “Turn your com on.”

 

You do as she suggests, and the voice of Rogers erupts in your ear at once, relaying directions to Barton. Willow cuts in, relief in her tone as she says your name.

 

“I’m alive,” you say to the channel.

 

There’s another explosion that rattles the windows of nearby buildings, and a large flash of lightning temporarily washes out the blue of the portal. Thor is battling it out in the sky, trying to stem the flow of Chitauri.

 

Rogers and Will are working the streets, Barton’s getting to a vantage point, Natasha’s here with you….

 

You take a deep breath and then slowly let it out. “Where is he?” you ask Romanoff, your voice measured.

 

Loki.

 

She knows whom you’re referring to. The agent looks at you, her expression impossible to read. “The Tower, we think. Stark went up for a suit and hasn’t reported in.”

 

“Where are you headed?” you ask her.

 

“Up,” she tells you, looking again to the blue beam that holds the portal open.

 

You grimace, and then nod. “Great. Let’s go.”

 

---

 

The elevator doors open, and Stark strides into the penthouse. He pauses when he sees Loki, who is standing in front of the floor-length windows with his arms folded behind his back. The door to the balcony is open, letting in the sounds of distant terror. He gazes at the view of the city, watching as it devolves into chaos before his eyes.

 

“Honey, I’m home!” Tony calls out, lifting his arms in a wide gesture.

 

Loki turns slowly, fixed in place, although his eyes follow Tony as he walks towards the bar. “Stark.”

 

“Gotta’ tell ya,” Tony says casually, heaving a large sigh as he sets out two glasses, “it has been one hell of a day.” He pours a bit of liquor into each glass, and then lifts one up towards Loki. “Drink?”

 

“I don’t want your Midgardian swill,” he answers, his tone dangerously calm.

 

“Your loss,” Stark replies with a shrug.

 

“Stalling,” Loki says, taking a slow step forward. “What will that accomplish? Everything has already been set in motion. I’m simply here to take in the view.”

 

“Nah, you’re waiting,” Stark says knowingly, and then drinks from one of the glasses he has set out. Beneath the bar, he carefully slips his prototype honing device onto his wrist. “You’re just hanging around because you want an ass kicking. Fucking masochist, I swear.”

 

Loki sneers at him. “From the Avengers, I assume?” He laughs dryly and walks closer to the bar. “Pardon me, if I don’t seem frightened by a group of fools playing hero.”

 

“Hey, we are a team of fools, okay? Get it right,” Tony says, waving a hand towards Loki dismissively.

 

“I have an army,” Loki states flatly.

 

“We’ve got your girlfriend,” Stark states in kind. He makes a face and then taps a finger to his chin. “Er, ex-girlfriend? Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter.”

 

“Don’t,” Loki snarls, his hands fisting at his sides

 

“Yeah, me and her, we’re besties now,” Tony says brightly. “Friendship bracelets incoming, am I right?” He laughs, and Loki’s jaw clenches. Stark notices and grins as he presses on. “And, you know, I think that’s driving you crazy. Well, crazier.”

 

“A death wish, is it Stark?” Loki asks lowly, the fire in his voice barely contained. “Can’t live with the guilt anymore, the sleepless nights, the things you can’t drown out with countless, empty bottles?”

 

“You’re missing the point,” Stark says, although his smile seems tight, frozen on his face. “There’s no throne here, no version of this where you come out on top. And in the end, it’s all gonna’ be on you. I mean, c’mon!” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, ignoring Loki’s glare. “We’ve got a super soldier, a guy with astonishing anger-management issues, a couple of master assassins, and me, of course. And we’re just the ones from Earth! Do I even have to mention Sunshine, or your brother, or your girlfriend?” Stark sips his drink and then raises both of his eyebrows at Loki. “Not looking so great, man. I’d call it.”

 

“You’re going to die now, Stark,” Loki tells him, his tone quite pleasant.

 

“Actually, I’m just here to pick something up,” Tony says, pursing his lips and then shrugging as his eyes lock on something behind the Asgardian. “Besides, I think you have bigger fish to fry.”

 

Loki’s eyes seem to shine in the light from the bar. “You’d make that horrid idiom your last words?” He lets out a derisive laugh, smile altogether too wide. “Very well.”

 

And then he hears the footsteps.

 

Loki turns as you kick in the window. The entire thing shatters, and your boots crunch on the shards as you step inside the penthouse. Stark shouts for J.A.R.V.I.S., Natasha rushes past you for the stairs, and one of Tony’s suits flies from an adjoining room. They’re moving as fast as possible, as if they think Loki might suddenly make a move to stop them.

 

But he doesn’t. Neither of you have moved, eyes locked, with no glass box between you this time.

 

Back online!’ Stark’s voice says cheerily in your ear – he’s suited up. ‘You owe me a window, by the way.’ He soars past you out of said broken window, hovering over the balcony as Steve’s voice patches through.

 

‘Stark, good. We’ve got people trapped on Fifth!’

 

Rogers,’ Stark answers as confirmation. As he speeds off, you hear him ask, ’You good, Sparks?’

 

You don’t reply.

Chapter 19: The Big Apple

Notes:

First of all, I want to remind you guys that I'm not rewriting the ENTIRE Avengers movie. If you want to see the movie, go watch it lol. I'm not including everything in detail and I'm glossing over some scenes and events that don't change much in this version of things.
I'd also like to warn you that I'm a bit behind, so there might not be an update next Sunday, we'll have to see!
In any case, please enjoy the upcoming fiasco.
:)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The eastern kingdom is full of dark buildings, their embellishments quite plain, if any are present at all. It’s such a contrast to the golden city of Asgard that Asmund is at first taken aback; he is almost ashamed at his shock, to have grown so used to such splendor. However, it seems that what the city lacks in architectural grandeur it makes up for with its flora. The streets are lined with exotic plant life: trees that stretch high and are covered with red blooms, gardens that flourish in the spaces between shops and houses, and gorgeous flowers that provide splashes of color among the streets and the eastern people. The air smells sweet, although far from cloying.

 

It is a fair-weather morning, and there are plenty of citizens bustling about in the heart of the city. People have come to greet the Asgardian troops, children hailing them from the streets with excited cries. Most recognize Fandral, who beams as if he is royalty himself when he hears others shouting his name, hoping to garner his attention.

 

Obasi seems to care for none of it, his gaze leveled directly in front of him, locking on the palace gates as they draw near. Asmund rides beside the captain out in front of their troops, and he can’t help but realize how ridiculous he looks in comparison – his golden robes are bright, his boyish features laughable when put beside the composed and serious man in armor. He tries not to dwell, and regardless, his mind is soon occupied with what he can see of the eastern palace itself.

 

It is much larger than the buildings and homes they have passed, but nowhere near the size of Asgard’s. The gates are crafted of dark metal, the guards standing near wearing black armor to match. Even their spears are made of the same steel, all black save for the bright, red ruby imbedded where the blade connects to the shaft.

 

Asmund shares a confused glance with Obasi, both no doubt thinking along the same lines.

 

Why is everything so… peaceful? They’d received word that the kingdom needed aid, and yet all is seemingly well. Perhaps the fight is elsewhere?

 

At the gates, Obasi pulls on his horse’s reigns and Asmund follows suit, eager to see the royal grounds. As the beasts come to a stop, one of the guards steps forward before either man can dismount, his attitude quite lax for someone in his position.

 

“King Garth says he don’t wanna’ see you,” the guard says bluntly. “There’s been a mistake, see? There was a little tousle, but we took care of it ourselves. Seems somebody sent out an invite without really thinking it through.” The man raises his eyebrows, smiling sardonically at the two Asgardians. His fellow guard is unable to hide a quiet snicker.

 

Obasi’s shoulders stiffen, and Asmund can’t stop the shocked look that flashes across his face. Was this whole thing… had the entire march been for nothing? A waste of time manufactured by a petty man in response to something that had transpired over a year ago? And for what purpose? To teach Asgard a lesson for inviting his daughter to their palace when the reigning king had not intended to marry her?

 

Could the eastern ruler truly be so childish?

 

“We’d see him, regardless,” Obasi says pointedly, his frown deep with irritation. “We shall hear it from the king himself.”

 

“You shan’t,” the guard disagrees. “Ol’ King Garth sends his apologies, of course, but he’s quite busy at the moment. Got a wedding to plan, and what for. Happy time for the kingdom, yeah.” He shifts his weight, settling the butt of his spear on the ground and using it to prop himself up. “Nothing here for you lot to do, I’m afraid. But we all wish you safe travels home, of course.”

 

The dismissal is obvious, and it leaves a bad taste in Asmund’s mouth. Obasi stares the smiling man down, displeasure rolling off of him in waves. This seems to have no impact on either guard, both of which decide to ignore the fighters amassed in front of them and return to their positions. They resume a conversation they had been previously partaking in, solidifying the fact that the entire mission had all been for naught.

 

“You’ll be hearing from the Allfather,” Obasi states as he turns his horse.

 

“We look forward to it!” the second guard calls out cheerfully.

 

Asmund swings his horse around, nudging its sides with his boots in order to catch up to the angry captain. They pass by their confused troops, who call out questions until Obasi gives the order to turn and march.

 

“Are we truly returning?” Asmund asks once he’s side by side with Obasi once more.

 

“What other choice do we have?” the captain asks gruffly, narrowing his eyes. “I have never had my time so blatantly wasted.”

 

“It seems… strange,” Asmund says, his thoughts racing.

 

“Strange?” Obasi asks, and then lets out a short laugh. “Perhaps. Or perhaps we’re still paying for the Trickster God’s mischief.”

 

Asmund frowns and does not reply. The citizens lining the street continue to call out to them, and it seems as if they’re as confused as the Asgardians are. Asmund’s gaze sweeps across the many faces surrounding them, and then catches on a particular woman, who stands in the shadow of one of the shop buildings. It is nothing of her looks that makes her noticeable; it is the absolute devastation on her face as she watches the Asgardian troops pass back through the city.

 

“Hear me out,” Asmund says carefully to Obasi, his eyes still on the woman. “Let us exit the city, yes, but linger on the outskirts.”

 

“What for?” the captain asks, clearly confused.

 

Excuses run rapidly through Asmund’s mind:

 

To give their men time to rest, before resuming the march? Not logical; they’d broken camp not two hours ago.

 

To perform some magic and get back at the king for wasting their time? No, Obasi wouldn’t care for the suggestion; he’s a stoic and law-abiding man.

 

No, no, no, what can Asmund say to buy a few hours, perhaps even the entire day? What will Obasi respond to and respect enough to humor him?

 

Oh, Asmund thinks, finally lighting on the obvious answer.

 

The truth.

 

He takes a breath and then states, “I believe something’s wrong in this kingdom, and I’m positive that within the day, someone will seek us out with information about what exactly is going on.”

 

Obasi looks over at him, his lips pursed and face contorted with doubt. Asmund stares back at him, his expression completely serious.

 

“Did you sense something, sorcerer?” Obasi asks, brow creasing as he considers the young man.

 

“Yes,” Asmund lies immediately.

 

The captain watches him for a moment more, and then lets out a low sigh. “Very well. I shall give you the benefit of the doubt, and we shall see where the instincts of a Master Sorcerer will take us. I, too, think the situation to be a bit… peculiar.”

 

He gives Asmund a small nod before looking away and returning his attention to the road in front of him. Asmund’s heart swells in his chest at the captain’s words – Obasi is treating him as a leader, an equal, not a boy wearing robes and playing sorcerer, suggesting silly ideas for no reason.

 

It’s more respect than his own sorcerers have given him so far, and it makes him even more determined to prove himself worthy.

 

In the end, it takes not even an hour for the woman to show her face.

 

---

 

Willow keeps the field up, wincing as rubble continues to fall, further weakening the light barrier. People stream out of the crumbling building, wailing and screaming, more and more, where do they stop? She tries not to think of those that had been on the floors above when the Chitauri had sent blasts through the structure. She focuses instead on assisting the people that are still alive.

 

Her heart aches as she works her way through the city, humans dying before her eyes, mass feelings of dread and fear assaulting her senses at every turn. The invading aliens are not immune to her light or her staff, and she makes quick work of any that happen across her path. The creatures appear almost humanoid in nature, although their skin is gray, their limbs are bulky and long, and their faces seemingly have no eyes. They are no challenge one on one, but the sheer numbers and their widespread destruction are unfortunately making up for this fact.

 

‘Where’s Banner? Has he shown up yet?’ Tony’s voice asks over the com channel.

 

‘Banner?’ Rogers questions, clearly perplexed.

 

Willow can see the captain off to her right, fighting back against a troop of Chitauri. She makes her way towards him, but stumbles as she senses something large swoop down from the portal in the sky. There’s a roar, and a shadow passes overhead, plunging the entire street into darkness.

 

That’s no good, she thinks to herself, staring up with narrowed eyes.

 

The being is truly monstrous in size, its wide mouth opening and letting out another low, booming rumble. It’s heavily armored, with large, metallic spines – almost fins, lining its back. Hundreds of lesser Chitauri soldiers cling to its sides as it swims through the air, unbothered by Earth’s gravity.

 

Is everyone… seeing this?’ Rogers asks. He fires on a Chitauri soldier with its own weapon and then quickly peers at the new, significantly larger problem.

 

Troops of aliens drop from the creature’s sides, landing on the edges of buildings, bursting through windows, falling amongst crowds of fleeing people. The monster itself immediately veers from its course on the street, crashing headlong through the nearest building.

 

Seeing,’ Stark’s voice confirms, and he flies past Steve and Will as he tails the new creature. ‘Not quite believing. Hoped it was the alcohol.

 

‘These things can’t bank worth a damn,’ Barton declares over the channel, taking out airships and soldiers from his vantage point. He grapples to a new spot when he garners too much attention, putting an arrow through his attacker’s head as he swings through the air. ‘Maybe that thing can’t either.’

 

‘Thor, you want to take on this one, big guy to big guy?’ Stark asks, firing off a few missiles at the massive creature. It bellows loudly, but appears wholly unaffected. ‘I seem to have gotten its attention.’

 

‘I’m busy with its kin,’ the god grunts, and another flash of lightning arcs across the slowly brightening sky.

 

‘Well, all right then,’ Stark grumbles. ‘I’ll keep it on me until our other big guy shows up. Maybe try out this banking thing, see if I can bring it in low.’

 

‘Other big guy?’ Barton asks, firing off an explosive arrow as he flinches away from the crackle of Thor’s power. Maybe he’s a little too high off the ground. ‘Don’t count on Banner, Stark. We need to contain this, quickly.’

 

‘Loki’s gonna keep this fight focused on us,’ Rogers’ voice says hurriedly. ‘And that’s what we need. What’s the story upstairs?’

 

‘The powers surrounding the cube are impenetrable,’ Thor states, glancing briefly away from his battle to eye the blue energy surrounding the tesseract. He can see two people standing near it, both of which he’s positive he recognizes. ‘With luck, Lady Natasha will have more information for us.’

 

---

 

“You’ve come to kill me.”

 

It’s a statement, not a question. You look at Loki, heart hammering in your throat. You ignore his words; pretend you never heard them. He looks bad. Worse. Always worse. You can see the sheen of sweat on his forehead, his face pallid. “You’re sick,” you say evenly.

 

His fingers curl at his sides and he grins at you as he misinterprets your observation. “Perhaps. But you’ve always known this.”

 

Something crashes in the city, Stark Tower shaking with the impact as another building topples. It’s not close enough for you to worry about, although it sets off a round of shouting on the com channel. You form a sword, your fingers firmly closing around the handle’s grip.

 

“She’ll ask you for it, soon,” Loki states with a smile, and you stare at him in complete confusion as he looks up towards the ceiling. “It’s the only way.”

 

Right, right. He’s still out of his mind. You know that.

 

“Call it off,” you tell him. Your voice is strained, but you ignore it, just as you ignored his earlier statement. You tighten your grip on your sword without meaning to, and it shifts, drawing Loki’s attention. “Last chance.”

 

“Last chance,” he repeats slowly, complete with a condescending smile. “But I’ve used all my chances by now, haven’t I?”

 

You bare your teeth; he’s absolutely right. You’re on the balls of your feet, your body and mind running on adrenaline. You crouch, a moment away from leaping forward, blade-first.

 

He smiles wider, an eyebrow rising as he calmly watches you. Confident.

 

Too confident.

 

You send out a pulse of energy, strong enough to rattle the windows and knock over the furniture closest to you. There’s a quiet sound, a small uff, and Loki – the real Loki – flashes into view on your right.

 

And now you dash, as fast as you can, swinging your sword up, and there – metal against metal. He deflects with a dagger, deftly stopping every slash as he steps towards the bar, forced back against your onslaught.

 

He keeps that smile on his face as he strikes back at you, and you dodge to the side, low to the ground, your expression impassive, blank as you stab towards him, swinging your body around to his right, hoping to cut through his defenses.

 

“You really are trying to kill me!” he exclaims, sounding absolutely delighted at the prospect, cackling as he shifts to the side and lifts his free hand.

 

A flare of bright, blue light – magic. Loki’s dagger bites into the side of your bicep as you jerk back.

 

Shit.

 

You scowl as you blink rapidly, clearing your vision. You manage to snap your sword up in time to stop his dagger from slashing across your chest.

 

He knows you as well as you know him. You’ve fought battles side by side for so long, seen one another’s tricks and habits. He’s not going to be easy to take down.

 

No, I’m not.

 

“Stop it!” you hiss angrily, and he merely laughs yet again.

 

Laughing at you. He knows your weakness, your biggest weakness – your mind. You throw up a subpar mental wall, dancing out of his dagger’s range, dodging to the side, doing all you can to keep up the rush. His throwing knives imbed themselves one by one into the wall behind you as you move.

 

You form a small blade and hurl it towards him in return. Loki turns to the side, the weapon singing through the air as it passes. It shatters something in Stark’s bar, liquid splattering against the floor behind the counter.

 

Loki grins at you and then vanishes. At once, four copies of himself reappear and stalk around you, their daggers spinning periodically. Your gaze tracks the flashes of motion as you glare between four different pairs of blue eyes. You hold your sword up defensively, dropping back as you gather the energy for another burst of power. You have high doubts that any of the four is the real Loki, but you can still feel his presence. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle uncomfortably at the idea of him creeping closer to you, invisible.

 

You grit your teeth, and –

 

‘The scepter,’ Romanoff’s voice says in your ear, and her words break through the rest of the team’s yelling. ‘I need it.’

 

Your mouth drops open, but you send out the knockback as you rush forward, cutting through the middle of two of the illusions. The team’s arguing is distracting; everyone wants an explanation. There’s another explosion deeper in the city.

 

You narrow your eyes as you spin around and catch a flash of Loki disappearing once more. His other two copies dissolve as he reappears right in front of you, dagger first. You dodge the blow and he’s gone again, then back with another strike, then gone once more, over and over, your heart pounds in your chest as you use all of your attention to keep up. His attacks are rapid, metal clashes loudly, sparks, it’s almost a strobe-like effect of Loki and his smug smirk.

 

‘Selvig’s here, and he can shut this thing down if I free him.’

 

Natasha’s voice, fuck, not now, bad time. You hurriedly analyze the direction of Loki’s strikes, calculating in your head, he hasn’t given you any time to counter when he’s visible, you’re running out of open floor. Has to be now.

 

You block again, but use extra force this time, catching the body of the blade and pushing it down, and you bring your fist up towards nothing as Loki vanishes from view.

 

Clack.

 

Your knuckles connect to the underside of his jaw, his teeth smacking together, head snapping back as he becomes visible. He purposefully follows the momentum and leaps away from you, your follow up sword strike hitting thin air.

 

You should’ve formed a knife, shoved it up through the bottom of his jaw….

 

Romanoff has convinced Will to lift the light field from the scepter, she’s asking you for something, a way to get it and get back – you’ve dashed towards Loki, who dodges to the side and then backs away, putting distance between the two of you.

 

He’s fast, yes, but without the scepter’s power to keep him going, it seems as if his body is slowly failing him. He’s still on guard with a dagger in each hand, but he’s breathing heavily, waiting for movement from you, signaling your next attack.

 

And you, you went into this knowing you were running on low.

 

“What a pair,” Loki notes with a sarcastic laugh.

 

‘Is shutting down the portal not our top priority?’

 

‘Yes, that’s not what I’m saying –’

 

‘What you’re saying is to find another way, and I’m telling you, there isn’t one.’

 

‘She’s right.’

 

“Shut up!” you growl out, although you don’t push the button on the device in your ear. “Fucking hell.” Now you press it, your words rushed. “Fine, fine, hurry.”

 

“Oh?” Loki asks, blue gaze following as you lift your hand from your ear and hold it up, fingers spread wide. “Oh,” he adds knowingly.

 

Romanoff has a fucking death wish, you swear.

 

“I’ve been wondering when you’d remove me from the situation,” Loki says to you, a sly smile appearing on his face. “I’m rather interested in it, you know. This… void-like realm.”

 

It’s a lot of work keeping two pathways open at once; it feels as if the space in between the two places is a metal spring, and you’re pinching the coils together, compressing them between your fingertips to lessen the amount of physical travel Natasha will have to do. At least both the roof and the helicarrier’s lab were easy to find – in fact, Fury’s flying ship is closer to New York than you thought it would be. The strain isn’t nearly as bad as it was on your initial voyage to the city, as Romanoff is only one person, and you can tell she’s hauling ass.

 

That being said, if Loki attacks now you’ll have to drop your focus, and there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to get back to Natasha in time. She’d be on a clock, one counting down to her being trapped in the dark nothingness forever.

 

Better keep talking, then.

 

“I wouldn’t chuck you in there,” you say, your arm visibly shaking as you continue to hold it in the air. “The dark… it’s… surprisingly fine with you. Should’ve been a red flag from the start.” You snort and shake your head. “Hell, for all I know, you’ve been planning for that. Maybe you already know how to get out of it, or use it to move around like I do, and I can’t have that.”

 

God, what a disaster that would be. He’s already blatantly told you he’s learned a lot over the time he’s been away, and you need to be cautious of that and keep it in mind.

 

You feel when Natasha returns from the lab, and at once you let that side of the path close. You can’t help but sigh in relief, although the situation is far from over. You can practically see it in your mind’s eye – the lone portal to the tower’s roof, blue light shining through the dark, and Romanoff sprinting towards it, boots fighting the pull of the infinite blackness beneath her feet….

 

“Then what are you trying to…?” Loki asks, genuine curiosity in his tone as he studies you, twirling one of his daggers absentmindedly.

 

He’s caught his breath, which is a bad sign. You feel his consciousness prod at your mind, his magic sensing out the room, especially the space between the two of you, trying to understand what you could possibly be doing.

 

And then it hits him, just as Romanoff steps back onto the roof, and your stomach drops at the ecstatic grin that lights up his entire face. It’s no relief to close the portal, because you know that he knows.

 

“She asked for it,” he states happily. “Excellent. Finally.”

 

“Don’t move,” you spit at him, trying to pin him down with your glare.

 

“I’m already gone,” he tells you, still smiling, lifting his arms a bit from his sides.

 

You let out an angry shout as you jump forward, stabbing your sword right through his chest. The dark metal sinks into the wall as the illusion of Loki vanishes.

 

And something inside you snaps.

 

You send out every – bit of your power. Everything you can muster. You don’t think, you don’t hesitate, you don’t wonder if this stunt will leave you passed out on the floor of Stark’s trashed penthouse. It’s a fight or flight response, and your body and mind have undeniably chosen fight.

 

You flood the room with energy, like a large, invisible and intangible blanket, searching out the other presence that you know is there. And he is there, on his way towards the exit, towards the roof, and as soon as you sense him, that wide blanket is no longer a blanket. You bring it in, wrap it around him like a vice, like you’re digging your fingers through his skin and pulling. You’ve got a grip on his very being. He drops the cloaking spell, fighting your hold as you use everything you’ve got left to keep him in place.

 

“No,” you tell Loki, the strain clear in your voice. He turns to look at you over his shoulder, one of his eyebrows raised as you state, “We aren’t done here.”

 

---

 

The Asgardian troops have stalled just off the road, in a grassy field that lies in the shade of the nearby forest line. They’re unsure of why they’ve stopped the march so soon after leaving the eastern city, but those that have questioned the order have received no answers. They pass the time like any other, with talk, practice, and rest.

 

Out of the entire company, the princess’ maidservant, Gyda, runs to Fandral first. He is the most well known, and his looks and personality make him easy to spot amongst the large crowd of Asgardians. He’s confused, and unable to make heads or tails of her frantic rambling. She requests audience with Master Hammond, sputtering out the name of the sorcerer through her fearful tears.

 

When Fandral tells her the man is not here, she completely breaks down, leaving him bewildered and concerned. “There, now, my lady! Worry not!” he soothes, supporting her weight as she sobs against his chest. “He’s sent a man in his stead. Come now, all is well.”

 

“All is not well,” Gyda says through a rather large hiccup. “Not well at all.”


But she allows Fandral to lead her off towards the heart of the clearing, where Obasi and Asmund stand talking with a group of soldiers and sorcerers.

 

Asmund recognizes her at once. Her presence has drawn the attention of the majority of the company, most of whom gather around to hear what has this woman so shaken.

 

“Make space! Space!” Obasi calls out, waving his hands to discourage the troops from coming any closer.

 

Fandral pulls over one of the logs the men had been using as temporary seats. He helps the trembling woman to sit, but she keeps a hold of his arm until he acquiesces and sits beside her. Her once-nice clothes are dirty and tattered, although they are noticeably a servant’s uniform, bearing her kingdom’s sigil and colors. Obasi unfastens the cloak from around his shoulders and offers it to her, and she accepts gratefully, wrapping the fabric around herself at once.

 

“I’ve death after me,” she murmurs, wiping at her face only to have more tears fall. “I’ve been hiding in the city, but if they catch me, oh….”

 

“Who are you, my lady?” Asmund asks softly, kneeling down so as to address her on the same level.

 

“Gyda,” she answers, sniffling. “A maidservant to the Princess Runa. O-Only maidservant, now.” She shudders as she weeps. “They’ve killed the rest. Killed most of the palace staff! Left a few, to clean-to clean up the blood.”

 

“Who?” Obasi asks, his voice calm but full of tension.

 

“A man and his followers,” Gyda says, covering her face with her hands. “I don’t know! My princess, she sent me away as soon as it all started. She knew, she knew, I didn’t want to leave her, I didn’t!” The woman looks up with beseeching eyes. “She threatened me, begged me, ordered me! I was to send a message for help, and I did.”

 

“And we received it,” Fandral agrees and gives her a reassuring smile. “You did well.”

 

“The guards at the gate,” Asmund says, and Gyda looks over at him.

 

“Not ours,” she tells him, voice quaking. “They’re in our palace. I’ve heard rumors in the city, of the ‘noble visitor’.” Disgust passes over her face, and she shudders once more. “I’ve no idea what is happening within our walls, but you must stop it.” Her eyes flick between Asmund and Obasi. “Please.”

 

---

 

‘We’ve got to take care of this thing now,’ Stark’s voice states rigidly, and Willow hears the leviathan’s roar echo through the city streets once again.

 

She bashes in the head of one of the Chitauri, twirling her staff around and cracking it against the face of another one. Rogers hurls his shield towards a soldier on the opposite side, dodging a blast as he follows up his attack on the stunned alien.

 

‘I’ve got movement up the street,’ Barton reports. ‘Vehicle. Not the flying kind. Heading right for you, Rogers. I…. Huh. Well. I’ll be damned.’

 

Will turns at the sound of an engine, brows coming together as she watches the motorbike approach. Why would anyone in their right mind not be fleeing right now? The man’s obviously a civilian, and he’s not coming from the direction where the police have set up. She mentally reaches out towards him, getting a feel for….

 

“Bruce?” Willow asks aloud, her eyebrows rising.

 

“Bruce?” Rogers asks her, looking over as he fires off a round into the chest of the remaining nearest hostile. He tosses down the alien firearm and follows her gaze to the motorbike and the man riding it.

 

Banner coasts up to the pair, swerving around rubble, until he’s close enough to dismount. He puts down the kickstand, leaving the bike in the middle of the decimated street – it’s the only thing not coated in a layer of gray dust.

 

“Bruce!” Will says, excitement and relief apparent in her tone.

 

“Doctor,” Steve greets, sparing a genuine grin as he gives the man a nod.

 

“Hey,” Banner says, raising a hand awkwardly and grimacing at the two. He glances around the street, eyes taking in the wreckage. “Don’t think there’s a lot of time to talk. Took me a bit, but… I’m here to help.”

 

Stark,” Rogers says, holding a finger to his ear. “He’s here.”

 

‘Banner?’ Tony’s voice asks hopefully.

 

Yeah, Banner,” Steve confirms with another grin. “Just like you said.”

 

Bruce takes note of this exchange, and Willow doesn’t miss the way his expression seems to lift.

 

‘Great!’ Tony exclaims. ‘Tell him to suit up, like, yesterday. I’m bringing this thing to you, and it is incredibly unhappy.’

 

The little grin falls off of Rogers’ face at once. The monster’s roar echoes through the streets, closer than ever.

 

“Guess it’s about that time,” Bruce says, and even though he’s wearing a reserved smile, he sounds awfully tired.

 

‘Does anybody read me?’ a deep voice asks over the com channel.

 

The question is almost inaudible over a loud buzz of static, and it sounds as if the speaker is distant, barely in range. However, everyone that hears it recognizes the voice at once.

 

“Fury?” Steve asks in alarm, hand immediately going to the device in his ear.

 

“What, what’s happening?” Banner asks, looking between Will, Rogers, and the direction of the menacing crash that’s growing ever closer.

 

‘Yes,’ Fury confirms. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I have got some very bad news.’

 

‘How bad?’ Stark asks.

 

‘Nuclear,’ Fury replies grimly.

 

---

 

The scepter seems to thrum beneath Natasha’s fingers as she quickly locates Dr. Erik Selvig. Nothing on the roof has changed since her mad dash through the black void. The rogue agents she had knocked out remain crumpled on the roof, unconscious. The cube continues to project its bright, blue beam, holding the portal open. And Selvig still stands beside the machine, muttering to himself as he stares up into the sky, mad light dancing in his tired eyes. Energy permeates the air surrounding the roof, giving Natasha chills as she approaches the man.

 

She lets him murmur, unaware of his surroundings. Her footsteps are lost in the sounds of the city, the wind, and the machine’s smooth hum.

 

I can do this, she thinks to herself, frowning as she holds the scepter’s point to the back of Selvig’s head. Taking something out that doesn’t belong.

 

Natasha can feel how the energy contained in the weapon could be used to produce a strong projectile, if she were to push the power outwards. It’s an odd sensation, something she’s never felt before, but….

 

It makes sense.

 

If it can be projected, then it can also be pulled. And she doesn’t have time to second-guess herself. The agent nods, sets her jaw, and then draws the energy back from the doctor, returning the piece of blue to its proper place.

 

Erik gasps, dropping to his hands and knees at once. He lets out a low moan as Natasha kneels beside him, rolling him onto his side so that she can see his face and ensure she didn’t just kill one of their last hopes.

 

“I am… so… tired….” Selvig groans, clearly on the verge of passing out.

 

He attempts to keep his eyes open, although he’s unable to maintain focus on anything.

 

He could pull energy from the scepter. That would keep him awake.

 

Natasha blinks.

 

What a stupid, impulsive idea.

 

“Doctor,” she says aloud, and his gaze searches for her face. “How do we shut this thing off?”

 

“Can’t,” Selvig says, blinking slowly. “Unless.” He nods off for a second, and when his eyes reopen, he’s staring at the scepter still clenched in Romanoff’s hand. “The two stones…. Similar energy…. Might be able to close the portal.”

 

He’s out almost at once, his eyes fluttering closed as his head hits the rooftop with a quiet thud.

 

But there’s still so much –

 

Romanoff balks at the beginning of the thought, shutting it down as she forcibly slams the golden weapon flat against the rooftop.

 

She’s a spy, an assassin, an agent. She’s been through rigorous training, countless hours, her mind broken and reformed, interrogation, torture. It would take more than a few minutes for the scepter to worm its way into her head, to fully understand her.

 

She’s practically trained for this.

 

“Your voice is nothing to me,” she says aloud, her palm pressed against the scepter’s handle.

 

She looks up towards the machine as she gets to her feet, scepter in hand. She has a job to do.

 

There’s the sound of a small explosion, glass clattering across the balcony as the rest of the windows shatter. Natasha hears you swear loudly, but she stays focused.

 

---

 

The force of Loki’s magic threw you farther than you’d thought it would.

 

You haul yourself back up from the edge of the balcony, your hands aching as broken glass cuts into your palms. Your whole body is shaking after having used so much power, but you get back to your feet.

 

Again, your mind whispers.

 

Loki, having freed himself from your grip with a large burst of blue magic, rushes towards the penthouse exit once more. You sprint after him, following him through the door. It slams back against the wall, his footsteps loud in the stairwell, he took the stairs. You step up onto the guardrail, launch yourself to the next, jump to the wall, spring off of it, let out a burst of energy that vaults you up, right in Loki’s path.

 

You swing at him, a rising slash, forming a sword along the way. His block sends tremors of pain to your palms, and you lose your grip, fingers slick with blood. He shifts to the side, vanishes, reappears on your other side. What’s an illusion and what isn’t?! You shout angrily, black spots clouding your vision, but before you can make another move you feel something invisible collide with your shin, another force shoving against your shoulders, and then steel biting into your side.

 

You stumble a bit, slipping down a stair or two, bloody hands grasping at the small knife in your ribs. You rip it from you and glare upwards, teeth bared as you charge up the remaining stairs. He’s gone, the illusion is gone. The door at the top opens and then slams closed, and although he had remained invisible, you know Loki has won the race to the top.

 

You turn the handle, but the door doesn’t budge. You try to force your way through, but still, no dice. He’s placed some sort of magical ward across it, keeping it closed, and you don’t have time for this. You shadowstep through it, almost passing out at once, and you stumble and blink rapidly when you’re on the other side.

 

On the roof.

 

The rays of the rising sun cast deep shadows.

 

The tesseract projects the blue beam that punches a hole through the sky.

 

And Loki holds the golden scepter, grinning at you as its power and energy floods through him.

Notes:

Scepter was always going to end up in NYC, friends. It's the only way for our heroes to turn that machine off ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Ya boi wasn't worried about getting it back

Also, big thanks to my beta reader Star for putting up with me through these huge chapters 😂

Chapter 20: Chaos Rising

Notes:

Twentieth chapter, are we really here??? Damn
There's only going to be, like, seven more chapters if my outline is correct. Hopefully I can get these done and out in a timely manner! Haha
On that note, I'd like to mention that I've got a lot going on this upcoming week, but I'll do my best to update next Sunday if at all possible.
This is a chapter I've been dying to get to, oh man

P.S. I don't think they're reading this fic anymore, but you can thank sunmoonandstars for this fun little arc, which was suggested in a passing comment on an ODE chapter 🙃

Chapter Text

Natasha groans as she slowly regains consciousness. She’d been… what had she been doing? Her thoughts are foggy, but she feels like something isn’t right.

 

She remembers lifting the scepter, preparing to stab it through the barrier protecting the tesseract… but she hadn’t been able to do it. She’d been interrupted. The door to the roof had flown open, but no one was there. And then….

 

How long has she been out? She opens her eyes, and the first thing she notes is that Erik Selvig is still unconscious. He lies on the roof directly in her line of vision; his chest rises and falls, and his short hair is buffeted by the wind. Romanoff forces herself to stand, stepping away from the edge of the building. A shudder passes through her as she realizes she’s lucky she didn’t topple off of the roof while she was unconscious.

 

Had the power from the tesseract thrown her?

 

Her head pounds, although she can’t find any physical source of being struck. But she’d fallen unconscious, no doubt about that. She puts the issue aside, more concerned with her current circumstances than their cause at the moment. A cold dread settles in her stomach as she searches the area and sees no sign of the golden scepter. There’s a crash from a few floors below, deeper in the building. A fight.

 

Of course. Now things make sense.

 

Natasha’s distracted momentarily by a familiar, echoing roar. The sound of it makes the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Her eyes are drawn towards the city, although she cannot pinpoint the exact location.

 

Bruce must have suited up, like Stark had requested.

 

“Checking in,” Romanoff reports to the com channel. “What’s the status of the nuke?”

 

‘Incoming. We still have some time before the jet’s in range to fire, but not a lot,’ says the strained voice of Steve Rogers.

 

‘I said I’m on it, Cap,’ Tony pipes up, and Natasha can practically hear him roll his eyes. ‘Have some faith! Jet stopping is easy compared to alien wrangling.’

 

‘What of the portal?’ Thor asks, and then lets out a grunt from some sort of impact. Did the scepter not work?’

 

“The scepter’s missing,” Natasha tells them grimly.

 

‘What?!’ Will asks. ‘How? Who has it?’

 

“I think we all know who has it,” Natasha answers, her jaw set.

 

The roof shakes as something in the tower explodes outward, followed by the sound of large chunks of rubble tumbling down, bumping into the side of the building and hurtling towards the street below. Romanoff looks between the machine and the unconscious Selvig.

 

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” she says, pressing the button on the device in her ear, “but if you can… stop him. Get the scepter back up here, all right? We have to close this thing.”

 

---

 

You do hear her, but you have neither the time nor the energy to answer.

 

“Don’t get back up,” Loki tells you, although humor lies in his tone.

 

He knows you’ll get up again.

 

You always have, from the very beginning.

 

And you do. You get back to your feet, squaring up against him, on the defensive. You clutch a shoddy version of your sword, unable to form something more formidable with the pitiful amount of energy you have left.

 

Your weapon feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and still, you’re trying to kill him. You’re tired. Weak.

 

Loki seems invigorated. It’s as if everything he’s ever wanted has fallen right into his hands. He’s got you in checkmate. His eyes shine, they practically glow as he pulls the scepter’s energy into his body. He’s brimming with power, content smile spread across his face. He’s happy, ecstatically so, to see you picking yourself up from the remnants of what used to be a wall.

 

He’ll kill you soon. You know he’s toying with you. A cat playing with its prey always ends in a bloody kill. You’ve been on the other end before, you know how this works. Still, your mind races, because there has to be something left in you. Has to be.

 

You aren’t ready to give up.

 

He tutts at you as you spit blood onto the floor. You’re surprised at how much you’re bleeding. A place on your head, where you bashed into the wall. The wound on your cheek has reopened. Your hands, shards of glass no doubt embedded in your palms, you can feel them grinding painfully as you grasp your sword. Your side, your arms.

 

His wounds have healed.

 

You’re jealous, even though you know you shouldn’t be. You’re jealous that he’s winning, that he has access to a pool of power of which you’ve denied yourself. So many times you could’ve grabbed the scepter, yet you talked yourself out of it, even when....

 

And what is the consequence?

 

Loki has it. He has it, and it’s unbearable. He smiles at you, the face of death that you love so dearly.

 

That smile widens, and you shout as you dart towards him. Your sword collides with the scepter, blue filling your vision, that gem so close. Turn me or kill me, you think, wondering if he’ll hear you. You think it, yes, but a part of you doesn’t mean it. You’re cornered, and you’re sharp, full of edges with blades looking for blood.

 

The scepter lets out a burst of power that throws you back once more. You catch yourself when you hit the ground, your feet sliding against the tile floor. A table overturns as the backs of your legs knock against it. At once you launch yourself forward, shouting again, anger carved in every facet of your expression. Loki falls back against your weight, but he’s laughing, laughing – the sound rings in your ears – you could scream, you could cry, you could laugh, how dare he.

 

He dares because he knows he’s won, and the fact makes you even more furious. His shoulders and back bash against the wall, and you duck to the side as you barely avoid his retaliating strike.

 

You won’t win, not like this.

 

There’s only one possibility of victory, and even then, it’s slim. But if you can get the scepter out of his grasp, you might have a chance.

 

---

 

The Asgardians return to the eastern city, and now the citizens’ shouted greetings are more… apprehensive. Questioning.

 

They know nothing, Asmund thinks, worrying over the consequences of this fact. Gyda had told them as much; the public is unaware. They may think Asgard has turned against them. There could be riots. Innocent people could die.

 

Two groups of Asgardians split from the company and circle around each side of the outer palace wall, ready to cut off and apprehend any of the guards that attempt to flee. Asmund and Obasi ride up to the two guards at the gate once more, the bulk of their forces gathering behind them. The mouthy guard from their first visit looks up with a scowl.

 

“Now, listen ‘ere –” he begins, brandishing his spear, but Obasi doesn’t give him a chance to finish.

 

He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand, and three of his soldiers seize the two men, disarming them at once. The loud one starts to shout obscenities, but the other pipes up with, “Hey now, leave us be, all right? We’re just doing what we’re told. Job isn’t worth losing our lives.”

 

“Yeah!” The first guard hurriedly catches on and nods emphatically.

 

Obasi curls his lip in distaste while Fandral and another soldier open the gates. Asmund calls over one of his sorcerers, a man he knows is considered quite personable. “Keep the citizens at bay,” Asmund tells him. “Keep them calm, with words or magic – you’re gifted in both. Obasi is leaving a group to secure the perimeter. Stay with them.”

 

It takes a moment for the sorcerer to agree, but once he does, Asmund turns his attention to the open gates and the palace that lies behind them. He had expected to see the captain riding ahead, but when he looks over at Obasi, the man is watching him.

 

“Captain?” Asmund asks, wondering if he’s made an obvious mistake without meaning to.

 

“Are you ready?” Obasi asks, and Asmund realizes that the captain is waiting on him.

 

“Yes,” Asmund answers quickly, cheeks feeling a bit warm as he gives his horse’s sides a nudge.

 

They move out, riding through the empty grounds. Asmund notes that the royal gardens are dying; the grass is long and unkept, and there are countless beds of flowers that are withered and brown. His uneasiness rises as they near the palace doors, which are completely unguarded. They slow their horses to a walk and then dismount, Obasi giving his horse a habitual pat on the side of its neck.

 

“Eerie, isn’t it?” Fandral asks, hands on his hips as he walks up and surveys the area.

 

“It is,” Asmund admits with a frown.

 

The palace doors are large, made of black stone with a significantly sized ruby embedded in the center of each – a pair of red eyes staring at the visiting war party.

 

Obasi addresses the Asgardian forces, executing the plan that had been decided on.

 

Obasi and a small group are to head for the throne room, where the king and the infamous visitor are most likely to be, and Asmund is to lead a search for the princess and possibly the queen. The captain asks for six volunteers to split between the two parties, and people step forward until the limit is met. Most of the group seems eager to join Obasi.

 

“Queen saving or king confronting,” Fandral muses aloud, a playful smile on his lips as he considers the options. “I’d say I’m not the most inconspicuous, so,” he turns his grin towards Obasi and concludes, “throne room it is.”

 

“I’ll join you, Master Sorcerer,” Asmund hears a familiar voice say, and he looks to see Bjorn approaching him from the group of volunteers. “I’m surprisingly light on my feet, I promise.”

 

“I appreciate it,” Asmund says, more grateful to have someone step forward than he realized.

 

In the end, Obasi has Fandral and two sorcerers accompanying him, and Asmund has Bjorn, another warrior named Tormund, and his sorceress, Eydis.

 

Of the remaining troops, Obasi names a few men to be leaders of small groups of soldiers, Asmund assigning sorcerers to accompany them. They’re to search the palace rooms and make arrests, fight and kill if necessary, and then convene with Obasi’s group in the throne room.

 

As a final precaution, Asmund posts a man to stand guard by the entrance. With this settled, the captain opens the doors of the eastern palace.

 

The hall they enter is large, the walls and floors dark, polished marble. Their footsteps are loud and seem to echo around the room. The ceiling is high, and when Asmund looks up he realizes it’s comprised almost entirely of a skylight, allowing natural light to flood into the hall. There’s more dead foliage here, brackets on the walls holding metal hanging pots that boast nothing more than brown, shriveled plants. Dividing the room down the middle is a channel of flowing water, beginning at the entrance’s threshold and covered by a long, rectangular panel of glass.

 

“It is meant to be a living palace, yet right now it feels dead,” Bjorn comments softly.

 

This stays true once the Asgardians split up. Asmund and his team stalk through the quiet halls, cloaked in an invisibility and silencing spell. They follow Gyda’s instructions, treading lightly up a set of stairs and heading towards the royal wing through the servants’ pathways. One hall has a particularly strong, unpleasant scent lingering in the air that makes Asmund’s nose wrinkle. Old blood.

 

When they reach the princess’ quarters, Asmund can feel a magical ward barring the entrance. He shares a glance with Eydis, and she gives him a nod as they both dispel the arcana. They’ll have to move quickly; whoever placed the ward will know it has been removed. As soon as the barrier is gone, they can hear voices. Asmund shifts the form of his silencing spell, curving it around their group so that they can be heard through the door without their voices traveling down the hall.

 

“Princess Runa?” Asmund inquires. The voices beyond the door fall silent, replaced by hushed, urgent whispers. “We were sent from Asgard to assist your kingdom. We’re coming in.”

 

As soon as Asmund is done speaking, Tormund opens the door with his sword drawn, the burly man prepared to rebuff a surprise attack should one occur. It does not.

 

“Who’s there?” a strong voice demands. “What new trick is this? I am allowed to visit my daughter, am I not?”

 

The queen and the princess stand in front of a large, four-poster bed, Runa tucked protectively behind her mother as they both stare warily towards the door. The women seem bedraggled, their dresses creased with wrinkles and dark circles lying beneath their eyes.

 

“He’s said it’s us,” Tormund says gruffly, frowning at the two as if they’re dim. “We’re the Asgardian aid that was sent for.”

 

Asmund releases the cloaking spell, and the queen and princess both jump as the group comes into view.

 

The princess’ quarters are in disarray. Furniture is overturned, drawers and chests are open, and clothes are strewn around. Asmund nearly trips over the remains of a broken chair near the entrance, and when he closes the door behind him, he sees that this side of the wood is absolutely decimated.

 

It seems that when all else had failed, Runa had attempted to hack her way out of the room with whatever had been available.

 

“Asgardians,” Runa says, stepping out from behind her mother. “Truly? Are you here, or am I dreaming?”

 

“Not a dream,” Eydis confirms, giving the princess a thin smile.

 

The queen’s red lips press together tightly, and she stares from face to face with distrust.

 

“Is Dagny all right?” Runa asks in the following silence, her dark eyes carefully scrutinizing the responses to this question.

 

“Dagny?” Bjorn asks, frowning worriedly at the name.

 

“We were met by a woman named Gyda,” Asmund tells the princess.

 

Her shoulders visibly relax and she lets out a short breath. “Then you do not lie. Is she well? Alive?”

 

“She is both,” Asmund assures. He dips his head respectfully and then says, “Please, we must hurry.”

 

“We must,” the queen says rigidly, placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. She looks directly at Asmund, her gaze conveying the seriousness of her next statement. “Get my daughter to safety.”

 

“You’re coming, too,” Runa says with a huff, shaking her head and pulling away from her mother’s grasp.

 

“I cannot leave without your father,” the queen says grimly.

 

“We’ve sent men to find him,” Asmund tells her, and she turns her attention back to him.

 

“Then I shall join them,” she says with finality.

 

“Then I shall join you,” Runa states, mirroring her tone.

 

“We’ve no time for this,” Eydis hisses. “Whoever placed the spell over this room will be arriving soon, with backup no doubt, and we should be long gone if we don’t wish to be discovered.”

 

The queen looks at the sorceress, clearly offended by her tone. Runa, however, nods in agreement and says, “Let’s be rid of this room, lest I truly lose my mind.”

 

They make their exit, the two royals positioned in the center of the group as they navigate the halls, cloaked in invisibility and silence once more. The entire group is quiet and on alert, as they can hear nearby voices and footsteps. Asmund hopes they belong to the other Asgardians making their way through the palace. Even though they are invisible, and their footsteps are devoid of sound, they can’t afford to take any risks with enemy sorcerers in the area.

 

As they exit the stairs and reach the first floor, the queen stops walking, falling to the back of the group. Asmund and Bjorn, who lead the way, turn when they hear Eydis quietly exclaim, “Come, now, not this again!”

 

“Mother,” Runa says, a warning in her tone.

 

“Stay with them, Runa,” the queen commands, staring her daughter down. “Get out of the palace and wait for us among the Asgardians.”

 

“I will not,” the princess says indignantly.

 

“Footsteps approach,” Bjorn warns.

 

“This is an order,” the queen tells Runa, her temper rising in tandem with her daughter’s disobedience.

 

Another source of magic begins tugging at Asmund’s spells, although the user is far from a threat to his ability. His brow furrows as he mentally traces the source, and he inhales sharply when he realizes it’s just down the hall, approaching quickly.

 

“We have no time,” Asmund insists, but his words go unheeded.

 

He isn’t prepared for the sudden drain he feels as three men step around the corner and approach. A glow attracts Asmund’s attention at once – a sword, its handle studded with orange gems. He knows they’re the source of this strange drain; he feels as they rend his spell apart, muffling his ability until the group flickers into view.

 

But the sword’s properties are less shocking than the man who wields it. Because Asmund recognizes him.

 

He is clean-shaven, his hair cropped and neat. He’s dressed in ornate, gaudy ceremonial armor, the top of his breastplate embedded with the eastern kingdom’s rubies and onyx. Yet, though by outward appearance he seems an elegant ruler, his vicious smile and mean, beady eyes speak to the barbarian that lies within.

 

“And what have we here?” Halvar asks as his men seize the queen.

 

---

 

You feel like you’re on autopilot. You can’t even think anymore, you simply function on the idea that you can’t give up.

 

Your legs are numb from exertion, but muscle memory keeps you moving, and you know how to run, how to fight. You dash towards Loki’s left side again. You’ve been focusing on his left; he has to bring the scepter across his body to block.

 

Your sword rises and he turns to face you, irritation crossing his features as he steps back and stops your swing. He retaliates with a blast from the scepter, the energy sizzling audibly as you throw yourself out of its path. You land in a roll and leap up, panting, forcing yourself to run towards him once more.

 

You come at him from the right again and jump, shouting out as you put as much strength as you can afford into the downward strike. Loki brings the scepter up, confidant that he can stop the blow. He does.

 

Your sword shatters against the golden weapon, the fragments dissolving as they splinter and crack.

 

Your feet hit the ground and you back away at once, leaning over as you grasp at a stitch in your side. You’re not sure if you have enough power left to form another sword. Maybe a dagger. Hopefully a dagger.

 

Loki says nothing, seemingly content with watching you exhaust yourself. You prepare to rush him again, making sure you clearly telegraph your attack.

 

This is it. You can see him leaning towards his left in anticipation.

 

You dart towards the right, then shift when he preemptively turns. He tries to correct his stance, his right arm swinging out too wide. You form a blade in your hand, small, it can’t even be called a dagger, there’s no handle. You jab the point of it into his wrist and twist.

 

Your body crashes into his, and you both trip as he lets out a surprised shout. Your eyes are locked on his right hand as you fall, his fingers loosening around the scepter. You grab for it, break his grasp, it clatters across the floor as you both hit the tile.

 

Loki starts up, you can hear him moving, but you don’t look. You lunge towards the scepter, your bloody palms staining the ornate golden designs with red. He’s right behind you. You’re still on your hands and knees, and the second you have a good grip on the weapon you twist, swinging the handle around in a wide arc. There’s a crack and a swear as the end of the scepter slams against Loki’s face.

 

He’s fallen on his back, you jump to your feet, fluid motions, as fast as you can, don’t think, don’t look at him, it’ll be easier.

 

You plant a foot on Loki’s stomach and stab the blade down directly towards his heart.

 

And you….

 

You….

 

You… can’t.

 

Every inhale is heavy and ragged. Your hands are shaking. A small trail of blood inches down the scepter’s handle from your palms. Loki shifts beneath your foot, but you can’t focus on him just yet. There’s something else your mind is putting together, now that you wield the scepter yourself. In your hands is a channeled source of raw power, boundless energy that you’d never imagined could be contained. And it’s as if it can feel your weakness, the larger source automatically feeding into the lesser.

 

There’s so much.

 

The realization that you never stood a chance – that Loki really was drawing everything out, toying with you – absolutely astounds you. Once he had the scepter, it should’ve been over for you, immediately.

 

“You… you weren’t going to kill me,” you say, your voice measured.

 

At last you allow yourself to look at him. The blade of the scepter is mere millimeters from Loki’s chest, and your boot moves up and down as he breathes. He’s watching you, and when your gaze meets his, a slow, catlike smile spreads across his face.

 

“No,” he answers.

 

You consider the information, let it settle in your mind. A puzzle piece to a bigger picture. It’s easiest to process that way.

 

“You knew,” you say, your voice almost imperceptible. “You knew I couldn’t….”

 

“You couldn’t,” he replies. “I couldn’t.”

 

You stare at him, at his earnest expression. The scepter’s energy threads through your veins, slipping power into your very being. Your fatigued mind is no longer fatigued, your body given new life. You feel like you can finally think.

 

He doesn’t want you dead. You recall a memory, and you can’t tell whether you’re the one remembering it, or if Loki has projected it into your thoughts.

 

They’d counted you a weakness, he had said, during your first reunion, but I’d much prefer you as an ally.

 

“You see, now,” he says to you. “They called it weakness, and I admit, I fell for the notion at first. But I hadn’t thought of the reasoning behind it. And in truth, it’s obvious.” Loki pushes back against your weight, against the blade poised to pierce through his leather armor. “They knew that together we would pose a threat.” He watches for your reaction, and when your face remains blank, he continues. “I call that strength. We can beat them, love. You, and me – perhaps the healer will want to assist in our noble endeavor.” He grins warmly at you. “Think of it. Think of what we stand to gain.”

 

You’d refused such a request when he’d first asked you to join him, but even so, you remember… considering the option. And now you know that the people he seeks to undermine are obviously evil, and you have to ask yourself: what’s so wrong with eradicating evil?

 

“What we stand to gain?” you echo, your voice surprisingly level.

 

“I want it all,” Loki tells you, his smile widening. “Earth. Asgard. The scepter. The cube. We could have it, and stop something dreadful from happening in the process.” He says the word with a dramatic, humorous flair, as if he’s practically singing ‘I know something you don’t know’.

 

“I don’t want those things,” you say aloud, but even as the words leave you, you know they’re partially untrue.

 

You like the feeling of the scepter in your hands, of the potential it holds. Paired with your power, you could accomplish a lot.

 

But what do you even want to accomplish? You’re a rebel without a cause. And a second time, Loki is the one offering you a cause.

 

It’s known that you don’t care for Earth. Its people are weak, and the ones that aren’t are corrupt. Humans had been more than happy to assist the Ordinat.

 

What a subpar prize, Earth.

 

It’s not a prize, it’s a complication.

 

We’d offer more than Earth,” a distant, hushed voice says.

 

You suddenly feel as if you’re in two places at once, like you’re seeing things. A dark throne room, a shrouded figure. But the vision isn’t strong, and some part of you simply knows it’s because such a connection wasn’t made for you.

 

This isn’t your mission.

 

Finish what’s started. Give us the cube, and perhaps we can be persuaded to let you keep the scepter,” the voice insists.

 

You know a lie when you hear one.

 

You shake your head and blink, clearing your vision and focusing on the liar that’s not swathed in shadows.

 

“What is it you want, then?” Loki asks in response to your statement, attempting to keep his voice even.

 

“I want….” You trail off, gathering your thoughts.

 

I want things to go back to the way they were.

 

Back before Willow had chosen to live on Earth. Before Loki had vanished. You’d opened your heart, and had only been met with hurt. And now, you feel nothing.

 

Decisions have already been made, ones that can’t just be undone.

 

“They… They offered you power,” you say, looking down at Loki, “said they’d give you Earth… and you left me.”

 

Loki frowns, not pleased with the turn in this conversation. “What would you have me say to that?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “Shall I offer you lies, darling? Spin you a web of excuses?”

 

“Shut up,” you say shortly, subconsciously putting pressure on the scepter.

 

“What’s holding you back now, warrior, what excuses have you left?” Loki asks, forcing a lighter tone. “You’ll find your Willow quite accommodating to the idea, should we broach the subject of keeping the cube and scepter out of Thanos’ hands. And maybe we’ll give her Earth once we’ve taken Asgard, hm?” He smiles at you again, one of his hands rising as he carefully takes a hold of the flat of the scepter’s blade. He doesn’t push against it, although the tip has sunk into his leather armor. It’s as if he heard your thought, of wanting things to go back to how they were – bringing up Asgard. “This planet’s nothing more than a stepping stone, you must have realized that.”

 

It… isn’t that crazy, you think.

 

Yes, yes it is, you argue. Although he’s right about Earth. It’s just a stepping stone.

 

Not really. It’s an obstacle.

 

Well, what do you do with obstacles?

 

“Things can go back to how they were,” Loki says, his voice hushed, his gaze intense.

 

All right, he definitely heard your earlier thought. You feel some sort of muted pain in your chest, because the way he’s looking at you… the soft quality to his voice… you miss that.

 

And you know it’s a lie. An easy manipulation, based on an overheard thought.

 

Does he think you’re an idiot?

 

The question solidifies your decision, and you say, “They can’t, though, remember? ‘Lady Chaos’ called, and you left me.”

 

“You said, as I recall, that you couldn’t believe you’d agreed to marry me,” he says flatly. “Words designed to hurt, and in turn –”

 

“Lady Chaos,” you mutter, your voice growing louder with each word, silencing him. “Your – Lady – Chaos.” You laugh, leaning over the scepter so that you’re closer to Loki’s face. “I thought I knew her. Thought she followed me around from place to place, I mean damn. No matter where I go, look at the shit that happens.” You stare down at Loki, at the blade that’s no doubt splitting the skin of his chest. “Well, prince… she wasn’t following me. I am her. Lady Chaos,” you scoff, “I’m the fucking Goddess of Chaos. And you know what?” You lean even closer to him, and he inhales sharply through his teeth. “I’m done.”

 

You step off of him, pull the scepter back and give it an experimental spin, admiring the balanced weight. Loki sits up, although he doesn’t get to his feet just yet. He’s watching you carefully, and judging from the strong thoughts that are slipping from his mind to yours, you can tell this isn’t how he thought this interaction would go at all.

 

You hear your name from the device in your ear. ‘Is everything okay?’ Willow’s voice asks.

 

“Everything leads back to Earth, right?” you ask idly as you remove the com, pursing your lips as you stare at it. “You, wanting to rule it. Will, wanting to save it. Thor, content to live on it.” You think of the shadowy figure, requesting the tesseract. You look up at Loki. “The people you got mixed up with, I don’t doubt that they’re evil. I don’t know, maybe I’ll do some of your plan next. But right now, I’m doing my plan. Earth, and its humans, extraordinary or not, it’s the source.” You slowly shake your head, and Loki looks as if you’ve taken his new game board and snapped it in half. “It’s caused me enough trouble. I’m not going to help you take it.”

 

You drop the com unit and crush it beneath your boot heel.

 

“What?” Loki asks, the word a breathless whisper.

 

You hear a few shards of glass ping against the floor near your feet; your hands are healing, wounds closing. You rapidly draw in the scepter’s power, taking what you need and more. You can feel yourself relax, because the answer is obvious and can be easily accomplished.

 

“Earth’s the problem right now.” You grin at Loki, your lips twisting into a smile that he’s seen countless times before. “And I’m going to remove it.”

Chapter 21: The Goddess of Chaos

Notes:

Sorry this is so late, I've been sick

Chapter Text

“Something’s wrong,” Sigrid mutters quietly to herself, her heart pounding out a fast rhythm against her ribcage. “Something’s wrong, something’s wrong.”

 

She stands in the back of the shop, the morning customers ignoring her as Brenna takes care of their purchases. It’s a good day for the woman – the best in a long while – and her blue eyes are bright and clear. She performs the routine tasks with a smile on her face, although it falters slightly every time a patron exclaims that it’s good to see her back.

 

Sig can’t think through her worry. She’s tried asking Asmund what’s wrong, but has received no reply. And even so, it feels like it’s more than that. The back of the shop is quiet, and that almost makes the terrifying feeling worse. She absentmindedly stares at the floor, shifting in place, walking a few paces every now and then. She can’t stand still, can’t even imagine sitting down. She feels the urge to do something, but there’s nothing to be done. She’s done all she can.

 

“Pleasure doing business with you!” Brenna calls out cheerfully, grinning as she waves at a departing woman and child.

 

“Something’s wrong,” Sigrid whispers, wringing her hands together.

 

She doesn’t know any spells that will give her insight or farsight, and she feels blind as she waits for words to float through her mind – any words, anything.

 

Please.

 

---

 

You’ve turned your back on Loki, which you realize would be a stupid thing to do under normal circumstances. But you know with certainty that he isn’t going to attack. It’s as if the scepter has filled in one of your prominent shortcomings – your mind. You don’t even have to try; Loki’s thoughts flood through your head, and you find that they’re quite easy to distinguish. To catalogue. Passing observations, half-formed plans of action, all constantly rearranging and shifting.

 

He’s hurriedly gathering these scattered thoughts, and none involve beginning a fight. Loki’s too smart to try and half-ass something that you’d undoubtedly see coming.

 

“Don’t want to go another round now that I’m the one holding the automatic win, hm?” you ask, a smile in your voice as you look out of the large hole Loki had blasted through the wall during your last fight.

 

He had time to kick you around, you figure you can schedule in a bit of heckling. It’s only fair.

 

“Now, now, there’s no need to be unreasonable,” Loki says conversationally.

 

You turn towards him as he gets to his feet, his eyes meeting yours warily. He keeps your gaze, even though you know instinct bids him to look at the scepter in your grip.

 

You take a few steps towards him and then manipulate your energy until you float up to his level. It’s easy, easier than it’s ever been. “I’m not unreasonable,” you state.

 

“I know you aren’t,” he says, his words fluid and meant to flatter. “And I know I cannot convince you to relinquish the scepter.”

 

“Nope,” you say in agreement. “You wanted me to have it.”

 

Not like this, his mind practically screams, although the thought isn’t meant for you to overhear.

 

“It was an option,” Loki says aloud, maintaining his outward calm. You can hear the beginnings of fatigue enter his tone. “One of many. And I’d ask that you think ahead for a moment.”

 

“Yeah?” you ask to humor him.

 

“Yes. Leave Earth intact,” Loki suggests. “Strategically –”

 

“Oh, shut up,” you snap, anger flaring rapidly. “Strategically, strategically, listen to yourself!” The scepter reacts to the smallest tilt. Blue power destroys the floor beneath you, Loki darting smoothly out of the way. There’s a heartbeat of silence, the sound of rubble tumbling into the level below. “Strategically speaking,” you tell Loki, “I should’ve taken Odin’s offer and left. ‘My enemies vanquished in return for a simple man’,” you quote with a sneer. “The Ordinat filth wouldn’t be rebuilding on my home world, and I wouldn’t have had to deal with any of this shit you put me through.”

 

The fire in your chest dies. You take a few deep breaths as you watch the last of the debris fall into the room below, your lips pursed in consideration. Loki leans over and peers down into the hole, scowl spread across his face. “You could’ve killed me,” he states, clearly disregarding everything you’ve just said.

 

You hover over the gap in the floor, finding that you’ve lost the anger that had just burst out of you. You regard Loki and realize that he actually means what he’s said. He really thinks you might kill him. You extend the scepter, and his mind flashes brightly with concealed apprehension.

 

But you don’t want to take over anyone’s mind. That’s not your shtick.

 

“Oh, darling,” you say mockingly, tilting Loki’s chin up with the blade of the scepter. He stares back at you, defiant, refusing to step away. “Don’t worry. We both know I can’t kill you.” You lean in close and brush your lips against his, pressing your hand against the ruined leather on his chest. You pull back just enough to meet his eyes when you speak. “You left me, but I’m keeping you.”

 

His inhale is sharp, and you know that beneath your fingers, his heart races. Familiar, you think sarcastically to yourself.

 

You think you can put him to sleep. You want to. The gem in the scepter starts to glow.

 

You grin at him as you turn away and cross the gap, your feet lowering to touch the tile as you step towards the large hole in the wall. You hear your name, the syllables slow, although it’s his tone that makes you pause. “Don’t,” Loki says to you, his voice hushed – soft. “We… can make a new plan. Together.”

 

“You left this to infect us,” you reply, nodding your head towards the scepter. “You got what you wanted. Take the consequences, Loki. You lost your chance to work together a year ago.”

 

Loki doesn’t answer as he takes a few steps back, his shoulders bumping into the wall. He slides down to the floor, long legs splayed out in front of him. You know he didn’t have the scepter long enough to keep his body going for very long, and he’s going to have to go through withdrawal sooner or later. He’s exhausted. Sleep will do him well.

 

He gazes at you, half-lidded, frustration and anger spelled out across his features.

 

“Hang tight,” you say with a salute, a sinister smile. “I’ll be back for you.”

 

---

 

Willow makes her way through the streets, sprinting towards Stark Tower. She leaps over piles of rubble and rushes past abandoned vehicles. Her face is set in a determined frown, her stomach churning with worry. She knows that you could be locked in battle, and that’s why you didn’t respond on the com channel…. It could mean that. But the twist in her chest and the ultimate feeling of trepidation tells her that it’s something more.

 

Things have gone… amiss….

 

The words slither through her mind and make her shudder. They’re quiet, almost lost in her own thoughts, but she’d recognize the voice anywhere.

 

Loki? Willow questions, although she receives no reply.

 

Her apprehension grows, and she pushes herself to move faster. She hears Steve asking for her location over the com, hears a crash that rumbles through the streets of New York City.

 

The monster has fallen.

 

The team is relieved, more confident now that Bruce has slain the Chitauri leviathan. Stark’s talking about the jet, moving up the list to the next problem. Natasha asks for your status.

 

Will listens intently, turning a street corner and vaulting over an empty, overturned vehicle.

 

You don’t answer.

 

Willow hasn’t quite reached Stark Tower when she spots movement from above. She at first dismisses it as a Chitauri airship, but she looks again and realizes –

 

Stop her, Loki’s voice whispers in her mind, nothing more than a distant thought.

 

“She’s got the scepter!” Willow says happily into her com. “We can close the portal!”

 

‘Copy that,’ Romanoff replies.

 

“Wait,” Willow says, eyes locked on you as you turn away from the top of the tower, hovering in place and peering downwards. “What are you… What are you doing?”

 

She calls out to you, but you either cannot hear her or pay her no mind. Either way, she needs to get up to your level. Will gathers her power, wrapping herself in bright light, and then leaps, bounding up the side of the building.

 

The normally exhilarating feeling is overtaken by her renewed feeling of dread, which seems to have grown tenfold after her brief excitement. The wind rushes against her face, her shoes leaving temporary glowing footprints as she sprints with the momentum of her power.

 

When she reaches as high as she’s able – which is still a few stories below where you levitate – her fingers seek purchase and find none. Will hurriedly summons her staff, and then bashes it through one of the tower’s windows, allowing her to steady her feet as she leans out and shouts up at you.

 

“Hey!”

 

You hear her this time, and when you turn to look at your best friend, her stomach dips and her breath catches in her throat.

 

You smile at her and give her a wave, eyes a gleaming, bright blue. “Hey, Will!”

 

“Oh, my God,” Willow says quietly. She raises her voice, so that you can hear her over the wind. “How much of its energy have you taken?!”

 

“As much as I needed,” you reply with a shrug, your tone quite cheery. “Maybe more, I dunno. It doesn't really matter, though!”

 

“Why don’t you go close the portal?” Willow asks loudly, her fingers gripping her staff tightly.

 

“Nah, I’m not worried about the Chitauri!” you tell her, waving your hand dismissively. “They’ll go when the planet goes.”

 

“When the planet goes?” Will repeats incredulously. “What?!”

 

“Yeah, dude!” you say happily. “This whole fucking place, I’m tossing it in the void. So, I guess you can gather up whatever humans you want to keep, I don’t care. But I’m coming to get you, and Thor, and picking up Loke, and then we are out of here for good!”

 

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute!” Willow exclaims, her voice pitching higher with alarm. “You can’t mean that!”

 

“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” you say, your grin widening. “And I know you’re gonna try and talk me out of it, so I’ll save you the trouble!” Nothing has changed on your expression, but your tone reads more malicious as you state, “This is happening.”

 

The gem in the scepter glows, the light seemingly reflected in your intense gaze. You turn your attention back to the ground, spinning the golden weapon experimentally. You figure if you pair your abilities with the scepter’s, you’ll be able to blow through the planet’s crust in no time. Opening a free void in its center will definitely finish the job.

 

“You can’t do that!” Will’s voice rings out, breaking you from your speculations.

 

“But I am,” you tell her, lifting the scepter and angling it down towards the street.

 

Light flares in the corner of your vision, and you twist around just in time to block the field Willow had attempted to put around the scepter. You stare at her in disbelief, the easy smile dying on your lips.

 

“Really?” you ask her, the word sounding flat, defeated. “You’d turn against me, too?”

 

“You’re not making sense! You’re not yourself!” she declares, jabbing her staff towards you. “It’s in your head!”

 

“Look, is this about your captain?” you ask, the unnerving smile returning to your face. “I know it’s his home or whatever, but I said you could bring him!”

 

“Let go of it!” Willow shouts. Her eyes are wide, and you can feel her attempt to reach you with her power, her consciousness trying to break through the wall you’ve placed around your mind. “You don’t need the scepter! This isn’t you!”

 

“I don’t need the scepter,” you agree. “I want it.”

 

Will leaps for you, and you shift out of the way, avoiding her and watching with interest as she begins to fall. Her light flares out to cushion the impact, and you return your attention to what you came out to do in the first place.

 

You gather energy, pulling more and more from the scepter, it feels so satisfying. You angle the point downward, the gem shining….

 

You see the flicker from your peripherals – Will, scaling the building next to the tower, launching herself towards you once more. You dodge, bobbing in the air, glowering as she passes. She crashes into Stark Tower, her light expanding in a wide field underneath you. Will shatters another window and steps onto the edge, glass tumbling down and then collecting on top of the barrier.

 

“Just stop, Will,” you say, rolling your eyes.

 

“I won’t,” Willow declares. “Not until you listen to reason!”

 

You ignore her, allowing yourself to fall backwards until you twist around and shoot off, seeking the end of her light field. You’re impressed at the size of it, eyebrows rising in acknowledgment. You’re almost positive you could break through the barrier, but you’re unsure of what that would do to your friend, and eh, it’s not hard to get away from her.

 

Will watches as you draw further and further away, heart in her throat as she thinks. If she could just get you on the ground…. Talk some sense into you…. She’ll need help – she can’t keep up with you on her own.

 

“We’ve got a new problem,” she says grimly to the com channel.

 

---

 

The throne room of the eastern kingdom is truly magnificent in comparison to the rest of the palace. Much like the entrance hall, the ceiling is composed almost entirely of a skylight, the glass etched with designs and whirls that cast pale shadows on either side of the throne. Dark pillars of onyx line the walls, the throne itself carved of the same stone, its top embedded with rubies. The flowing channel of water from the entrance ends here, as do two other channels that stretch from either side of the grand room. They collect in the center, in a glass-covered, circular pool that rests before the throne.

 

The pool’s diameter is only about as long as a man, and its waters seem to be shin deep. Beneath its rippling surface are stones of red, black, and gold, no doubt covering a drain that feeds the water beneath the palace and back through the channels.

 

King Garth sits in the throne, a stocky man who looks quite haggard as he stares at the Asgardians. His wife and daughter are held in the corner of his vision, Halvar’s two sorcerers keeping them detained. Halvar himself paces, walking in front of the line of captured soldiers and sorcerers, his sword drawn and its gemstones glowing.

 

The Asgardians’ hands are magically bound with rope, their weapons confiscated. It is Obasi’s and Asmund’s groups that have been captured, and Asmund holds on to hope that the rest of their company will burst into the throne room any second now.

 

The dulling power of Halvar’s sword is troubling. Asmund feels like a novice once more, like a palace servant dreaming of the day he can do more than simple magic tricks. He struggles against his bonds and receives no quarter.

 

They haven’t been allowed to speak, their jaws forcibly closed and their bodies held still by some sort of arcana. The two sorcerers Halvar has with him are particularly powerful, but Asmund suspects that if the barbarian’s sword was out of the way, the three would go down fairly quickly.

 

“Now, Garth,” Halvar says loudly, still pacing in front of the line of Asgardians, “what have we here? I thought our little deal included no cries for help, yes?”

 

His words bounce around the throne room, highlighting the haughty attitude in which they were spoken.

 

“I did not send for them,” King Garth says, his voice low.

 

“But they are here,” Halvar notes with a sneer, his eyes falling on Obasi. He disregards the king and stops pacing in front of Asgard’s captain, scrutinizing the man. “I recognize you,” the barbarian says. “You were there the day my father died.”

 

Something shifts in the air, and Obasi’s jaw unclenches. “And I fought the day you supposedly died,” the captain states, lifting his chin.

 

Halvar lets out a knowing, smug chuckle. “What sort of man would infiltrate Asgard without an assured way to escape?”

 

He walks on down the line, magic shifting once more and preventing Obasi from answering. The barbarian stops in front of Fandral, whose eyes are narrowed into a fierce glare. “And we’ve a third of the God of Thunder’s entourage,” Halvar says with a grin. “Most excellent.”

 

He turns on his heel and walks back up the line, eyes passing over Asmund and then returning. He stares at the boy with interest, his footsteps dying as he stands before him.


“Now,” Halvar says quietly, “there’s a face I haven’t seen in a while.”

 

The barbarian reaches out a gloved hand and grabs Asmund’s jaw; the black leather feels cold against his skin. He tilts Asmund’s face, ignoring his attempts to recoil. “You look so much like your despicable, spineless father, Son of Jerrik.” Halvar grins, revealing crooked teeth. “Does his sniveling cowardice run in the family, perhaps?”

 

Asmund jerks back, angry fire in his eyes as he strains his wrists and tries to break free. The barbarian laughs heartily at the reaction and then turns to face the king.

 

“You know what must be done. Go on and give the order, oh mighty king.” Halvar bows ostentatiously and waves his hand from King Garth to the Asgardians.

 

The king says nothing, his eyes traveling across the line of the men and women.

 

“Come now, Garth!” Halvar says with a huff of breath. “Is it really worth the risk, this defiance? I’m sure we can handle this matter internally.”

 

“If you want them dead, then give the order yourself, you monster,” the queen states coldly.

 

“Sylvi,” King Garth says, worry laced in his voice.

 

“No, see, I can’t do that!” Halvar exclaims, clearly having a good time with this show. “I’m not king yet.”

 

“And you never will be,” Runa says, her voice assured. “Asgard will assist us, one way or another. Either now, or when their men don’t return, they will know!”

 

Asmund’s heart pounds in his chest and he frantically tries to fight back against the suppression coming from Halvar’s weapon. One of the sorcerers holding the princess and the queen looks over at him, frowning.

 

Halvar turns towards Runa, his hands steepled in front of him. “Ah, such a mouth on you. That will have to change once we wed.”

 

“I would rather die than marry you,” Runa declares, not for the first time.

 

“You might, if your father doesn't behave,” Halvar warns, dropping his act and looking back to the king. “Give the order, Garth. You are king, are you not? Sentence the intruders.”

 

“I cannot. I will not,” King Garth says, his voice hoarse. “I do not seek war with Asgard, and that is surely what their deaths will bring.”

 

“You will not?” Halvar questions, and then sighs deeply. “This is the palace staff all over again,” he mutters, and then speaks up as he asks, “Do you think me weaker, because I’ve fewer men with me now? Must I again remind you that no, they are not here; they are in your city. My city, in all but name. I’ve been truthful thus far, have I not?” Halvar questions, extending his arms and gesturing towards the royal family. “I have you, Garth,” Halvar says flatly. “I have your city, and your family. Either you give an order,” he pauses for a heartbeat, and then says, “or I will.”

 

The king bows his head, a shaking hand rubbing at his face. He gives no order.

 

“He wants war,” the queen says. “Garth, don’t –”

 

“Break her neck.”

 

Halvar’s order rings out, and less than a second later, there’s a horrid snap, a solid thump. The queen’s body hits the marble. Runa screams, the sorcerer holding her almost unable to keep her restrained as she fights to reach her mother. King Garth rises from his throne, a strangled shout leaving his throat, but Halvar holds his sword up and presses the flat of it against the king’s stomach.

 

“How terrible,” the barbarian says loudly. “How terrible that the invading Asgardians killed the beautiful Queen Sylvi.” Runa lets out a wail; King Garth’s face is ashen, his legs shaking. Halvar continues, raising his voice above Runa’s crying, “It is wonderful that the king apprehended the intruders and got his revenge.”

 

Halvar’s two sorcerers are watching the line of Asgardians carefully, keeping track of anyone who attempts to push against the barbarian’s suppressing power. Asmund hasn’t given up. Bjorn and Eydis are on either side of him, both trying to twist their wrists free of the ropes. Obasi and Fandral are the most violent in their movements, fighting hard against the dark sorcerers’ hold, but neither is able to take even a single step forward.

 

Halvar leans closer to the king, his expression deadly serious. “I’ll have my war, Garth, one way or another. But I want you to say it. This could have been a peaceful exchange of power, but now we’ve a royal death on our hands. Shall I finish the job, or will you do what has to be done?”

 

“Don’t,” Runa says through her sobs. “Father, don’t.”

 

“Your daughter, or these strangers?” Halvar asks.

 

King Garth’s eyes are locked on the body of his wife. Her red dress stands out against the black marble, her dark eyes staring sightlessly at the beautiful skylight.

 

“Do it,” the king says softly. “The…The Asgardians die.”

 

Runa’s swears and cries are ignored by Halvar, who claps his hands and smiles brightly. “Excellent!”

 

He turns towards the Asgardians, red cloak whirling out behind him. They all struggle now, fighting fruitlessly for their lives. It makes his chest swell. His father would be proud – killing Asgardians had always brought Magnus joy.

 

Halvar wants their death to be unpleasant.

 

“It’s been bloodless so far, why not keep up the trend?” the barbarian asks, his eyes locking on the pool of water in front of the throne. “Drown them.”

 

At once, the captives’ bodies move, legs forcibly walking forward, making them kneel in a circle around the pool. One of the sorcerers lifts his hand, and the glass covering the water vanishes.

 

Asmund fights. He fights with all that he has, loudly cursing those orange gems in his mind.

 

He’s going to die.

 

He’s going to die, he can’t believe it.

 

Bjorn’s shoulders knock into his on his right as the man struggles, and when he looks to his left, Eydis stares back with wide, frightened eyes.

 

Do something, those eyes beg.

 

The rest of their team completes the circle, but Fandral and Obasi are directly across from Asmund. Obasi’s neck and shoulders are taught as he fights against the pull, sweat trickling down the side of his face. Fandral’s eyes are narrowed, his mouth twisted into a snarl as he resists.

 

They cannot speak, cannot scream. They can do nothing as their heads are collectively forced underwater.

 

It’s cold. Asmund keeps his eyes open, the rocks at the bottom of the pool brushing against his nose. Red, black, gold. Water muting the sounds of his companions struggling. These are the last things he’ll see and hear.

 

Oh, Sigrid, I am so sorry.

 

She cannot hear him, he knows this. Not while Halvar’s sword blocks his magical ability.

 

His body quickly begs for air. Asmund stretches his power, frantically attempting to create a small bubble, a space in the suppression that will allow him to do something, anything. He mentally pushes against the feeling of the orange stones, against the dark magic of the sorcerers, and against the black that clouds his vision.

 

He can’t breathe.

 

Those wretched orange gems.

 

He has to make a space. Magic. Has to do magic.

 

Has to tell Sigrid he loves her. Her face flashes in his mind.

 

The faces of everyone around him. He can save them, he can, he just has to….

 

Asmund digs deep, and it’s hard to think with his lungs screaming for air, but he forces his magic to his hands, his mouth opening, breath leaving him with the effort. Bubbles floating to the surface. He’s successful, he can feel it – a small burst of golden magic in the orange.

 

He can’t breathe. Sees nothing but black.

 

There’s a muted sound, a crash.

 

And then a flash of white, right in front of his face.

 

---

 

You lower the scepter in a sharp motion, and blue energy blasts into the street’s asphalt. It’s easy to keep the power flowing, the ray cutting deeper and deeper into the earth.

 

“Warrior!”

 

The beam cuts out as you let yourself fall a few stories, Thor soaring over your head from where he’d attempted to grab you. You hear the god land on a building’s roof, and you heave a sigh and turn to face him.

 

“What is this?!” he bellows up at you.

 

“Back off, Thor!” you shout to him. “It’s no big deal, all right?”

 

“What’re you doing, Spark?” Tony has flown up to hover in front of you, his jaunty, tinny voice holding a warning.

 

“Nothing,” you tell him, ignoring the still-smoking crater in the street below.

 

He points to the scepter in your hand. “Hey, think I could have that?”

 

“Don’t you have a jet to catch?” you ask him nicely.

 

“Okay, come here,” he states, diving at you.

 

You swiftly dodge and take off, speeding through the city and rapidly turning corners, trying to lose him. You hear a loud peal of thunder, and you swear as you realize Thor is after you now, too.

 

From below you catch sight of a speck of light – Will following from the streets.

 

“This is ridiculous!” you shout as Stark tries to grab you again. “I don’t want to hurt you guys, but you’re making this harder than it has to be!”

 

You’re glaring at Stark when Thor flies directly into your path. You smash into him, the two of you spinning through the air. His hand is locked around your arm.

 

“Hold, now!” Thor demands.

 

You let out a burst of power that finally dislodges him, and you kick off of his body as you shoot higher into the air. You’re scowling and swearing, and you don’t bother seeing where he ends up as you send a blue ray of energy down towards the ground once more. The beam cuts through the street; the area quakes, windows rattling in the buildings nearby. You push the energy deeper, and deeper still, lifting your other hand and preparing for the second half of your plan -

 

Stark crashes into you, although he doesn’t manage to get a grip on you like Thor did. Your beam of energy flies wild as your arm is jolted, the ray blasting through the nearest building. By the time you kick Tony off of you, Will has another light field set up beneath you.

 

The building crumbles down, floor by floor, and something within it implodes, sending up a billowing cloud of smoke and dust.

 

“What the fuck?!” you ask heatedly, rounding on Stark.

 

“Yeah, ‘what the fuck’ is right!” he declares, trying to close the distance between the two of you. You shoot up a few stories out of his way, and he shouts, “I thought we were friends!”

 

He fires off a few missiles at you, and you destroy them in a blaze of blue power. You avoid another attempt at seizing you, noting Thor and Will’s locations in your peripherals – Thor’s on another rooftop, Willow’s holding the light barrier from below.

 

“Friends don’t destroy other friends’ planets!” Tony chides, rising up to your level again but keeping his distance.

 

“Look, Stark, I like you,” you tell him levelly, “but I fucking hate this planet. There’s no point in trying to stop me. I can take you with me, but this world’s done.”

 

Tony says nothing. You stare at his faceplate, your guard up as you wait. You’re not sure what’s going on until he states, “I’m out of time. Nuke’s launched, and I’ve gotta go.”

 

“What?” you ask.

 

“Until there’s not a world to save, I’m going to act like there is,” Tony says, and then immediately jets away.

 

You hang in the air, processing Stark’s parting words as you watch him disappear in the distance. Something about them makes your chest hurt, and you don’t care for that one bit.

 

Yes, his words hit you, but not as hard as Thor does.

 

It’s like a freight train has barreled into you, breath forced from your lungs at the impact. Air whooshes past as you both go down, and by the time you manage to right the two of you and slow the fall, you feel something else knock into you.

 

Willow.

 

The momentum sends all three of you crashing against the side of a building, your back colliding with stone and making you gasp in pain. The next thing you know, you’re hitting the ground, skidding across it, skin tearing, blade of the scepter screeching against the sidewalk.

 

Hands clamp around your shoulders, hauling you to your feet. It’s all Thor can do to keep you in place as you fight him, and as you swing the scepter up, Willow latches onto your arm.

 

She extends one of her hands towards the scepter, attempting to throw a field of light around it, but the blue flares out angrily, feeding on your power, refusing to be encased.

 

“Let go of it,” Willow says breathlessly, her eyes meeting yours. “Let go of it.

 

“It’s mine,” you snarl, and Thor’s grip tightens around your shoulders.

 

Kill them.

 

You don't want to do that.

 

It’s the only way out of this; they’re not going to give up.

 

“I know you,” Willow says. “I know you’re not going to give up and let that thing tell you what to do and how to feel.”

 

She doesn’t understand.

 

But she… she does. She had the scepter.

 

“Destroying Earth isn’t the answer,” Will tells you. “You know that.”

 

“Destroying is all I know how to do,” you retort heatedly, and then you give her a smile. “And I do it well.”

 

Kill them.

 

Again, Thor’s hands grow tighter, and you wince at the pressure.

 

“But I care about Earth,” Willow tells you despairingly. “And I thought you cared about me. I thought there were people here that you liked.”

 

“Erik, and Darcy,” Thor’s voice says from behind you. “Lady Jane.”

 

“Tony and Bruce,” Will says in agreement. “And our team. They’re willing to give their lives for this world. And so am I.”

 

“Stop it,” you tell them, shaking your head. “Stop talking.”

 

“No, Warrior,” Thor says, voice rumbling in his chest. “You’re not yourself. As friends, we ask this of you. Release the scepter.”

 

“Please,” Willow tells you, exhaustion apparent in her voice.

 

Will’s grip on your arm feels constricting, it feels… feels….

 

You’re flooded with her emotions – her distress, her determination, her worry, her worry for you.

 

Weakness, your mind tells you. Exploitable.

 

Kill them. You’re able. Do it.

 

Kill them?

 

You can’t kill them, that’s crazy.

 

It’s like you’re coming out of a daze, fear and shock ripping through you all at once. You let out a short gasp, your eyes wide and your brow creasing in distress.

 

“Let go of it,” Willow urges.

 

“I can’t,” you tell her, heartbeat rocketing up and closing your throat. “Holy shit. I can’t.”

 

You won’t.

 

They can’t stop you.

 

It wants you back.

 

“You can,” Will tells you assuredly.

 

“I can’t!” you shout back, trying to make her understand.

 

The blue gem is glowing brighter, power building. You can’t unwrap your fingers, your grip like iron around the scepter. You want it but you don’t, you love the power but you hate it, you’re terrified, you’re terrified.

 

“Cut it off!” you gasp out, stretching the scepter as far away from you as you can get it. “Cut it off, Will, I can’t let go, cut it off, cut it off!”

 

You’re squirming in Thor’s grip, mind racing with this moment of clarity. The blood has drained from Willow’s face, her eyes widening. You’re a second away from blowing all three of you the hell up, you need her to do it now

 

“CUT IT OFF!” you shriek at her.

 

With a desperate shout, Will forms a dagger from her light, crystalline and beautiful, and sharp as she slashes it down through your flesh and bone.

 

Excruciating, white-hot pain. You let out a wordless cry, eyes screwing shut, taking in a breath only to start screaming again. You hear the scepter clatter against the concrete. Your wrist burns, you can’t look at it, you can’t.

 

You slump against Thor, who supports your weight. He’s talking to you, Will’s talking to you, but you can’t hear them. From behind your eyelids, you see two kinds of light, too bright, you think it’s too bright. Your wrist hurts.

 

And with a final sob, you give in to unconsciousness.

Chapter 22: A Battle's End

Notes:

Sunday updaaate!
We're closing in on the falling action, friends. I'm still floored that we've actually made it here. It feels surreal, I'm not gonna lie.
According to my calculations, there's four chapters left, and a possible epilogue.
I'm going to try to get back on the weekly chapters, so - fingers crossed - see you guys next week

Chapter Text

Asmund blinks, the motion slow; everything seems blurry. Spots of color dot his vision, small blotches of red and black. He can hear muted sounds from around him, distant and unclear.

 

He’s underwater.

 

The thought sends a jolt of panic through his body, and he inhales sharply as everything floods back to him.

 

He… inhales? He can… he can breathe. His lips brush against fabric, and he can feel familiar magic humming through the water that directly surrounds him. A small area.

 

The others….

 

Asmund pulls his head up from the pool with a gasp, the world around him abruptly becoming louder – and much more violent. Cold water trickles down his face, chest, and back, his body shuddering at the sensation. He lifts his hand to his mouth, peeling back a drenched, white handkerchief, his name embroidered in its corner with golden thread. The one he’d been given so very long ago. Currently, it puts off a quickly fading white glow.

 

Sigrid, he realizes in a heartbeat. But he doesn’t have time to dwell, to process. He unceremoniously shoves the handkerchief back into its place in his robe’s inner pocket, his arms shaking as he tugs on the shoulders of the two people on his left and right – Bjorn and Eydis. Their heads leave the water, and Asmund presses his hands to their chests at once, muttering a spell, too exhausted to perform wordless magic.

 

The pair begins to cough and retch, Eydis curling in on herself after her lungs and stomach expel liquid. Bjorn groans hoarsely, unable to lift himself from the ground.

 

Asmund pulls himself onward, crawling towards the next person in the circle. A fight rages in the throne room around him, but it isn’t important. Not yet. He grabs onto the shoulder of the soldier that had been in his group – Tormund. His armor is heavy. Asmund hefts him up, frees him of the pool, and drags the sorcerer next to him out as well. Hands to their chests, words quickly repeated, golden magic.

 

No response.

 

“No, no,” Asmund mutters, eyes wide as he moves away, around the circle, reaching the next man and jerking him out of the water, putting a hand to his chest – the other sorcerer in Obasi’s group. Asmund’s heart crowds his throat, making it hard to speak the words of the spell. But no magic can bring back the dead. “No.”

 

Obasi.

 

The captain’s armor scrapes against the marble as Asmund heaves his body back from the water. He doesn’t stop, he goes directly to Fandral, pulling him back and grabbing onto the warrior’s dark green cloak for leverage as he rolls him over, face up. Asmund frantically lays a hand against each man’s chest, lips moving swiftly, gleaming, golden magic seeping through the armor beneath his palms.

 

“Obasi?” Asmund asks, his voice trembling. “Captain?” He fumbles his way through the spell again, eyes frantically flitting from one face to the other, searching for movement. In a whisper, he asks, “Fandral?”

 

Someone in the throne room lets out a jubilant shout of triumph, followed by another man’s pained yell. Asmund cannot bring himself to look towards the source.

 

“No,” he repeats, and then falls silent.

 

Save for the two that had been positioned closest to him… everyone else is… dead. They’re all dead. The realization leaves him wordless, motionless.

 

Asmund had unknowingly woken in a pool of corpses.

 

---

 

On instinct, Willow wraps her healing light around your wrist, doing what she can to close the wound as you scream. Tears blur her vision, which surprises her – she doesn’t remember when she started crying.

 

The flash of white light almost makes her recoil, and Thor lets out a surprised exclamation at the sight as you go limp in his arms.

 

“Oh, shit,” Willow says, a tremor in her voice.

 

“What was that?” Thor asks at once. “I’ve not seen you heal in such a way before.”

 

“It isn’t me,” Willow says, eyes swiftly seeking the source of the foreign light. “Is it? What did I do? I don’t…. No, no, it’s not me.” She carefully lifts your forearm, inhaling sharply as she peers at your wrist. “Oh, my God. What…?”

 

The bracelet Sigrid had gifted you, its interlocked knots of silver – it’s the source of the white magic. Will’s eyes widen when she realizes that the metal has fused to the broken skin of your wrist, whether by its own magic or in combination with Will’s power, she isn’t sure. Red runs down your arm, but it seems as if you’re not freely bleeding anymore.

 

“What is it, Healer?” Thor asks, concern apparent as he takes in the strange glow.

 

“It’s helping,” Will answers, making an effort to keep her voice steady. She flexes her power, sensing the new magic and working with it, strengthening it. She winces as she looks at the scepter lying on the ground, her dagger, your severed hand…. “I can’t believe I….”

 

Willow frowns and waves her free hand towards the scepter, once more crafting a field of light around the weapon. The dagger she’d formed breaks apart as she does so – she’s never created a bladed weapon from her light, and although she’s glad to know she’s able, the thought of what she’d done with it makes her stomach turn.

 

‘Status?’ the tense voice of Rogers requests from the com channel.

 

“Alive,” Willow answers him. “All three of us.”

 

‘Nuke… still… and crazy, but… portal… ‘kay?’ Tony asks, his sentence broken up with static.

 

‘What was that, Stark?’ Steve questions.

 

‘Chitauri up here on the tower’s roof!’ Romanoff says quickly, the sound of a gunshot cracking in the middle of her sentence. ‘I’m doing what I can.’

 

‘I’m on my way,’ Barton states at once.

 

Thor looks at Willow and then up towards the portal in the sky, from which Chitauri continue to emerge. Without Thor to stem the flow, the alien invasion is once again threatening to become an overwhelming problem.

 

‘We have to get that portal closed,’ Steve says, and Will can tell that he’s on the move. ‘I’ve lost track of the Hulk, but I’m willing to bet he’s still taking out Chitauri.’

 

‘Whoa, whoa, now, don’t close the portal yet!’ Stark butts in, his voice coming through much clearer now. ‘Just because you don’t like my idea doesn’t mean you can ignore it, Cap.’

 

“What idea?” Will asks, exchanging a brief, troubled look with Thor.

 

‘Oh, you guys didn’t hear me?’ Tony asks. There’s a heartbeat of silence, and then he says, ‘Probably for the best. Uh, just keep the portal open, but be ready to close it. I’m on my way back.’

 

‘Stark, what about the nuke?’ Steve asks.

 

‘You’re not gonna like that answer. I wouldn’t ask,’ Tony replies, his lighthearted tone doing nothing to stop the dread his statement brings.

 

Willow suddenly feels very exposed – the three of you are standing out in the open on the sidewalk, Thor keeping you upright.

 

“Okay… Okay, we have to think,” Willow says, looking from you, to Thor, and then to the scepter. “She’s not bleeding, and she’ll probably wake up soon. But we’ve got to get the scepter up to the tesseract, and we need to find Loki. Unless….” Will looks over at your unconscious form. “No, no, she didn’t,” Willow mutters. “She said she was going to get him and get out of here.” Louder, she adds to Thor, “So, he’s somewhere around here. Maybe incapacitated?”

 

“We’ve much to do, and no time,” Thor says, nodding in agreement. “Loki was last seen in Stark’s tower, and that is where we must take the scepter anyway.”

 

“Right,” Willow says, lifting her hand so that the scepter in its bubble rises from the sidewalk.

 

Thor shifts your body in his arms, clamping you to his side and calling Mjolnir to his fist. As he begins to spin the war hammer, Willow’s gaze goes to your wrist once more. A glow remains around the wound, formless and bright, but there’s still no new blood. Assured, she focuses on gathering her power around herself, light building around her legs and feet.

 

Thor launches himself into the air, the force ruffling Willow’s hair as he shoots towards the tower’s rooftop. She follows, racing up the side of the building and leaping over broken windows. She drags the scepter with her, pulling it along with her power over the light field surrounding it. Scaling the building is not as easy as it was the first time she’d done it today, and she reflects on just how much energy she’s used during this battle.

 

The higher Will climbs, the more the wind buffets her, threatening to rip her from the building’s side. It roars in her ears as she runs, and in her peripherals she notices the amount of Chitauri airships that still fly through New York’s skies. Too many.

 

The sight of the tower’s balcony is a gift – her breathing is starting to become nothing more than short gasps. Will is drained and panting as she pulls herself onto the balcony. Glass crunches beneath her shoes; the windows to the penthouse are completely shattered. She checks the bubble around the scepter, takes a few deep breaths, and then pushes herself to make the final bound up to the roof.

 

“We can close it!” Natasha shouts over the com as soon as she sees that Willow has the scepter. She kicks a Chitauri soldier off of the edge of the building, and Thor caves in the head of another that tries to attack her from the side. “Do you guys copy? We can shut down the portal!”

 

Will summons her staff, whirling it around just in time to catch the barrel of an alien’s weapon. She dispatches her opponent and then scans the roof, which Thor and Natasha are doing a decent job of keeping clear. A Chitauri soldier falls from an airship as it speeds by, and Will realizes Barton is positioned a rooftop over. He has to be low on ammo by now.

 

You’re lying next to Erik Selvig, who is sitting up and staring fearfully at the ongoing battle that surrounds him. When he spots the scepter in its field of light, his shoulders immediately relax, and his eyes go to the machine holding the tesseract.

 

‘Don’t close it yet!’ Tony’s voice insists in response to Romanoff. ‘Nuke and I are coming in and going up.’

 

‘Stark, that’s crazy!’ Steve says over the channel.

 

‘Yeah,’ Tony agrees. After a moment of silence, he adds, ‘But this thing’s gonna blow in less than a minute, and if I’m being honest, I’d rather it not be here.’

 

Willow swears under her breath, clocking another Chitauri soldier with her staff and sending the alien flying. There’s movement from above, something heading towards the portal rather than away.

 

In the streets below, Rogers slows his run until his footsteps stop completely, his face upturned as he watches Tony Stark climb higher and higher through the sky, forcing the nuke up with him.

 

Inside of the helicarrier that hovers on the outskirts of the city, Fury stands with Maria Hill on the bridge, watching the feed with his arms crossed. Every single agent has their eyes glued to the screen, the ship too quiet as they all wait in tense silence.

 

On the roof of Stark Tower, the team cannot afford to spare more than a few seconds to watch Tony shoot through the portal with the nuke. Lightning flashes rapidly, sending a deafening boom through the air as Thor uses his power to decimate a troop of approaching Chitauri. Barton’s voice dominates the com channel, relaying priority targets and enemy positions.

 

‘Stark, can you hear us?’ Rogers asks.

 

The following silence is heavy.

 

“Get in position!” Romanoff calls to Will, taking out a Chitauri soldier that had targeted you and Selvig.

 

Willow rushes towards the device that keeps the portal open, lifting a hand to release the field of light from around the scepter.

 

But once it’s free… she waits too long to grab it, and it falls to the roof with a loud clatter. Her skin crawls as she stares at it, seeing in her mind’s eye your clenched fist around its handle…. Your blue eyes. She remembers what it was like when she’d been under its influence, been the one to wield it.

 

If she had taken it and done this on her own, would she have been able to stop at least a part of the chaos?

 

No, wait…. Her thoughts aren’t making sense.

 

“I can do it,” Natasha says, and her voice makes Will jump, successfully breaking her out of her momentary daze. She looks to the agent, who stares back at her, understanding and assured. “Trust me.”

 

“Something’s happened!” Thor calls out, staring around Stark Tower in amazement.

 

The Chitauri are falling.

 

Barton and Steve confirm the phenomenon, and at once, the entire team looks up towards the portal.

 

“Stark,” Willow murmurs.

 

The hole in the sky, which once seemed to only hold the black vastness of space, is quickly growing brighter.

 

‘We’ve got a nuclear explosion heading for the portal.’ Steve’s voice crackles over the channel, his words rapid. ‘Tell me you guys copy.’

 

“We copy,” Romanoff confirms, leaning over and scooping up the scepter as she closes the short distance between herself and the machine.

 

‘Any sign of Stark?’ Barton asks.

 

Will stares upward, searching. Natasha shifts in place, holding the scepter as she hesitates. “Come on, Stark….” the agent mutters.

 

The explosion is drawing closer, bright, too bright to stare into any longer. Will’s eyes burn as she blinks repeatedly. She squints, and thinks she spots a small, dark silhouette against the light.

 

‘Close it,’ Rogers says.

 

“Wait!” Will shouts frantically, gaze locked on the falling speck she’s sure is Tony.

 

Romanoff does not wait.

 

As the agent jabs the scepter into the machine, and the blue beam finally vanishes, Tony Stark falls backwards through the closing portal.

 

---

 

A soldier calling for Obasi pulls Asmund out of his spiraling thoughts. He clues in to the world around him – the tail end of a fight.

 

Asmund isn’t sure how things began, but the room is full of Asgardians. Most are turned away from the throne, battling at the three entrances to the room, cutting down Halvar’s men as they try to enter.

 

“More from town!” The cry comes from one of the warriors near the main door, and a few men split off from the left entrance to assist.

 

“Has word reached their barracks?!” another man shouts.

 

But no one has an answer for him. A shift in the air of two battling forces of magic catches Asmund’s attention, and he turns to face the throne.

 

One of the sorcerers that had been holding the princess and the queen is dead. Runa stands over him, holding her own against another of Halvar’s soldiers with the dead man’s dagger clenched tightly in her fist. Her father, one of Asmund’s men, and another warrior face off against Halvar and his remaining sorcerer. The glowing stones embedded in the barbarian’s sword aren’t shining as bright as they once had, and it takes Asmund a moment to realize that two of the gems are broken. The king wields an Asgardian short-sword, either given to him or picked off of a dead soldier.

 

Dead soldier. Asmund stutters over the thought before shakily getting to his feet. Now the king fights, he thinks grimly, looking from Garth to the bodies surrounding the pool. Too late, I’m afraid.

 

Asmund stretches out his hand towards the enemy sorcerer, quietly mouthing words. The man is preoccupied with blocking the spells of Asmund’s sorcerer and fighting off another Asgardian seeking to attack Halvar from behind. He doesn’t anticipate the ray of golden magic that coils around his body like a serpent, rendering him suddenly immobile and allowing his opponent to sink a spear into his gut.

 

Halvar’s Ordinat sword isn’t enough to keep him safe any longer.

 

The barbarian parries the eastern king, his wild gaze flying around the room. His followers cannot outmatch Asgard. He needed an army. He hadn’t had time, this fight wasn’t supposed to happen yet, not here.

 

“They’re behind us!” one of Halvar’s men bellows, an attempt to repeat the shout abruptly cut off.

 

The Asgardians that had been fighting in the city have returned to the palace with eastern soldiers, cutting off their enemies from any escape. Asmund focuses on Halvar, steadying himself and then clearly speaking the words of his spell.

 

The force of the golden blast of magic almost makes the barbarian lose his footing, and he howls in pain as every finger of his sword hand breaks. His weapon falls and Garth steps in front of it before Halvar can try to retrieve it.

 

“It’s over,” Asmund says. He’s staring straight at Halvar, who has not noticed him. The barbarian is backing away from King Garth and the Asgardians that assist him. Runa stands to the side near her mother’s body, dark glare affixed to Halvar’s face as she brandishes her stolen dagger. “It’s over,” Asmund declares, louder now, his voice cutting through some of the noise.

 

And Halvar turns to look at him.

 

“It’s not over, foolish boy!” Halvar says, spitting on the floor in Asmund’s direction. “It’s just beginning!”

 

“It is the end for you!” King Garth roars, lifting his sword. “Murdering coward!”

 

I am the coward?!” Halvar questions, a manic laugh bubbling out of him. “You jest!” In a fury, Garth tries to rush him, but the barbarian dances out of the way, his laughter dying as he shouts, “You’ll pay, you’ll all get your comeuppance, just wait! Barbarians you named us, you named us, because we did not cower when mighty Odin raised his spear! I will have what is mine to take! The universe will be cleansed. I’ve dangerous allies, was promised the realm if I swore loyalty! Odin cannot save you!”

 

“Obasi will decide whether we leave him to your judgment or take him to the Allfather,” one of the soldiers near King Garth states, ignoring Halvar’s continued yelling.

 

“Obasi is dead,” Asmund says, forcing a steady voice and refusing to look behind him at the captain’s body.

 

The eyes of the soldiers turn to him, past him, to the corpses around the pool. The sounds of fighting are slowly fading as Halvar’s men either die or attempt to flee. Their leader is still shouting nonsense, holding his injured hand and cursing Asgard and its people. It will be a hard trip back to the city with Halvar as a prisoner, but Garth’s history with the man has Asmund questioning what would happen if they left Halvar to be judged by the king. Could he weasel his way out of his sentence? Find some sort of leverage the Asgardians do not know about? Asmund considers his options and makes a decision.

 

“Death awaits him either way, but we will take him to be sentenced by the Allfather,” Asmund states, leaving no room for discussion. He stands tall, hoping that no one can tell how truly haggard he feels. “Seize him at once.”

 

---

 

“Is he dead?” Natasha asks, staring at the blank, powered-off faceplate of Stark’s suit.

 

Steve kneels by Tony’s head, Willow crouched beside him. The Hulk towers behind them, glowering at the dead bodies of the Chitauri that litter the street. Barton and Natasha stand to the side, Thor next to them with you still in his arms. You’ve begun twitching every now and then in your unconscious state, which causes Thor to cast you a concerned glance every time you do so.

 

“I don’t… think he’s dead,” Will says, fingers skating across the smooth armor on Tony’s chest. “Don’t be dead,” she adds quietly. Willow frowns and then tries to open his faceplate. When that doesn’t work, she tugs on the helmet itself. “I can’t get this off.”

 

“Here, Healer, I’ve got it.” Thor shifts you in his arms, and you let out a low, pained moan. Will cuts her eyes to you as the god leans over and takes a hold of Stark’s armor.

 

When Tony groans as Thor pulls his helmet free, there’s almost a collective sigh of relief from those gathered. Stark blinks, brown eyes traveling around the faces above him.

 

“What the… hell?” he asks. He tries to sit up and sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Shit. Feels like I fell out of the sky or something.”

 

Even Rogers can’t fight back a small grin.

Chapter 23: Five Points of Light

Notes:

Sorry this is so late. I can't stand posting stuff until I'm happy with it 😅 And I think I'm getting sick.
But ENOUGH EXCUSES, HERE IS THE CHAPTER!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“I’m fine.” Sigrid wakes to hear her own voice saying the words. Brenna peers down at her, face lined with worry. Sig sits up and leans her back against the shop’s counter. She doesn’t remember collapsing, but she must have. Was it the stress? “I’m fine,” she repeats, her throat scratchy and hoarse. “I’m fine.”

 

Her body aches awfully, and her head pounds along in time with her heartbeat.

 

Asmund? she questions softly in her mind.

 

The lack of reply continues to unsettle her, worry still festering in her chest. She gets to her feet and immediately leans over the counter, closing her eyes as she steadies herself.

 

“You frightened me,” Brenna says, wringing her hands together as she hovers near Sigrid. “Are you all right? What’s happened? What was it?”

 

Sig turns to Asmund’s mother, noting the panic building in her tone. The woman’s eyes are wide and filled with fear, her attention zeroed in on Sigrid and Sigrid alone. It is a good thing the shop is currently empty.

 

“I’m fine,” Sig repeats, clearing her throat in hopes of quelling the rasp in her voice. “Really, Brenna, I’m fine.”

 

As the door opens and a customer walks in, Siggy hurriedly plasters a smile across her face, her hands still shaking.

 

---

 

They find Loki in the penthouse.

 

Asgard’s lost prince is half-awake, leaning against Stark’s bar for support as he attempts to summon the energy to escape. He’s made it this far on instinct, staggering from room to room, simply knowing he must move, must get away. But now his muscles aren’t responding, his limbs are shaking, and his mind is in an exhausted daze. His energy seems to be deteriorating at an alarming rate.

 

First to spot him are the humans and Willow’s captain, who call out his position to one another and take aim with their useless weapons. Then comes Stark, with his annoying, loud voice, popping off a quip that grates against Loki’s nerves. The green beast joins quickly, the entire penthouse rumbling as the dull creature stomps and roars at him.

 

Loki’s head dips down, his eyes closing involuntarily. Your voice still whispers through his mind, your unspoken command of sleep. It’s infuriating, what you’ve done to him. He still can’t shake it.

 

And yet… he’s worried it isn’t the sole cause of the state he’s in.

 

He knows he can regain his energy if he finds a way to get his hands on the scepter once more. He had only just gotten it back, he needs to wield it longer to properly utilize its power. To keep him going. He’s been drawing on it for a year, he needs it.

 

Loki’s eyelids seem heavier than they’ve ever been, begging to close with weighty pleas.

 

Thor saying his name pulls against the tempting call of unconsciousness. Loki can sense that you and the healer have arrived with his brother, and that Willow shields the scepter and tesseract – both muted by her light. You must have given the weapon up, then, although he thinks you mad to freely relinquish such a power. You had seemed helbent on keeping it.

 

Oh, how he craves that scepter.

 

Loki does his best to put on an oh-so-friendly smile as he lifts his head to face the gathered heroes. They stand before him in the ruined room, all eyes on him, prepared to cut off any escape attempt. His grin swiftly vanishes when his gaze locks on your unconscious form in his brother’s arms.

 

His whole body goes cold, a jolt of shock opening a pit in his stomach.

 

“Is she alive?” he asks at once, the words frustratingly hard to articulate. His tongue feels leaden. “Is she?” It’s a demand for information, and when he’s not provided an immediate answer, his shoulders stiffen and his following statement is stilted. “You wouldn’t dare.” His eyes shoot from Thor’s face to Willow’s, who both watch him with tense expressions.

 

“She lives,” Thor answers, but Loki hardly hears him.

 

His eyes are drawn from your face to the glow at your wrist, and his earlier shock has rapidly shifted into horror. “Her hand,” he says, his voice and countenance falling flat. He studies the light that flows from the metal imbedded in your wrist, the form it’s slowly taking. “What is this?”

 

“It’s what had to be done,” Rogers states grimly.

 

Of course.

 

“Who?” Loki asks coolly, attempting a step forward only to fall back against the bar once more. “Which one of you?”

 

Willow extends her hand, her light flaring as she traps Loki’s wrists behind his back, much as she has confined the scepter and the cube. “Me,” she says in answer, her features rigid and somber.

 

The Hulk snarls as Loki tries to step forward again, and Romanoff glances between the two before pressing a finger to the com in her ear and confirming their location to Director Fury.

 

You?” Loki asks, scowling, actively forcing his mind to stay awake, to think.

 

It’s hard to focus. He’s sweating, his gaze intermittently and unwillingly traveling to the scepter in Willow’s field of light. And then to you, cradled in his brother’s arms. To your missing hand.

 

“Look, Emerald City,” Stark says in the following silence, “if it makes you feel any better, I can guarantee you we all wish it had been your hand instead.”

 

Barton stares at Loki, his glare full of loathing and his words as taut as his bowstring. “Would’ve solved things a lot sooner.”

 

---

 

S.H.I.E.L.D. has moved into the city now that the dust has settled. Agents hit the streets, searching for survivors. Others assess which structures are still sound and which are damaged and at risk of toppling over. Several groups are tasked with locating Chitauri corpses (especially the leviathan) and other alien technology. There are also those in charge of sectioning off the places where you began your own attack on Earth.

 

Erik Selvig is picked up from the bottom floor of Stark Tower; his body is weak, although his mind still seems to race with strange thoughts and ideas. But he is himself again at last, and that’s what leaves a thankful smile upon his face as he’s transported.

 

Nick Fury and an assortment of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents step through the door of the Stark Tower penthouse, the director passing a skeptical eye over the Avengers before a hint of a grin sneaks across his face. He suppresses it, although relief makes his shoulders feel significantly lighter.

 

“Well, I’ll – be – damned,” Fury states slowly, shaking his head. “You pulled it off.” He pauses for a moment, briefly glancing out of the broken windows to the devastated city below. “You saved the world.”

 

They ignore Loki’s quiet scoff.

 

An agent behind Fury passes him one of two cases, and the director’s eye goes at once to Willow, who still keeps a field of light over both the tesseract and the scepter. “I guess it’s about time we lock those up, don’t you think?”

 

Will frowns as Fury pops open the case he holds, which seems to be made for the tesseract. Another of his agents sets the other, longer case down and opens it as well.

 

“No,” Will says, watching the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents carefully. She turns to Fury, her jaw set stubbornly. “I think you know where I stand on that.”

 

“She’s right, sir,” Steve states. He levels his gaze with the director’s as says, “You know she is.”

 

“I have to admit,” Tony chimes in, walking closer to Fury, “it doesn’t feel right, handing something like that over to the people who just wanted to nuke an entire city. Definitely would’ve killed a bunch of civilians – not to mention all of us. Earth’s ‘mightiest heroes’.” He thinks for a brief moment and then nods his head towards the Hulk. “Well, maybe wouldn’t kill all of us, but hey. Still not a net positive outcome.”

 

“That wasn’t my call,” Fury says shortly.

 

“Do I get a vote?” Barton questions, lowering his weapon, although he continues to keep an eye on Loki. He tilts his bow towards the tesseract and scepter. “I never want to see either of those things again.”

 

“It’s too much,” Natasha says quietly, almost to herself. “We’re not ready for it.”

 

She meets the director’s eye, and is surprised when she sees something she did not expect. Something the others have not yet noticed.

 

Agreement.

 

“The tesseract is of Asgard,” Thor interjects, staring down at Fury. He nods his head towards Loki and says, “As is my brother. Both will be returning with me.”

 

There is no suggestion in the god’s tone.

 

Fury looks away from the group once more, rubbing a hand across the bottom of his face as he stares out at the city. He already knows. He had reached his decision long before he entered Stark Tower. But he has eyes watching him, and so he turns back to Willow, staring at her for a moment before asking, “And that’s fine with you, Miss Lady Light? We can’t have it, but Asgard can?”

 

Will bristles, her frown growing more pronounced. “It can’t stay here.”

 

“It won’t,” Thor adds matter-of-factly.

 

“And the scepter?” Fury asks.

 

“Sir!” one of the agents behind him exclaims, clearly alarmed that he’s not put his foot down about the fate of the cube.

 

Fury holds up a gloved hand and the agent falls silent. The director looks over his shoulder and states, “I’m just asking questions.”

 

“The scepter should stay here,” Natasha says, and Clint looks at her in alarm.

 

The men behind Fury seem more pleased with this answer.

 

“Why is that?” Willow asks as she turns to Romanoff.

 

“They’re too dangerous together,” Natasha says, glancing over at the objects in question. “Even if one gets into the wrong hands, that’s trouble. And we’ve seen it…. This has only been one possible outcome of what could happen.” She falls silent and shakes her head. “And if Thor’s taking those two back,” she continues, throwing a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of you and Loki, “then I don’t think the scepter should be anywhere near them.” She drops her hand and looks back to Fury. “So, it’s obvious. One stays, and one goes.”

 

Fury says nothing for a time. He stares at the team, at the two objects of power in Willow’s possession. Steve Rogers steps forward and extends a hand – he wants the tesseract’s case.

 

And after a long, quiet moment… Fury gives it to him.

 

Steve carries the open case to Will, and she positions the tesseract over it. She releases the cube from its field of light, and it falls into place with a soft thump. Rogers carefully closes and locks the box. He grips the case by the handle and holds out his free hand towards the scepter. Will releases it as well, and Steve easily catches it.

 

Hulk growls low in his throat, which makes the agents behind Fury look over warily. Steve hands the weapon off to the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent closest to the scepter’s case, and the man carefully places the object within it. Loki’s eyes follow the movements, half-lidded but still bright blue. The lid snaps shut.

 

“It should be Natasha,” Willow says to Fury. “Or Carla. They should be the ones to work with it. Because I know you guys won’t store it away.”

 

“We can talk details later,” Fury says, shifting his attention to the next order of business. “We’re about to be on search and rescue, for those of you willing and well enough to handle it.”

 

Most of the team nods, and Tony stretches his arms over his head and slowly lets out a breath. “Right. I’ve got to make some suit repairs, and then I’ll be set.”

 

Will looks over at Thor, who has shuffled you in his arms so that he can accept the tesseract’s case from Steve. When Thor sees her expression, he grimaces.

 

“I would stay,” the god begins, but his words fade as Will shakes her head.

 

“I know,” she says, putting a hand on his arm and then glancing at you. You mumble something unintelligible, and Will winces. “I’ll check in as soon as possible.”

 

Natasha gives Thor a short nod, and Rogers tells him, “Do what you have to do.”

 

“Maybe find a way to keep us posted, hm?” Tony requests, kicking aside a piece of rubble as he speaks. “Let us know when Shadow Master’s up and running, and not blue-eyed crazy anymore.” He looks over at you, and then away to the surrounding room. “I’ve got to send her and Murder McGee a bill. This place is trashed.”

 

“Can we bill them for the entire city?” Fury asks, narrowing his eye at Loki.

 

“Charming,” Loki says under his breath, gritting his teeth as he listens. Although his voice is weak, the malice in his tone is unmistakable. “The lot of you.”

 

Thor passes a glance over those gathered – Black Widow. Hawkeye. The Hulk. Iron Man. Captain America. Lady Light. Director Fury.

 

The Asgardian dips his head. “It has been an honor fighting together. I will return.”

 

Thor shifts you into an upright position, pinning you to his side while keeping the tesseract’s case secure. Now that he has a hand free, he turns to his brother, whose eyes are closed once again. “Can you walk?” Thor questions curtly.

 

At once, as Loki’s eyes open, another argument breaks out from Fury’s agents.

 

“He’s a war criminal!”

 

“Sir, you can’t just let them go!”

 

“Thor,” Loki says under his breath while the men bicker. His voice seems to hold a slight tremor. “The scepter.”

 

“I will not take it,” Thor replies, narrowing his eye as he grabs Loki by the shoulder and hauls him to his feet.

 

“Then you condemn me to death,” Loki spits. “You would allow it, Thor? You would stand by while I –”

 

“Silence,” Thor states, his jaw tight.

 

“And what are any of us supposed to do about it?” Fury’s voice rings out as he faces the indignant agents. “You wanna go head to head with him? Go on, then. Step up.”

 

Thor turns his attention back to the agents, a frown on his face as he waits. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and the wind starts whipping loudly across the balcony.

 

No one steps up.

 

“We take our leave,” Thor says, pulling Loki after him as he walks towards the broken windows.

 

“The scepter, Thor,” Loki states, stumbling along beside his brother. “Don’t do this.”

 

“Silence,” Thor repeats gruffly, walking out onto the tower’s balcony. He makes sure he has a good hold around your waist, case still clenched in his hand.

 

“Careful,” Loki mutters, gaze flitting between you and the case.

 

A shudder runs through Loki’s body as Thor comes to a stop, and he realizes he has to work to remain upright. He begrudgingly recognizes that Thor’s hand on his shoulder is the only thing keeping him on his feet. His limbs shake like tree leaves in the wind, and his skin feels cold and clammy, yet burning hot all at the same time.

 

Loki checks on you once more, and realizes your eyes are open. Yet even so, it appears you take in none of what’s around you. You stare blankly back at him with dull, blue eyes, and the sight disturbs him in a way he cannot explain.

 

Thor reaffirms his grip on Loki’s shoulder and then looks back into the penthouse. The team stands in front of the broken windows, watching the Asgardians make their departure.

 

“Soon,” Willow says to him.

 

Thor nods at her, and then Fury steps forward.

 

“We’ll be in touch,” the director calls out.

 

Was it a statement? A suggestion? A threat? Thor has no time to read into Nick Fury’s words. He has a duty to complete.

 

The god of thunder tilts his head towards the sky and bellows The Watcher’s name.

 

---

 

You wake.

 

Although it doesn’t feel like you’re awake.

 

Your thoughts are jumbled, scattered and vague. Pain makes your mind dull. You’re supposed to have the scepter – where has it gone?

 

You can still see the blue. It stares back at you.

 

Wait…. You know those eyes.

 

Loki.

 

Colors flash abruptly, you’re caught in their center. It feels as if they seek to tear you apart. It’s a power that wants nothing to do with you, tries to be rid of you, but a strong arm around your waist keeps you centered.

 

You shut your eyes, the speed and the wind and the colors fading away into black silence.

 

---

 

When you come to, you realize that although the lights and colors have ceased, gold remains. It’s all around you. It’s in the eyes of The Seer as you’re carried past him. It’s in the buildings, the gates. Things seem to blur into one another. It’s dizzying, you’re hurting. Your eyes roll up, consciousness slipping.

 

---

 

Your hand is burning.

 

Burning.

 

It shouldn’t hurt this much, you’ve been wounded before, it shouldn’t hurt this much.

 

---

 

When you blink back into the waking world, there’s noise and voices – familiar, urgent. White clouds your vision, it blinds you, your ears ring loudly.

 

This room, you know it. You’ve woken here before.

 

Fire is leaking from your hand, moving up your arm. It’s not your fire, it shouldn’t be there. Your body and your power fight against it to no avail.

 

“It’s spreading,” you say aloud. “It’s BURNING ME!”

 

You’ve got to put it out.

 

Hands are holding your shoulders, trying to keep you flat on your back, although whoever it is isn’t strong enough to stop you from sitting up, jerking your arm around, fist clenched –

 

Fist….

 

Your vision is spotty, maybe you aren’t seeing what you’re seeing.

 

Because it doesn’t make any sense.

 

“What?” you ask aloud. “What? WHAT?!”

 

Light. It floods from around your wrist, metal imbedded in your skin, the silver knots you’d ran your fingers over countless times. It makes you scream as it twists and flows, slowly settling into what it is supposed to be.

 

A piece of light on a being of darkness.

 

It burns.

Notes:

O look, a hand made out of light on a character with powers of darkness
That surely won't have any repercussions whatsoever

Random things to note:
I have seen Endgame, and HOOO BOYY, what a ride that was.
I'll be answering comments on the last chapter over the next few days! Sorry for the delay on that! (Lort, everything getting delayed, RIP)
I hope there's not any typos or whatever in this chapter, because it's being edited at 5am lmao
And 'Murder McGee' comes from a comment left on an earlier chapter by LittleMissSyreid :) It was too good not to use.

Hope you all have a good week/two weeks!

Chapter 24: Repercussions

Notes:

I know you're here for the story and not excuses, but if you want to know what my deal has been, I left an explanation in the comments section of the previous chapter
Also, this chapter is both hefty and heavy, so I'm sorry it's so long, but it didn't have a good spot to break it up (imo), so here we are
I'll get the next one out when I'm able, sorry again for the wait, and thanks to all of you who have been so incredibly patient with me
<3

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“I’m perfectly fine,” Asmund says once more, his annoyance apparent.

 

“Now, now,” Master Hammond retorts, frowning as he looks at the young man standing beside him, “I insist. It is always better to err on the side of caution.”

 

“Sir, with all due respect, I’m fine. I have urgent personal matters to attend to, I….”

 

He has to go check on Sigrid. He has to find out why he hasn’t heard anything from her.

 

But Hammond interrupts. “Your health is an urgent personal matter,” he states. “You aren’t well, Asmund. See a healer, please. That’s an order.”

 

Asmund attempts to stifle a cough, which only seems to prove Hammond’s point. Giving his report to the guild’s leader has irritated his throat, and he has to admit that his chest is hurting…. But he had thought that once he met with Hammond, he would be free to go and find Sigrid. His leader is having none of it, and Asmund cannot argue with such a direct order.

 

With a small sigh, Asmund acquiesces and walks into the infirmary with the other wounded. Hammond follows, wanting to bolster his sorcerers’ morale and lend a healing hand if necessary.

 

The leader of the sorcerer’s guild has thrown himself into his duties over the past few days, rather than focus on… recent developments.

 

Asmund has been coughing since they left the eastern kingdom, just like Bjorn and Eydis. The other two had been unconscious for most of the march back to Asgard, and when they had awoken, not even Bjorn had been able to crack a genuine smile. They’re still shaken. All three of them.

 

The group passes room after room, nurse after busy nurse. The healers are rushing about, focusing intently on the tasks that they’re juggling. It is nothing new – the infirmary is always overwhelmed when Asgardian soldiers return after a battle. There’s a tense energy in the air, a faux calm that feels as if it could break at any moment.

 

Master Hammond leaves Asmund in one of the infirmary’s larger rooms. It holds multiple patients – rows of men and women lying in beds with white sheets. As he’s not in need of emergency treatment, a woman takes note of his injuries and then ushers him towards an empty bed.

 

Asmund sits on its edge and then looks at the man he’s been placed beside. He inhales sharply in surprise, which immediately sends him into a coughing fit. He winces at the harsh rattle in his chest, and then gathers himself as he offers a greeting to Bjorn.

 

“Master Sorcerer,” Bjorn rasps, and he gives the young man a weak grin as he sits up straighter in his bed. “It is good to see you, now that I’m more… myself.”

 

“You look better,” Asmund tells him truthfully, nodding at the soldier and returning his smile.

 

Bjorn seems tired despite his long period of unconsciousness. He’s lying in bed, his back propped up against the metal bars that make up the headboard. But he’s more alive than he was as they entered the city – the light and warmth have returned to his eyes.

 

“I am better,” Bjorn agrees, his expression lifting at the words.

 

“Not even close,” a voice butts in, and the pair turns to see one of the head nurses approaching. The healer glances between the soldier and the sorcerer, and then shakes his head. “And you’re only going to make things worse with excessive chatter.”

 

“Healer Olav has been tending to me,” Bjorn informs Asmund, his grin brightening as the disgruntled nurse comes to a stop between the two beds.

 

“Tending to your lungs, more like,” Olav mutters, cheeks perhaps a bit pink. He turns his disapproving gaze on Asmund and states, “And you’ve the same symptoms, I’m told.” Asmund nods, and Olav shakes his head in bewilderment. “Stars, help me. Breathing water’s a perplexing choice for soldiers and sorcerers alike.”

 

Asmund doesn’t reply this time, working to keep his face stoic as a flood of memories threaten to overtake him. Bjorn looks away, his smile fading quickly. Olav takes no notice of their discomfort on the topic as he moves on from his chiding and begins treating Asmund.

 

He doesn’t appreciate the sorcerer’s attempts to rush him.

 

As Asmund tunes out the sound of Bjorn’s comments and Olav’s returning chastisement, he realizes that there’s a buzz of conversation beginning to rise in the room. Patients are leaning over, asking urgent questions to one another and confirming what they’ve heard with surprised exclamations. Nurses are nodding as they’re pulled aside, clearly irritated as they try to brush off questions and get on with what they need to do. A familiar name is being repeatedly thrown around, and it finally passes near enough for Asmund to catch it.

 

“Why am I hearing talk of Prince Loki?” Asmund questions abruptly, interrupting Bjorn and Olav.

 

The nurse’s healing magic dissipates as he pulls his hand back and lets out a huff of breath. “You haven’t heard?”

 

“Clearly not,” Asmund replies, irked by Olav’s condescending tone.

 

“Heard what?” Bjorn asks, and Olav drops some of his attitude as he turns to the soldier.

 

“Prince Thor’s brought his brother back to Asgard for some reason,” Olav informs them, cutting his eyes towards the ceiling. “Should’ve left him wherever it was he’d slunk away to… but you didn't hear that from me.”

 

“Prince Loki’s returned?” Asmund asks, more out of surprise than a need for confirmation. “Where is he?”

 

“Rumor has it the Allfather tossed him in a cell,” Olav says with a shrug. “I’ve heard tell he’s in a bad way. We’ve got a rotation of nurses that pop down to the cellblock, and they say he’s practically a living skeleton. But you didn't hear that from me,” he adds again.

 

“I wonder if Master Hammond knows,” Asmund muses, raising his eyebrows.

 

“It’s been a few days,” the healer replies. “I’d wager he does.”

 

“A cell,” Bjorn says, his forehead creasing. “That’s… troubling. Doesn’t bode well for what he’s been up to while he’s been away.”

 

“Troubling?” Olav grumbles absentmindedly as he returns to healing Asmund. “I think it’s more troubling that the Bloody Warrior isn’t in a cell. I wouldn’t have to deal with either of them if the Allfather would lock her up, too.”

 

“The warrior’s back?” Asmund asks at the same time Bjorn exclaims, “She’s returned?” They both break out into ragged bouts of coughing.

 

Their outbursts recapture Olav’s full attention, and he casts a glance between the two. “Yes, indeed. Prince Thor graciously placed her in our care. Absolutely out of it, made a hel of a scene. And they put her in a private room again, of course. Ridiculous. The Allmother has taken over for now, thank the Norns.”

 

Bjorn tosses the sheets of his bed aside and swings his legs over the edge. “I’d see her, Healer. I need to apologize, I –”

 

“Private room,” Olav reminds Bjorn, his tone softening slightly as he places a hand on the soldier’s shoulder to stop him from standing. When Bjorn stills, Olav retracts his hand and crosses his arms. “Although why you’d want to see her is beyond me. She’s out of her mind, last I heard. And I thought I had a handle on it because I’d treated her before – ha! I’m not going in there again until she’s out cold.”

 

Bjorn seems as if he’s a second away from attempting to rise again. Asmund’s thoughts are troubled, wondering if Sigrid’s heard that you’ve returned.

 

“What happened to her?” Asmund asks.

 

“Hel if I know,” Olav says with a frown. “Something pretty bad. Prince Thor brought her back at the same time as Prince Loki. I’m apt to blame him. Either way, both have trials from the Allfather waiting for them.”

 

“My lady, you can’t be back here unless –”

 

“Asmund?!”

 

Sigrid?!” Asmund calls back at once, leaping to his feet too quickly and almost falling over. Spots cloud his vision for a moment, but he searches, frantically blinking until he sees her. “Sigrid!”

 

Black hair falling out of its braids, cheeks flushed, and tears of relief welling in her golden eyes. Sigrid rushes to him, and he opens his arms just in time.

 

“Careful, careful!” Olav exclaims at the sight of their embrace.

 

But Asmund doesn’t mind the pain. He holds her just as tightly, simply glad to have her back in his arms. The entire world melts away as he kisses her, and he only pulls back because he has to ask, “Why haven’t you answered me, love?”

 

“Too much magic,” Sigrid answers, her voice muffled; she’s buried her face in the front of his robes, hiding her tears. “Too much at once.”

 

There’s a lot he wants to tell her, and lot he wants to ask her. A lot he needs to ask her. Instead, for now, he settles on, “I love you.”

 

---

 

The boats cut a path through the starry waters, sailing quietly towards the end of the realm. The fires blaze high, bright orange embers drifting up for a brief moment before they, too, vanish into the blackness of the sky.

 

A warrior’s end.

 

Thor rubs at his eye, his shoulders rigid as he stands among the crowd of mourning. Sif is to his right, her gaze unfocused and her cheeks wet. Volstagg is on his left; every once in a while, the man lets out a sniff. Hogun stands silently beside Volstagg, his head bowed.

 

Thor’s heart aches.

 

After everything on Midgard – after all of the chaos and turmoil – he’s rewarded with... this. How naïve he had been, hoping that things could perhaps settle back into something close to normal. A fool’s dream.

 

Things will never be normal again.

 

He can hardly believe it. He doesn’t want to believe it. Yet he has seen Fandral the Dashing, eyes closed in death until they open again to see Valhalla. Thor has given his friend a farewell that he was not prepared to give. And now he stands, bearing witness to Fandral’s journey to his final resting place.

 

The loss burns in the god’s chest, and leaves him wondering why the fates have chosen to be so cruel. If they will continue to be so cruel.

 

His friends are close, their grief shared. Lady Sif’s fingers brush against his, and Thor’s spiraling thoughts slow. He takes a deep breath and then slowly releases it, rubbing a hand across his eye once more before briefly glancing from Sif, to Volstagg, to Hogun’s bowed head.

 

Thor is not alone, and for that, he is thankful.

 

---

 

Can’t believe I died for someone so weak.

 

You let out a low, pained noise and twist your head around to see your old friend. She stands by your bed, looking down at you with disgust. You haven’t thought of her in a while, haven’t dwelled on her death since you shared the memories of her end with Loki. She’s right, you think to yourself. It shouldn’t have been her.

 

As she shakes her head at you, you close your eyes and let out a groan. “Please… stop. Don’t say that.”

 

“I have not spoken,” a woman’s voice says, her tone hushed and even.

 

“Wake!” something shouts faintly in your mind. It’s different from the quiet voices of both your dead friend and the woman in the room with you. “Wake, you wretched creature! Bring us the cube, lest you suffer, truly suffer the consequences of such a failure. What ridiculous impulse overtook you?! Right this wrong… at once if… you ever…. – …never had…. – …immediately! We….”

 

The threatening voice is too muted for you to focus on, growing even more distant with each passing moment. Although its second ‘suffer’ had come through quite clearly. You try to lift your hands to cover your ears, but your arms don’t respond like you want them to. You can hear whispers coming from all around you, inching closer, and something about them makes you terrified to open your eyes.

 

One of the voices is easily recognizable, although you can’t figure out what the prince is trying to say to you.

 

“Loki?” you hear yourself ask.

 

You feel a hand push a lock of hair off of your forehead. The woman’s voice murmurs hushed, soothing words, which makes the incessant whispers begin to fade away. You know her voice; it’s familiar, although right now you can’t quite place it. It sounds more solid than the others you’ve been hearing, more real than the things you’ve been seeing. You open your eyes, expecting to put the mystery to rest.

 

You couldn’t do it, the man says, his wide smile right in front of your face. Couldn’t kill him. What an idiot, giving up that much power. You recognize his laugh immediately.

 

“Not you,” you mutter, your heartbeat picking up as adrenaline hits your chest.

 

Still afraid of me, he whispers jovially, a red line opening in his throat.

 

“I’m not,” you retort. Your voice sounds hoarse, too loud in the quiet room. But you need to tell him. “Not anymore. Not for a long time.”

 

“Sleep, warrior,” the woman’s voice answers, and the visions slowly begin to fade away. “There is no need to wage war with ghosts long past.”

 

Ghosts long past, your thoughts repeat. Dead eyes. Dead eyes….

 

Blue eyes. Blue stone, that power. Burning. White light, not blue….

 

You drift away from consciousness, away from the demons and guilts that haunt you.

 

---

 

Queen Frigga is still there when you wake.

 

The room is mostly dark, and the quiet outside of your door leads you to believe it’s late. You struggle to move, your whole body thrumming with an unsettling, deep ache. Your limbs feel heavy and your stomach twists with nausea. You’re covered in sweat, the air of the infirmary cool against your skin. When you finally manage to sit up, a cold, damp cloth falls from your head and lands in your lap.

 

Frigga catches your gaze and visibly relaxes when she realizes you’re able to focus on her and not any unseen apparitions. A lit candle sits on the small table next to her, providing her enough light to read by.

 

“Frigga,” you say, your voice tight. Saying her name sounds wrong, and it takes you a moment to remember why. “Queen Frigga,” you correct yourself.

 

“Welcome back,” she answers, closing her book and setting it to the side. She does not rise this time, choosing to give you space.

 

“I feel… off,” you try to explain, shifting in your bed uncomfortably.

 

Frigga lets out a sigh, and you can hear more than one sleepless night in her voice when she says, “My husband felt it necessary to have you sedated, lest you harmed those around you.”

 

It’s a familiar heaviness, and as you sit in the same room where you last experienced the sensation, the sickening realization clicks into place.

 

“It’s… the Ordinat stuff,” you say, staring at Queen Frigga. “Odin had me poisoned?”

 

“No,” Frigga says, although her gaze hardens as she speaks of her husband. “He had a medicine crafted of it. A dulling sedative for… those with power.”

 

Your mind goes blank as the information settles in. Bit by bit, your thoughts restart.

 

He’d saved them. Odin had saved those golden darts, the poison inside them. He’d developed it into something he could use. Something that could repress power. Something that would be perfect if he needed to stop you.

 

How long has he had it ready?

 

“That’s fucked up,” you say, not bothering to censor yourself this time.

 

You clench your fists, about to force yourself to get up, but you’re taken aback by an unexpected, burning pain. The queen grimaces, her gaze dropping to your hand.

 

Right. You’d forgotten.

 

You take a breath and look down at your throbbing wrist, lip between your teeth as you take in what you’re seeing. You hadn’t wanted it to be real, but it’s undeniable now.

 

The skin of your wrist is puffy and red where the bracelet’s metal has buried itself. Your hand is... gone. Yet in its place is still a hand. Crafted of some sort of solid light, taking the form of what it has replaced. It glows dimly, about as bright as Frigga’s candle. It has substance – it rests upon the sheets without passing through them. And you can feel the fabric beneath it, the sensation dull but unmistakably there.

 

You’re shaking as you flex the fingers of this hand, a hint of pain passing through it and up your arm as you do so.

 

“It is remarkable,” the Allmother says quietly, watching as you acclimate yourself to the change.

 

Things are coming back to you, and none of the memories are pleasant. Your stomach threatens to empty itself, and you swallow thickly as you look up at the queen. “Did they bring him back, too?”

 

“Thor did,” Frigga says at once, her eyes finally leaving your hand. Her voice holds a sharper edge as she informs you, “Odin has imprisoned Loki.”

 

You stare blankly at her, unsure of what to say. None of your thoughts would be a proper response in this situation.

 

A mess, it’s all such a mess. There’s too much going on at once: Loki. Your hand. Willow. Odin. The guilt that’s steadily eating away at you.

 

And the fact that even now, you still can’t get the feeling of the scepter’s power out of your head.

 

“He’ll lock me up, too,” you say, and although Frigga is present, the statement isn’t meant for her. It’s just a fact. But admitting it out loud doesn’t make it any less troubling. “He’d have to keep me… suppressed, or whatever… but he could do it, I guess.”

 

You’d find a way out, of course. Your body would eventually adapt to the sedative until you could use your powers to –

 

You look down at your glowing hand again, heart beating faster as something occurs to you. You can feel Frigga’s eyes on you, and you know she’s most likely reflecting on your statement.

 

You can’t test anything out yet. Not while she’s still present.

 

You can’t put a potential weakness on display in front of the Queen of Asgard.

 

“I’ve spoken against it,” Frigga tells you. “He’s insistent on there being a trial of sorts. However, I think he knows full well that keeping you imprisoned would be… unrealistic.”

 

You really hope such a thing stays unrealistic. You meet her gaze, keeping any hint of trepidation from your face.

 

“It’s complicated. All of this is,” Frigga continues. It’s an echoed sentiment of your earlier thought, of how the situation really is a chaotic mess. She shakes her head, and then addresses you once more. “There are explanations and mistakes. Things that make sense and… things that don’t. But now is not the time for such discussions.”

 

Frigga rises from her chair, grabbing her book from the table next to her. You watch as she takes a few steps away from the bed, her exhaustion causing her shoulders to sag. It makes her seem older; less assured. She stops, her back to you. “You need to rest. To truly rest, now that your mind is more at peace.”

 

You suppose she’s right. You feel like you could sleep for a thousand years. And you aren’t seeing or hearing things that aren’t really there anymore, although you know better than to hope for a peaceful night.

 

Frigga glances over her shoulder once she reaches the door, hesitates for a moment, and then says, “I will return to make sure you are well. I have taken over your care, and I do hope to see you again.”

 

Don’t run, her eyes say to you. Have faith.

 

She looks away, and you feel like you can breathe again.

 

“Are you going to see him?” you blurt out as Frigga begins to step out of your room.

 

The queen stiffens, frozen in place by your question. You don’t have long to wonder why. She slowly shakes her head, and without turning, she states, “I have not been to see my son, by order of the king.”

 

The silence is terrible. Ominous. It’s really starting to set in – how fucked up everything is. “Oh,” is all you can say.

 

Frigga lifts her hand, and the candle on the table goes out. The resulting smoke curls from the black wick, illuminated by the light from the hall. “Goodnight, my lady.”

 

And then the Allmother takes her leave, closing the door behind her.

 

---

 

Willow almost beats Odin to the throne room.

 

The Allfather has barely settled when the doors open and one of the guards at the entrance announces her presence. The council mutters amongst themselves as they watch the young woman approach, her jaw set and her eyes lit with a tired determination. Queen Frigga stands at Odin’s side, careful to keep her expression blank. Thor, on the other hand, noticeably brightens, his eye following Will as she finally comes to a stop before the throne.

 

Odin surveys Willow, and something in his gaze warns of danger. “Healer,” the Allfather says.

 

“Your Majesty,” Willow responds hollowly. Just like in her first audience with the king, she inclines her head and offers a low curtsy. But unlike before, there’s a frigid coldness in her eyes when she rises. She takes his greeting as permission to speak, and states, “I was turned away at the infirmary. I was told I had to see you first.”

 

“That’s correct,” Odin says.

 

“Why?” Will asks him. “What’s going on?”

 

“The warrior was unstable,” Odin says, gauging Will’s reaction. “We’ve isolated her, for the time being.”

 

“And Loki?” she asks.

 

Thor folds his arms across his chest and shakes his head as the council members mumble amongst themselves again. Will’s eyes bounce from face to face, landing on Frigga’s unreadable gaze.

 

“He has been isolated as well,” Odin says.

 

“Okay,” Willow says slowly. “But they’re both getting proper care, right?”

 

“Yes, healer,” Odin says. “They are.”

 

An expression flickers across the queen’s face that Willow doesn’t have time to assess. But regardless of the doubt it plants, Will isn’t assured by Odin’s words or tone.

 

“Is there going to be… a sentencing? Or something like that?” Will questions. “Or has it already happened?”

 

“There will be,” Odin answers, a deep frown pulling at his lips. “And soon. As of now, we’ve been entertaining banishment, imprisonment, or death.”

 

His council comes to life once more, a few audibly agreeing with their king. Only one of Odin’s advisors seems uncertain – Colborn – although he keeps his opinions to himself.

 

“You’re kidding!” Willow exclaims, her voice reverberating throughout the large room. “Death?! How is that even an option?!”

 

“Exactly,” Thor agrees vehemently, which earns him a look of ire from his father.

 

He won’t kill his son. The revelation runs through Will’s mind, and the conclusions she reaches are all very grim. He wouldn’t kill Loki, which means…. “I could understand imprisonment, or even banishment, but death?”

 

“It is not the noblest of options, but it is an option nonetheless,” Odin says gravely. “We don’t have the means or resources to imprison the warrior for a long period of time. I had hoped she would retreat to your shared homeworld if given the choice, but should she decide to ignore the proposition, then other actions would have to be taken.”

 

Will frowns back at Odin. “That’s drastic. You haven’t even talked to them yet, have you? There’s so many other ways to work all of that out.”

 

“I’ve risks to weigh, healer,” Odin says gravely. “I must think of the good of the realms that are under my care. Both your friend and my son chose to mount an attack upon Midgard. Loki is imprisoned for now, but what if she frees him?”

 

“She wouldn’t,” Will says on reflex, but something in the back of her mind isn’t so sure. She remembers you with blazing blue eyes, a malicious smile…. She suppresses a shudder. She doesn’t break eye contact with Odin as she says, “There needs to be consequences, yes, but the scepter also needs to be taken into account.”

 

“They have both mentioned a scepter,” Odin states, already irritated that the topic has been brought up once more. “Thor has relayed its properties to me, although I find it hard to see the object as anything more than an elaborate excuse.” He ignores the indignant look his son gives him as he says, “I am not one to bask in naïve hope.”

 

Thor’s teeth clench tightly, a restrain he’s not used to showing.

 

“It’s not hope, it’s fact,” Willow tells him, hands balling into fists at her sides.

 

Odin narrows his eye at her, and he doesn’t have to speak for her to know that he doesn’t believe her. That he’s not going to believe her without proof, and the scepter is not here for a demonstration of any sort.

 

Will considers this, her fingers itching to fiddle with the hem of her sleeve. She makes herself relax, loosening her fists and keeping her hands still at her sides. “I can show you what it felt like… in a way,” Will says, each word spoken with careful thoughtfulness. “Otherwise, it’s going to be impossible to explain.”

 

“You can show me?” Odin asks. “I thought you’d left the weapon on Midgard.”

 

“We did,” Will answers. “But I held it, too. I know what it was like. And if you’ll allow it, I can show you. My power lets me create connections, and through that, you’ll be able to understand how the scepter works.”

 

It’s a gamble. She knows Odin places no trust in her, but she’s also heard the tales and myths surrounding the Allfather. It has been said he’s a relentless seeker of knowledge, and is willing to go to great lengths and sacrifices for wisdom.

 

What if I show him, and he wants to take it? she frets. He’s a known collector of powerful objects – she’s heard he’d been more than pleased to add the tesseract to his room of treasures.

 

But the worry comes too late.

 

“Show me,” Odin states. His council’s objections are silenced by his next sentence. “And if anything goes amiss… you will perish.”

 

Without hesitation, Odin’s armored guards step up next to the throne, readying their weapons in unison.

 

Odin is the king of the gods, and despite the healer’s abilities, he has faith that he can smite the foreigner if he needs. He has ensured his guards’ weapons are laced with the sedative created of the Ordinat poison.

 

Will eyes the spears as she steels herself, and then walks forward and climbs the steps until she reaches where Odin sits.

 

“It’ll take a moment,” she says, glancing pointedly at the guards.

 

Odin watches Willow’s every move as she leans forward and lightly places her hand against his cheek. She breaches the mental gap, adjusting her power as she forges a temporary connection with the Allfather. After a moment’s hesitation, he allows it.

 

The scope of Odin’s power is truly daunting. Will can’t help but inhale sharply at the waves of strength and emotion that assault her mind. There is anger and uncertainty, doubt and hope. A want for knowledge and a stubborn ego. She forces herself to stay focused, to stop the overwhelming flow and do what needs to be done.

 

She shares with him every thought and feeling, every bit of what the scepter had done to her mind. What it had undoubtedly done to others. To Loki. To you.

 

The knowledge, the coldness, the raw power and tempting voice. How it changed her perspective, coaxed her to do things she would not normally do. She shares with the king of the gods, lets him feel how natural it all felt to her, because it was her own thoughts that the scepter twisted.

 

Willow pulls her hand away from Odin’s face, her expression grim as she meets his eye. “I only held it for half an hour,” she says quietly. “Loki had it for a year.”

 

She backs away, stopping at her original place before the Allfather. Odin lifts a hand, and his guards return to their previous positions.

 

“It seems it may have been a catalyst,” he says after a long, speculative silence. “But hardly a reason to let either of them run free.”

 

“That wasn’t the point!” Willow says, frustration swiftly growing. “I’m not saying there shouldn’t be consequences, I’m just trying to get you to see that there’s more to all of it.”

 

“I can see just fine, healer,” Odin says coolly. “I am aware of your concern for your friend, but she will reap what she has sown. Neither of you should have been involved in the situation to begin with, but you’ve inserted yourselves, and thus, must accept the judgment that comes.”

 

“We didn’t ‘insert’ ourselves!” Willow says. “I was already on Earth! And Loki showed up! Did you just expect us to do nothing?”

 

“These were not your affairs to meddle in,” Odin says.

 

“We were asked!” Willow exclaims.

 

I did not ask!” Odin retorts.

 

“I did.”

 

The room falls silent as Odin turns to look at his wife. Queen Frigga stares back at him, her gaze unfaltering. But there are cracks in her façade that her husband does not miss.

 

“I asked it of everyone I could,” the queen continues. “I asked it of them. I asked it of you. I set many on the path that led us to today.”

 

“Mother….” Thor tries to interject, but he falls silent when she looks over at him.

 

It is not a look of chastisement or warning; not this time. Her expression leaves him without words and makes his chest hurt.

 

For the first time in quite a while, Thor truly wishes he were king. His mother would never have had to go through such torment under his rule.

 

The air feels heavy. Odin’s thoughts gather like dark storm clouds, brewing decisions based on what-ifs and speculations. It is up to him, despite the council’s murmurings or his wife’s admissions. He can choose to render his judgment now, or offer you choices.

 

The king lifts his gaze and addresses the room.

 

“If the warrior wishes to be welcome in Asgard, she can make herself useful,” the Allfather decides. “We’ve troops far from here, patrolling at the edge of the realm. She will be given the choice to join them. That is the only kindness I will extend. She will not be permitted within the city.”

 

Despite the allowance of your continued presence in the kingdom, the message is clear: Odin Allfather does not want you here.

 

The council seems appeased, Egil even nodding in approval. Thor bites his tongue.

 

“And Loki?” Willow asks once more.

 

Odin’s gaze narrows, and a low rumble of thunder sounds in the distance. “The warrior may not be a denizen of this realm, but my son is,” he states coldly. “His fate does not concern you.”

 

“You’d have him rot in the dungeons with war criminals,” Thor blurts out, unable to hold his silence any longer.

 

This is not the first time he’s said as much.

 

“Silence!” Odin’s demand is followed by another thunderclap, this one practically deafening. When all is quiet, he states, “I’ll speak of this no more.”

 

Will isn’t sure whether it is Odin or Thor causing the sky to growl and snap, but she can’t help but wince at the closeness of the storm. Lightning has never been kind to her.

 

Ultimately, Willow isn’t satisfied with the conversation’s conclusion, but the finality in Odin’s tone tells her there is no reason to bring up the topic of Loki again. That’s fine. She doesn’t intend to fight the lost prince’s sentence, anyway.

 

Willow clears her throat and dips her head in acknowledgment, her heart heavy as she regains Odin’s attention. “I want to see them, and then I’ll go. I have other obligations on Earth.”

 

Thor seems to deflate, all of his anger and bluster dissipating as he looks at Willow. There’s hurt in his gaze, but also resignation. He closes his eye and turns his head, arms crossed and expression withdrawn.

 

“Very well, healer,” Odin says levelly. “See to it, and then be gone.”

 

---

 

You hear voices outside of your room, and you sit up in bed as the door opens. Your world spins, and you have to bend at the waist and close your eyes to ensure you’re not going to hurl.

 

When you look up, you’re almost positive you’re hallucinating again.

 

“Will?” you ask tentatively, heart leaping into your throat.

 

You’ve been worrying about Willow – how she’s doing, what she must think of you…. Your only consolation about a possible reunion is that the eerie blue has finally faded from your eyes. You’d hoped she wouldn’t see you like that again, and once it had vanished, you’d been able to breathe a sigh of relief. But now that she’s here, looking at you with such an expression…. The reality is so much worse. She looks like she hasn’t been sleeping. Like she’s been running herself ragged on Earth.

 

Cleaning up your mess. The thought makes you grimace.

 

“Hey,” Will says, and just her guarded tone is enough to break you.

 

You can’t reply. If you try, you know you’ll devolve into a garbled mess. Instead, you watch her walk up and perch on the edge of your bed. She shifts in place until she faces you, hurt radiating off of her.

 

“I….” Will begins, but has to stop and take a steadying breath. You can barely keep her gaze, but you force yourself to look at her. She meets your eyes and says, “I… didn’t think you would do that. I didn’t think it’d have that much of an effect on you.”

 

“Will….”

 

“I mean, I thought there was a line, you know? I just… didn’t know you had it in you. To cross that line.” Willow looks away from you, her lips pressed together tightly. After a few seconds, she says, “We all know how the scepter works. It doesn’t take over your mind when you hold it; it amplifies and changes things that are already there. I guess I… hoped that all of that wasn’t there in the first place. I didn’t realize how bad it was.”

 

It’s worse than you thought it was going to be. It’s worse than all the hits you’ve ever taken. Worse than getting shredded on the battlefield. Worse than losing your hand. This guilt. It makes you feel gross; something you’ll never be able to wash away.

 

You can tell from her voice – you’ve never hurt Willow in this way before.

 

“I know,” you say quietly.

 

Maybe she hears it in your tone, or perhaps she’s reading your emotions, but something makes her look up at you. The edge leaves her gaze as her attention is drawn to your wrist. “Your hand,” she says, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

 

She extends her own hand, and you slowly reach out and place your hand of light into hers. Will’s power flares, encircling your wrist in an effort to heal the inflammation.

 

“I cut off your hand,” she says in hushed disbelief. “I-I really did.”

 

“It had to be done,” you say at once. “Gods, I’m glad you did. I was….” You trail off, your fingers curling into a fist in Will’s palm.

 

Willow stares at the light for a heartbeat or two, and then asks, “Is it.... Can you do anything with it?”

 

“I can move it,” you tell her. “Pick things up with it. All that normal stuff. I can feel things with it. Like, I can still feel your hand touching it.”

 

“Not exactly what I meant,” Will answers.

 

Ah. You understand now. You pull your hand back and let out a single, short laugh. “No, no power or anything from it. Guess I could use it for a torch, if I needed one.” She rolls her eyes at you, but before she can say anything else, you let out another blunt laugh. “Actually, ah, no, it’s a bit of a problem for me. This… light.”

 

Alarm flashes in Will’s eyes for a moment, and in response you hold up your good hand. Your darkness gathers, although it’s obviously nowhere near as powerful as it once was. “Can still use the dark with this hand, but nothing from the other,” you explain, your voice lowered. “It’ll probably get a little better after this fucking sedative wears off, but still, it’s… different. And I can still do portal stuff, but they feel kind of unstable. I don’t want to risk taking anyone but myself. And if I’m being honest with you… I’m a little nervous about using them now.” You know you’re talking too quickly. It’s like a floodgate has been opened, and you can’t stop the words from spilling out. “And if I make a blade… well….”

 

You flex your good hand and create a simple dagger. You show it to Will, and then toss it into your other hand. Your fingers of light wrap around the handle.

 

The reaction is instant.

 

The dagger dissolves on contact. Darkness drips down either side of your hand, the weapon losing its shape until it disappears into nothing.

 

“Fabric between it doesn’t seem to help,” you say, not taking your eyes off of your glowing hand. “Tried holding it with a rag. Still fell apart.”

 

Willow stares at you, stunned. The infirmary room seems too quiet, and you start feeling paranoid that you were talking too loudly. That somehow, someone has overheard and is rushing to tell Odin that you’re weak. That he could trap you.

 

“Well that… isn’t good,” Willow says.

 

“It’s karma,” you tell her softly.

 

Willow shakes her head. “No… that was me. I’m the one that cut it off.”

 

“Had to be done,” you repeat, letting your hands fall into your lap.

 

You can’t stand the silence.

 

“I fucked up, Will,” you state, your throat tight.

 

“I know,” Willow says. “And I’m glad that you know.”

 

You let out a strangled little laugh. “Yeah, I guess that’s something.” You look up from your hands and into the face of your best friend. You slowly shake your head at her, feeling like there’s a hot ball of lead in your stomach. “I… I didn’t expect to see you again. At least… not for a long time.”

 

I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.

 

“You were there for me, when I messed up,” Willow answers in a small voice, drawing up old, awful memories.

 

“This isn’t a ‘mess up’, Will,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself. “This is a major fuck up.”

 

“Yeah,” Will agrees through a sniffle. “You were there for me, during my major fuck ups, too.”

 

You let the silence stretch on, the two of you ruminating on past mistakes and misguided actions, both old and new.

 

“I… I’m so sorry,” you say at last, hating the fact that the words can’t undo anything. Can’t change anything. But they’re the only words you have left to offer her.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” Willow says, wiping at her face. “You and I both know ‘sorry’ is just a word. Actions make a difference.”

 

You feel a tear slip down your cheek.

 

Will hugs you, voice choked with emotion, and although your shoulder muffles her next statement, you will never be able to get it out of your head.

 

“I know you can be better.”

 

---

 

While Odin’s dungeons comply with Asgard’s apparent need for intricate carvings and symmetrical design, they are still dungeons. The stone halls are dark and somber, the cells magically sealed with a powerful mixture of arcana and technology. People and creatures lie within them, some pacing, others staring blankly. Many begin shouting at the two Asgardian guards that escort Willow past the rows and rows of cells.

 

Down to the end of the hall, where Loki Laufeyson is kept.

 

The guards warn her away from touching the golden ward that separates the cell from the hallway. Their voices make Loki look over from his place on the floor, his back propped against the wall and his legs stretched out in front of him. He doesn’t rise, and makes no move to come closer to the barrier.

 

His cell is just as bright a white as the others, but instead of an empty room and a cot, it seems he’s been allowed a table, chair, and bed. Will steps closer, ignoring one of the guard’s displeased grunts.

 

Captivity has not done the prince any favors. He’s dressed in average clothing, his normal, regal attire nowhere to be seen. It seems to accentuate how thin he is, how dark the bags under his eyes are. His black hair is a tangled mess, his eyes still trying to keep hold of the fading, bright blue.

 

“Do they have anyone coming in to check on you?” Will asks incredulously.

 

He stares at her for a moment, as if deciding whether or not he feels like answering. “Nurses come in rounds,” the prince finally says, voice muted by the barrier. “And I send them away. I’d rather not have anyone see to me while I’m in such a miserable state.”

 

His tone is indeed quite miserable.

 

“Stop. Sending. The nurses. Away,” Willow grinds out, emphasizing each word. “You’re going to kill yourself at this rate.”

 

Loki lifts his eyes to the cell’s bright ceiling before catching her gaze again. “This cell is practically purgatory.” He waits a beat, and then admits, “I feel like death, already.”

 

Willow acknowledges the comment with a short hum, which she’s not sure he can hear through the barrier.

 

“Why have you come here, healer?” Loki asks, and Will’s a bit taken aback by the slight tremor in his voice. “What reason is there?”

 

There’s a sudden spark of intensity in his eyes as his mind chases the thought, and the tremor from before is lost when he speaks. “Unless something else has gone amiss.” He leans forward, his voice rising slightly. “Has the Mighty Odin sent you with news? Has he decided what our dear warrior’s fate will be? Is she to be put to death? Cast out? Or maybe he’s locked her away in one of these lovely little rooms while he thinks he can get away with it?”

 

“I spoke with Odin,” Willow says, which seems to confirm the prince’s worries. She presses on, noting the way his shoulders tense up. “He didn’t really give me a choice on that. I tried to make him understand, though. And I think…. Well, I hope it helped.”

 

This makes Loki let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, I’m sure it did.”

 

“Hey, I stuck my neck out for you. For both of you,” Will tells him. “His guards were more than ready to skewer me.” She lets out a huff of breath, and then adds, “He’s going to give her some options, but he didn’t want to talk about you at all.”

 

Loki scoffs and looks away, either unbothered by the information or pretending to be unbothered. His lack of reply leads to a short lull, the solemn, muted noises of the prison filling the air.

 

“Do you even feel bad, Loki?” Willow asks him. “About anything? About any of it?”

 

He doesn’t acknowledge the question for a second or two, but at last he fixes her with a long, level look. “If I did, do you think I’d tell you?”

 

The pair considers one another, the silence stretching uncomfortably long.

 

“Get yourself together,” Will tells him at last, “or else it’ll all be for nothing.” She leans in a bit and says your name, which seems to capture his full attention. “You’re alive because of her. I saved you because she asked me to. If you lose yourself to all of this, then you’re throwing everything away.”

 

Loki holds his silence, and Willow knows she’s said and done all she can for now. She has an entirely different list of problems to deal with a realm over, and she’s reminded once again that the source of almost all of those problems sits in the cell in front of her.

 

“You owe me one, Loki,” Will warns, her expression rigid.

 

She turns away from him, and her thoughts race ahead of her even though she walks with measured steps. The guards follow her out, and the sounds slowly fade away as they leave Odin’s dungeons.

 

“I’m aware,” Loki says quietly to no one.

Notes:

That feel when you do bad shit and then you lose a hand which makes you lose some of your power, uh oh spaghetti-o

Chapter 25: Judgment

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Loki has little interest in the prison’s ongoings. Time seems to pass in a blur, leaving smudges in his memories.

 

His name, though, he still reacts to that when he so chooses. And when he hears it bellowed from across the hall, his gaze is drawn towards the vaguely familiar voice.

 

The man is spitting mad as soon as he catches sight of Loki. He violently jerks against his wrist restraints as he attempts to throw his guards and barrel towards the imprisoned Asgardian. He looks wild and unwell (though admittedly not as unwell as the prince himself), and yet Loki recognizes him.

 

Halvar cannot stop himself from swearing at the wretched prince. He has forgotten where he is and where he marches, each step closer to his sentencing. All that he has lost forces itself to the forefront of his thoughts, and he stares at Loki, the man who watched as he stepped backwards off the Rainbow Bridge.

 

“Wicked, vile bastard! Traitor! Loki!” Halvar ignores the demands of the guards as he gives voice to his rage. “He’ll have your head! He’ll order your flesh stripped from your bones! I cannot wait for the day!”

 

“Ha!” Loki does not bother to rise from his seated position on the floor. The idiotic barbarian is not worth the effort. “Hold a moment, men. The mongrel wishes to speak. It’s only right to let a dead man voice his final grievances.”

 

“We don’t take orders from you anymore,” one of the guards says, but another speaks at the exact same time, exclaiming, “Yes, my lord!”

 

The pair looks towards one another, conflicted. The rest of the guards waver, eyes darting between Halvar and Loki.

 

Halvar cackles, the sound echoing in the dungeon halls and riling up nearby prisoners. “I am no dead man!”

 

“You are naïve, you bumbling oaf,” Loki says. “Each step you take is towards death.”

 

“He’ll come for me,” Halvar says, beady eyes reflecting the golden barrier’s light. “He promised. Asgard’s palace will be fenced with pikes, a head for each.”

 

“And who doesn’t make empty promises when the need suits them?” Loki asks, laughing once more. It feels surprisingly good to laugh. “Thanos does not care about the life of an insignificant pawn.”

 

“You speak of yourself!” Halvar exclaims through a manic smile of bared teeth. He jerks his arm out of a guard’s grasp. “You failed him, not I!”

 

“And you are assuredly a beacon of success,” Loki says, noticeably surveying the Asgardians surrounding Halvar. “You’re a fool to make these claims. There is no rescue waiting for you, barbarian. Only Odin, who is surely running short on mercy.”

 

“Move it!” a guard demands, shoving Halvar in the back. He staggers a few paces, his neck craned towards Loki, straining.

 

“You’re known for your lies, Trickster! You cannot shake my faith! Thanos has a plan, and you are meant to be snuffed out before its completion!”

 

Loki fixes him with a cold stare. “A trickster, yes, though I do not only speak in lies. Listen well, for here is your truth. You will die, Halvar Magnuson. And you will die alone, by the hand of Odin.”

 

Halvar laughs.

 

He laughs as the guards drag him away.

 

He laughs as he climbs from the depths of Asgard’s dungeons.

 

And when he reaches the end of his march, standing before the Allfather’s throne, Halvar’s laugh dies with him.

 

- - -

 

You can feel Loki’s thoughts at the back of your mind. Hints of words that will surely come through clearly if you focus on them. He gives you a choice, and your decision is solid.

 

You continue to shut him out.

 

You aren’t ready. Not yet.

 

You’re too preoccupied with other thoughts, as it is. You’ve been waiting outside of the throne room doors, palace guards on either side of you. They accompanied you from the infirmary. You had been expecting them for a while now, and have not spoken a word since they cuffed you.

 

It is undignified, but you know why it must be so.

 

Asmund is preparing to leave when the grand doors open once more. When he sees you, his feet still.

 

He had been asked to attend Halvar’s sentencing and give testimony as a witness to the man’s crimes. He had not been asked to stay, though with every eye on you and the guards, he doubts anyone will notice.

 

Your gaze is downcast, and the chains between the cuffs around your wrists clink softly. More for show than for function, Asmund guesses. He doubts they’d be any real hindrance. After all, he remembers the Bloody Warrior emerging victorious from a swathe of dark woods, a camp of dead men behind her. Mere chains should be nothing to you.

 

He watches as you walk towards the Allfather and stop short of where the mad barbarian stood not ten minutes before. Asmund frowns as he realizes you seem quite sickly, slightly swaying on your feet. Your fists tremble, and he notices that you wear a black glove on only your dominant hand.

 

You kneel. Asmund’s heart jumps into his throat when the guards knock you down into a proper bow. You let out a hiss of pain and your eyes narrow.

 

Odin Allfather is a terror to behold in his rage.

 

He states your name, and you look up at him. Your eyes slide from him to Queen Frigga, who stands at the king’s side. Her gaze is serious, and yet you somehow feel bolstered by the expression on her face.

 

Odin’s council murmurs to one another, and there’s a quiet hum of voices from the gathered nobles who have come to bear witness.

 

Thor is nowhere to be seen.

 

“You stand before us, charged with endangering the Nine Realms,” Odin says, thumping his spear, Gungnir, against the marble floor. At once, the room falls deadly quiet. “You mounted an assault against Midgard. You purposefully wielded a weapon of destruction with malicious intent. You acted in poor faith and tarnished your name while under fealty to Asgard.”

 

You make yourself keep his thunderous gaze.

 

“How do you plead?” the king asks you.

 

You swallow and try to quietly clear your throat. You know what you have to say, especially if you want things to end well for you. “Guilty.”

 

Such an ugly word. It tastes as ugly as it sounds.

 

Odin grunts and shifts in his throne. “At least you are aware,” he states.

 

You open your mouth to say more, to explain, but catch movement from Frigga. The queen subtly shakes her head when she locks eyes with you. You force your unsaid words back down your throat.

 

Odin speaks once more. “I was gifted knowledge from your companion, known to us as Willow. She recounted her experience with the aforementioned weapon. The golden scepter.” He pauses, scrutinizing you. “As I understand it, these acts occurred when you were not of your right mind. Is this true?”

 

“It is,” you say.

 

“I am also to understand Frigga Allmother bid you go to Midgard, in an attempt to return with our son, Loki.”

 

“She did,” you say.

 

The gathered crowd begins murmuring again. Questions, scoffs, statements of innocence or doubt.

 

“We are gathered here today to pass judgement upon you, warrior,” Odin states. “I have made my decision.” The murmuring stops.

 

You wait, heart pounding. You try to remain calm, but doubts run through your mind. You haven’t been able to fully test your portals. How much has your power been altered by the light? Will you be able to escape, should Odin choose to imprison or kill you?

 

You can tell you’re working yourself into a panic, and you feel Loki try to speak to you once more in reaction to your fear.

 

As you stare at Odin Allfather, you allow his lost son to hear your judgement at the same time you hear it yourself.

 

“I have chosen to pardon you.”

 

Far beneath the throne room, Loki lets out a long, slow breath.

 

Odin’s eye is boring into you, as if he, too, is peering into your thoughts.

 

Your countenance shows no signs of relief, although Asmund thinks your posture relaxes slightly. He himself feels as if a great weight has lifted.

 

“You are not exonerated from guilt,” Odin continues. “You are hereby banished from Asgard upon the conclusion of this sentencing. You are to be stationed with our troops at the edge of the realm. Should you take any other action or disobey an order, you will be treated as an enemy of Asgard. Should you not accept these gracious terms, you will be treated as an enemy of Asgard. Should you vanish from our realm and return in an attempt to avoid the consequences of your actions, you will be treated as an enemy of Asgard.”

 

You wonder if the offer will remain, should Odin learn you are not the powerful soldier you once were.

 

“Do you understand these terms?” the king asks you.

 

“Yes,” you say. “I understand.”

 

“Then it is so,” Odin states. “The guards will escort you out. You are to leave at once.”

 

As you get to your feet, Loki’s presence in your mind slowly fades…. Too slowly. It’s as if he does not wish to let go. The absence leaves a chill you aren’t expecting, and you wonder why it makes you feel so alone.

 

You know you have to decide right now. Will you leave and not return, or will you accept Odin’s ruling and join the patrols at the edge of the realm.

 

I can choose to leave later, if I want to, you think to yourself. May as well stay here.

 

Just in case.

 

You allow the guards to lead you out of the throne room, chains still clinking around your wrists.

 

- - -

 

It is a long time before you hear from Loki again.

 

- - -

 

Much longer than you imagined it would be.

 

- - -

 

Warrior?

 

The air is dusty, although you try not to focus on it. The patrol is as boring as ever. Few fights have taken place since you joined Asgard’s border forces, and those fights were easily won. You want more. They’ve been good practice.

 

You can wield the swords you create with only one hand, so as a backup you wear an Asgardian short sword on your hip. It is issued by your captain, Destin, who is still fairly green and desperate to prove himself.

 

He takes his position as your babysitter very seriously.

 

I know you hear me.

 

You slow with the rest of the patrol as you all round the corner. The Asgardian camp is full of movement and boisterous voices, which means it’s not just you feeling restless.

 

You follow a familiar path towards the back of camp, where you usually lurk. The rest of the patrol group tapers off, one by one, to their own companions, fires, and food. As the last two soldiers break away and head towards Destin’s tent, you continue on alone. You try to convince yourself this is a good thing, but solitude does not give you as much solace as it once did.

 

You never thought you’d long for the days of companionable silence with a fellow soldier.

 

Bjorn.

 

The thought makes you frown. Sigrid has shared with you what happened while you were away, and you wonder again if things could’ve been different had you been there. You surely would’ve marched with Bjorn and Obasi. You would’ve chosen to group up with the half-pint.

 

Maybe they wouldn’t have….

 

Maybe Fandral wouldn’t be….

 

You unbuckle your sword belt and carefully set it aside as you plant yourself in the dust next to your small fire pit. The sounds of camp seem to dull as you light the wood, sparks springing to life with a wave of your hand. You sling your bag off of your shoulders and briefly search it for your rations and your notebook.

 

Willow has answered you.

 

It has been good to keep in touch, although you know you have nothing interesting to say. Guilt weighs heavy every time you read her updates on Earth and the Avengers.

 

The team has split up, apparently, which troubles you. But according to Willow, things have been going pretty well.

 

Her update is the usual, and you write back to her with your usual as well. Magic shifts within the book’s pages when she answers you, and you watch her handwriting form.

 

Glad to hear you’re alive and well. Quick question – what was your plan in New York, anyway? Tony kept asking for specifics last time Steve and I saw him, and he made me promise to ask you.

 

You stare at the notebook for a moment, your heart suddenly drumming faster as the question settles in your mind.

 

You feel like laughing. Your head hurts. Your dreams are still full of the frightening blue, and thinking back on it all makes you feel like you’ll fall apart.

 

And yet… you know you owe everyone an explanation if they ask for it, no matter how uncomfortably awkward the subject is.

 

Uh, you write, hesitating. It already feels like it happened a long time ago, your memory fuzzy and unclear. Well, I guess… destroy Earth, take everyone I gave a shit about to Asgard, take over Asgard, make Loki watch while I took the throne…. You pause and stare at your sentences. You add, Looking back, I feel like most of this plan was motivated by spite.

 

You can’t hear Will’s thoughts, but you can practically sense her eyes roll a realm away. I can tell, she writes.

 

You tap your pen against the opposite page, nervous energy needing an outlet. You want to say you’re sorry again, but you know it isn’t what needs to be said.

 

Miss you, you finally write. I’m doing better.

 

I know you are, Will writes back. I miss you, too. We miss you.

 

Who’s included in this ‘we’? Rogers? Stark? You suppose it’s a nice sentiment, regardless.

 

You’re not an enemy of the Avengers, and that’s all you can ask for.

 

You close your black notebook.

 

Not yet, then?

 

Loki’s words are hushed, barely audible in your mind. You lose the sound of them in the crackling of the fire.

 

Night is falling. The off-duty soldiers will have started drinking, and Destin will be looking for you. It’s time to check in, and then sleep, and then get up to do it all over again.

 

You bite your bottom lip and stare into the flames. Not yet, you answer him.

 

And all is quiet.

Notes:

Hey, it's me. I got divorced. So, that sucked.

Thanks to everyone who's helped me get back to the person I am today. Special thanks to my best friend, ShootingStarSojourner, as well as my internet best friends LittleMissSyreid, agentpiku, and chibi-lioness.
I love you guys ♥

Next chapter comes out in a week. See you there.

Chapter 26: The White Witch and the Golden Sorcerer

Notes:

Let's finish this, together.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The fates smile upon them, Sigrid is sure of it. The day has finally arrived and there’s not a cloud in the sky. She had fretted over nothing, just as Asmund had told her.

 

She smiles at the thought and turns to look at the man in question, and he gazes back at her with an expression so familiar it threatens to bring tears to her eyes.

 

Sigrid is undeniably stunning in her dress and bridal crown. There are strands of white flowers and golden ribbons woven through her dark locks. She’s swathed in fabrics of gold, her jewelry matching. It had cost them a fair amount of coin to have the dress made, but all those who are present find it worth it.

 

Asmund looks dapper in his ornate wedding attire, as close to regal as he’ll ever be. He has forgone his sorcerer’s robes for the occasion, which is admittedly unorthodox for a master sorcerer. All ceremonies are carried out in their guild’s attire, as representation of their dedication. But the way he sees it, he’s marrying this woman – the love of his life – as Asmund, not Master Asmund. If the guild wishes to have words with him on the matter, so be it.

 

But not today.

 

The wedding party is gathered in a small courtyard just outside of Brenna’s home. Sigrid and Asmund’s new house will be across the city, closer to the sorcerer’s guild. Master Hammond had helped them procure it, and while it is not a large house, Asmund knows they’ll have no trouble making it feel like home.

 

There’s a tree within the center of the courtyard, its leaves a beautiful green. This is where the attendees have gathered. This is where Asmund and Sigrid are to be wed.

 

It is a Friday, as is customary. With their friends and family so few, the gathered group has no trouble finding room to sit or stand. Golden bubbles of magical origin float through the air, and calla lilies bloom around the courtyard where none had grown days before.

 

From underneath the tree, Sigrid and Asmund look from one another and briefly scan the small crowd.

 

There is Brenna, smiling broadly with tears in her eyes. Also present are a number of their old friends and fellow servants of the palace, as well as a few members of the sorcerer’s guild. Lady Freydis and her husband have shown face to support Sigrid, although the duchess looks around the courtyard with poorly concealed distaste.

 

The ceremony begins, slightly different from Asgard’s norm, as each is missing important family members of such a union.

 

They quote ceremonial texts and ask blessings of the fates. The crowd bears witness to their vows and turns to Brenna when it is her turn to give her approval of the union. Her words are solid and sure, her eyes clear of the confused haze that once plagued her. After years of helpless confusion, at last she is living in the present, and she is happy.

 

When Brenna falls silent there is no one else to continue this part of the ceremony. The lack of other family members to bless the marriage does not seem to bother the couple, who both beam happily at Asmund’s mother.

 

Asmund does not skip a beat as he moves on to the next ceremonial tradition. He draws a sword from the scabbard belted around his waist, eyes back on Sigrid.

 

“I present to you the sword of the family Brennason,” Asmund claims. He flashes the blade towards the crowd – an old silver sword, ornate but dull, with metal spirals and filigree covering its handle. Runes are etched down the blade of the sword; ones of prosperity and luck. “It is to be a symbol of our union, and the joining of our families.”

 

He gives the sword to Sigrid, who holds it in one hand, its tip dipping close to the ground. Asmund speaks once more. “It is to show that I swear to protect you. To love you. To cut a path through this life together, until we reach the end of our days. And then ever on, come what may.” He gazes at her while he speaks, and as she sniffles, he says, “You have the strongest will of anyone I’ve ever met. Talented, strong, and beautiful. Oh, so beautiful, Sigrid. I am honored to take you as my wife.”

 

Sigrid’s truly crying, although her smile is the biggest and brightest thing Asmund thinks he’s ever seen. It warms his heart like nothing else ever could.

 

Sigrid takes a moment to compose herself and then meets Asmund’s gaze. “I’ve no family sword,” she tells him. “The only blade I own is this.” She draws a dagger from the sheath attached to her dress belt. When she holds it up, it is clear that this is the dagger you made for her, so long ago. “Will it suffice?”

 

“Of course,” Asmund says.

 

“Then I present it to you,” Sigrid tells him, “in good faith, as a symbol of our union.”

 

Asmund takes the dagger. It is a blade of darkness. It saved Sigrid’s life, and it was left unburnt in the flames of Asgard.

 

He knows what it means to her.

 

“Asmund, you are truly the love of my life.” Sigrid’s cheeks are flushed, although she does not waver in her words. “I admire you. From your wit and intellect to your adorable admiration for all things magical. You cared for me when no one else did. I was not an invisible servant girl in your eyes. I am proud to name you not only my friend, but my husband.”

 

Asmund’s grin is one unburdened, all else set aside and forgotten.

 

As they exchange golden rings, thoughts flash between their minds, images and feelings that come unbidden.

 

Memories.

 

Talking and cleaning together in the kitchens. Asmund’s boyish smile and Sigrid’s flushed face. The pair sitting across from one another in the gardens right before their first kiss.

 

Embroidering a handkerchief with Asmund’s name. Working side by side in Brenna’s shop. Learning magic and practicing enchantments.

 

Tearful hugs and feelings of safety.

 

Through it all – through war, blood, and death – they’ve kept faith in one another.

 

And ever on, Asmund repeats in Sigrid’s mind.

 

As the party breaks to adjourn to the wedding feast, Sigrid and Asmund both cast their gazes around the courtyard a final time. They search the darkened alleyways and peer into the shadows.

 

Congrats, kiddos, your voice whispers through their thoughts. I’m really happy for you both.

 

Sigrid smiles and Asmund takes her hand. They never doubted you, even if they would not have begrudged your absence. They’re well aware you are not supposed to be in the city.

 

Asmund and Sigrid never do spot you in your place on a nearby rooftop.

 

It’s as Willow always says: No one ever looks up.

 

---

 

You’re aware you’re risking everything by coming to the wedding, but even so, you had always intended on attending. Your unstable portals were the only thing that made you hesitate, but your power had been functional enough to get you to the outskirts of the city.

 

You stand and gaze over the empty courtyard. A few of the golden bubbles have floated up to your level, and they pop one by one as the magic dissipates.

 

You wonder if Heimdall has alerted Odin of your presence in the city. You have no doubt he knows you’re here, although you hope the Watcher will spare you on this one occasion. You’ve kept your word until now, and you’ve been playing nice.

 

“I’m leaving,” you say aloud, just in case.

 

You hop down from the rooftop, lightly pushing your energy towards the ground to soften the impact. You take a few steps down the alley, blanketed by the harsh shadow of the building. You intend to go back the way you came. You can step into your shadows once you reach the edge of the city and be back in time to report to Destin.

 

You tell yourself you’ll do this, but you find your feet won’t listen to you.

 

You instead walk into the courtyard, eyes traveling up and up until you’re staring at the top of the distant palace, its golden walls gleaming in the setting sun. You’d done a fantastic job of avoiding it from the rooftop, focusing intently on the proceedings below.

 

You grimace and bite your lip. The wordless thought escapes before you can get a hold of yourself.

 

Loki?

 

Warrior.

 

His answer is instantaneous. A short laugh escapes you, born of shock instead of humor. The situation seems quite surreal.

 

Here you stand in Asgard, a prince’s voice in your thoughts, as if no time has passed at all. No decrees or betrayals, no tesseracts or scepters.

 

You…. Are you in the city? his voice asks. Breaking your agreement with Odin, are you? It took you long enough.

 

I had a thing to go to, you reply as you turn away from the palace. Worth it, even if I get smited or something.

 

Odin is quite fond of smiting, Loki notes, amusement curling around his words. How long have you been here?

 

A while, you say.

 

Then perhaps you’ll make it out whole.

 

You navigate the streets of Asgard, sticking to the shadows and doing your best to stay out of sight. It’s easier than you thought it’d be. You remember these streets, after all. You’d ran them repeatedly after Asgard had burned.

 

What is on your rebellious agenda, then? Loki asks.

 

Currently, I’m leaving, you say. I might be dumb enough to risk being here for a bit, but I’m not quite dumb enough to press my luck.

 

A shame, Loki says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

 

What sort of smile, you wonder. Is he sad? Perhaps a bit wistful? It doesn’t seem right to make such assumptions.

 

A shame, you echo back to him. You turn a few corners to avoid the market. You sound… better.

 

More like myself, yes, he says, the words coming slower this time. There’s a beat of silence, and then he adds, As do you.

 

I am, you say, moreso in hope than belief.

 

You’re well, then? he asks.

 

You scale the side of the building next to you when you hear voices a little too close for comfort. Well enough, you think to Loki as you take a seat on the side of the sloped roof.

 

You’re facing Asgard’s palace again.

 

I’d ask to see you. His voice is hushed, and you almost confuse it with thoughts of your own.

 

You mean you want me to bail you out.

 

He laughs. A soft noise, familiar and… it makes you think of green.

 

What a tempting offer that I know you have no intention to make good on, he says, his tone dry but not unfriendly. I wouldn’t ask you to do so.

 

Sure, you say. I definitely believe you. A hundred percent.

 

There’s no cell keeping you here, however, Loki adds. I’ve been waiting for word of your disappearance, and it has yet to reach my ears.

 

You don’t answer, turning away to see how far from the city outskirts you are. There’s still a decent way to go, but at least the voices below are fading.

 

Loki says your name. Why linger? he asks.

 

You want me to leave?

 

No, he says evenly. I’m simply curious.

 

I don’t know, you answer.

 

Well, we both know that’s a lie, he states. It would be easier for you, if you quit Asgard and rid yourself of Odin’s law.

 

You jump to the next roof over, landing as quietly as you’re able.

 

I know there are other places for you to go, filled with people that would undoubtedly welcome you with open arms, Loki muses. The Healer has remained on Midgard with your… companions.

 

Next roof. You think your feet thudded a bit too loudly this time, but you continue moving.

 

And if you don’t prefer the mundane, which I know you don’t, then there’s always your home to return to, Loki continues.

 

My home, you say, the phrase repeating and overriding everything else. You see the palace in your mind’s eye, the training grounds, Loki’s room.

 

You can’t shake the visage fast enough, and you know he’s seen it, too.

 

Even now? Loki asks, his voice quiet as it floats through your thoughts.

 

You don’t answer for a while, and he doesn’t press. You focus on the sounds of the city as you jump to the next rooftop.

 

Until, at last, you cave.

 

Stupid, I know, you think to him. But you’ve always called me a fool, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to you.

 

There is no laugh this time, no banter like you expected.

 

I don’t understand, he says instead. When you don’t reply, he asks, Why?

 

‘Why’ what? You’re stalling.

 

You need to jump down to the street, but you’re frozen in place. He’s asked the question you’ve been refusing to ask yourself, and you don’t know if you’re ready for the answer.

 

This time, he’s the one that remains silent.

 

I…. Your gaze is drawn to the golden palace yet again. Its windows accuse you of lying to yourself, its gardens and halls holding ghosts that aren’t quite ghosts anymore.

 

He’s alive, and so are you.

 

You can’t help but think of the wedding. Siggy and her half-pint, making vows and doing ceremonies. You’d never been to such a thing on your home world.

 

Your thoughts stutter to a stop when you realize they might unintentionally slip to Loki. Marriage has never been an easy subject. And yet…. At this point, what would it matter? What would it change? You feel like your fear is almost laughable.

 

 You want to know why I’m still here? you ask.

 

Indeed.

 

You worry your lip. What if it’s because of… what if it’s something… awkward?

 

Those are the best sort of secrets to discover, don’t you think?

 

You shake your head and decide you have nothing else to lose. May as well get it all out. Look… I… you already know that where I’m from, my people don’t have ‘marriage’.

 

There’s a beat of silence, and before you can continue, Loki says, Well, I can’t say I expected our conversation to take this turn.

 

Shut up, just listen. Your heart is pounding in your ears. My race of people don’t have marriage, we have bonds. You try to focus your thoughts so faces won’t flash in your mind’s eye. This is hard enough already. Bonds don’t have to be romantic. Like me and Will, we’re bonded. But when they are romantic… it’s a thing that just… happens. It’s when your life changes because of that other person. It’s when you choose to spend your time, your life, with them. It’s why Willow chose to stay on Earth with Rogers. And… it’s why I’m still here.

 

You wait on him to say something – anything – and surprisingly, you don’t have to wait long.

 

The bond you speak of…. ‘While you live, I want you.’ Your stomach pinches at his words, and you hear them repeat in your memory, when he first spoke them to you. Loki’s thoughts swim through your mind again, saying, Am I right in suspecting this sentiment could be the beginnings of such a bond?

 

That’s all you have to offer him on this topic. At least for today. I don’t want to talk about it, you tell him, words fading to a soft whisper. Not yet. Maybe not even for a long time.

 

I see, he replies. And his tone is soft, too. But one day.

 

One day. Yes.

 

You rub at your eyes. They sting, and it makes you tired. Or perhaps it’s the emotional toll. Either way, you’re exposed by your own doing. He could really hurt you right now. He has hurt you. And yet….

 

I… can’t make myself give up on you. It feels strange to finally tell him.

 

You force yourself into motion, moving away from the past and its ornate palace. You continue through Asgard’s streets on reflex, your thoughts busy.

 

I cannot fathom why, Loki tells you.

 

You’ve slowly been feeling more… normal, you say. When you try to talk to me, each time, you’re kind of… you again. Like you mentioned earlier.

 

I was always me, he reminds you. Through all of it.

 

I know, you say. I was, too. You hesitate, and then add, I guess in a weird way, I’m glad I can understand. Still hurts, but at least I’m not as confused.

 

He doesn’t reply for a beat, and you lose yourself in the methodical rhythm of your footsteps.

 

I’ve wrongs to amend. His voice breaks the silence, his tone somber. There’s more battles to come. More war. I’ve seen it, and was almost a part of it…. Was a part of it.

 

We still need to know more about all of that, you say. It’s something you’ve been thinking about, too. And I feel like you know more than you’re telling.

 

There’s no use repeating myself when my warnings fall on deaf ears, Loki says tightly. Odin does not care to listen. Not yet. But it’s inevitable.

 

Foreboding, you tell him. Maybe Thor can convince him to do something about it.

 

Ha!

 

You roll your eyes at his laugh and shift your weight, preparing to dash to the next alley. The sunset has bathed Asgard’s streets in red.

 

Hopefully we’ll have things… sorted out, or settled, or something before worse comes to worst, you say.

 

If we want to live, I suppose that would be a good start, Loki says, his thoughts laden with snark.

 

I think… we both want to live, you reply, ignoring his attitude. Right?

 

He’s silent, and you realize you’re standing still. This trek through Asgard is taking forever, and you’re not interested in getting caught.

 

Will our lives ever fall back into step, murderess?

 

You can sense no ill will behind the old nickname. You dart around the street’s corner, plotting your course in your mind. Loki silently waits, probably seeing your mental map as you focus.

 

When you’re back on track, you sigh and turn your thoughts to the conversation at hand. Maybe? I don’t know…. It’d have to be a slow walk. We’ve been through… well…. It’s a lot. You pause a moment, your mind providing you with a plethora of unwanted examples. I know what you did… and what I did. But the scepter isn’t a viable excuse for those actions. So, right now, I’m just… not sure.

 

I don’t expect your forgiveness, he says quietly, his voice almost fading completely for a moment. I hope you know that wasn’t what I was implying.

 

You grimace, fighting back another heavy sigh. I know. As far as forgiveness goes… I’ve gotta forgive myself, first.

 

Your actions were nothing compared to mine, warrior.

 

You bite at your lip as you glance at your gloved hand. But it’s not a comparison.

 

I see.

 

You tug on your glove, pulling it farther up your wrist so that you cannot see the metal embedded in your skin. It truly is remarkable magic. Maybe Asmund will be able to persuade Sig to join him in the sorcerer’s guild. Or maybe Frigga will take an interest in her – she’s seen your hand with her own eyes, after all.

 

You still aren’t quite used to it, but you know it’s strong, protective magic. And you will always wish the best for Sigrid.

 

I’ll be around, you tell Loki. You and I both know this is just the beginning. I don’t plan on letting some space jackasses get away with all of this.

 

I believe we may count among these ‘space jackasses’, depending on who is asked, Loki says.

 

You snort and roll your eyes.

 

You figure the conversation is over, but after a minute or two, Loki speaks again. It is good to hear your voice.

 

It reminds you of being half-asleep in his bed, late in the night, when it is easier to say such things. Yeah. Heh. I guess it is. Maybe we… can talk again.

 

I’d like that.

 

You must be really bored in there, then, you say, tone light.

 

Dreadfully so. Though, I suppose I’d speak to you regardless.

 

Always the charmer, you think to him. You drop the sarcasm and realize that the teasing banter is nostalgic and… almost normal. You haven’t felt such a normal in over a year. It’s… good to have you back, Loke. I don’t expect everything to be the same, but….

 

The silence stretches, until at last he asks, Are you suggesting we start over?

 

No. Your answer is immediate and blunt. It’s impossible to start over at this point. We’re not really wiping the slate clean…. There’s stuff on our slate that isn’t gonna come off. But we can still wipe it down, and whatever stays… well, I guess we can go from there and see what happens.

 

You think on your own words, and it makes you feel as if you’re at the beginning of a mountain trail, preparing for the long trek to its peak. Intimidating. It’ll take work.

 

Naturally.

 

Such a thing will be quite the hike, yes… but you think it might be possible.

 

Is that what you want? he asks.

 

You know Loki’s question encompasses everything. Everything, including him.

 

To be soft, even through the hurt. To relearn one another and fall back into step on the road ahead.

 

Is that what you want?

 

Yeah, you decide. Yeah, it is.

 

Then I thank the Nine.

 

---

 

You hear his approach, the whoosh of air and heavy thud of his landing. You’re surprised at just how familiar the sound has become since you first arrived in Asgard.

 

“Warrior.”

 

You stop in your tracks, not two steps over Asgard’s city border. “Thor.”

 

You turn and face the god of thunder. He’s a few strides away, but neither of you moves closer. It takes you back to the first time you saw him, a mystery man on the back of a horse, across a bloody battlefield.

 

Emotions war across his face, and when he meets your gaze, your heart hurts.

 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I know I’m not supposed to be here.”

 

His expression slowly clears, and he gives you a small grin. “And you aren’t.”

 

“Heimdall?” you question.

 

Thor shakes his head. “No. I’d heard of your previous servant’s nuptials and came to my own conclusions.”

 

“Yeah,” you say, “couldn’t miss their ceremony. I figured I’d risk it.”

 

“I’d expect no less,” Thor says with a chuckle. “And I see I’ve caught you on your journey back.”

 

“Yeah…. I don’t want to push it. Not supposed to be here, and all that.”

 

“Which you aren’t here,” Thor reminds you.

 

“Exactly,” you agree, matching his brief grin.

 

But the smiles fall, and the two of you are left staring at one another with too many words left unsaid.

 

I’m… sorry,” you say, not referring to your presence in the city this time.

 

A cool breeze whips the flags posted near the city border. You get the urge to tug on the end of your glove, so instead you squeeze your hands into fists and wrap your arms around yourself.

 

Thor shakes his head. “It has been too long. These absences… both you and Loki… it reminds me of the time just after he left. I do not care for it.”

 

You wince. Of all of your blurry, distant memories… that one is painfully clear. “I… don’t either. But there’s nothing to do about it, really. I’m going to keep… doing what I’m doing.”

 

“Fighting with our army, just as before,” Thor states.

 

“We both know there’s still something bad coming,” you tell him. “Gotta stay ready. Just in case.”

 

“Is that truly why you choose to stay?” Thor asks.

 

“Yes.”

 

The answer comes quickly, but it’s hollow. And you can’t lie to Thor.

 

You drop your gaze as you say, “… No. It doesn’t matter.”

 

“I want you to stay. I am glad you have made such a choice, more than once now.”

 

That makes you look up. Thor’s eye is filled with somber determination, and though he appears calm, a low rumble of thunder echoes in the distance. His red cloak swirls with the wind, his silver armor and winged helm reminding you that he is both a warrior and a prince.

 

“I’m going to change things,” he says solemnly. “When I am king, I will welcome you home.”

 

You uncross your arms, tug at your glove, and then adjust your sword belt. Any excuse to blink your tears away.

 

At last you look up at Thor Odinson. The man that had carried you, broken and bleeding, into a new life you’d never anticipated. The man who had become your friend. Your almost-brother.

 

You turn away and tear a rift into the dark, the edges fuzzy and periodically sparking with light. You aren’t sure how to answer, your feelings so scattered, but at last you land on, “I’d… love to see that day.”

 

You hear footsteps, and when you look back you see Thor walking to you. You face him, and he comes to a stop with his hand extended.

 

You watch him for a moment, hesitant. He seems so sure of such an unsure future. It is hard to admit that you want that hope, too. You want it so bad it hurts.

 

At last, you hold out your hand, and Thor grasps your forearm firmly. You mirror the action, wrapping your glove around his forearm as well. It is a gesture that has never made you feel as grounded as it does now.

 

Secure.

 

Hopeful.

 

“I swear it,” Thor says.

 

And you believe him.

Notes:

And that's a wrap, my friends.

I'll post an epilogue, which will briefly go over a few things regarding Loki and our warrior's future, but this is officially the last real chapter of this series. I can't believe we're finally here!

Thank you all for reading, whether you were here from the very beginning, or if you're just joining us now. I can't thank you enough for taking this journey with me.

I wish the best for all of you, and thanks again.

With love,
W

Chapter 27: The Mountain's Peak

Summary:

This is the end <3

Notes:

The epilogue is here 💜

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The trek with Loki is long and arduous. It’s filled with pitfalls, icy slopes, and avalanches of blue. It’s a tricky climb, which you had both anticipated.

 

Some conversations send each of you plummeting towards the mountain’s base. Sometimes one of you pushes the other down, unintentionally or otherwise. They are unavoidable – these accusations and careless words. There’s an undercurrent of pain that will forever flow through both of your lives.

 

The slate isn’t clean. It never can be.

 

But you climb, inevitably helping one another over each treacherous danger, intent on moving towards normal, towards familiar. Building on what is left.

 

You start with periodic conversations. And when things don’t hurt as much – when staying in touch begins to feel natural – you find that the prince’s voice fills your head every day.

 

And while it isn’t always easy, it is at least easier.

 

- - -

 

You catch wind of the plans for Thor’s coronation from the other soldiers in the camp, although you do not dare to hope. You’re hesitant to bring it up with Loki, but the topic is inevitable. A lot rides on this event for the both of you.

 

I wonder if Thor’s advisors will convince him to keep me imprisoned, Loki ponders one night. Even he can’t deny the danger I pose after… everything.

 

You roll onto your back and stare up at the star-dotted sky. One of Asgard’s moons is full, and the light doesn’t lend itself to sleep. But Loki is always ready to talk. What else is he to do?

 

And everyone knows he loves to talk.

 

I think it’d take a lot of convincing, you reply. Thor’s been trying to get Odin to let him talk to you. I figure he’ll take the throne and then come knocking. You purse your lips and then ask, Can someone knock on the cell barrier? Or would it zap them, or something?

 

You can’t hear Loki sigh, but you know he does. Insufferable, he says at last. I sit here fretting over my freedom, and you have nothing to offer but unimportant musings.

 

You grin at the stars, although you have to admit he has a point. Yeah, yeah, sorry. Look, I know you have your doubts, but I… I don’t know, I think it’ll be okay.

 

You don’t give voice to the fact that this foolish hope is all the two of you have left.

 

And perhaps such a thing is not so foolish after all. Because things do indeed change under Thor Odinson’s rule. They change swiftly.

 

The very evening Thor becomes king, Loki is moved from the dungeons to his old rooms. Although still confined to his quarters, it is a vast improvement, for which he’s grateful.

 

Loki runs his fingers across one of his bookshelves, tracing each novel’s familiar spine, and shakes his head at the notion. Grateful to his brother, the king…. These are strange times indeed.

 

 

It is the day after Thor is crowned that a blue raven flies into your camp with a royal scroll in its beak. It searches for your unit’s leader, and when its message is delivered, the bird fades into the dark blue magic it was birthed from.

 

Then, at last, Destin hands you the scroll, its wax seal unbroken. Your pardon from Thor, King of Asgard.

 

It doesn’t truly set in at first. You reach the end of the message and realize your chest hurts. Every bit of emotion you’ve been carrying has decided to ball up right behind your rib cage.

 

You read it again. And again. And once more, so that you’re certain you’ll never forget the words. It’s in the middle of your last readthrough that you realize there’s tears in your eyes. Your hands shake, making the words harder to follow. Asgardian speech is full of long sentences with flowery language, but you know exactly what these paragraphs mean.

 

You’re going home.

 

- - -

 

As you enter the city, you pass a troop of soldiers heading out. You spot familiar faces, although none you wish to speak with. You return your attention to the gate, but have yet to walk through when you hear your name from a familiar and welcome voice.

 

“Bjorn!” You can hardly believe your eyes, and you move to meet him halfway when he breaks from the group.

 

“Warrior!” he greets you, his tone as warm as his smile. You briefly clasp forearms and grin at one another as he states, “Oh, it is good to see you alive and well! You know how rumors spread.”

 

“Boy, do I,” you say with a grimace. “Although, I guess a lot of it may not be rumors this time.”

 

“Unfortunately, our paths haven’t crossed at a time for conversation,” Bjorn says, sounding a bit miffed at the situation. He pauses and covers a cough with his arm, then frowns as he says, “We march to quell a small rebellion in the west.”

 

“We should talk when you get back,” you tell him. “I know you had a lot go on while I was away. And… well… there’s a lot from my end, too. If you want the whole story.”

 

“I very much want the whole story,” Bjorn states. He glances towards the tail end of his troop, which is slowly growing further and further away. He rests his hand on his sword hilt as he turns back to you. “Warrior. I want to apologize.”

 

The kiss.

 

“No need,” you tell him, not unkindly.

 

People act on impulses, especially under tense and urgent circumstances. You know this more than most.

 

The kiss was a frantic “what if”. What if you wanted to start over? What if you could let go? What if it was something more than friendship?

 

But it wasn’t. It isn’t. You both know this.

 

Bjorn acknowledges these unsaid things with a nod. “I hold you in high esteem, my friend. You’ve fought by my side. Saved my life. I do not care what Asgard whispers.”

 

You hold Bjorn’s gaze, and at long last, truly match his smile.

 

- - -

 

None care to visit Loki, save for Thor and Frigga. Occasionally Odin.

 

And now you.

 

The first time you’re allowed to see him, you feel snakes writhe in your stomach. Even the sight of his door is overwhelming.

 

Thor had instructed the guards to let you speak to Loki alone, and although they aren’t pleased, they do allow you to step over the threshold without them.

 

You feel your breath catch in your throat when you see him.

 

Loki stands across the sitting room, clothed in royal garb once more, which further pushes the feeling of familiarity. Your footsteps die six feet away as you search his gaze.

 

Gone is the burning man with a stranger’s face.

 

In his place is your Loki. Perhaps thinner than he should be, and he could undoubtedly use some more sleep, but he seems… alive again. His eyes, you can’t stop yourself from studying them; that shrewd, green gaze you know so well.

 

Your mind calls up varying memories of the Loki you’d found on Earth, comparing each to the man in front of you and discarding them one by one. There is no blue. No twisted hatred. You know he’s not the same as his old self, but you decide to cross that bridge when you get there. Neither of you can go back to who you were before it all. You’ve made your peace with it.

 

Hopefully, he can, too.

 

Loki says your name, scrutinizing you as much as you are him. He’s guarded, but you know him well enough to see he’s nervous. The realization makes your shoulders relax, although the tension in the room remains.

 

You take a tentative step forward. Then another. When you keep moving, he steps forward as well.

 

And when you meet, you’re wrapped in his embrace. He’s rigid and unsure, but his hands still gather you close. You press your face against his chest and your fingers tighten in the back of his shirt.

 

“You’re home.” His voice is hushed, meant only for you to hear.

 

“You’re an asshole,” you choke out, your voice strained from withholding tears. “I fucking missed you.”

 

And he laughs softly in your ear.

 

- - -

 

Talking it out is neither fast nor fun. It takes days, weeks. It’ll take more. But each step forward gives you both a bit more closure than before.

 

Your chosen place for these talks is the fancy settee. Your legs dangle over its edge, your boots lightly tapping on the side of one of Loki’s many bookcases as you stare at the sitting room’s ceiling. You’re surprised there aren’t books up there, too.

 

You both talk of the scepter. Its voice. Its impact. Loki explains what he can recall of the Other, and you tell him of the voice you heard in New York and Asgard’s infirmary.

 

You both talk about Willow and The Avengers. Loki’s chaotic plan and the meaning behind it.

 

“I wanted it all,” he says one day, pacing past the settee as he explains. You vaguely remember when he’d said the same thing at the top of Stark’s tower. “The cube. The scepter. Earth. Asgard.” He pauses, and when you look up, you find him staring at you. He blinks and starts to pace again. “You.”

 

“Oh,” you say.

 

“All of it,” Loki tells you. “It seemed possible, as mad as it sounds. It seemed… simple.”

 

“It did make things seem really simple,” you agree, turning away to frown at the ceiling again.

 

After some more discussion, there’s a lull in the conversation. Loki walks to the chair closest to you and sits. He leans forward and rubs a hand across his face.

 

You see the gesture from the corner of your eye, and it worries you. It’s no secret that he’s not sleeping well. You sit up and stretch your arms, arcing your back until it pops. “It’s late,” you tell him.

 

When he doesn’t reply, you look over and realize his eyes are caught on your glove.

 

“It’s late,” you say again, softer this time, dropping your arms and breaking his gaze.

 

You don’t think he’s going to reply, but then….

 

“Don’t go.”

 

The following silence is heavy, but you know you have to break it.

 

“I’ve got my own prison rooms to report to,” you say, habitually tugging at your glove as you stand.

 

He doesn’t say anything until you get to the door.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

You hesitate at the door… and then open it. “Me, too.”

 

- - -

 

Periodically you meet with Thor, who has wholeheartedly welcomed you back.

 

“The council is perhaps a bit displeased that I’ve allowed you within our walls,” he tells you. “But I am king, so they may stay displeased.”

 

As precautious as Thor’s advisors are, they have convinced him to keep guards posted in the passages between the guest wing and the rest of the palace. It wouldn’t bother you, but you hate having to ask to go to the training grounds every day.

 

Because you know you need to train.

 

“The threat is real,” Loki tells you one night. “This ‘peace’, it’s not a reprieve. Thanos and those that follow him continue to plot in the shadows.”

 

It is your turn to pace Loki’s sitting room. “We have to be ready.”

 

“We aren’t,” he tells you flatly.

 

You bite your lip, worrying the skin until it hurts. Your hands ball into fists and then relax, over and over as you walk. The magnitude of it all, the lack of control… it’s daunting.

 

Your pacing lands you close to the settee, and so you force yourself to sit. “It feels like we’re sitting ducks.” Loki only stares at you from his chair, which makes you sigh. “You said that… that Thanos and the Other thought we’d be dangerous if we worked together. Which is why they pushed that separation.” You ponder in silence for a moment, and then ask, “Does that still count? Like, will it make any difference?”

 

“That was when we had the scepter and the Tesseract,” Loki reminds you. “Now, we’re removed from both, and you’re….”

 

He falls silent. You thread your fingers together and lean over, propping your elbows on your thighs and resting your forehead against your hands. You can feel the leather glove against your skin, cold, and now (unfortunately) familiar.

 

You hear Loki get up, and you figure he’s about to start pacing now that you’ve stilled. Instead, you feel him sit beside you on the settee.

 

He’s kept his distance since your initial embrace, but now you feel the light touch of his fingers on your forearm.

 

Your chest hurts. “It’s late,” you say, voice hushed.

 

“It is,” he agrees.

 

His fingers travel towards your wrist, the sensation leaving chill bumps in its wake. When his touch finally reaches your hand, you slowly lower your arm until it lays across Loki’s thigh, palm up.

 

Instead of pulling off your glove, he slips his fingers through yours. The pressure makes your wrist ache, but it isn’t as bad a pain as it has been.

 

“Don’t go,” Loki asks of you.

 

You’re silent for a long moment, staring at your hand in his. You sigh and lean your head on his shoulder. Time passes, although you’re not sure how long you sit with him.

 

But inevitably, you squeeze his hand, rise, and walk to the door.

 

- - -

 

You feel like you’re talking in circles. Thinking in circles. There’s too many questions, too many problems, and not enough answers. Not even close.

 

Training doesn’t help quiet your mind tonight, and instead of walking the familiar halls towards your room, you walk instead a different set of familiar halls.

 

“This is pointless,” your cranky guard states. “He’s no doubt asleep at this hour.”

 

“He’s not,” you reply, and knock on Loki’s door.

 

He is indeed awake.

 

Loki must have been in his sitting room, because he answers within a few, short seconds. You don’t miss the guard’s huff of annoyance as Loki closes the door behind you.

 

The prince says your name as you walk towards the settee.

 

“My mind won’t shut up,” you tell him. When you sit, you realize your heartbeat’s running on useless adrenaline, and your nerves are making your leg bounce. You run a hand through your hair and suck in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

 

“I can relate,” Loki says, taking his seat beside you.

 

You look around the room and realize the only light is coming from a candle next to the chair Loki likes to read in. “Where’s your book?” you ask.

 

“I… wasn’t reading tonight,” he tells you.

 

“What were you doing?”

 

There’s a stretch of silence, and then he nods. “Reflecting,” he finally decides.

 

“You should be sleeping, you know,” you tell him.

 

“Hypocrite,” he names you.

 

You run a hand through your hair again, mind still scattered. You realize there’s pressure on your thigh, and you find Loki’s placed his hand on your leg to stop its bouncing.

 

It works. Even with your leg still, his hand stays.

 

You know you need to calm down. The threat isn’t here, after all, and there’s no way for you to physically fight this feeling of trepidation.

 

You take another deep breath. “What were you reflecting on?” you ask him.

 

He’s quiet for a while, long enough for you to regret asking. But then he sighs and says, “On us.”

 

“Yeah?” you ask. “Got any specifics?”

 

You watch him as he stares at the flickering candle next to his vacant chair. Shadows play across his face, changing his features with every shift of the small flame. The silence is strangely comforting, and you can feel your heartbeat slow as it decides it no longer wants to break free of your ribs.

 

“Specifically,” Loki finally says, his words slow and laden with exhaustion, “how neither of us could kill the other. Even at our lowest. Even when it was the most beneficial, the most logical solution… neither of us did it.”

 

He turns to face you, candlelight reflected in his eyes. You can’t read his expression, especially not in the dancing shadows. You think on his words, and then say, “I’m glad. Guess it says something, huh?”

 

“I suppose it must,” he says softly, breaking from your gaze to stare across the room once more. He absentmindedly traces imaginary lines across your thigh as his mind chases different trains of thought.

 

You catch his attention again when you take his hand. He stares, frown pronounced as his fingers interlace with leather. “Do you wear this to sleep?” he asks, thumb skating across your glove.

 

“Yeah,” you say. “It kinda… glows. So… yeah. Sig got me a pair of cloth gloves, so I use one of them instead of this leather one when I need to sleep. They’re thinner.”

 

“I see,” Loki says.

 

You extract your hand from his, hesitate, and then carefully pull on each of the glove’s fingers. You slip it off and set it aside, and then offer your dimly glowing hand to Loki.

 

“Does it hurt?” he asks you, morbidly curious.

 

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” you say, hoping to wipe the pained look off his face.

 

“Had I not –”

 

“Don’t,” you warn him. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

 

His lips press into a thin line, but he acquiesces.

 

Loki holds your hand in both of his, feeling the strange, solid magic that hums beneath his fingers. You aren’t used to the sensation of touch with your hand of light, as you try to keep a glove on when at all possible. It’s almost… cathartic to feel Loki gently press his fingers against your palm, his thumb carefully sliding across the back of your hand.

 

“Are you…” he begins, but seems at a loss for words.

 

“Am I?” you ask. His troubled look prompts you to guess, “Am I… okay?” When he subtly nods his head, you let out a short laugh. “Kind of? I’m… fine. Eventually, I’ll be okay. It’s a part of me. That’s it. It’s just a part of me now.” You stare at your hand, Loki’s fingers a black silhouette against the light. “Are you okay?” you ask him.

 

“As you’ve said,” he tells you smoothly, “I will be.”

 

Loki releases your hand so you can slip on your glove, and when it’s in place, you flex your fingers out of habit. You glance at him and then say, “Glad we didn’t kill each other.”

 

You stand up, Loki following suit. You’re already turning towards the door when you say, “It’s la–”

 

“Late,” Loki finishes as he catches your wrist.

 

You look back at him, at his fingers closed around the cuff of your glove.

 

“I know I’ve no right to ask,” he says quietly. “And yet, I ask.” Loki closes the distance between the two of you, and your heart stutters as his nose brushes yours. “Don’t go.”

 

Maybe it’s because it’s late.

 

Maybe it’s because you didn’t kill each other.

 

Or maybe it’s because you still love him.

 

But ultimately, you figure the reason doesn’t really matter.

 

This time, you kiss him.

 

- - -

 

You and Loki can walk the city, so long as guards shadow your steps. You don’t really care for it, but to some extent, it does help soothe your restless spirit.

 

At first, the public was confused. The rumors that had spread through Asgard were undoubtedly exaggerated, and they certainly misconstrued parts of the truth (although the truth itself doesn’t paint either of you in a good light). But it is not as if the two of you have ever been especially beloved by Asgard, not nearly on the level to which the people hold Thor. And Thor has freed you, the Asgardians tell themselves, so surely you must be able to keep that murderous nature in check. The both of you have been held accountable for crimes against Midgard, not Asgard.

 

So, as the people grow accustomed to seeing the two of you, while many still cut unsavory glances, the hatred has somewhat dulled. Indifference is mostly what you see. You have not impacted their lives, and so they continue living.

 

The whispers are worth being free of the palace. They’re worth the trips to Sigrid and Asmund’s, where you feel normal and welcome. They’re worth dropping by the sorcerers’ guild, where none of the members seem to think any different of Loki – if anything, they’re eager to learn what secrets he’s gathered from his morbid misadventure.

 

However, these pleasant bubbles of the past cannot mask the grim situation brewing in the galaxy. One of which Thor’s council has now been made aware of and are eager to discuss. And on this day, they want you there.

 

You thought you’d be more nervous as you step into the council’s war room. It’s a large room, like most are in the palace, with a long table in its center. Thor’s at its head, and while he’s kept Odin’s council intact, he’s added Sif and what remains of The Warriors Three to his circle of advisors.

 

“Warrior,” Thor greets you with a smile.

 

“Hey,” you answer, offering him a weak grin as you waver near the door. “You, um, wanted to see me?”

 

Hogun crosses his arms, the expression on his face mirrored by the members of Thor’s council, save for Sif and Volstagg.

 

“Aye,” Thor says, motioning you forward and nodding his head towards one of the empty chairs. “I’ve something to ask of you, my friend.”

 

And as you listen, you realize that Thor does have a plan for you, after all. He’d pardoned you for his own personal reasons, you have no doubt, but now he’s found a way to truly free you. One with which none on his council can argue.

 

“Okay,” you state, and you’re pretty sure your body feels significantly lighter. “Yeah. I accept.”

 

 

That night, when you visit the prince, you repeat Thor’s words with an eagerness that stems from your desire to do something. At last, you can stop agonizing over circumstances beyond your control. You no longer have to be a faux prisoner in Asgard’s halls.

 

Loki doesn’t seem particularly pleased with the plan, though you know he will not stop you. But when you reach the end of your explanation, and silence reigns, you abruptly cease your pacing and hold his gaze. “Come with me.”

 

His thoughts seem to pause, shift gears, and rapidly head down a different path. “Truly?” he asks you.

 

“Yes,” you answer, as if it’s simple.

 

And maybe this time, it is.

 

“You could no doubt accomplish such a task alone,” Loki says, his tone nonchalant as he considers the idea.

 

“I don’t want to be alone.”

 

A smile slowly spreads across his face, one you aren’t sure you’ve seen in over a year. At last, he says, “Neither do I.”

 

- - -

 

At the mountain’s peak, you find yourself in a ceremony.

 

Your dress is emerald green, the fabric silky against your skin. You’re glad there’s a slit in its long skirt, so you can actually walk. The bodice fastens around your neck, leaving your arms and back exposed. The dress belt has thin, silver spirals and swirls that are interspersed with small gems.

 

The dress makes you more nervous than the ceremony itself, but Frigga is the one that had it made for you, so there’s no way in hell you can refuse to wear it. She’s gifted you a piece of jewelry to go with it; a golden bracelet winds up your wrist, forming a snake with green, jeweled eyes. On your other hand is a lace glove, your hand of light showing through its intricate design.

 

The queen has even given you a scabbard that fits the dagger you made for the ceremony. The dark leather is embossed with geometric patterns and swirls, and it sits comfortably on your hip, attached to your dress belt.

 

At least you have that part of the wedding to look forward to.

 

You figure most of the people gathered are attending for the feast rather than the ceremony, and you don’t blame them. You aren’t keen on a wedding, either. But you said you’d do it, so here you are.

 

You end up alone with Sigrid in one of the palace’s dressing rooms, which allows you a brief moment of relief after the whirlwind of Frigga’s servants, who had assisted you in dressing. Sigrid makes a fuss about your hair when she helps you don your bridal crown. You had no plans on wearing one, which Sig had apparently foreseen and set about correcting over the past week. And while you know next to nothing about plants and flowers, you can tell Sigrid’s put a lot of care into the ceremonial crown.

 

“It’s perfect,” you tell her warmly, taking her hands in yours so she’ll stop fretting over your appearance. “Love you, Siggy. Thank you. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

 

Sigrid knows you mean everything. She has stayed with you through the worst and the best of it – from that ugly blue dress to this gorgeous bridal crown. Sigrid’s smile is dazzling, and when she hugs you, you’re struck by the fact that she’s almost taller than you are. She laughs pleasantly and tells you, “I love you, too.”

 

“You look gorgeous,” Willow’s voice states from near the door, and you turn to find your best friend has finally arrived. “Sorry I’m late!”

 

Will’s tired eyes hint at too many restless nights, but her broad smile is genuine as she crosses the room to hug you. A lot of hugs today, you think. Hopefully it’s not a trend that will continue throughout the rest of the evening.

 

“Are you ready?” Will asks as she releases you.

 

“No. Yes?” You sigh heavily and shake your head. “This ceremony shit means a lot to people here, so I’ll go ahead and… participate.”

 

“Oh, you’re going to dislike it, I’m sure,” Sigrid pipes up, hiding a little laugh behind her hand. “But it’s going to be lovely.”

 

“Agreed,” Will says with a grin, and she gently pats you on the arm in a show of comfort. At least you think it’s comfort, until you see a mischievous shift in her expression, and she says, “Come on, Princess, it’s wedding time!”

 

Sigrid has to hide her face, either from trying to hold in laughter or from the look you’re giving Willow.

 

 

You’re nervous until you see him.

 

You walk through the crowd of Asgardians, the evening breeze ruffling the ribbons and flowers in your crown. The sound right next to your ears drowns out the murmurs of the people gathered, although you can still feel too many pairs of eyes on you.

 

One eye is especially heavy; Odin is present, although you’re sure his attendance is by Queen Frigga’s design. Most of this wedding is, after all.

 

The sight of Will at the front of the crowd gives you something to focus on and further assuages your fears as you make your way towards the center of the courtyard.

 

The circular wedding pavilion is large, crafted of white marble that seems to gleam in the evening sun. Golden fabric flows down the structure’s pillars, and vibrant flowers line its sides. Soft lights bob through the air, and while they remind you of fireflies, you realize they’re made of magic. A wide, flat dais sits in the pavilion’s center, which is where Loki waits.

 

You feel like you can finally breathe when you reach him. He looks… regal. Like true royalty. In classic Asgardian fashion, his ceremonial outfit is (in your opinion) overly intricate and detailed, yet today you can’t be bothered to pretend you don’t notice how well he wears it. You note the sword belt around Loki’s waist, and you subconsciously brush your arm against the sheathed dagger at your hip.

 

Loki looks sharp. He looks dangerous.

 

He looks happy to see you.

 

 

Loki has known from the beginning that you are a foreigner, not only to Asgard, but to the entire realm itself. But you fit in amongst the humans and Asgardians, so much so that he hasn’t dwelled on the fact in quite a while. But you don’t look anything like a human in this moment – not to him. You’re otherworldly. And he’s admittedly a bit stunned.

 

As you draw closer, Loki notices belladonna in your bridal crown, woven with ribbons and nestled next to dark, red roses. The crown’s metalwork is carefully detailed, although the design is simpler than some he’s seen. His mother must have asked it of the makers, knowing such a thing would be more suited to your tastes.

 

When you join him on the dais it’s clear to him that you’re uncomfortable, but you’re smiling at him anyway. This ceremony isn’t going to mean much to you – your bond with him has been long established within your own culture, after all – but the fact that you’re going through it all for him is incredibly satisfying.

 

Upsetting Odin is also satisfying, that Loki will concede.

 

Thor is officiating, which Loki had been adamantly against during the wedding planning. He relented only when it was pointed out that nothing could make the union more official in the eyes of the law than if the law himself was officiating. And so, Thor stands with the two of you on the dais.

 

You think the ceremony is similar to Sigrid and Asmund’s, aside from Thor’s excited, booming voice. You quote the same texts they did, and you ask for the same kind of blessings from the fates. Whether you think said fates are listening or not doesn’t seem to matter.

 

There are holes in the wedding where your family should be, so you’ve asked Willow to give her blessing instead. She’s closer than family to you, anyway. You’re surprised when Thor himself chimes in with his blessing during this part of the ceremony, and when you look over at him, you have to blink a few times to stop any tears from falling.

 

Queen Frigga voices her approval when it is time for Loki’s family to speak, although Odin is notably silent. Thor carries on and gives his blessing again, completely unbothered.

 

“Aye, this is the part I’m sure you’re excited for, Warrior,” Thor tells you, and then loudly proclaims that it’s time for you and Loki to present one another with the blades of your ancestors.

 

Loki meets your eyes and draws his sword, and for a moment, you’re taken back to your fight against him in Stark Tower. The difference between the memory and the present is truly astonishing.

 

What a journey it has been, Loki’s voice says in your mind.

 

Aloud, he states, “I chose this one for you.”

 

Your eyes are drawn to the sword – silver, of course. Its hilt ends in a sizable, pointed diamond, which catches the light in interesting ways as Loki turns the blade towards the wedding guests. Its hand guard is sleek, the metal sweeping back over its grip, and you note that it seems surprisingly functional for a decorative, old sword.

 

“I present to you one of the swords of the family Odinson,” Loki says, although you can feel flashes of… something when he says the family name. “It is to be a symbol of our union.”

 

He passes you the blade, and you realize… it’s sharp. He’s had it sharpened. This isn’t something to hang on a wall, meant for decoration, this is something you can strap to your hip and actually use.

 

“It is to show that while I may wish to protect you, I am well aware that you can protect yourself,” Loki says, and although the smile on his face is dangerously close to a smirk, you can hear the sincerity in his tone. “It is to show that I will fight at your side, and that your battles are mine as well.”

 

You can feel your face flush, but that doesn’t seem to dissuade him. Loki’s smile widens, the expression playing with your heartbeat as he continues. “You are stronger and fiercer than any woman I’ve known.” He pauses and considers his words, and then takes your free hand. “I love you. My vow is ever the same. While you live, I want you. Be it through Ragnarok or rapture, by the bite of a blade or the soft touch of time. It matters not. It never has.”

 

You stare at him, overwhelmed with… feelings. You’ve never been good with them, but right now they’re culminating in a mantra that parades through your thoughts: I love you. I love you. I love you.

 

Fucking hell.

 

Loki squeezes your hand and then releases it, and you realize it’s your turn.

 

How am I supposed to follow that up, jackass?! you think to him.

 

He watches you, completely settling into smirk territory as you unsheathe the dagger you’ve made for him. You’re careful, ensuring your hand of light doesn’t touch it – if you accidentally destroy the weapon, you’re going to lose your mind, you just know it.

 

It took forever to craft the blade with your powers on the fritz. You had almost given up at least three times, although your determination won out in the end.

 

You’d tried to make it fancy, since you’re literally giving it to a prince – specifically a prince of one of the most stupid, fancy worlds you’ve ever been to. The black dagger has a curved, sharp tip, and its hilt holds the spirals you’ve seen on other Asgardian weapons. Wrapped across the guard and down towards the blade is a snake, the blade itself seemingly jutting from the snake’s jaws.

 

Okay, now you have to talk. You stare at Loki for a moment and then suck in a breath. “So, I, uh, don’t have a family sword, or whatever, and I know you don’t even use a sword. And I wanted to make you something you could use, so I made this dagger.”

 

You flip the dagger and hold it by the flat of the blade to show Loki the handle, which he appraises with a raised eyebrow.

 

Oh, right, there’s like a script to this ceremony stuff. “I present to you this dagger,” you state. “It is to be a symbol of our union.”

 

You offer him the handle again, and this time he takes it. Loki gives the dagger an experimental spin, and the familiar sight makes you grin. Now, what were you supposed to say, again? “I guess it’s… to show….” You can’t think of the words, and everything you’ve practiced before sounds dumb now.

 

You glance at the crowd, and then at Thor. The silence is stretching, and you can’t stand it anymore, so you just speak.

 

“I chose you,” you tell Loki, and the truth of it sets in after you say it. “Repeatedly.”

 

By deciding to live. By refusing Odin’s ultimatum, and staying in Asgard.

 

By agreeing to marry Loki, and then waiting for word after he vanished.

 

By sparing his life.

 

“And… well… I think we both fought hard to get here today,” you say.

 

Loki’s green eyes…. You never thought they’d mean so much to you. Especially when he’s looking at you like this.

 

“I chose to love you,” you tell him at last. “And I’m glad I did.”

 

- - -

 

The two of you had decided against rings. You can remember that conversation clearly.

 

And yet at the feast table, Loki hands you a golden ring strung through a silver chain. “To wear, if you want,” he explains nonchalantly. “I know you said your people have no outward signs of these ‘bonds’, so I thought it easier to tuck a ring out of sight around your neck rather than on your hand.”

 

“I don’t have a ring for you,” you tell him, frowning. “You weren’t supposed to –”

 

He pats the center of his chest, and your frown grows more pronounced. “But… isn’t each person supposed to get a ring for the other?”

 

“Indeed,” Loki agrees with a sly smile. “The lack of reciprocation has undoubtedly wounded me. What a slight, having to procure my own wedding band! Although,” he adds, dropping his voice and losing the dramatic sarcasm. “I’ve thought of some ways you could make it up to me.”

 

And he kisses you, slow and purposeful, until you clue into the cheers and whistles from the rest of the feast hall. “Oh, my God,” you tell him in a hushed whisper, pushing on his chest.

 

“Yes?” he asks, his eyes glinting mischievously.

 

You groan, fight back a smile, and grab your glass, truly glad that honeyed mead goes down smoothly.

 

- - -

 

Willow catches up to you after the dancing starts. Loki has broken away to speak with his mother, and you’re chatting with Sigrid and Asmund.

 

Will taps you on the shoulder and has to speak louder to be heard over the music. “I have to go soon!”

 

Sigrid and Asmund hear her, and bid you both farewell so the two of you can say goodbye without an audience.

 

“I’m glad you came,” you tell her, and you wrap her in final a hug. “I’ve missed you! And I’ll keep missing you.”

 

“I miss you, too, friend,” she says as she pulls away. “I’m happy for you.”

 

“I’ll write to you once we make it,” you tell her. “My power’s still all weird, but I think we should be good if I make some stops along the way.”

 

“Let me know if you need me,” Will says. “Seriously. I don’t like trooping through your portals, but I’ll come drag you both out of that dark place if I have to.”

 

“Thanks,” you tell her with a smile.

 

Will readjusts her bag strap, and then seems to realize something. “Oh!”

 

“Oh?” you ask as she digs around in her bag.

 

“Here!” she states, and promptly hands you a… bracelet?

 

You hold it up, a bit lost. It’s made of a bunch of beads on a black elastic band, and when you turn it over you realize there’s letters on some of the beads.

 

‘BEST FRIENDS’

 

“It’s from Tony,” Will explains. “He said it’s a wedding gift? And that he ‘sends his congrats to the pair of penthouse destroyers’.”

 

You’re torn between laughter and guilt, which inevitably comes out as a snort. Before you can respond, you feel Loki’s hand on your arm, and he reads aloud, “Best friends?”

 

“It’s from Tony,” Will says again, her voice pitching upward in an almost-question this time.

 

“Healer, why are you giving us garbage on our wedding day?” Loki asks. He goes to grab the bracelet, but you pull it away.

 

“You’re just jealous you didn’t get anything,” you tell him, not for the first time.

 

“Oh, actually, he did send you something,” Willow tells Loki, and she extracts a piece of paper from her bag. “Here.”

 

“What is this?” Loki asks, frowning as he turns the paper over to read it.

 

“An itemized bill,” Willow says.

 

All right, guilt is winning out this time. “Did he charge me, too?” you ask, leaning closer.

 

“No,” Will says. “It’s addressed to,” she pauses as Loki crumples the “bill”, “Emerald City.”

 

You can’t help but laugh, Will chuckling along with you. Loki scoffs, not nearly as amused.

 

If it wasn’t your wedding day, you’d slip the ‘BEST FRIENDS’ bracelet around your wrist just to spite him.

 

But it is your wedding day, so you tuck it into your dress pocket.

 

“Write soon,” Will says. “Be careful. And at least try to stay out of trouble.”

 

“I promise we’ll do our best?” you tell her, which makes Loki roll his eyes.

 

Willow turns to go, but hesitates and looks back at you. With a sad smile, she says, “Tell them ‘hi’ for me, okay?”

 

When you nod, she returns the gesture and walks away.

 

- - -

 

Back at your table, food finished and glass empty, you prop your head on your hand and turn to Loki. “So, we’re married.”

 

“We are,” he agrees.

 

You consider it for a moment, and then ask, “Do you feel any different?”

 

Loki thinks it over, and you watch as his eyes flit across your face. After a moment, he says, “It pleases me.”

 

You laugh. The feast hall is slowly emptying, so the sound seems louder than it should.

 

“Do you?” he asks.

 

“I guess it pleases me, too.”

 

- - -

 

It is Thor’s orders that give him freedom, yet a part of Loki still resents it. At this point, this resentment is almost a reflex, and he figures he’ll never be rid of it. Not anytime soon, at least.

 

You, on the other hand, are eager; the weight of your travel pack is like an old friend, one you only now realize how dearly you’ve missed.

 

“Gather warriors,” Thor urges you at the end of the rainbow bridge. “Anyone you can trust. Any who wish to fight for their lives, for the lives of those they love, or for the good of all worlds.” When you nod, Thor looks to his brother. “If what you speak of Thanos is true –”

 

“It is.”

 

“– then we need assistance. From anywhere and everywhere.”

 

You nod again, and Thor briefly clasps his brother’s shoulder before watching you and Loki disappear into Heimdall’s golden observatory.

 

- - -

 

The Bifrost has never been kind to you, and this trip is no different.

 

Loki helps you to your feet once the colors stop swirling, and you lean on him as the two of you peer around the area. You’re in a forest, with towering trees and a canopy that almost completely obscures the sun.

 

Camping out for a few days is necessary for you to regain your strength. Reaching your planet is not an easy task, especially not with the Ordinat rebuilding. They’ll have surveillance set up on as many worlds as they can, so you can’t be flashy with a Bifrost entrance. Heimdall has sent the two of you as close to your world as is feasible, but the rest of the venture is on your shoulders.

 

 

Fully rested at last, with everything packed up, you stand beside your extinguished fire and look over at Loki.

 

“Are you ready?” you ask. “We have to make a few stops along the way. I don’t want to risk going such a large distance all at once.”

 

“Am I ready?” he asks slowly, pretending to think on the question.

 

You nudge him with your shoulder, and he rolls his eyes.

 

“I’m serious,” you insist. “My world is… dangerous. There’s powerful, scary things and people, and a lot of them will want to murder us on sight, so….”

 

“Powerful, hmm?” Loki asks, and you recognize the brief look of hunger on his face.

 

“Yeah,” you confirm. “There may be opportunities to acquire some interesting stuff, but I make no promises. Probably not cube or scepter powerful, but still.”

 

Your sentence is lost on Loki as a twinge of anxiety hits his chest. His ambitious expression fades as he searches your face. The realization that you’re nervous to return to your world, so much so that it’s bleeding into his own emotions, unsettles him more than your warnings of dangerous beings. Adversity does await, yes, but he’s ready.

 

“Are you?” he asks.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Are you ready?”

 

You roll your shoulders and adjust your travel bag, then tug your glove further up your wrist. The sword Loki gave you is in its scabbard, belted to your hip. You can feel your golden ring on its chain, sitting against your chest.

 

You reach for Loki’s hand, and he takes it.

 

Everything’s as it should be.

 

Your nerves fade, which puts you both at ease. You stretch out your hand and tear a rift through reality.

 

“Yeah,” you tell him. “I am.”

 

As the two of you walk into the dark, a journey ends.

 

And another begins.

Notes:

Thanks for going on this adventure with me!
This officially marks the end of the "Of Different Emotions" series. Can you believe that? Wowsa
If you have any questions, I'm happy to answer them! I'll be slowly replying to comments on this chapter and the last chapter, so be patient with me!
So much in my life has changed since the beginning of this series, and I'm honestly both sad and happy to see it end.
Thanks again to all of you who have supported me through this, whether you joined this wild journey from the beginning, middle, or end!
Love you guys

-W

Notes:

Music playlist for this series here!

Series this work belongs to: