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What could have happened

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The problem with the Avengers, he thought sullenly, was they were too smart. He wanted them to hate him, no, NEEDED them to hate him. But the Avengers had taken him in, knowing he hadn’t been responsible for the attack on New York. Loki hated it. He was responsible, he had been the one that had brought the Chitauri, the man that had hurt Clint Barton and destroyed hundreds of lives. But they wouldn’t have any of it, calmly telling Loki that when he was ready, he could tell them who had controlled him, and then they would get rid of the bands that stopped his magic.

Loki had been living with the Avengers for six weeks. He missed his brother. He missed his mother. And he missed Asgard in general, if he was honest. Down on Midgard, alone with nobody that understood him, he stayed in his room. He read books, tried to forget that he was slowly wasting away, weight dropping off his already-thin form, hair falling out and his mind slowly going insane from a lack of sleep. He didn’t leave his room, didn’t try and ask for help, because anything would be better than this. He didn’t want to see the pity in their eyes when he walked out.

What little magic he could access was keeping a visage up around him, preventing them from seeing just how thin he was getting. The last thing Loki needed was for people to try and help. He needed to keep quiet, prevent the Avengers from finding out about the Mad Titan, for fear they would take him on. Loki found himself protecting the Midgardians, something he had no idea why he was doing, but he didn’t want them hurt.

He had been eighteen, in human years, when he had fallen into the void. He was now around nineteen in their years, although they presumed he was an adult. The price of living for thousands of years, he thought, was that they would never understand quite how young he was. Thor certainly hadn’t bothered telling them, but he probably hadn’t seen the significance of it. Loki didn’t bother either, he stayed in his room and sulked. Let his mind fear the Titan that would kill him when he caught up.

It had been Clint Barton, in the end, that had told them. When Loki had arrived in chains, bruised and beaten by the Aesir Guards, with orders from Odin that he would serve punishment on Midgard, things had gone to havoc. The Avengers had taken Loki in, staring at him like he was a beaten puppy while Thor explained that Odin had ordered it, and that he couldn’t change his father’s mind. Loki had looked away, still annoyed that Thor would stand up against his father for the mortal-woman, Jane, but not for him.

Then Clint had stated that he hadn’t been the only one under mind-control. When those words had been uttered, Loki felt his heart drop. They’d noted his eyes, the once cold-blue now back to vibrant green, realised that whatever had given Loki the Mind Stone had also used it to control him. They hadn’t told Thor, wanting to figure out exactly who had beaten the Norse God before they went to get his brother. Loki didn’t tell them. He couldn’t, they would go after Thanos, and Thanos would kill them. Worse, he would torture them for the stones that they had.

The stone they had locked in the head of the robot-man. The mind stone, Loki still couldn’t look at it without remembering how it worked. Not only that, but they had the Time stone as well. The so-called Doctor Strange, a man that walked in and out of the compound, had the Time stone around his neck. Loki didn’t point out how stupid that was, like a large sign pointing straight to him. If Thanos came, they would be in trouble.

Then there was the Aether. It had been solidified into stone form once the woman, Jane, found it. The Reality stone was now stored in the Compound. Three stones, all right here. The Tesseract, Space Stone, was on Asgard. The Soul stone, away safely on Vormir. As long as Thanos didn’t find it… As long as Thanos didn’t find Gamora. It was no secret that he favoured her, and Loki already knew how that was going to go. The Power Stone was with the Nova Corps at the moment, as far as Loki was aware, so at least Thanos had some to collect before he came to earth.

Clint had told them he remembered screaming. Told the Avengers that he remembered pain unlike any he had ever felt. Loki had shaken his head, pretended he had no idea what they were talking about. Sighing, he put the book down, dog-tagging the corner as he stood. His stomach hurt from not eating, his body ached, and he wished to be far away from here. He wished to warn his brother that the Tesseract was a beacon to the Mad Titan searching the galaxy for it. He didn’t.

His room was relatively plain, which he was proud of. He was wearing jeans and a long shirt, careful that it hid all the scars that he didn’t need the Avengers to see. His Seidr held, filling out his body more than it actually was, and he walked out of the room. Food. He needed something to fill his stomach, just enough to stop the pain from starvation. He ignored the sound of chatter from the main room, walking to the kitchen and procuring an apple from the bowl. He smiled, that would be enough to stop the pain.

It was sour, but that was alright. Loki could handle sour. He chewed on it slowly, trying to remember a time when he hadn’t feared for his life. With Thor far away, not even listening to him anymore, Loki was alone. Standing in the kitchen, he looked around, before he had an idea. It wasn’t the first time he had thought about it, although he had been worried that the Voice would inform Tony of what he was doing.

‘Friday?’ He asked, looking around as he finished his apple.

‘Mr Laufeyson. What can I do for you?’ The voice was odd, a females voice, yet it wasn’t real. He tried not to speak to it if possible, apart from in the mornings when it told him he should probably eat something.

‘I… I need to search for something.’ He stated, and the Voice led him to a room with a large screen, informing him that he could ask what he wanted. Loki hesitated, then realised he didn’t really care if Tony found out. Hopefully, it would make him angry. He deserved that.

‘Can you show me the victims of the New York attack? All of them, please.’ When Loki had been released from Thanos’ grip, he had thought this was his salvation. That he could truly please the Mad Titan, and he wouldn’t fall back into the grips of him and his accomplices. Now, staring down at the many casualties of the army that HE had led, Loki allowed a tear to roll down and hit the screen he was standing over. He was a God, for Valhalla’s sake. Torture, no matter how awful, should have allowed this to happen. The God of Mischief turned, left the faces of the people he killed on the screen, and returned to his room.