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Loki turns a page in his novel, eyes scanning over the words at a speed that would make most people’s heads spin. It had been a quiet couple of weeks - the only missions had been small, reconnaissance ones that neither he nor you had been part of. It was a nice reprieve from the constant worrying after everyone, not knowing when - or if - any of you would get home.
He was about to get up and head back to his room when he heard it.
Throw it.
He glances over at you when he overhears the thought, confused.
Throw it. Throw it. Throw. It.
He watches as you look down at the knife in your hand, halting its movement against the scallions you’d been chopping. You let out a shaky sigh.
Cut your wrist.
You drop the knife with a clatter, swallowing thickly.
Clint and Nat glance up at the noise, returning to their devices after a moment.
Loki’s eyes grow dark with worry as you turn your back on the living room, leaning against the counter and burying the heels of your hands in your eyes. He doesn’t approach, not quite understanding what’s going on.
You take a few deep, shuddering breaths, schooling your features into a neutral expression before turning around.
They were getting worse, the thoughts. Your therapist had told you a few years ago, after more than a decade of you thinking you were just an awful person, that what you were dealing with was intrusive thoughts. They were a fairly common affliction among people with anxiety, OCD, PTSD, or depression. There wasn’t a solid rationale as to why they happened, but her explanation had calmed some of your worries. At least you weren’t the monster you’d thought you were for more than half of your life.
Recently, however, they’d been coming at higher frequency and concentration. They’d gone from small, almost trivial things like drinking paint water (that one amused you sometimes, honestly), or hitting yourself, to seriously harming one of your teammates or yourself. Some of them were sexual, which was one of the most confusing, awful things you’d ever experienced.
They’d caused you to distance yourself from nearly everyone on the team, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Tony frequently stopped by your room or lab during the day to check on you, and it wasn’t uncommon for Nat, Clint, or Bruce to bring you coffee or tea in the morning and attempt to engage in casual conversation.
You entertained their attempts, feeling awful for pulling away from your friends, but you were terrified of the thoughts that frequently entered your mind when you were in their proximity.
Thor and Loki were the only people you hadn’t thought to distance yourself from. You figured if one of your thoughts turned into a more serious situation - no matter how unlikely that was, according to your therapist - they were more than able to keep you in check. Physically, on both of their parts, and mentally on Loki’s.
Loki. Oh, fuck. Your eyes widen as you turn back around and notice the alarm on his face when you meet his gaze. Of course, he’d overheard that. You swallow nervously, dropping your eyes to the cutting board once more.
Throw it. Do it. Throw it at Nat.
You give up, quickly wiping your hands on a nearby dish towel before walking to your room without a backward glance.
“Loki, I need to be alone right now,” you say when you reach your room, sensing him behind you. You open the door and slip inside, shutting it behind you with a muffled click.
When you turn around, you aren’t surprised to find him standing by your desk. Since when did doors or walls stop him?
“Loki, go away. Please. I’m not-” you sigh. “I really don’t want to be around other people right now.”
He watches you, worry knitting itself into his brows. “I couldn’t help but overhear what you were thinking earlier,” he starts gently, chest surging with the sudden urge to wrap you in his arms and tuck you under his chin when tears start budding on your waterline. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” you answer with a short nod, breezing past him to retrieve your hoodie from the back of your desk chair. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t read my mind from here on out if that’s okay.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s fucking intrusive,” you snap, whipping around. Loki doesn’t so much as blink. You sigh, wringing your hands. He frowns slightly.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, sinking down onto the edge of your bed. “I’m sorry. I’ve just, it’s not an excuse, I know, but I’ve just got a lot going on up here.” you tap your temple with a finger, then bury your face in your hands. You don’t have it in you to cry, but you really don’t want him looking at you like that anymore.
“Like what?” he asks, sitting down next to you. You look up at him with narrowed eyes.
“I told you to stop.”
“My apologies,” he says with a nod. “I often cannot control what I do and do not hear. Your internal ministrations are a bit…loud.” You laugh slightly, shaking your head. “I do understand if you do not wish to speak of what happened earlier. However, if you ever- if it would help, I am here. I am always here.”
You lean into his side, freezing momentarily when his arm falls across your shoulders. You relax into his touch slowly.
“They started when I was a teenager,” you say slowly, holding your hands between your knees to still their shaking. “It was trivial stuff at first, like ‘oh, what if I fuck up this presentation’. Just thoughts that would pop into my head at the wrong times that weren’t really mine. As I got older, as my mental health got worse, they…” you trail off, wiping away a tear that had strayed down your cheek. “They got bad. Really bad. My therapist said they’re called intrusive thoughts - worries or impulses, directions, stuff like that - that you can’t control. They’re not my thoughts. They’re not someone else’s, of course, but they aren’t mine. They got really out of control during high school. I’d get ones telling me to hurt other people sometimes, but mostly just myself.”
Loki’s hold on you tightens slightly. He knows what it’s like to have foreign thoughts in your head. It’s terrifying.
“I was worried I was just a really bad person, so I never really talked to anyone about them until a few years ago. Honestly, I still think I am sometimes. Therapy has helped a lot, but they’re picking up more frequently again. I think it has something to do with a few of the missions I’ve been on lately - they’re partially anxiety-driven, so being in life-threatening situations isn’t…the best thing sometimes.”
“I’d argue that being in life-threatening situations isn’t ever truly a good thing,” Loki muses, and you laugh softly, nodding.
“You’re probably right,” you admit. “But that’s- that’s what you heard back there. They’ve been a bit violent lately. Telling me to hurt people, stuff like that.” You take a deep breath, burying your face in Loki’s shoulder. “They suck.” He nods empathetically. “They vary from day to day,” you continue, sitting up slightly to rest your head on his shoulder instead of hiding in it. “Sometimes they’re violent toward the team, sometimes toward me. Sometimes they’re sexual, which is so goddamn weird and just downright fucking awful.” Loki frowns. “I, uh-” you sit up properly, meeting his gaze. “I need you to know that I’d never- I’d never hurt any of the team. Or you.”
“I never thought you would,” he says simply, making you blink in surprise. A thought enters his mind, and it’s so fear-provoking that it makes his chest seize painfully. “What about yourself?” he probes gently. You swallow thickly.
“I’m- it hasn’t happened in a long time. I think I’m okay with that for now.”
“Good,” he says, nodding. He looks down at you, eyes soft with an emotion you’ve never seen in them before. "These thoughts, if they ever get to be too much, please come find me. I’m unable to cease them, but…” he sighs, taking your hand. “I don’t wish for you to go through this alone.”
You smile tearfully, looking up at him with a grateful expression. He lifts your joined hands to his lips, pressing them to your knuckles softly.
“Thank you,” you whisper, nodding. He smiles softly, pulling you into his arms. You tuck your head against his chest, feeling his chin come to rest on top of it.
“You are not a bad person,” he says, tone remaining gentle, but there’s a firmness there as well. “You’re not.” He pushes you back slightly to look into your eyes. You nod slightly, biting back more tears. They slip down your cheeks when he presses his lips to your forehead, then leans his against yours. Your noses brush.
You close your eyes momentarily, soaking in his presence, letting it wash over you like a cool breeze.
When you open them again, you find him looking back at you. The close proximity blurs your vision, but the soft green of his irises is as bright as ever.
“Thank you,” you say again, and he smiles softly.
“Of course.”