Archive of Our Own

“LOKI!”

The yell shook the trailer. Loki jumped a foot straight up, an impressive feat given he was lying flat on his back. The book he’d been holding directly above his face slipped from his grasp, landing hard on the bridge of his nose. He groaned, reaching up with one hand to retrieve the book from across his cheekbones, his other hand rubbing his sore nose.

His heartrate had just started to slow when a furious pounding exploded from the trailer’s door. He jolted again, his flailing hand sending the book crashing into the opposite wall and sliding to the floor, jacket splaying open like broken bird wings. He looked at it rather sadly, hoping it wasn’t dented. The Time Quintet was one of his favorites.

The hammering against the door quieted long enough for the yelling to start up again. “LOKI!! ARE YOU IN THERE?!”

“I don’t think I am!” he called back. “Probably you should try back again later!” He eyed the book against the wall, but found he couldn’t quite be bothered to stand up and retrieve it just yet.

“ARE YOU GOING TO OPEN THE DOOR?? OR SHALL I JUST BLAST IT OFF ITS HINGES?”

“It’s unlocked already,” Loki pointed out, adding cheerfully, “You pillock.”

There was a momentary pause, during which the closed door seemed to radiate an air of exasperation. Loki took the opportunity to stretch out a long arm and pluck a box of variety-flavor tea bags from the small shelf beside him.

Then Thor was throwing open the door, slamming it shut behind him in a dramatic motion that was ruined by the door bouncing back open under the force. He groaned, slamming more carefully, then stalked his way across the trailer. Loki lay stretched out on the bunk, apparently engrossed with his tea selection.

Thor stood by the foot of the bunk and regarded him silently. Loki pretended not to notice either his brother’s agitation or the half-crushed wad of pages Thor had clenched in his fist.

“… You wanna tell me what the hell this is about?” Thor said at last.

“It was a gift from the studio,” said Loki, holding up the box of tea with a bright smile. “Well, not by itself; it was part of those welcome baskets we got when we first arrived. I think this is all I’ve got left, though.” He flipped open the lid, looking inside rather mournfully. “Can I get you a cup? Though, fair warning: the good flavors are pretty much gone. All I’ve got left are a few apple cinnamons and this kind of lemon thing that isn’t really even proper tea in the sense of the –”

“Not. The tea.” Thor raised his hand, shaking the wadded crush of papers into Loki’s face. “This, Brother. Care to explain this?”

“So that’s a firm ‘No’ on tea?” asked Loki, and then hastily set the box aside when sparks of not-entirely-intentional lightning began to dance through his brother’s good eye. “Well, then. What’s the issue, exactly?”

“What’s the issue? What’s the issue??” Thor tossed the sad heap of pages onto the bunk at Loki’s feet. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing?” Loki opened his eyes wide. “Doing what?”

“If you keep playing dumb,” growled Thor, “I am going to strangle you myself and save the Grape the trouble.”

Loki gave it up. “Oh, all right,” he said, with a bit of a sigh. He swung his legs to the side of the bunk and sat up, tilting his head to see Thor glowering down at him. “I take it you got the pages for next week?”

“Yes, I got the pages for next week!” Thor’s teeth were grinding together so tightly, they were flashing sparks. “Care to explain yourself? Care to explain what you’re thinking?!”

“Well,” said Loki quickly, attempting to placate before Thor accidentally burned down another trailer, “Mostly this opening scene is about saving those characters we can, in a situation that positively demands we express dire stakes, while also laying the groundwork that jumps us into the story proper. And when you keep in mind that this is the opening scene of a tragedy, you can see there’s a lot of pressure to get it just right. The whole endeavor is quite the tricky one, actually. We’re talking about a film that ultimately needs to have its own resolution, while still leaving us room to –”

“‘We?’ ‘Us?’” Thor’s hands were clenched into fists so tight, his knuckles were radiating electricity. He deliberately unfolded them, crossing his arms over his chest. “So this was not just your idea?”

Loki gave him a half smile. “I may have been using the word in the royal sense. Or at least the abstract. But the less I say, the better. Spoilers, you know.”

“Spoilers! Yes, I’ve heard that bandied about before.” There was no room to pace, so Thor had to settle for tracking a small ellipse through the middle of the trailer. “So that’s it, then. Nothing else to consider; everything’s just fine! What am I even upset about?? It’s all been settled to perfection! Well done you!”

Loki held up a hand in sympathetic supplication. “Come now, Brother. It’s not so bad as all that, is it?”

“Isn’t it?” Thor’s voice held the low growl of approaching thunder. “Isn’t it?!”

“I’m just saying that, when it comes to plot beats, this one isn’t really all that surprising if you think about it in a larger context of –”

“You die again, Loki!” Thor whirled on him, eye blazing fire. “We face off against Thanos in the first scene, and we lose. And you die!”

“To be fair, I do die all the time.” Loki’s eyes were twinkling, not unsympathetically. “And for what it’s worth, you know I don’t really mind it.”

“I DO, BROTHER!”

Loki froze.

“… I do,” said Thor hollowly, and with those words, all the fight seemed to drain out of him. The pacing stopped, and he bowed his head, shoulders slumping in a posture of utter defeat. When next he spoke, his voice was dull, almost broken. “I do, very much.”

Loki sat motionless on the bunk, all trace of mischief and lightness gone. Dammit. Dammit. He’d expected Thor to be furious, exasperated, impatient – maybe, yes, even a bit disappointed. For some reason, he hadn’t expected … this.

Things had changed between them, at last. Everything had changed. How had he been so foolish not to expect this?

He looked sadly at Thor, not speaking, not knowing what to say. After a long moment, Thor sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, and sat down heavily beside Loki on the bunk.

“… I’m so sorry, Thor,” Loki said at last, and tried not to wince when Thor shook his head and looked away. “I-I should’ve told you about this. It didn’t – I didn’t realize. Didn’t take into account –”

“What? What didn’t you take into account? Me, I suppose.” The words were bitter, but Thor only sounded tired. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that losing you – losing you again, losing you after I’ve lost everything else, after we’ve lost everything else – it never occurred to you that it might be too much for me to bear? No, of course not. More the fool am I to expect it.”

“You’re not a fool, Brother,” said Loki quietly. “I’ve never really believed you to be a fool. Well.” He gave a small smile. “Not often.”

“Then just a sentimental idiot, I suppose,” said Thor, staring at the floor.

“Ah, and see where sentiment has gotten us?” Loki chided gently, and felt something in his stomach unclench a bit when Thor gave a snort of laughter in spite of himself.

“I just – I can’t believe this is happening again. Can’t believe you’re doing this again.” Thor gestured towards the crumpled script pages with a hand that was trembling slightly. “Isn’t having you die midway through the film kind of becoming a cliché?”

“First of all, I’m dying at the beginning of the film. The first time was at the end, and the second time was at the middle. So it’s really kind of a unique milestone every time. Second of all,” and here Loki began ticking the points off on his fingers, “I’ve never actually died before. The first time was just a lot of falling, and on Svartalfheim, it was actually –”

“You are deliberating missing the point, Brother.”

“Perhaps,” Loki admitted, giving Thor a half smile.

“Isn’t there another way?” Thor turned to regard Loki, and the earnest desperation in his face made Loki’s heart give a sudden and painful thump in his chest. “Couldn’t you write the story differently? Maybe we both escape the ship, both get picked up by that Quill and his weird little entourage of talking rabbits and miniature Ents …” There must have been something in Loki’s face, because Thor abruptly switched tactics. “Or perhaps you’re thinking too narrowly, Brother. You’ve already gotten to die twice. Isn’t it my turn to have a go?”

“No,” snapped Loki. It came out sharply, more sharply than he intended, and he and Thor both drew back in surprise. Loki took a breath, steadying himself. “This isn’t another tale of the Revengers and Ragnarok. This chapter, Thor – this isn’t my story. It’s yours. Yours and theirs.”

“But it could be yours, too,” said Thor. He gripped Loki by the shoulder, as if trying to anchor his brother into this world. Into this life. “We’ve already told a tale of you deciding to be more. You’re the savior of Asgard! Who's to say joining the Avengers shouldn’t be your next step?”

“Maybe this is how I have to do it,” Loki said softly. The weight of Thor’s hand on his shoulder, usually a comfort, felt heavy. He wondered if he had the strength to carry it. “Aren’t saviors supposed to be willing to make a sacrifice?”

“Then let me be the one to make the sacrifice.” Thor wasn’t quite begging, but it was close. “I’ve lost you twice, Brother. Grieved you twice. Don’t make me do it again.”

Loki could only look at him helplessly. “I don’t … I’m not sure how to explain it to you. I was a villain once, Thor. A villain to them. A villain to you. If I want to keep moving forward – if I want to become something more, become a hero – I have to pay the price for it.”

“A hero.” Thor laughed mirthlessly. “Careful what you wish for, Brother. I know of what I speak: I’ve been the hero quite a few times now. Never expecting any reward, never wanting one. Never asking for anything in return. That’s how I wanted it to be. The privilege has always been in the act itself. Getting to save lives, save souls. Getting to save the day.”

Loki said nothing, a lump building painfully in the back of his throat.

“And I’ve enjoyed it, playing the hero,” Thor continued, his hand still heavy on Loki’s shoulder. “I really have. You’ve found the truth of it, Loki, I know you have – when you are the hero, you don’t just get to save the day. You get to save yourself, too. You face off against the darkest of odds, the bleakest of nights – and if you can climb your way through it, the goodness is there, waiting for you on the other side. The hope and the faith and the light, shining on you again. But I’m starting to wonder: what good is getting to stand in the sun, if you always must stand there alone?”

Silence for a long moment. At last, Loki cleared his throat. “Thor –”

“Let it be me, Brother,” said Thor, squeezing his shoulder earnestly. “Let me be the one to die. This time, let it be me.”

“I can’t, Thor. I can’t.” Loki spoke as gently as he could. Thor released his grip from Loki’s shoulder, looking away from him again. “It wouldn’t work. I’m afraid … this is the way the story has to be.”

“You’re the one always saying there’s always another way,” said Thor. His voice had a heavy, muffled quality. He was, Loki realized, close to tears, and the realization was almost a physical blow.

Hurting him. Loki was hurting his brother. He wasn’t even trying this time. He was, in fact, actively trying to help him. To protect him.

But one could only protect anyone from so much.

“Sometimes,” said Loki, giving a helpless little shrug, “The only way out … is through.” He reached out to give Thor’s wrist a squeeze. “You taught me that.”

“Did I?” said Thor, almost absently-mindedly, as he swiped at his good eye with the palm of his hand.

“Well, you and the Grandmaster’s obedience disk.” Loki was gratified when Thor managed a chuckle. Thor seemed to think this over, then suddenly jerked his head up to stare at Loki.

“Can you at least tell me this time?” Thor’s face shone with sudden hope. “Tell me, if it’s going to be a trick. If you’re going to make a return. Can you tell me, this time, if you’re going to be all right?”

Loki looked him straight in the eye. This was earnestness; this was truth. He wanted Thor to feel that. “I wish I could. I wish I could tell you that I’m certain to spring back to life again – or give you the peace of knowing the grief this time is real. But I can’t. I can't.”

“… No,” said Thor dully, though at least this time he did not turn away. “I suppose that would be cheating.”

“Far be it from a Trickster to cheat.” Loki smiled, but Thor did not return the expression. “I suppose – I suppose you’ll just have to trust me, Brother.”

Thor searched his face for a long moment, then gave a nod. It was less a sign of acceptance than defeat. “I suppose I will.”

Loki opened his mouth, wanting to say something else, wanting to tell Thor – oh, but he couldn’t. He could not. God of Mischief he may be, but he was also the god of Stories. He could no more give away the ending of the tale than he could’ve summoned a bolt of lightning.

Thor came to his feet, looking grim. He was halfway to the door before Loki found his voice. “Will you be all right?”

The new king of Asgard paused, considering. “Time will tell the answer to that for both of us, Brother.”

And then he was gone, closing the door to Loki’s trailer tightly shut behind him.

For a long moment, Loki stared at the door, heart thumping painfully in his chest. Then he sighed and came to his feet, stretching out the kinks in his back. He crossed the small trailer to retrieve his book, placing it gently on the bedside shelf, then reached across the bunk to pluck the cardboard box from the edge of the mattress. When in doubt: tea.

He was shaking about the contents, hoping to find a stray packet of peppermint that perhaps he’d forgotten about, when his gaze fell upon the cast-aside pages Thor had left behind. He opened the script, eyes reading through the scene. And then a thought suddenly struck him.

Abandoning the tea, he searched about the trailer, finally locating a pen stuck in the utensil drawer. How long will that have been there? he thought idly, as he shuffled the pages to find the spot he wanted.

There it was, at the bottom of the first page – the lead-in line:

Placing the pen cap between his teeth, Loki began to pace, staring at the words on the page. This was the place for it; now he only needed the words. And he had to be careful -- he could offer neither answer nor prediction. It could only be a hope. It could only be –

And then, quite suddenly, he had it. He sat on the edge of the bunk, angling the script against the small shelf, and wrote in the words. Then he straightened, flipping back a page to start at the beginning.

When he reached the new line, he read it, then read it again, surprised to find he had no urge to rework his sudden inspiration. Somehow, this was it. This was right.

No. It was not an answer. Not a prediction.

It was a promise.

Would it be enough? Would Thor remember -- would he understand? Would anyone?

He read the line once more, and a smile slowly grew across his face in spite of himself.

“Trust me, Brother,” Loki whispered. “And we’ll tell a different story.”

Then he stood up, gathering the pages, and went to find the directors. He had a hunch they’d approve.