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The thing was, Loki wasn't Loki. He wasn't that asshole who'd destroyed Asgard repeatedly and stabbed Thor in the back even more often. No, he was a carbon copy of that asshole.
And the people who knew about it - the few that they were - they wondered what the difference was. If you were identical to someone, and that person didn't exist anymore, didn't that make you as real as anyone else? You were unique in the world, and therefore you were a person.
But that was not so.
Loki could feel it; he could feel where the old Loki's memories stopped and his began, like waking up after a bizarre dream. The Siege of Asgard was readying to happen, but slightly 2-D and out of proportion like an old memory, and then he was talking to his younger self, letting him know how the game was going to go, and everything was HD IMAX.
Yes, he was still Loki. But he was Loki Lite. Loki 2.0. The Return of the Loki; almost as good as the original, but the sequel lacked a little of the dark edge and purpose.
What the grutack are you supposed to do when you suddenly exist?
But Loki did suddenly exist, and so he'd followed every instinct he had. He'd gone with the plan the old Loki twisted his arm into. He'd killed the younger Loki and given himself a body - the standard stuff. He'd screwed around with a few people. He'd just tried to keep with what he knew, and what he knew was looking after his own ass and having fun with people along the way.
Of course, he'd come up with a scheme or two. For a start, the tiny child's body he was occupying was weak and lacked the magic he wanted to be at his full ability. Which was why he'd bothered to involve himself in the affairs of Master Kaplan.
He had been running through the motions, or so it felt.
Look! Loki's a new person, and he's here to sincerely help you! He's got a few plans and he needs you to compromise your morals just slightly to get there. But trust him, he's here to help.
It was the old Loki in Sif's body all over again.
And the sickening thing was, it had worked. Billy had just thrown those magic powers at him with no substantial strings attached.
In the middle of that - while being plagued by his conscience in the form of the younger Loki - he'd had a crisis of personality. It was then, for the first time, that he'd touched upon the issue: Loki's previous life didn't have to influence his own.
Just because Loki was Loki didn't mean that Loki had to be Loki. He was the god of chaos and change, after all. And then he'd done something distinctly un-Loki: he'd stuck to his word and saved Billy's life. From a situation that he had himself created.
Everything had flowed on from there. Yes, he'd still had his plans. He'd put himself in a position where he was collaborating with Mother. He'd been planning to betray everyone in some way or another.
He had also tiptoed around America Chavez. She was a little too perceptive for her own good.
For a few moments in there, he'd been sure that she knew he was not the lovable kid Loki that had been making the rounds recently. But if she did, she stayed quiet.
But when it came down to it, he'd had another crisis of identity. He hadn't been able to see why he was betraying everyone, now that he had an older body, now that he had what he wanted, now that he shared in-jokes with Kate and bantered with America and awkwardly flirted with David and Billy.
The realisation that the creatures they were fighting were just twisted extensions of his own imagination had been what really made up his mind.
He was not the same Loki that he was a copy of. He was the same basic template, but he had free will and he was his own person.
That sudden realisation had left him on the floor talking to himself a little crazily about who he was.
He wasn't the murderer Loki. He was the murder weapon Loki.
When he'd asked America to kill him - or at least incapacitate him severely - he'd been dead serious. He didn't want to be the Loki that he'd been designed to be. He didn't want to talk his way out of it like he always did and be forgiven just like the old Loki would have been.
America had spared him. For some reason, that little piece of mercy from someone merciless had made him think about his own future in a more positive light.
So he left, talked with the All-Mother, and began to get a surer footing of himself.
He didn't think of himself as necessarily a good person, but a better one than the old him. His own preference for mistruths was growing in a slightly more positive way.
Thor seemed to appreciate the new him. A later event involving his dear sibling was rather formative to his self-perception, a little side-note on his quest to obtain Sigurd's sword.
"You are my brother, Loki. And I love you," Thor had said warmly, fetching something from his shirt. "And I think...today...today, I will even trust you."
And then he gave Loki the key of Ehwaz, easily and carelessly.
That, to Loki, was the irony of ironies. Once upon a time, the younger Loki had asked to be trusted by Thor. Had asked on several occasions and had been denied repeatedly, despite his largely pure heart and his genuine desire to help.
Loki himself had not asked to be trusted by Thor. He had openly told him the situation; that he was taking Sigurd's sword and planned to use it for some generally shifty activities. And now Thor trusted him.
There was a trick in there somewhere, something new Loki could learn, probably.
Thor wouldn't think like that. Thor would take it at face value.
The thing was: Thor was majoritively a nice person with a few decently dickish moments. Loki was majoritively a dick with a few decently nice moments. Those moments were few and far between.
Loki was undergoing a crisis of identity, sure. But he was certain of one thing: he was still the trickster. He still had mischief running through his veins. His ability to feel guilt about the things he did was similarly limited, but it was definitely there.
And Thor trusted him.
Just for a moment, Loki wanted to say something. To apologise for the death of Thor's little brother, or somehow try and make amends with a few words for everything (or maybe just some little thing, like the goat-taming or blaming some new misdemeanour on him) or maybe just to extend the true and proper hand of friendship.
He actually started to open his mouth. He planned out the sentence like he planned everything he did. It would start with 'Thor...' and then lead into the slight hesitation that seemed to convince people of honesty. Then maybe 'I don't know how to say this'. More honesty cues. And then he'd lead into the story, with a few stumbles of speech that made him sound like his thoughts were jumbled, like telling the story was hard.
But planning it out like that just told him exactly how insincere he truly was. An honest and heartfelt confession is never fully planned before it left lips.
Maybe Loki's tendency to plan everything mean that he could never properly tell the truth.
Yeah, he could blame his lying snake's tongue on that.
He wasn't Loki. But he sure wasn't the good guy.
Either way, the words didn't leave his lips, and just to make sure, he pressed his beer bottle there to keep any stray words in.