Chapter Text
The young man fell to his knees – less because of the pain of his newly sprained ankle, more because his fear would not allow him to remain upright. He was quietly weeping, eyes huge in his face. His bright yellow jacket was muddied and torn; there was blood on the cuffs of his slacks.
“Please,” he kept saying to the woman in front of him. “I’m begging you. Just leave me alone. Please.”
The woman smiled. It was not a kind smile, even discounting the fangs revealed by her curling lips. “Darling,” she said, “It’s so sweet of you to ask me nicely. But I’m afraid my mind is quite made up.”
She began to advance on him, slowly, and he dragged himself backwards on hands and knees, until he’d reached the end of the alley and there was nowhere else to go. His hands scrabbled for a broken bottle or a chunk of broken concrete – anything to use as a weapon – but there was nothing in sight.
“Please,” he kept saying. “Please.”
When she reached him, she knelt beside him in the soft low light of the distant streetlamps, her long red coat pooling about her like blood.
“How about this?” She leaned towards him, to whisper in his ear – and he shuttered, trying unsuccessfully to pull away from her. “Our kind usually likes to take our time, but I’ll show mercy. I won’t drag it out. It’ll be quick and painless. Well, nearly painless. I promise.”
“Please don’t,” wept the man. “I don’t want to die.”
“We all have to die, darling,” she said to him. “Trust me – it’s not as bad you might think. I should know.”
She smiled at him again, the light in her eyes glittering unnaturally. The man tried to bolt to one side, but her hand was on his shoulder like a snake-strike, fingers digging deep into the flesh of his arm, locking him in place. He struggled uselessly against the hold. He tried to let out a scream, call for help, but his chest was constricted, his breath trapped in his throat.
“Hold still now,” she whispered. “We need to make this quick.”
Then her smile grew, and grew, her jaw impossibly unhinging as she craned her fangs towards the throbbing vein in his neck –
And then suddenly, the jutting point of a stake burst from her chest. She shrieked in pain, dropping her hold on her victim and whirling to confront her attacker.
The newcomer behind her was tall and pale and dressed all in black. His hand was still outstretched from plunging the stake into her back, and his expression was so surprised it bordered on the apologetic.
“You dare,” she hissed, as one hand came up to cradle the point sticking out of the center of her chest. No. Not quite the center. A little too low and to the right, actually. “You dare to try and slay me?”
“Damn,” said her would-be slayer, smiling somewhat sheepishly. “I missed? How did I miss?”
She sneered at the newcomer, her other hand reaching around her at an impossible angle to yank out the stake buried in her back. When she pulled it around, even through the blood, she could see it was not a stake at all.
“A wooden dagger? How quaint.” She tossed the knife aside, where it clinked against the brick of the alleyway. “These days, it’s all silver-powered rifles and energy blasters cooled with holy water. Calling this is throwback would be insulting to throwbacks.”
“What can I say?” He had the audacity to sound amused. “I’m somewhat old-fashioned.”
“One of those ‘abides by traditions’ Slayers, are we?” She wobbled to her feet, her hand still clutching the hole in her chest – one from which no blood was issuing. “Please. I was feasting upon the blood of innocents while you were still in diapers, boy.”
Loki grinned at her, letting his mouth widen enough that she could see the fangs gleaming in his smile. “Don’t be so sure of that.”
She froze, shock momentarily breaking through her coolness. Her eyes went from black to red, both hands coming to clench at her sides. “You are one of us,” she snarled. “Liar. Murderer. Betrayer!”
“Only two of those are really applying these days,” said Loki. He spun a hand, and a new wooden dagger manifested itself in his hand. “Now look, of the two of us – who is about to be doing a spot of murder around here, hmmm?”
“It is not murder; it is survival. Would you have us live off the dead blood of corpses and donors?”
“First of all, there’s nothing wrong with a nice serving of O-positive straight out of the bag, and you know it. Second of all,” and Loki thought about taking a step closer to her, but she was watching him too closely, “‘Survival’ is a little much to say about the likes of us, isn’t it? After all, you and I are already dea—”
She gave an inhuman shriek and darted at him, far faster than a moral eye could’ve followed. There was something suddenly in her hand, and while Loki moved fast enough to miss the full force of her strike, he could not quite avoid a glancing blow. He hissed and stumbled back, cradling his arm to his chest.
“Silver blade,” he said almost approvingly, nodding at the knife she held in her hand. The hilt was wrapped in strips of something, protecting her from the touch of silver even as she used it against him. “Now who’s betraying whose own kind?”
“Self-defense,” she said to him, mockingly, and came at him again. Somehow, he’d managed not to drop his own dagger, and this time he was able to swing out of her way – too far to make a stab with his weapon, but enough that he managed a swift kick to the back of her knee that sent her sprawling to the ground.
She’d spun from her stomach to her back in the split second it took him to lean over her, and when he plunged the wooden dagger towards her chest, she blocked it with her weapon, the force of her blow snapping his dagger in two. He groaned in frustration, tossing the pieces aside and manifesting yet another weapon just as she reached out a foot to hook behind his ankle and sweep him to the ground. Then she was on top of him, her knee in his chest, her silver blade at his throat. The silver burned, though it would’ve been much more uncomfortable if he’d needed to breathe.
He shifted only slightly, adjusting his grip on the wooden blade – but she felt the movement and snatched the dagger away, tossing it over her shoulder to clatter against the side of the alleyway. Then she leaned down, pressing her weight onto his chest. He tried to reach up, to grasp at her wrists or perhaps throw her off him, but his arms were half-pinned and he couldn’t manage the angle without leaning into the blade at his throat.
“Last words, little liar?” she asked almost idly. “Perhaps I’ll cut out your silver tongue with this silver blade and save it as a trophy, hmm?”
“Now, that really is unfair. I never said I wasn’t a vampire, did I?” He grinned at her, and she snarled, pulling far enough away to backhand him across the face. He rolled his eyes – unable to speak, for she’d knocked his jaw half out of alignment – and winced as she wrapped her fingers around his neck. She tossed her blade into the shadows, then grinned down at him, fangs and eyes gleaming with a kind of disconcerting joy. Loki wondered idly if she planned on drinking his blood or simply tearing his throat – and then, in all probability, the rest of him – into pieces.
He twisted away from her, bucking against her hold on his throat. She sneered at him, fangs lowering – and then hesitated, her eyes sliding from his neck to his chest. The leather cord around his neck had slipped from beneath the folds of his shirt.
“What is this?” She pulled the locket up to examine while keeping a careful hold on the leather cord, being sure not to touch the metal. “Is this – silver?”
“Not – silver,” Loki mumbled through his half-dislocated jaw. “Uru.”
“And what could it be?” she said, as if he hadn’t spoken. She darted a touch to the locket, and when it failed to burn her, she reached out to twist it between her fingertips. “An amulet of some kind, of course, but what powers does it contain?”
“No power,” managed Loki. “Just a – memento. From home. Don’t see – why you should care.”
She glanced at him, grinning. “If it’s so unimportant, I’m sure you won’t mind me examining it?”
“Wouldn’t – if I were you.”
Leering at him, she set the locket between her fingertips and prized it open.
The alleyway burst into golden light. She screamed, a horrible rending sound, and threw up her hands to protect her face – but it was far too late for that. The light was burning through her, illuminating her in stark relief even as her features disintegrated into dust and ash. The locket fell from her crumbling fingers, hitting the ground with a faint ping that was lost in the roaring sound of wind and flame.
When it was over, Loki pushed himself into a sitting position, then reached up with both hands and shoved his jaw back into place. He looked over his shoulder at the man in the torn yellow jacket, who was still huddled against the wall of the alleyway.
“Sorry about all that.” Loki gave a reassuring smile, which meant one in which he was careful to keep his teeth from showing. “I assure you, we’re not all like that.”
“Y-you mean – ” The man seemed almost to choke and had to stop to swallow hard. “It’s true, what she said? You’re really a – a –”
“A vampire, yes,” said Loki smoothly. “Do you think you might do me a favor?”
The man blinked. “A – favor?”
“That locket over there.” Loki nodded towards the pendant, still glowing with a faint golden light even amongst the heap of ashes. “Would you be so kind as to retrieve it for me?”
After hesitating for only a moment, the man lurched to his feet, then limped across the alleyway. He grimaced, then plunged his hand into the pile of ashes, pulling the locket from the center of the heap. Then he looked down to where Loki was still sitting, arms braced against the ground.
“Aren’t you going to get up?” asked the man, warily.
“Only if you don’t think I’m going to attack you,” said Loki, almost cheerfully. “Thought I might seem less threatening here on the ground.”
The man considered this for a moment. “You did just save my life. Looked like it hurt, even.” He hesitated, then groaned, running his free hand through his hair. “I’m too exhausted to be scared anymore. It’s all right.”
Loki smiled, then came slowly to his feet. The man made to hand Loki the locket, and Loki stepped back hastily, one hand coming up to shield his face as he winced.
“Would you mind terribly closing that first?” he said.
The man looked surprised, but did as asked. Instantly the alley was plunged into darkness. With a faint sigh – half in relief, and half with some other, heavier emotion – Loki held out his hand, and allowed the locket to be dropped into his waiting palm.
“Thank you,” said the man. “Thank you so much. You – you saved my life.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Loki, magnanimously, but looked so undeniably proud that the man’s lips twitched into a returning smile. It had been an odd evening, to put it mildly, but there was no denying that, even though he’d just met two vampires for the first time in his life, one was decidedly more pleasant than the other. He was certain enough of this to even risk asking a question.
“So what was that?” asked the man, nodding at the locket still cradled in Loki’s palm.
“A gift,” said Loki, without looking at him, as he slipped the cord back over his neck.
“Yeah, but what –”
“Sunlight,” said Loki, looking up and giving a half smile. The man looked slightly nervous but did not move away. “A beam of sunlight, locked into the heart of an uru vessel. Comes in handy when one’s hunting vampires.”
“Oh,” said the man, thinking this over. Then he frowned slightly. “But you – aren’t you? –”
“I am,” said Loki.
“Then – isn’t it dangerous? For you to carry it around?”
“Dangerous? Perhaps. But –” Loki tucked the pendant back into the folds of his shirt. “I’ve always thought it worth the risk to find a little light.”
* * * * *
It had begun centuries before, in the aftermath of the war. And, to be fair, the plan had not been Loki’s first choice. As he’d tried to point out to Thor, on more than one occasion.
The war against Thanos had cost them all – cost the worlds, the realms, the galaxies themselves. But it had cost the Asgardians more than most. Unfair, after all they had already lost – but undeniable all the same. Even before the war itself, half the survivors had sacrificed their lives in Thanos’s initial attack on the Commodore.
Half the survivors, and Loki.
Or so it had appeared.
(“You did it to me again,” Thor would snipe, later, in those early days when he was still deciding if he forgave Loki for what Loki had done. “That’s three times, Loki.”
“Fool you once, shame on me –” Loki had begun, and then had had to duck out of the way when Thor had taken a swing at his head.)
After the attack on the Statesman, after Thor’s quest for a new weapon worthy of vengeance – after that had come the war, and even Thor’s cavalry-worthy entrance and the use of Stormbreaker had not been enough to stop the Mad Titan. Not then; not yet. More had been lost then; half of Midgard, half of the galaxy. Half of the scant few surviving Asgardians.
And then, there had been only combat. For months on end, as Thor and the remaining Avengers tried to bring down the one who had rained so much destruction, so much death, upon them all. Thor lost count of not only the bodies, but the battles themselves. He had seen so many battles, so many bodies, so much blood in his fifteen hundred years. But never had he known war like this. He had not understood how much it would change him.
Or perhaps it was not the fighting that changed him. Perhaps it was what he had lost.
When the final battle of the war had commenced, Thor had gone into the fight unsure if he would survive. He had also been a fair trifle unconcerned by the notion. It was not that he wished to die; it was more that he simply could not work up the required effort to be particularly concerned. His life for Thanos’s seemed like a not-entirely-unreasonable trade, if it so came to that.
And so he went into the battle with Stormbreaker ablaze and thunder raging, prepared to pay whatever price it took to bring an end to the fight. When his lightning had inevitably burned itself out, when Stormbreaker had been shattered like Mjolnir before it by the force of the Gauntlet, when his ribs had broken and his skull fractured by the raw power of the Mad Titan … he questioned none of it. Begrudged none of it. When he rallied himself for one final, desperate blow at Thanos, he knew, whatever happened, that he’d have the satisfaction of knowing he’d given everything he had in him to give.
And then there had been darkness.
When he came to on the battlefield, he’d assumed he’d lost consciousness – apparently for some time, given how dark it had become. He blinked hard a few times, wondering if his vision had been affected by concussion, until he decided it must simply be nightfall. Then he’d gingerly sat up, propping himself upright on outstretched arms, surprised by how light he felt, how detached. No aches, no hurts. Other than a sensation of nearly unbearable thirst, he seemed to be in a fighting-fit condition such as he hadn’t felt in months.
Then he turned to get his bearings – and there was Loki, kneeling beside him in the dust.
“Loki!” He’d thrown his arms around his brother, hugging him hard, and felt the beginning of tears welling in his good eye.
“Hello, Brother,” Loki had mumbled, and if his voice did not seem properly enthusiastic, he at least was hugging Thor back. Thor squeezed tightly, expecting Loki to protest, but Loki had only endured the hug with silent stoicism.
At last, Thor had pulled back, keeping his hands on his brother’s shoulders as if to reassure himself that Loki was not about to slip away into the shadows once more. “I just – I can’t believe it. Again. You did it again.” His voice was rasping in his throat, a strange ache against the splitting thirst. “How did you get here? How did you escape the Statesman? When last I saw you –” Then he’d trailed off, nearly choking on the splitting dryness in his throat.
“Here,” Loki had said, quietly, offering him a flask. Thor’s throat tightened, and he took the proffered flask with a hand that trembled slightly, too thirsty to bother ask about its contents. The liquid inside was rich and heady and just slightly warm, and seemed to coat his throat in a way that soothed his thirst far quicker than he could have imagined.
“Thank you,” he said, relieved, handing Loki the flask back. “Turns out nearly dying is thirsty work. Suppose you would know!” He chuckled, and only then did he notice that his brother, though meeting his eyes, looked slightly ashamed.
“There’s … something I need to explain to you,” Loki began hesitantly. “It’s about how I came back …”
“Found a path to resurrection at last, did you, Loki?” Thor had chuckled, and wiped a hand at the back of his mouth. Then he froze, seeing the crimson stain across the back of his hand shining in the light of the nearly-full moon.
Blood. Not his own.
“I’m sorry, Brother,” Loki had said, sorrow and defiance shining like twin stars in his face. “But I promised. I promised you I’d find a way to make it right. ‘Undying fidelity,’ remember? I just … had to get a bit literal on the ‘undying’ part.”