Chapter Text
"Do you really think it's a good idea to go back to Earth?"
It wasn't. From the very beginning, Loki had argued against the plan. Certainly, there were a few advantages, being right in the middle of Yggdrasil just one of them, but the people of Midgard were greatly divided, possessed but primitive technology, and already had more than enough problems on their platter to want to add one more. There was no way they would allow the Asgardians to take refuge on their planet.
Perhaps Vanahiem would be a better option, Loki had suggested; even the travel time would be greatly lesser. Even Heimdall had supported him on that. But Thor wouldn't have any of it.
"Yes, of course, the people of Earth love me, I'm very popular."
To say that Thor loved the humans dearly would be an understatement. His time on Midgard had developed in him a deep appreciation for the mortals. While Loki could never understand exactly what it was that made his brother adore them so much, he had to admit that in the short time he'd spent with humans, he'd seen their insatiable curiosity and their unrelenting tenacity, qualities he could appreciate.
But humans weren't the issue.
"Let me rephrase that: Do you really think it's a good idea to bring me back to Earth?"
He didn't want to go back to Earth. Not only was it terribly thought-out and a bright and clear invitation for further hassle, it was a stark reminder of everything that had come... before. After everything that had happened, after everything he had done, he couldn't face going back.
He knew quite well he was needed to rebuild New Asgard, but the thought of it made him want to run.
And the Tesseract's inviting hum resonating from his dimensional pocket did absolutely nothing to assuage that urge.
If only he'd not been weak enough to succumb, it would never have happened. If only he'd been clever enough to find a way to escape. If only—
If only he had never let go.
"Probably not, to be honest, but I wouldn't worry Brother, I feel like everything's gonna—"
His head was suddenly struck by sharp, excruciating pain. He let out a blood-curdling scream.
If you fail, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice —
"I assure you brother, the sun will shine on us again."
He could taste the metallic tang of blood in his throat. Smell the fear, the death that surrounded him.
Thor, his brother, his crimson blood on his scarred face, chained, defeated, was writhing in agony, helpless and desperate, his head clutched by —
There he was. Thanos.
"I know what it's like to lose—"
Screams of horror, of agony, of pain, filled his ears.
You think you know pain?
"—to feel so desperately that you're right and to fail, nonetheless—"
"—Odinson, the rightful King of Jotunhiem, God of Mischief, do hereby pledge to you, my undying fidelity."
He was in the Mad Titan's fatal grasp, flailing in his hold helplessly, gasping futilely for precious air —
He will make you long for something as sweet as pain—
His world was going dark. Dark and black. Black as the Void. The world was fading; his life was fading, and he couldn't breathe—
"You... will... never be... a god —"
"——Ki!"
"——Ki! Loki! Brother!" He flung open his eyes in alarm and sat up swiftly, terror evident on his face, his heart pounding, his breath irregular, only now becoming aware that he had fallen on the floor, to see Thor sitting beside him, brows furrowed with anxiety.
"Brother! Are you all right?"
"I — He–he's coming — " Loki gasped for breath, voice full of sheer, unmasked dread.
No, no, no, this couldn't be happening. After all these years? After he thought he was gone for good? After he finally thought he was free? When he was finally starting to heal? When he was finally starting to hope?
"Thano — The Mad Titan— He–he's coming for— he's here for me —" Loki slowly turned his head towards the window of The Statesman, bracing himself for the inevitable.
And through it, he saw... Nothing?
The massive form of The Sanctuary II, Thanos' ark, was nowhere to be seen. He only saw what he had been seeing before — the endless expanse of the Void.
No, he would come. Soon.
Dread it, run from it, destiny arrives all the same, a voice whispered in his head.
"Who? Loki. Loki, look at me." Thor said, "All right, calm down, calm down, just breathe." Loki inhaled sharply and forcefully, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. His heart was hammering in his chest, adrenaline pulsing through his body.
Not knowing what else to do, Thor carefully pulled his trembling brother into a soft embrace, perhaps the first one they'd had in years.
He was coming. The Mad Titan was coming to get him. Loki knew it. What he'd just seen — the Norns had just given him a glimpse of his Fate.
He was living on borrowed time.
"I— I— Thanos—" he swallowed, one hand involuntarily gripping Thor's leather vest.
And it would all be over soon — he'd be in the Titan's hands, begging for his mercy, not getting any. What remained of Asgard would be gone, the lives of all of its people — and the Titan would claim both halves — swiftly extinguished like a weak, dying fire.
Thor would die.
"Shhh. Don't say anything just yet. Focus on breathing. Breathe in, breathe out. It's okay. Everything's okay." He gripped him tighter, determined not to let go.
Breathe.
Amidst the throbs of his own rapidly pulsing heart, he could faintly feel another heartbeat.
"T-thor?" He looked up, tremors still wracking his body.
"I'm here, Brother. Keep breathing."
Thor was here.
Alive.
And he Mad Titan was not.
Gradually, his breathing evened out. The tremors calmed down, and his body began to relax.
What had that been? Some part of Loki's mind, only now regaining some of its senses, demanded.
Only now did his mind register the fact that he held on to Thor as if for dear life. Startled, he let go of him, cheeks flushing red in embarrassment, and stood up shakily.
This — whatever this was — had allowed Thor to see. See what he had tried to hide from him, from everybody else, from himself, for so long.
He attempted to speak, but all that came out was a desperate cough.
"I— I'm fine, Thor. Thank you for your concern." He tried once again, his feet unsteady, his eyes fixed on the floor, determined to avoid Thor's, and turned around to leave, wanting to shut himself up in his quarters for the next hundred years after what had happened.
With one swift motion, Thor grabbed his hand. "No, you're not, Brother." The sheer unease in his voice hit him like a raging wave, but Loki pretended not to notice.
"Everything's okay, Thor. That wasn't anything you need to worry about. I'm just—"
Just what?
That was the question, wasn't it?
"I'm just exhausted, Brother. It's been a tiring day, bringing about Ragnarok and all. I just need some rest. Everything's fine."
Everything's fine, huh?
Lies.
"You're hiding something, aren't you?" he questioned, his gaze narrowing.
Thor had become more observant, huh?
"I'm hiding a lot of things, Brother, so I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific. Now if you'll excuse me," He freed his hand from Thor's grasp, "I wish to return to my room." He turned around once again, his feet still shaky.
Really, why did everything feel so shaky?
The last thing he remembered was Thor's yell of 'Get help!' as darkness enveloped him.
When he came to, the first thing he realized was that he was lying down.
He was lying down on a... bed? It was soft, much softer than any he'd gotten to rest in recently. He was covered in a blanket. Warm. It smelled new and fresh. Relaxing. He was comfortable in it. When was the last time he'd been awarded comfort? And... he could not feel his familiar tunic and leather armour over his upper body. He wasn't wearing clothes?
He could faintly hear the muffled sound of someone's footsteps heading towards him. Someone was coming.
He opened his eyes, only to be momentarily blinded by the dazzling light, and squeezed them shut. He tried once again, this time with more success. He tilted his head, and sure enough, his green and black leather vest and tunics were lying folded right beside him. If his clothes were off, it meant that... It meant that —
Shit.
"Brother?" He heard a loud knock at his door, which opened to reveal his brother. "You're awake?"
"It does seem so. What happened?" Loki forced himself up into a sitting position.
"You fainted. I got you to this room and fetched Eir. I was worried you were ill and..." Thor looked away and bit his lip. "Eir... did a check-up. She was worried there might be physical injuries from the fighting and..." he hesitated.
"She and I — we saw the scars."
Shit.
"I — Loki, where did you get them? How? Who did this to —" Thor paused, seeming uncertain. Loki winced visibly, but Thor seemed to not have noticed. "does it have anything to do with this Thano—"
"Don't say his name!"
Thor stopped, startled and taken aback.
"Do... do you want to talk about it?" Thor finally asked after some time.
Dear Norns, no.
"I'm– I'm not forcing you to. It's your choice." He looked like a kicked puppy.
"Thor, I..." Loki couldn't say it out loud. Couldn't.
But his brother had seen the scars. Even if that witless oaf couldn't make out anything of it, wise Eir, with all her knowledge, talent, and experience, must have, or would soon, realize what they were caused by. And Thor knew full well that even Loki couldn't hold an illusion over himself while unconscious, so he couldn't exactly play it off as a trick, either.
There was no point in hiding it, not after that.
But saying it would make it real. It would mean that it happened, that it wasn't just a recurring nightmare. He couldn't say it. Saying it, something whispered, would unleash the darkness.
Nobody would believe you anyway, Loki Liesmith. Who has ever?
"It's okay if you don't want to—"
Not after all those years of trying so hopelessly to bury away the darkness in the deepest depths of his unconscious. Not after all those years of running away from his past.
Running away. Always running away. Like a coward.
Run back home, little princess—
Loki finally looked up and met his brother's eyes. He saw in them no anger, no animosity, only understanding.
Understanding, huh? Curious.
Thor's anger, animosity, maybe even apathy these days, those were perhaps a constant by now. But understanding? That was rare. When was the last time he'd seen it? Certainly never in the clusterfuck that was the last decade, never in moments he'd needed it the most.
But after that — that vision and the incident that followed — it had become increasingly clear that Thanos was still very much a threat not only to him but also to Asgard, one that he couldn't face alone. Given that, it would be immensely unwise to withhold valuable information about the enemy's past and capabilities.
If the Mad Titan was indeed coming for him, Thor of all people needed to know.
"Loki, you know you could tell me." Thor's voice was soft and his words seemed, dare he say it, genuine.
Could he?
Perhaps he could tell Thor. Perhaps he should tell Thor.
As if he'd believe it. When has that oaf ever, anyway? A bitter voice within him questioned. For the past decade, what had Thor done but turn a blind eye to everything, all of his sorrows and suffering? Calling them 'imagined' slights, never once over a year visiting his cell and yet running to him when he seemed to be of use, and then giving him the ultimatum of death or millennia of solitary confinement, never once in the last seven years until now showing him the slightest hint of love until he was on the path to Hel.
Hel, you've rarely given him any reason to do so.
(Loathe were he to admit it, but he missed the brother he'd once known; the teenage Thor who'd worry over him and bring him apples and books when he was sick or injured, one who, despite often taunting Loki himself, would be ready to fight to defend Loki's honour were anyone else to attempt to tarnish it, one who'd help him prank the others and laugh with Loki when pranked himself. The one who'd actually, genuinely cared.)
Even if not — everything — perhaps he should at least tell him what he needed to know about the Titan; he posed a threat to Asgard, after all. It was crucial information; the King of Asgard needed to know. He should at least give him the information he had about his physical capabilities, about his weaponry, about his "children" and the Black Order, about how he could potentially send someone to invade Midgard again. Or arrive there himself.
Don't say it, Loki's mind screamed.
Don't say it.
Don't say it.
Don't say it.
Say it.
"Very well then, I will."
There.
"... We could, however, use our knowledge and technology as a bargaining chip. We could present this ship and the devices abroad it to their scientific community, for example. They do seem to love technology quite a bit, don't they? Oh, and Eir and her healers possess heaps of invaluable medical knowledge — it could be priceless to their own understanding of medicine and biology — "
There had been a lot to manage abroad the Statesman earlier today — a census to take, rooms and duties to assign, rationing to do, many wounded to take care of — but he and Thor had soon found that they needn't do much beyond giving orders: the rest of it was in the capable hands of the Valkyrie, Heimdall and Eir. Dr Banner had found manuals in the ship's engine room, and busied himself in learning in detail about its workings in case of technical failure. Even Korg and Meik had proved to be of much help.
That was not to say that they hadn't tried directly helping out though, but they were quickly sent away. Apparently, the new King and Crown Prince of Asgard were supposed to decide upon their future course of action, not assist their citizens in meagre tasks, as Heimdall had put it. Asgard's very foundations had to be rebuilt, he had said, and that included more than just physical construction.
So they sat in Thor's room — one that while bigger and grander than the others on this ship, could never hope to hold a candle to the sheer grandeur that used to be their Royal Chambers — Loki explaining to Thor in detail his preferred plan of action after landing on Earth, what diplomatic difficulties they could face, what bargains, if needed, could be made, what New Asgard's potential mode of governance and its relations to other nations on Earth would be in the future, and the like, while Thor, with next to no understanding of politics and diplomacy, tried his best to keep up.
He, on the other hand, greatly enjoyed the planning process. It kept him engaged, gave his mental faculties exercise, made him feel important, valued, needed. And more importantly, it kept his thoughts away from his looming Destiny.
"There's... just one more potential issue."
One problem though, he had left unmentioned until now.
"That being?" Thor asked. While Loki knew Thor preferred the heat and passion of battle much more to the subtleties of diplomacy, and would just rather kick his way into building a settlement and punch his way out of any arising issues, he had sat there and paid close attention all along, and Loki was thankful for that.
He had debated back and forth with himself about bringing this up. Every fibre of his being had protested against it, and yet he knew that it had to be said.
For Asgard.
"They won't allow me on Earth, after everything I've done, they have no reason to believe me about —that — either," He finally stated, putting an air of nonchalance, trying his best to act as if it didn't bother him in the slightest, "and my presence can certainly jeopardize your chances of finding refuge."
A few hours earlier, Loki had finally said those words. Dragged them out in the open, for Thor to hear, too late to ever be taken back. Words he had desperately run away from for most of the past decade. Relived memories that still made his very soul shudder and writhe in the sheer pain of it all. And yet, he'd barely given Thor an infinitesimal peek into the darkness.
My assault on Midgard, He had started, it was not done — entirely — of my own will.
"They'll forgive you, Brother. I know them better than you do. They will—"
He had told him — no, alluded, really, for one does not tell so ambiguously, so vaguely, so equivocally, (what's the use of having a silver-tongue if you cant employ it?) of the physical torments the Mad Titan had inflicted upon him.
But his brother, thick-skulled oaf that he was, must have understood anyway, and had somehow believed all of it.
Well, he mused darkly, the evidence was rather exquisitely carved upon his person, wasn't it?
"No, Brother, they have no reason to — and bringing a — what do they call it? — an international, multi-planetary, really, terrorist along as a Prince when asking for refuge is not a very logical plan, don't you think?"
Do you really think I deserve their forgiveness? He had not said.
No, he was weak. The weak do not deserve such a thing as forgiveness.
What he had not said out loud hours ago far outweighed, both in quantity and significance, what he had.
The physical tortures he'd suffered hardly mattered. What Thanos had done to him went deeper than his flesh. He'd broken his mind, twisted everything — his emotions, his memories, his beliefs, his very soul. He had filled his very being with lust and hatred and envy; his darkness had penetrated the very core of his soul.
He had fought it at first. Everybody did. And he had failed.
In the end, he had surrendered to the darkness.
No, he had embraced it.
"Loki, I—" Thor started, looking genuinely hurt, perhaps having grasped the meaning behind Loki's last statement.
Seeing the multitude of scars — raw, not fully healed yet, a reminder of days filled with nought but pain — on Loki's person had seemingly shifted something in Thor; whereas yesterday he'd treated Loki with nothing more than a resigned sort of apathy, barely thought twice about leaving him on the floor writhing in agony (and thus ruined his perfectly brilliant, if ridiculously dangerous, plan of assassinating — or at least incapacitating if he was truly immortal — an Elder of the Cosmos, thank you very much), believed him to at least be inherently deceptive and untrustworthy (a claim he wouldn't readily dispute) if not truly evil, now he was mother-henning him like he was some sick child.
While a part of him still ached for the brotherly concern and affection that sudden change — seeming change, he corrected, do you truly think he'd change so easily? — in attitude in Thor brought, the rational, scheming part of his mind recognised the strategic problems that misplaced newfound concern — seeming concern, the last time Thor truly cared for you was centuries ago — caused.
"What I'm saying is that I should leave, Thor. It will be better for all of us. My staying here only endangers Asgard. I've destroyed the place, who's to say I won't destroy the people?"
Wherever you go, there is war, ruin, and death.
"Brother, that's not —"
"No. It is. It's true. They need a home, and I'm only coming in their way. As King, you need to put our people before me, Thor."
He did not want to destroy, he had never wanted to. But he always had, no matter what his intention. The deathly cracks in the crust of Jotunheim, the ravaged buildings of New York, the lifeless, bleeding corpse Frigga, of Mother, and the grand pyre of Asgard were all witness to that. And he feared now would be no different. Thor could try to pretend to deny it as much as he wanted; it didn't make any difference.
(Perhaps it was in his very nature.)
"I—" Thor paused, not knowing what to say. After a moment, he continued, his voice uncertain, "If you really want to leave, I won't stop you, Brother." He bit his lip. "But know that I want— no, I need you here. We need you here. Don't—Don't leave me again."
Oh, so all of a sudden he was needed now?
Was he?
Was he?
Of course he was now, Loki thought bitterly. Now that Thor had realized he would need Loki's best skill set — his way with words — to be granted a home, of course he was needed all of a sudden.
It had always been like this, hadn't it? How many times had he saved the Idiots Five's lives with his lies and diplomacy and yet had been mocked for it not a minute later?
— And afterwards this cell, Thor had promised.
Nonetheless, on Earth, he was more of a liability than an asset. And besides, it wasn't as if Loki was the only good liar or diplomat on board: this vessel's population consisted mostly of the lesser nobility and the merchants; long practised in the ways of the markets and court (most of the higher nobility, and all twelve of the High Councillors, had of course been killed by Hela — a loss from which only Lady Gullvieg's and General Tyr's deaths were worth any mourning, he'd say— and with greatly publicised executions too). Hel, even Heimdall was a decent diplomat. Loki was certainly the best, but not the only.
Loki sighed but said nothing further. Of course, Thor would refuse to see the obvious. He would refuse to see that not only could his presence imperil their chances of refuge on Earth, but it could also very well imperil the lives of scores of Asgardians and Mortals. But no. He'd allow highly misplaced sentimentality for his brother and terrible timing to further cloud his already hazy judgement. And despite what he had just said, that hypocrite wouldn't even entertain the thought of letting him leave now. How very Thor of him. Why had he even suggested this?
Thor opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.
Both Loki and Thor sat in uncomfortable silence for some time, the former knowing not what to say, the latter, judging b his expression, seemingly knowing not whether to.
Open communication was never our family's forte, after all.
Finally, Thor dared to ask it.
"That isn't all, is it Brother?" Loki raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. Thor had always been rather selectively oblivious: he could easily notice rather well-hidden things and infer someone's motives correctly if he paid close attention. The thing was, he seldom — if ever — did.
"You've become more perceptive, you oaf." Thor chuckled.
Loki sighed. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't hide it for much longer.
What was the point, anyway? Sure, the discussion would have a lot of yelling involved, and Loki would likely have to get it shoved into his brother's thick skull that what else was he supposed to do when resurrecting a realm-destroying fire giant with no other means of escape, and did you want me to leave an Infinity Stone floating around in space, up for grabs for anyone looking, but it could shorten their travel time immensely, which, in addition to easing the logistical difficulties of having a few thousand people undergoing a months-long journey on a ship meant for a few hundred, would also avoid all the dangers that came along with interstellar travel.
Dangers, something in his mind whispered, like the Titan.
The next moment he summoned the thrice-damned, and yet so powerful, so coveted, almost soothing, blue cube from his dimensional pocket. The Tesseract lay glittering on his palm, and he could feel the immense, incomprehensible power it was radiating.
Thor let out a gasp of shock.
One moment they'd been in deep space, surrounded by incomprehensibly vast nothingness stretching out for trillions of kilometres, even the closest star systems light years away from them. The next moment they could see Earth, a tiny blue marble of life surrounded by the pitch black of the Void. The tesseract had shortened their voyage from months to seconds.
The blue planet, Loki knew, was just another of the billions of planets in this galaxy alone. It was insignificant. Even in the Nine Realms under Asgard's empire, it held nothing special: Its best technologies were hardly children's toys compared to Nidavellier's, the most magnificent of its lands duller than most boring plains of Alfhiem, and one could not even begin to compare what little riches it possessed to what Asgard once owned. And yet, it looked... beautiful. Serene.
Remember this place, Odin had said, Home.
Perhaps everything was going to work out after all.