Archive of Our Own

For the first time in a very, very long time, Loki was happy at a party. Of course he’d enjoyed gatherings before in his very long life (should one ask him to name one such time, he wouldn’t be able to off the top of his head, but that was besides the point) but this feeling of relaxation was novel, and Loki couldn’t help but relish it. 

No one was talking to him specifically at that moment, but Loki didn’t mind; happy to cradle his drink and surveil the room. His — dare he call them friends? 

For a moment, a heavy pit of dread turned in his sternum as he considered just how badly he wanted to do just that — pathetic, you’re pathetic — but with a deep breath in and out he decided no, it wouldn’t be quite appropriate.

His… Teammates milled about the living room in Stark’s penthouse, the lights of New York City twinkling and shifting about below them like a sea of stars, bright enough to even keep the inky darkness out from from the night sky. Once, Loki would’ve missed the stars, but right now he was grateful for the cloudy night blotting out that void.

Soft music played from all around thanks to Stark’s unseen servant, and the mood of the room was warm, and comfortable. They were gathered to share drinks over another successful expedition — raiding a HYDRA base for information and contraband — which was exactly the kind of party Loki had always hated back home, but found himself enjoying this one.

The Captain, Colonel Rhodes, and Thor stood in the centre of the room, Thor gesticulating while telling some story that apparently involved flying; the Captain and the Colonel nodding along looking equal parts disbelieving and transfixed. Agent Romanov and the Lady Pepper were by Stark’s enormous bar, happily chatting — for a moment Loki considered extending his hearing to learn what they were talking of out of pure curiosity, but years of etiquette lessons and a faint echo of his mother’s voice chastising him on manners had him shaking his head minutely to dismiss the thought. 

Stark and Banner stood between the two, and like Thor, Stark was apparently engaged in a rather heated one-sided conversation. His drink sloshed in his hand as he motioned his point, while Banner held his ceramic cup with both hands — herbal tea, to be sure — to his chest and nodded along looking a little pained, or perhaps a little fond. Loki was still a bit unsure around the doctor after their, well, less than ideal first meeting. As such, Loki’s keeping his distance had the unfortunate side effect of keeping him from getting a proper read on the quiet scientist, even after all these weeks of working together. 

Being held captive by the Titan had, Loki was ashamed to admit, broken him. 

After everything he’d been through, and prided himself on withstanding, what Loki had swore to himself to never let happen had finally happened at the hands of that maniac. 

He’d cracked, and the Other and the Maw had slithered through the cracks of his mind, making it their own while twisting his few remaining free thoughts to suit their purposes still. 

Loki had come to Midgard wounded; physically, mentally and emotionally, under their promises that should he simply fetch them the Tesseract, all the pain would go away. He was blinded, hurting, confused, broken and suffering from the warped thoughts being fed into his head, but most of all, he was scared. 

Even now, there were parts of the invasion — his invasion — that he couldn’t remember. He could recall moments of hesitation, especially whilst attacking the Midgardians — they haven’t done anything to me, why am I doing this, I harbour no ill-will to humans — before, like a flash of lightning straight to the brain, the thoughts would be struck down from afar, pierced and prodded and twisted before being shoved back into his mind, twice as potent and festering with only murderous intent and a drive to let nothing stand between him and his goal.

The mental link that Thanos’ telepathic advisors wielded was adamantine, and their skill meant that any thoughts of doubt or suspicion against his new benefactors were expunged before Loki could even grasp them himself. 

Thankfully, it was before he had been sent to Midgard and before the two psychics had installed themselves so wholly in his mind that he had laid his plan to secretly sabotage their goals. He knew he would have no other opportunity soon after.

And so, on the deck of Sanctuary Loki had prostrated himself before his master, shaking with pain, fear and the knowledge that if his lie failed, so would all hope for the Nine Realms. There, swearing his gratefulness and fealty so avidly that even he believed it (he had to, for this to work) he told them yes, he would do this and appealed to the Titan’s ego. Loki persuaded Thanos and his children that a blunt show of force was the best path— open their forces right into the human’s greatest city, to show the pitiful creatures that there was no need to even try to fight back against the Great Balancer. 

Somehow, somehow, Loki was successful. Perhaps the Norns had accepted all his blood spilled in that cell as worthy sacrifice for this favour. He was welcomed as one of Thanos’ children, armed, and sent to Earth with one last whispered threat of the consequences for his failure. Naturally, the Other was to keep a watchful eye on him during his mission. 

Should he think back to the moment, Loki could still feel the dragging of his fingernails digging into that thrice-damned sceptre as the alien planted its hooks into his mind just before he stepped through the portal, the last shreds of his sanity and free will left behind on that ship.

Waking up — really waking up — in the penthouse of Stark tower had been one of the most terrifying and relieving experiences of Loki’s life. Thankfully, Thor had stuck to his old habits and gave Loki another chance of trying to do the right thing, and Loki was not about to squander it this time, not when the stakes were so high. With Loki’s help (and after a few minutes of extreme confusion and suspicion from Thor’s new teammates), the portal was closed and the remaining Chitauri soldiers dispatched. 

Again, somehow the Norns took pity on Loki and it was surprisingly simple after that - his helping the Avengers win the fight had won him some good will with them; just enough that it seemed they believed his claims of being under outside influence… Loki knew, of course, it was surely only Thor’s vouching for him that was the reason he wasn’t in a cell right now, but he’d take what he could get.

A laconic sentencing from the Allfather for his crimes had Loki on Earth for the foreseeable future, his punishment being helping the humans in however he could to track down the remnants of the Tesseract’s influence and remove them from their world, until all traces were gone. The Tesseract had been taken back to Asgard, and the sceptre entrusted to SHIELD until a better off-world location was decided upon by the Aesir. It was the Allfather’s decree that the humans should have no contact with Infinity Stones, and had agreed for the princes to remain on Earth to facilitate such.

And so, Loki had been working alongside his once-enemies for almost six months now, slowly but surely chipping away at their remaining suspicion of him, and perhaps one day, earning their trust… Maybe even affection.

In no small way, Loki was incredibly grateful to Doctor Banner’s other side for completely unleashing its rage on him. Loki feared anything less may not have been enough to free him from the Other’s control.

But wounds are wounds, pain is pain, and fear is fear, and the lessons Loki had been taught by the Titan and his children in just how greatly pain was to be feared had been taught well. Loki himself had been holding back a bit from truly engaging with his Midgardian teammates because of it.

Stark had been quick to take advantage of a new source of extraterrestrial information, and so had invited Loki into his lab as soon as there was opportunity. They’d spent many days talking about science and magic and everything in between, and at first Loki had been wary, but the charismatic human had soon won him over— how could a creature like Tony Stark not speak to the very core of Loki’s chaotic being. Loki finally relented and let the engineer run some tests on his magic to try and see what Midgardian technology could make of it —pathetic, so desperate for friends you’d whore yourself out—

Loki wasn’t as close with any of the others— he’d run into the Captain enough times in the communal kitchen that their polite conversation had developed into something almost casual, especially in that they both enjoyed cooking and had that to discuss. Thor was Thor, over bearing as always, while Agent Romanov had kept her distance; undoubtedly unwilling to engage with Loki until her own friend would. 

Barton had hardly looked at Loki outside of their missions. 

Similarly, Loki was still greatly unfamiliar with Banner, but that was no-one’s doing besides his own, driven by the fear he couldn’t quite shake.

No-one knew of course, but Loki was still recovering physically. Wounds inflicted by Chitauri weapons stubbornly refused to heal unless Loki was putting all of his energy into them, and going with the Avengers on their missions lately had had him putting his energies into simply keeping up regular appearances on top of actually contributing to the team, while the underlying wounds lay open and fresh… Not to mention how thoroughly the Hulk had broken his body—

“Hey, Lokes! Come settle this for us!” Stark called out, waving a hand to beckon the god, and Loki hid his start almost entirely at the summoning. Blinking away the thoughts he didn’t notice he’d become ensconced in — stop shaking, stop fucking shaking, pathetic — Loki brightened his expression to match Stark’s jovial, drunken affect, and joined them.

He had a moment to offer Banner a polite nod before Stark was at it once more— amazingly able to debate the minutiae of Shkadov thrusters through his inebriation and evidently wanted an actual space-farer’s input. 

Loki and Stark had already discussed inter-realm travel at length, many times, and Loki realised Stark may have just wanted to include him in the conversation out of pity. Loki was always happy to talk about his magic, but their previous discussions in Stark’s labs had always left the engineer either dissatisfied, frustrated, or still curious with Loki’s talk of Yggdrasil’s branches and the energies of worldwalking.

Ever the saying of his life— Loki would take what he could get, and stood attentively by, nodding at the appropriate times while Stark dominated the conversation and Banner occasionally gave his input, to offer correction and suggest alternatives.

Stark had finally paused to take a breath and a sip of his drink, before launching into the realistic issues of Bernal spheres and Loki, much to his own surprise, caught Banner’s sidelong glance directed to him. It was definitely fondness this time, that much was sure, but Loki wasn’t sure why the doctor had sent it his way. 

It was the look of unspoken communication between friends for a shared benevolent exasperation at a drunken companion; one Loki had seen many times between Thor and his friends, but never had directed toward him.

Loki had just enough to time to begin to panic over how he was meant to respond before all their attention was drawn elsewhere.

“Tony! Bruce! Come on, games time!” Colonel Rhodes called out, and turning, Loki saw the others gathering to drape themselves over the couches in the centre of the room. 

Loki was hyper-aware of the fact that he hadn’t been addressed — Colonel Rhodes was friendly enough to him, but kept an understandably safe distance from Loki — but Stark and Banner’s nods to him were clear indication that he should join them with the rest.

After a moment’s hesitation of where to sit — stop fucking overthinking it, stupid, pathetic — he gingerly sat down on the other end of the couch where Thor was languidly spread out, the very picture of being laid-back and among friends, especially compared to how Loki was perched in his spot: sitting up straight, glass clasped in both hands on his lap, ready to be attentive to whomever was speaking. 

Thor had traded his regular armour for jeans, a v-neck shirt and a red blazer, which was haphazardly opened, looking simultaneously casual and regal, as always. Loki was simply wearing his usual under-armour garments— a dark green tunic with minimal embroidery along the hems, with his leather pants and boots, and felt as out of place as he must have looked. 

To his right were Barton and Romanov sharing a smaller couch, both of them fluidly entangling together in the way stray cats huddle in a jumbled mess, looking impossibly uncomfortable, but surely can’t be to arrange themselves so naturally. Both resolutely didn’t look in his direction as he glanced by them.

Across from the low table in the centre sat Doctor Banner, Lady Potts, and Stark, arranged casually as well. Finally over to Loki’s left Colonel Rhodes and the Captain shared the last couch, looking similarly at ease. Loki felt even more out of place and tried to sit back in his seat, at the very least trying for inconspicuousness.

The promised games were really just more talking, but Loki didn’t care. No one spoke to him directly outside of Thor’s occasional attempt to include him, which he was grateful for. Loki’s thoughts drifted once again to what brought him to Midgard, and he was in the middle of deciding whether or not to attempt a healing session tonight when he started again at the calling of his name. Blinking, he looked up to see everyone’s faces smiling with merriment as if just finished laughing, and a very satisfied looking Thor.

“Loki! It is your turn!” Thor cajoled, taking a sip of his drink. Loki’s hands tightened around his own, growing clammy. 

“I.. My apologies, I— must have drifted. My turn for what?” Loki asked, aiming for equal parts casualness and polite remorse. He was able to keep his voice steady— so many centuries of practice— but inside was a stream of self-deprecating thoughts. Not only was he looking like a fool, he was being rude when he was trying to win these people over, damnit!

“We’re going around telling a time when we were super embarrassed.” Stark offered before taking a hearty swig of his own drink. Loki blinked, thoughts racing of how he should play this. A moment of genuine honesty could provide opportunity to grow closer, but the thought of expressing such vulnerability made Loki rankle so much so that for a moment, he was paralysed as to what to do.

“Oh, I…” He couldn’t help but glance at everyone in the room, trying to gauge whether or not they’d care if he just lied to get it over with. Most of them were looking at him, but Loki’s mind was racing too fast to really compute what he was seeing and just saw even, open expressions all around him, ready to simply listen (except for Barton, who was staring intently into his cup).

“I… I once asked a visiting princess to dance at a ball when we were younger—” Loki’s eyes darted to Thor for a moment at the we, and he immediately saw the look of recognition in Thor’s face. Thank the Norns. Maybe he’ll take over and they’ll all stop looking at me so…

“— I fumbled over my words so badly she ended up asking me if I was trying to ask her for a dance. When I said yes…” Loki looked around for another moment, unable to keep from injecting some sort of storytelling into his tale, no matter how short, “… She said no.”

Polite chuckles sounded from almost everyone in the room, along with a few mutterings of casual sympathy, and light jostling. Captain Rogers smiled rather sweetly, as if remembering his own tale, and Loki saw Lady Potts elbow Stark and mutter something about their own dancing experiences with a smirk, to which the engineer laughed. Loki felt the pit of dread in his stomach begin to unwind a little. 

“Even beautiful back then— the princess Lygari?” Ah, Thor, ever reliable. The elder, even before Loki’s nod, launched into his own tale of trying to woo the Vanir princess later at that very party and despite his own initial failings, was able to have her for the night after he showed her his mighty hammer. The room echoed in laughter from most everyone. Not the most eloquent story, and certainly not a new one, but Loki sat through it nonetheless. 

The conversation cycled on.

Now that Loki was certainly paying attention, it seemed the topic was being picked by largely Stark or Agent Romanov, while a few of the others chimed in if they had an idea. Thor, of course, didn’t hesitate to demand everyone’s story of their greatest foe slain, and proceeded to spend more time than any other recounting his tale of the time he went fishing and ended up hooking a kraken, and after a mighty battle and chase, knocked it dead with three blows of his hammer. Thor moved the topic on just before Loki’s turn, but that was fine— Loki was happy to listen.

Stark asked everyone their favourite snack, his own being blueberries, or course— Loki had seen the man down packet after packet of the things while they tinkered in the lab.

The others’ answers varied from fried foods to fruit (mostly prepackaged foods). 

This round passed quickly, and the answer was an easy one. 

“Söltseberries.” Loki said comfortably, only to be met with blinks of confusion. “They’re… From a different realm.” Still, silence, and Loki couldn’t help but try to fill it. “They’re quite delicious, even though eating just one will sustain you for a whole day.” That got a few appreciative eyebrow raises, especially from Stark, the berry fiend— but no-one picked up the conversation still. 

“They’re also useful for ritual magic, when trances need to be held for a long time and eating poses possible distraction. They’re also a bit dangerous—” Loki let some sheepishness enter his tone, aiming for levity, “if you eat too many at once, you can fall into a sleep that lasts for days. I, er, learned that the hard way as a child.” Loki offered a lopsided attempt at a an awkward smile despite his heart racing— surely these repeated expressions of maladroitness would be enough to begin to lower everyone’s guards about him — stupid stupid stupid — yet there was no reciprocation still. A meaty hand slapping down on Loki’s shoulder seemed to break the spell.

“Ah, yes!” Thor exclaimed, “I remember that!” Loki breathed once more as everyone’s eyes returned to Thor, grateful for the diversion but unable to suppress the quick spark of envy that he wasn’t able to garner those more relaxed expressions afforded to his brother.

“My friends and I found Loki passed out in his rooms, fingers and lips stained blue and unable to be woken by anything!” Thor released a hearty laugh. “Not even a bucket of water tossed over him! We didn’t see him again for, what was it, ten days?”

“I don’t know, I only recall awaking ravenous sometime later at night, shivering in a puddle of water.” Loki chuckled along with his brother at the memory, vitriol forgotten for the moment at the childhood tale. He took a sip of his drink, feeling a bit lighter.

“Wait, you just left him there?” Stark’s voice was surprisingly blunt considering the ease of the night so far and— oh. That was... Not something Loki had ever thought of. When Loki looked up, the human was staring at Thor was a strange intensity that the god wasn’t quite sure what to make of, but looking around noticed a similar expression on the others’ faces, especially —peculiarly — Ms Potts’, who was frowning quite heavily at Thor.

“Hogunn recognised the berries and assured us Loki would only sleep for as long as he’d be sustained. We knew he’d be fine.” Thor remarked easily. The others nodded in understanding, and the story was forgotten.

The next round, Captain Rogers asked everyone their favourite meal. Logically one could say the Captain was following the flow of topics, but Loki watched him listen to everyone’s answers (New York style cheese pizza, Borscht, roasted bildschneip, palak paneer, a 1999 Penfolds Grange) unusually intently. You didn’t have to be a god to read the intent there, so when it came to Loki’s turn, he answered honestly. After all— his honesty had paid off in the last few rounds where everyone had been surprisingly attentive to his anecdotes so far. 

“Quen-pilath, from Alfheim.”

The Captain’s face fell a little bit in lack of recognition, so Loki continued. “But in terms of Midgardian food—” He shot a look to Thor, who didn’t notice, “I’m finding myself very partial to fish and chips.” He averred, to which the Captain smiled gently.

“Maybe you could teach me how to make that— that thing you mentioned.” The soldier offered. Loki was grateful for the easy opening.

“Quen-pilath? Certainly— although it won’t quite taste the same as how they make it on Alfheim, seeing as they infuse strands of moonlight into theirs.” Emboldened by the expression of genuine wonder and intrigue on the Captain’s face, Loki chanced the opportunity to share more on this most anodyne topic. “It’s a celebratory cake for—” 

A round of boisterous laughter erupted from Thor, and Loki looked over to where the others had apparently been entrenched in a more stimulating topic. The Captain gave Loki a quick look that, again, Loki wasn’t quite sure how to read. Fond exasperation again, but also contrition? It was gone, the attention of the room back on Stark before Loki could fully decipher it, but he was sure it was at least some sense of goodwill. Again, the seed of unease in his navel unravelled a fraction.

“Okay, okay,” Stark was settling the room, waving his hands slightly again. Loki had noticed he was quite the theatrical type, only ever stilling while in the depths of focus, at all other times the man was constantly in motion. Loki thought for a moment of the many times the human had knocked something off of his benches in the lab with his flailings, only for— the look on Stark’s face drew Loki from his musings. 

This was another thing he’d seen in the man’s lab: the curled grin of mischief, which he’d don whenever one of the assistant bots was coming up behind Loki about to douse him in some sort of liquid. Just like the fire extinguisher that the Dummy bot was always so determined to introduce Loki to, what the man said next promptly snuffed out any sort of warm feelings Loki was beginning to hold.
“First. Sexual. Experience.” He stated, his grin growing at the multiple eye rolls he received from around the room. “I’ll go first.” How charitable, thought Loki as the man began in his tale of an older woman at university teaching him all night long.

Alright, Loki thought to himself, perhaps this won’t be so awkward. Loki tried to keep up his newfound casual posture as they went around the room and his turn loomed ever closer. 

Colonel Rhodes shared a story of a night called ‘Prom’ and a girlfriend; Captain Rogers, cheeks burning red shared a rather short anecdote of a friend called James, and comments of a time when such things were the deepest kept secrets. 

Loki felt a little emboldened by the normally composed man’s unbecoming. Thor, of course, told his grand tale of a visiting dignitary’s daughter and how he wooed her for an entire week before they lay together. It was a tale Loki had heard many times before, each time, amazingly, with new details remembered. Truly, Thor should be called the god of storytelling. Loki listened, occasionally sipping from his cup, tranquillised by this oldest habit of listening to his brother’s story for the thousandth time, when every eye turned to him. Suddenly his gulp of alcohol burned brightly in his mouth and he swallowed deeply. Even Thor was looking at him with an inquisitive eye, and the realisation settled in Loki’s gut that for all their years of life, this was something they’d never truly spoken of.

“I… My first was with a teacher of mine. My first magic teacher.” Loki offered, mindful to use the Midgardian terms. 

“Ooh, a teacher, huh? That’s pretty hot.” Stark leaned forward and commented lasciviously, clearly a bit too deep in his cups as the Lady Potts had to reach out to pull him back upright before he keeled over. He’d seen the man like this before — it was inevitable considering the amount of time they spent together down in the engineer’s atelier — and tried his chances of sending the Lady Potts one of those small smiles Banner had sent his way earlier in the night. To his delight, she returned it at almost the exact same moment. A fluttering of warmth resumed in his sternum, and grew stronger as she directed a question his way.

“When did you start learning magic?” She enquired courteously, helping position Stark back against the couch.

“Oh, I started showing seiðr—” Stupid! Use their words! 

“— Magic—” He amended quickly, to which the Lady Potts nodded reassuringly, and Loki felt a flash of gratitude for her tact and forgiveness of his faux pas, “at quite a young age… I…” Loki chanced another attempt at a sheepish smile, “I was ecstatic at my first bouts of accidental magic— I wanted to be just like my mother.” His earnestness paid off at the soft smiles that flashed around the room, so much so that Loki was able to easily brush off Thor’s quiet snort of derision. Even Romanov’s expression seemed to tilt toward intrigue compared to her unreadable mask of perfect politeness that she wore whenever he spoke. Barton didn’t look up from his cup.
“So I pled with the Allfather to recommend me to a magic teacher. After weeks of imploring, he informed me I’d get my wish. He’d contacted one of the greatest se— magic users in all the realms. I was to be her only pupil.” Loki couldn’t keep the hint of pride from his voice at the story. 

Despite the… terrible ending to this particular tale, Loki was still proud to have been taught by a seiðkona as skilled as Angrboða, even if she turned out to be… Flawed. 

Loki had learned so many of his most important lessons from the years he lived in her cabin in the woods of Niflheim. So close to the mists of Niflhel, and the cosmic energies of the creating steams, Loki learned how to tune himself to the energies of the universe and perfected his worldwalking. He’d fetch the sacred water of the river Élivágar and the well of Hvergelmir at his teacher’s request, and watched her brew them into potions of transfiguration and creation so much stronger than anything he’d encountered before. 

She taught him to speak to animals, to take their shape. 

She taught him the secrets of Máni and Sól, how to invoke and harness their energies at what time of the day and month. 

She told him tales of Ymir and how the cosmos came to be, which Loki had heard before, but he didn’t believe Angrboða at first when she claimed the one being responsible for the creation of the realms was a giant. Then she told him of how Odin killed Ymir, and Loki’s doubt waned.

Loki learned of many founding figures he’d never heard of before. It scared him that so many were of giant-blood, but he daren’t say that to his teacher, who herself was part Jötunn (it also scared Loki at first that his father had sent him to a part-giant teacher— surely the only explanation was the Odin didn’t know of her heritage… but that meant that Odin didn’t know something, which he’d previously thought was impossible. He learned many things during his stay with his teacher). 

It also saddened Loki that Odin killed Ymir. While the rest of the cosmos was born of Ymir’s blood, something Loki was of course grateful for, Loki wished he could ask his father why he’d slaughter a being of such beautiful chaos and creation. 

His teacher told him of Ask and Embla, the first humans, and how while they were flawed, the Midgardians were not to be underestimated. For while they weren’t much to look at now, they were developing at a speed that no other realm could match and would surely one day be a great power within the Nine Realms, and beyond. Angrboða was always so good at predictions.

She told him of Yggdrasil, of Níðhöggr and the eagle, which Loki had heard of before, but not of Ratatoskr, that trickster traveller, how with just a few whispers between the dragon and the eagle, he could shake the whole World Tree. Loki liked that story.

She told him of the great völvur and seiðkona, and the knowledge that so many wise women and seeresses were responsible for. Of Groá, the first and greatest spákona —another giant—, who was able to see so far into the future that she was the one to see the great coming of Ragnarök. Angrboða told Loki how Odin killed her, too. Simply to claim the power of such prophecy as his own.

She taught him how to read the dirt and the leaves, how to track, hunt, catch. How to kill. How to harvest both meat and plants, for food and magic. How to keep things to make them last, infuse them with seiðr or extract their energies until not even dust remained.

In whispers by candlelight at night she taught him of blood magic, and just how much the Norns take as sacrifice for the bending of fate; and just how much they would and would not forgive.

She taught him how to withstand the cold, and Loki remembered fondly that was the first time she’d paid him compliment: he was tasked with standing outside, outside the stave that kept her pocket of the woods frigid but not freezing, and to stay warm with only his magic for three days. Loki smiled a bit at the memory of her slapping him on the back to wake him from his trance, with a quick remark that she was impressed he wasn’t half dead, before the feeling soured. He knew now why he was able to have withstood the cold.

She taught him other things, too. The importance of covering your tracks, of reading the weaknesses of both your enemies and friends and to be ever-ready to strike at both. 

Of always having a back up plan for your back up plan— many nights he’d stayed up listening to her wisdom, her non-stop recitations of her safe-houses on all the other realms, and which ones she’d go to to lay low from what kind of threat. You’d do well to start making your safe places, little prince. 

He remembered the first time he saw Angrboða. 

He stumbled fresh from the Bifröst —the first time he’d taken it alone, sent to live with a teacher he’d never met, he couldn’t even say goodbye to his mother— 

She stepped out from the copse of trees, stopping just inside the boundary of her stave, taller and wider than even the biggest of Asgard’s warriors. Long chestnut hair tied back, and piercing eyes. She stood with her arms crossed. She wore simple, stained, hand-sewn leathers, and a cloak of mismatched furs, and for a moment Loki felt the pang of disappointment. They stared at each other for a minute before Loki drew himself upright and stepped forward, declaring his name and purpose. She stared down at him for another minute, and Loki felt her magic prodding him all over. He’d never experienced anything like it before, and knew in that moment his doubts were in error— he would learn much from her.

He remembered the last time he saw her— whole, that is. The night before she died, her long hair tied back haphazardly, spilling over her face with each frantic movement as she dashed about the small house. Her dark eyes darting around frantically as she muttered to herself. You’d do well to start making your safe places, little prince. You’ll be needing them before long— Norns know mine’ll be going to waste— she was packing. Loki didn’t quite understand why— he’d figured out by then she was bound to that place, for some crime committed that the Allfather had punished her for. Loki knew she wasn’t teaching him for the sake of teaching, but on pain of a long and torturous death should she have refused.

He’d grown a lot during those years, and no longer possessed his childish naivety. He was no longer a fool— he knew the Allfather had sent him to her with the belief that she’d take out her frustrations on the son of Odin, break him of this shameful desire to learn magic. Oh Wise One, how that had backfired. Angrboða often laughed about that, and before long Loki laughed along.

They’ll be coming for me, can’t suffer a Frost Giant to live. Can’t have touched their precious—you remember what to do? Her gaze had clarified for a moment as she spun around, dark eyes piercing into his. Loki had nodded, and handed her the latest charm bag he’d made, imbued with wishes of safety and good fortune for the path ahead. She stuffed it into her pack without looking, resuming her mutterings.

They’ll be coming for me. Before dawn. Before the night is through. Angrboða was always so good at predictions.

He learned a lot from her.

Before all of those lessons, though, she took her tithe.

“Wait—” Loki was shaken from his recollecting by the Colonel, who looked like he’d been trying to solve a tricky equation in his head, “— if you… Got magic young, how old were you? When you…?”

“Oh, it was part of my payment to her for her teachings— the first night she tested my magic and agreed to take me on, her payment was, well…” Loki felt a warmth come to his cheeks as he looked around at his companions. They were all looking at him intently, but not unkindly. “— A certain ritual. A lot of energy is manifested upon one’s first time and her charge was simply to harvest that energy for her own uses, and in our lessons.” Loki said, insouciant. 

“That’s kind of weird…” Stark slurred from where he’d slumped in his seat, but was staring at Loki no less intensely. Loki fought the urge to squirm. Thor wasn’t looking at him.

“So, how old were you?” Colonel Rhodes had leaned forward, one hand on his knee and sounding like he wasn’t really asking anymore as he stared at Loki. The god wasn’t sure if the man had blinked at all during their exchange.

“Er, three… A bit shy of three hundred.” Loki said, wishing they’d move on now.

“And how much is that in normal years.” Stark spoke again. 

“Human years.” Lady Potts corrected kindly. Loki blinked, and looked around again, unsure as to why everyone was so fixated on this, of all his stories. He thought for a moment.

“About ten.” He said, and took a sip of his drink.

The room, despite being full of people who were already very relaxed from a night of drinking, froze. 

Not a single breath could be heard for at least ten seconds as everyone’s gaze was fixated on him, and Loki felt that weight in his belly drop like a boulder. He opened his mouth to say something to alleviate the tension, to apologise for whatever offence he’d just caused, to beseech their forgiveness —patheticpatheticpatheti— crack!

Loki’s, along with everyone else’s attention was drawn to the Doctor, who slowly unclenched his hands from where he’d shattered his mug, the glistening shards falling unceremoniously onto his lap. Loki spied spots of red welling up on the scientist’s palms as he stood stiffly, mumbled an excuse me and promptly fled the room. 

Like that, the spell was broken. Colonel Rhodes sat back, deflating in his seat and whispering a curse, swiping a hand over his face while Captain Rogers stared intently at the coffee table, his lips pursed and gaze stony. Loki had seen that look on his face — when he read through HYDRA logs of the terrible things they’d been experimenting with. 

“What… What the fuck?” Stark stammered, his voice cracking slightly. Loki saw Pepper lay a hand on his wrist and couldn’t help but look away, straight into the unreadable gaze of Barton.

Loki didn’t know what to do and didn’t know what the other might be reading on his face, so looked away just as quickly. Agent Romanov was looking vaguely toward the ceiling, her perfectly neutral mask in place and stronger than Loki had ever seen it before.

The god resolved to just look at the ground, unsure of exactly why.

“Di—“ Stark was struggling to sit up straight but managed it anyway, looking past Loki to Thor. “Did you know about this?”

Loki didn’t quite look at his brother but saw out of the corner of his eye the other’s grip tense around his cup.

“I should’ve killed her slower.” Thor growled. The room buzzed with action again.

“Wait, what?”

“You what?”

“Thor, what do you—”

“You killed her?!”

Thor, gritting his teeth looked up to his friends.

“Of course I did! That witch was filling Loki’s head with treacherous thoughts against Asgard!” He growled out. This was, of course, untrue, but Loki had heard all the justifications before a thousand times and stayed his protests. 

“Oh, right, of course, and not because she—” Stark cut himself off with a groan and swiped a hand down his face.

“Father tasked me with breaking her hold over Loki and making sure she’d never hurt anyone again.” Thor’s voice curled with the pride of a victor for a moment, “The old crone hardly put up a fight. Of course we didn’t know she’d enchanted Loki to enact her wicked plan to bring her back to life should she finally get what was coming to her.”

“She didn’t enchant me.” Loki intoned, unable to resist this time of trying to set the story straight. Thor didn’t look at him, merely waved a hand in his direction.

“Of course she did, Loki, you don’t know what you’re—”

“I am the seiðmaðr here!” Loki’s hands flared with his magic, swirling around him like the smoke of a flame. “I would have known if I was enchanted. Even if not back then, I would know now. I know you don’t understand and I know you’ll judge me forever, Thor, you and the rest of Asgard-!” Loki had ended the sentence near yelling, and he took a breath to reign himself back in. “But I had my reasons for doing what I did, and I did them of my own volition.” He stared at Thor and Thor turned to stare back. Loki knew at once there was no convincing him, and felt that old weight return in realising that even after all this time and fighting, he still wanted to convince his brother of the truth. Pathetic.

“Like with the invasion?”

Loki started, and broke his contest to look at Stark, who was gazing at him with sad, tired eyes. The god realised the weight of the mortal’s question and opened his mouth to answer— to say what, he didn’t know, and no sound would come out anyway.

“What did you do?”

The Captain spoke that time. He wasn’t slouching like Stark, but leaned over, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of his mouth, staring at Loki with… Similarly sad eyes. His tone was soft, and Loki didn’t know what to make of it.

“I…” He glanced momentarily at Thor. “Under her guidance—” Thor’s lip curled in obvious conceit, “—ate her heart as she died. It’s an ancient practice of the purest forms of magic, to ensure she’d live on in some way after death.” Everyone was looking at Loki with unreadable expressions, and Loki took this as needing more detail to understand, so he continued. “We were bonded, married even, some could argue.” Loki heard Thor make another sound of disgust, but continued anyway. “When she died I partook of her essence. She lives on now through… Our children.” 

Suddenly exhausted, Loki sat back in his seat and ignored Thor’s grumblings of monsters and magic and filth. Stark spoke again, apparently emerging from his drunken haze.

“Right, and…When did this happen?”

“I was her student for almost fifteen years.” 

Stark let out a puff of breath, not quite a sigh, and muttered, “Yeah, which is basically nothing in human years.” 

Loki tried to avoid eye contact, as did everyone else in the room. He still wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong— perhaps discussion of magic still made Midgardians uncomfortable— that had been the case the last time he was on their realm.

“Why would you do that?”

Loki blinked, and turned to Barton.

“Why would you do that, help her live on?” The man questioned, staring unblinkingly. “She used you.”

Loki blinked again. 

“I… She didn’t use me.” Thor shifted in his seat again, probably to disguise an eye roll, but Loki didn’t care. “I did… I did feel like I owed her. Despite everything, she taught me much. Some lessons I very much needed to learn, and only she would’ve been the one to teach me.” In both magic and shrewdness this was true, but even as he said it, Loki felt his resolve wither in his mouth. For so long that had been what he was telling himself on the inside, but now his reasons died as soon as they hit the air like fresh snow to a bonfire.

He resumed looking at his lap. 

“You… Have children?” It was Ms Potts who spoke up this time, and Loki nodded, a seed of pride swelling in his breast for but a moment, nurtured by her kind gaze.

“Of my blood and her essence, they’re…”

“They’re beasts.” Thor declared, fixing Loki with a stern look while he sipped of his drink. Loki felt his spine stiffen.

“I was going to say wonderful.”

“They’re monsters.” Thor’s voice was growing quieter, but no less reproachful.

“They’re mine.” Loki shot back. 

“Loki…” Thor groaned, as if chastising a child that wanted to keep a bildschneip pup for a pet. “Those things aren’t your children, they’re animals!”

“They’re my kin, and you’ll not speak of them that way if you continue to call me brother.”

Thor had no response to that besides a glare, and Loki stood up to leave, trying to hide his shaking hands in fiddling with his mug.

“Angrboða had knowledge yet to give this world, and Odin had you slaughter her like a beast.” He stared down at Thor who stared back, cup half-raised to his lips. “And you mindlessly sought to do the same to my children.” Loki sighed, all the fight leaving him. “You’ll never learn, Thunderer.” 

But he was no better. Why did he always try this? The outcome never changed. Weak. Pathetic. Sorry little creature.

“They’re monsters, like their thrice-damned mother.”

“I am their mother.”

Again, Thor was silent. 

Loki prepared himself to teleport back to his room— he didn’t need to look at the others’ faces to see the disgust and consternation. He’d show himself out. He’d taken what he could get, now it was time for him to leave, as was inevitable.

“Thor,” The Captain spoke, low and serious. Loki was still mustering his energies, always so weirdly scattered after speaking of Angrboða. He’d be out of there momentarily though, he didn’t need to stay to hear what they were going to say. Thor, escort Loki back to his rooms. Thor, your brother is weird.  Thor, quiet that brother of yours. Thor, why did we have to bring Loki along? Loki had heard it a thousand and one times.

“I think you should head off for the night.”

Loki managed a near-imperciptible nod. Perhaps he'd be expected to resume staying in the basement cell he'd been kept in when first arrested after the invasion.

“Yeah man, go… Spend the night at Jane’s.” Stark contributed, sitting up blearily from the couch. ...Pardon? Loki felt his confusion grow, a flame in his chest, as he looked up and into the frowning faces of the mortals around him. Frowning, rather viciously, at... Thor.

“She hasn’t seen you for a while.” Lady Potts offered, ever the mediator, and a skilled one, too.

Loki was so caught up in trying to figure out exactly why the Avengers wanted to get Thor away for a bit— the thought had just crossed his mind of considering that they wanted to attack him when a touch to his hand startled him from his escalating thoughts. Loki flinched and drew his hand back to himself, while Pepper Potts’ kind expression remained unchanged. And directed at him. The flame grew in Loki’s chest. At some point the soft music had stopped playing.

“Loki, are you… Okay?” She asked. Loki gaped like a fish — like a fool — for a few moments, before simply swallowing with a heavy gulp and nodding.

“That was… Not great.” Stark said from her side where she had an arm around his waist. Loki gathered himself for long enough to look around— the main door to the balcony was open; Thor was gone. Everyone was standing, milling about, clearly looking to disperse for the night. Loki wouldn't keep them. "That stuff he was saying 'bout your kids, Loki, not cool, really dick stuff, man." Lady Potts released Stark as he began to tilt away from her, and he was caught easily by Colonel Rhodes, who seemed practiced in managing the inebriated Stark. "S'not cool, I'd totally kick his... God ass... Ssstupid..." Stark was slurring into Rhodes' shoulder, the words becoming more inaudible as the taller man stroked Stark's back comfortingly.

“You… You gonna be okay, man?” Loki tried to hide his surprise at the Colonel's words being directed at him, instead of his almost-snoring friend. Captain Rogers also neared to survey at Loki with an inexplicably kind gaze.

“I- er, yes. Of course.” Fool. Foolish little freak. “Thank-you, Colonel Rhodes.”

A warm hand landed heavy and reassuring on Loki’s shoulder, and Loki looked up to see a warm look in the Colonel’s eyes boring right into him. 

“You can call me James, Loki.” Loki was saved from stammering for a response by an unexpected voice.

“That… Your teacher…” Came Barton’s voice from behind him. Loki turned to see Romanov standing closer to the elevator entrance— they’d been heading to leave, but Barton had stopped to… Talk to him?

“A-Angrboða…?” Loki offered.

“Angrboða.” Barton repeated the word slowly, as if perhaps he would be able to taste any trace of a lie. “Is… She still around?” Loki couldn’t glean anything from the man’s tone that might indicate what he wanted to hear. Well, honesty had seemingly served him well so far tonight.

“No.” He couldn't help but think for a moment of the screeches of the she-giant, echoes of the shards of her soul inside him. Of how long and relentlessly she’d tormented him, commanding him to commit those most terrible of sacrifices to afford her a new body. Of the hundreds of cleansing he’d had to do to finally quiet that seed of her essence and release her energy back into the branches of Yggdrasil, her fighting him every step. He didn’t notice his hand coming up to rub his sternum. “No, not anymore.”

Barton nodded once, turned, paused and opened his mouth as if to speak again, before closing it and turning fully to walk away. 

“And… Your kids?” Lady Potts, ever ready to extend her humanity. 

Loki swallowed again, and couldn’t look away from her eyes. He was effectively surrounded, and that Logi-flame in his chest burned warmer and warmer, yet he had no drive to do something about it, no desperation to flee, for once. No one had ever asked him these questions, especially not in this manner. Again, memory overtook him for a moment. The sound of happy little yips, and the feeling of tiny, smooth scales under his fingertips. A head of auburn hair being chased by dark blond, childrens' laughter being carried away on a warm breeze like dandelion fluff.

“Banished, Lady Potts.” Loki felt a stone lodge in his throat. “I… haven’t seen them in a very long time, I’m afraid.” Loki spared a moment to berate himself inwardly for his faltering voice. 

The hand on his shoulder tightened and Loki felt Lady Potts’ hand again on his, giving a supportive squeeze.

The flame in Loki’s chest burned hotter and spread to his eyes. Loki blinked repeatedly, and blinked some more as he became hyperaware of the gentle touches, and the gentle presences all around him.

“Let us know if there’s anything we can do, alright?” The Captain volunteered softly. It was all Loki could do to nod, the warmth in his chest making his lips curl up in perhaps the most genuine smile he’d ever experienced.

They bid him a goodnight, and Loki bid his friends the same. 

He turned, and returned to his rooms to rest.

trauma: a deeply distressing or disturbing experience