Chapter Text
Loki hits the ground like a bullet.
The wide blue Mongolian sky above him quickly settles, showing no evidence at all that the God of Mischief had just used the Tesseract to open a rift in space. Loki lies gasping on the ground, his forehead oozing blood, the gag in his mouth finally knocked loose. He tears it free and rises shakily, spitting out a mouthful of blood and sand. He feels less than elegant but no one is around to witness it... no one but the nomads who live in the Gobi Desert, whose dreary existences have undoubtedly been brightened by Loki’s mere presence.
At least, that’s what he tells himself as he turns to face them, spreading his arms.
“I am Loki of Asgard,” he proclaims as his cloak stirs in the dry air. “And I am burdened with glorious purpose.”
One of the nomads speaks - her confusion is evident but Loki has never claimed to understand every Midgardian language and he hesitates, wrong-footed. He’s about to fashion a reply - or simply use the Tesseract to control the handful of nomads surrounding him, to encourage them to welcome him and treat him in the style he’s grown accustomed to - when a golden doorway ripples into being a short distance away in the sand.
Much to Loki’s surprise, what looks like Midgardian soldiers pour out of it, dressed in tactical gear with weapons in their hands. Loki sneers at the sight of them. They look as threatening as ants -
At least until they try to take the Tesseract.
“Don’t touch that!” Loki snaps, striding towards them. Another door glows into existence and a woman marches out, wearing a helmet and a calm expression on her face as she surveys her surroundings. She doesn’t even look at Loki and he bristles, furious.
“Appears to be a standard sequence violation,” she says, peering down at a gadget in her gloved hand. “Branch is growing at a stable rate and slope.” She finally looks up, meeting Loki’s gaze. “Variant identified.”
“I beg your pardon?” Loki demands, thoroughly perplexed. The soldiers are pointing their peculiar weapons at him now and the woman fixes Loki with a hard stare, her face devoid of emotion.
“On behalf of the Time Variance Authority, I hereby arrest you for crimes against the Sacred Timeline,” she says. “Hands up.”
Loki doesn’t put his hands up and the soldiers’ weapons hum as they power up, their tips glowing gold.
“You’re coming with us,” she says. Loki stands his ground.
“I’m sorry,” he says politely. “Who’s ‘us’?”
The woman shakes her head as she raises her own weapon, pointing it straight at his chest. How quaint. As if a Midgardian weapon could do him harm. Bullets bounce off him. The Hulk’s blows barely scraped his skin.
He may not be immortal but he’s still a demigod. It will take a damn sight more than a glowing stick to cause him pain.
“Last chance, Variant,” she says warningly.
Loki chuckles but his eyes remain cold. He’s exhausted and his head is stinging, and he’s sick and tired of fighting with people. To put it simply, he’s had enough.
“It's been a very long day,” Loki says, sobering. “And I think I've had my fill of idiots in armoured suits telling me what to do.” She steps closer, weapon glowing such a bright white-gold that it almost looks blue. Loki’s hands curl into fists. “So, if you don't mind, this is actually your last chance.”
His expression darkens and he feels the last trace of humour slipping from his features.
“Now get out of my way,” he says coldly, stalking towards her.
After that, everything seems to happen very quickly.
She swings her weapon up and strikes him across the face with it, and the world explodes in a burst of fiery pain. She closes the distance between them in less than a second, inconceivably fast as she reaches out, snapping a collar around his neck. The collar seals itself automatically but the indignity of it is lost in the shock he feels at her next words.
“You are now moving at 1/16th speed but feeling all that pain in real time,” she tells him and, against all the odds, her impossible words are true. Loki sees the world around him racing by as he collapses heavily onto the ground, the collar still wrapped firmly around his neck, and only when his back hits the sand does time right itself once more.
He feels dazed and sick as he lies there, and that’s why he doesn’t fight harder when two soldiers wrench him to his feet and drag him across the sand. He’s weak as a kitten and he pictures Odin’s judgement for a moment, imagines the shame and disappointment his adopted father would feel if he could see Loki now.
“Reset the timeline,” the woman says, gazing dispassionately at the curious nomads and the sun burning down over the Gobi Desert. She plucks the Tesseract from the sand as one of the soldiers sets a device on the ground. It activates with a series of clicks as the liquid inside turns purple and, with a warble, it spreads out across the sand, destroying any evidence that they had ever been there at all.
Loki stares in shock, afraid of the unexpected power he’s witnessed. He’d been raised to believe that no one on Midgard has access to power like this… but that was clearly a lie. The proof is staring him in the face.
They force him through the doorway and Loki is utterly powerless to stop them.
It’s a distinctly unpleasant sensation.
He feels human.