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Chapter Text

No, no!

Your entire body is trembling, though the sweat on your brow juxtaposes the allusion to temperature. Your huffing breaths are erratic and do not feel like your own. Have you ever been so afraid? No, not in your entire life. The gun is your hands is useless, and it falls to the dust when you move to run your fingers through your hair.

From behind a wall of bushes, you watch as the world crumbles into something unrecognizable. Death surrounded. It made itself known in mountains of scorched corpses scattered about the trees, all alluding to the towering figure standing tall in the middle of it all: Him. The one that shook your psyche to its core, shook all of you. And in his fear mongering hands...

Your friend... Choking to death.

His usually pale face was now a hideous mix of purple and red, eyes bulging out of his head. That calm, holier than thou demeanor now gone with the non-existent wind. There is a large palm spanning the entirety of his throat, lifting him completely off the ground. He was clawing, begging with those conniving eyes that you had grown so close to. You had to cover your mouth to stop yourself from screaming, rapidly blinking so that you could continue to watch. You didn't want to, you needed to.

There was no part of you that was strong enough to stop this, no weapon on this earth powerful enough to even slow down this show. Another dead Avenger was the last thing this world needed. Words were exchanged between the two, though you could not hear from your place. The sound of screaming was too loud. Who was still alive? Peter? What about Nat and Clint? You couldn't bare the thought of what had been lost in such a short amount of time. And now...

He is dropped carelessly to the ground, a twitching heap of gurgling despair. His back hits the dirt hard, knocking out what was left of the breath in his lungs. You wince horribly.

"Loki," the whispered word leaves your throat before you can stop it. The moment the sight is even relatively clear, you are sprinting to his side. That signature emerald cloak of his has been torn off in the shuffle, the entirety of his body convulsing with each failing breath. Blue. His translucent skin was turning blue, and all you could do was watch. From one glance it became clear, there was nothing you could do. Hope was a debilitating disease, one that you wouldn't waste your time with this time around.

Muddied knees dug into the dirt beside him, hands desperate to soothe and comfort the last moments of one of the closest friends you have ever had. They land on his shoulders, running down his arms. Loki is shaking just as violently as you are, those wide eyes meeting yours with terrified fervor. One look and there are tears in your own eyes, quickly brimming and falling over your cheeks. Hide it, for his sake. Let his last moments hold some semblance of happiness.

"Hey, Tomcat," you greet, forcing a smile over your lips for his sake. That stupid nickname, the one he insisted on hating, fell from your tongue with a gentle timber. When he was truly in his element, it was all you could see. A black cat, strutting down the empty halls of the tower, a Cheshire grin plaguing his entire face; he exuded it from every pore. The way he teased and taunted, held the gaze of everybody in the room. He grinned widely the first time you called him that in training, quirking a brow in intrigue. He had unsheathed his knives with practiced grace.

"That must make you my Dove, then," he had spoken eloquently. He chuckled when you braced for his oncoming attack, giggling lightly at his playful nature. What a beautiful creature... His chin tilted down to meet your eyes. "Bring it, Birdie."

He was so untouchable. And now, with the sun setting over a dusty horizon, the facade was falling. Desperately, Loki mimes for your presence. You freely give it.

"D-D," he struggles as he grips the collar of your jacket, only for you to shush him softly. Those ravaged vocal chords do not allow him to speak a word, his worst fear made reality. He is panicked, coughing up a mouthful of dark blood. It spills over his chin, staining his neck and what was left of his cloak. You gasp, not being able to bite it back and save your composure as you rush to wipe it away and convince yourself that this wasn't happening. This was-This was hell!

You pushed his hair back from his face, and the movement causes him to finally rest his head back onto the ground. Was this giving up? Was this relenting? No, Loki never gave up. Not in a million years would you have guessed that the two of you would end up here. He suddenly takes your palms with a grip strength that you are not used to.

He was always so gentle to you, almost sweet. On some nights, you would find him in your living room, sprawled across the loveseat with some old book in his hands, a small gift placed delicately on the adjacent table. Always with the gifts; chocolates, wildflowers, and Asgaurdian trinkets that he had brought specifically to appease your hard to read tastes. Why? Were they payback? So he was never in your debt? That was one thing you never quite figured out. Still, every single one of them were displayed proudly on your shelf.

You would barely acknowledge his presence on those days, unless you happened to have a kettle on. In which case, you would sit together and share tea until the conversation ran out. There were multiple times where he would fall asleep there on the loveseat, whatever book he was reading falling to the floor with a soft thump. Wanda had walked in one of these times, to a myriad of you shushing so he could sleep soundly. She had eyed you with a knowing smile.

"You know, it's because he trusts you, " she pointed out in a whisper. You had scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"Trusts me?"

"Yes! Have you ever seen him so relaxed?"

You had followed her gaze. She was right. His head was tilted to the side, temple resting on the very edge of the cushion. Lost fingers were draped across his chest, twitching lightly in his deep sleep. There was no tension in his expression, no tightening of his shoulders. Peace radiated from every nerve. How catlike, how wonderfully tranquil.

"Loki, just-" you attempt to stop him from struggling, but that tightness in his jaw is unmistakable. It meant he was set, and when Loki was set, he rarely backed down. He loosens the clasp of his leather tunic enough to create a gap between his chest and the fabric, guiding your hands up to his now free neck. You have to bite hard on your lips at the sight of the horrid bruising. Those jarringly intense eyes... They were losing their splendor.

He quickly finds what he is looking for, wrapping his fingers tightly around what seems to be a necklace hidden under the fabric. With one swift movement, he snaps the chain off and forces your idle hands around the mystery charm. You confusedly inspect the ornate jewel that had been thrust into your palms.

It was a beautiful piece of Asguardian metal work, intricate gold wiring wrapped tightly around an emerald green stone. You do not remember ever seeing it before. It looks old, well loved.... Oh.

Oh.

You suddenly recall a story he had told you when he had first begun to open up. His mother, the only being he had any regard for in this reality, this must have been her's. He talked lowly about what she had left behind for him after her death, it was not much because of his father's control. This necklace had been taken off of her death bed and returned to him, as you recalled. It must have been his most prized possession.

And with his dying breath, he had given it to you.

You sob, surprising yourself in the way it rolls out of you. Loki rests when you accept his gift, his arms and legs relaxing into the dirt. The lack of oxygen is finally getting to him. Your heart is thundering in your chest as you attempt to make him as comfortable as possible. His back is arched up, mouth agape with his gasping. You stroke his jaw with one hand, the other gripping his fingers hard enough to bruise. He squeezes you weakly, the necklace still interlocked between the two of you.

"I-I'll see you later, alright?" You attempt to convince the both of you, your vision too blurred to even see him anymore. Those eyes wander back to meet you, fading. "We can read together, like we used to."

He adjusts his hand, surprising you by locking his pinky into yours in a childish motion. His lips curl into one of the most pitiful smiles you have ever seen, attempting to ease the unending fear bubbling up inside. It punches you in the chest, and you sob out over him once again. N-No, this is too much.

He was asking you to promise him.

You do. With everything you have, you do.

"I promise, darling. I swear to you," your other palm falls to his chest, gripping his tunic in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. "Wait for me, Loki. Please. "

His eyes are dull, tense expression dissipating as the life finally left him. You could feel it in your chest; the loss. That unspoken connection between the two of you snaps, and a gaping hole in your life rips open. He had said something regarding that once, a very long time ago.

The two of you were on a mission together, a rare occurrence due to your clashing fighting styles. You had been captured by the enemy, ruthlessly chained to a pole in a dirty old warehouse and left alone. It was a stupid decision on your part, coming in to the enemy's territory blitzkrieg style, one he never let you live down. Though he was visibly worried when he had first barged in, his lips quickly morphed into a smile once he realized you were uninjured. Thus began the ridicule.

"Quite a predicament you've gotten yourself into."

You had scoffed, exasperated.

"Shut up."

He tutted, though obliged in the way he began to gently free you. The wave of relief that washed over you was unlike something you had ever felt.

"Not leaving me this soon, are you?"

" Loki," you feigned surprise, eyeing him down from your vulnerable position. "Is that fear I hear in your voice?"

He pressed his lips to your cheek for the first time just as your shackles were broken, reaching his hand out to help you stand tall.

"And if it was?" He had handed you your gun, the same one that had been discarded in your struggle.

"Pigs may fly," All you did was glare, quickly pulling your composure back together. You couldn't ignore the sigh he let escape, nor the mumbled words spoken under his breath.

"Think I'd die if I lost you."

Little did the two of you know then, the sentiment went both ways.

You caress his cheek, and he does not acknowledge it in the slightest. You immediately keen over, wrought with your grief as the tears pour. He looked like he was still here; that was the worst part. That expression was so relieved, as if he had simply taken a pause to gaze at you.

"I-I'll see you soon."

They are still open, staring. You are trembling as you bring your fingertips to your lips before using them to gently close his eyes. And just like that, he is simply asleep on your loveseat, like the old times.

"Rest now."

A smattering of green mist rises off of him; his magic floating away into the atmosphere. It swirls around you before dissipating into nothing.

And Loki is gone.

Chapter Text

A white light blinds tired eyes, the distinct sound of someone gasping echoing off of unseen walls. Complete and utter emptiness engulfs. In the midst of nothingness, a figure jolts awake. It is their eyes that explore first, the rest of their body still from fear and fatigue. The air is somehow weighing lighter in their lungs, impossibly lighter. There is no discernable difference from where skin ends and this strange air begins, as it is all the same burning temperature. What was this? Heaven?

Ha! Absolutely not. Heaven was not in the cards, not when looking at the accumulating red in their ledger.

Then what had happened? Was this afterlife? Or perhaps some sick experiment? They struggle to their feet, panting as their mind slowly comes back together. The pieces fit together loosely, in an unsatisfactory pattern.

You were crying, your head obscuring a blue painted sky with thick tears rolling down your face. Why? We're you hurt? No, it didn't seem like it. You were speaking, but the words were coming out in jumbled hieroglyphs. The pain was acute, engulfing. In a moment, you were gone, replaced by whatever this was.

It was surprising how calmed they felt in the warmth of oblivion, how quickly their breath had returned to them. Shock-riddled hands touch at a bruised neck, shocked to feel no presence of that dull pain that had just ended them. This did not look like hell.

Footsteps click loudly from within the light, their owner unknown. Loki is unable to place where the sharp, steady noise is coming from.

"Mr. Laufeyson, we've been waiting for you."

The voice is jovial, almost light in nature.

"What is this?" He spits out the words, reaching behind him for his weapons. They do not come when called. "What?" He inspects his hands. That dark emerald magic does not obey to his will. In fact, he couldn't seem to feel it at all.

"Oop, sorry! That won't work here. You know, liability issue. "

Trembling hands curl into tight fists, bracing for an unseen attack.

"Reveal yourself!" He demands, unable to regulate the stinging fear coursing throughout. The footsteps cease immediately, to his surprise. The blankness, it was blinding in a way that he had never experienced before. It was extraordinary, how hopeless he felt. A touch falls on his shoulder, and he jumps away with an admittedly cowardly gasp.

"Oo, touchy, are we?"

Behind him, it appears.

Loki struggles to catch his breath, his guard lowering as he inspects the immaculately dressed man who had been unveiled to him. Brown hair and light colored eyes, exceptionally normal features mounted upon an exceptionally normal face, the man grinned like he couldn't contain himself. He was wearing a tailored navy blue suit, lacking a tie, and a ruffled white button down. Both loosely hung around his neck in a casual manner. That was no business attire, Loki knew well. The stance he had assumed was casual, as if they were simply two friends meeting for lunch.

Was this the face of the Creator? The universally revered maker of worlds? It couldn't be!

"N-No. I-You're just a man! You're no deity."

The smile on the man's face is gentle. Loki does not trust it.

"I never said I was a deity," he chuckled as if he had spoken a joke. "I am simply a messenger. "

Loki squints, relaxing just the smallest bit. A messenger? This was no foe, no enemy worth the flick of his wrist. Still, his presence made him wildly uncomfortable in a way he could not quite place. Was this the 'God' that Midguardians prayed to? This one did not appear to be as all encompassing as scripture stated. Still... It felt as if, strangely, he was not supposed to be standing toe to toe with this 'Messenger.' Was this the feeling of inferiority? Loki had never endured this before, it made him feel sick. He straightened up. Control, that would make him feel better.

"Well then, speak your message."

"In time, Loki. Can I call you Loki?" He turns, not bothering to wait for an answer. " Have a seat. "

Suddenly, a squat, brown leather chair knocks Loki off of his feet. His hair flips into his face as he trips, the position of the seat luckily catching his inevitable crash into the ground. He huffs, deciding in that moment that he did not like this dynamic that the Messenger had created.

And Loki abhorred this numbing sensation of complete vulnerability.

"We have a lot to discuss here," the Messenger is now sat behind a large, wooden desk saturated in crisp papers. He lifts one to examine its contents.

" We do?" Loki, with his instantiatable curiosity, risks a peek. His face wrinkles in confusion when he attempts to read them.

Every single sheet was completely blank.

"Well, of course! Your past is convoluted, to say the least."

Loki leans back in his seat, crossing his arms like a child. That sensation is back, that uneasy lilt in his stomach. His hand falls to rest over his chest, missing the weight of his mother's necklace over his neck. It is quickly nullified, however, by an acute sense of completeness in knowing that it was now in your possession. Just as you always did, you would persevere. He was not worried about your future, and hoped that you would not either.

" You know nothing of my past," he whispered. The attempt to make his words maliced did not play out in the way he hoped. How could he be angry? He was thinking of you. Those playful eyes and that strong facade, he had never in the entirety of his life known a sense of attachment like this. It was trust. He trusted you in the same way he trusted his mother; with everything. Sure, he may tease, but it was all a front.

It always was.

"I know that you've tried to kill your brother," the Messenger propped his feet up on the desk, spirited irises flickering across the page. Loki smirked to himself. Those were the good times: a little snake in the bed, a nice one way trip to a foreign planet. "The Avengers too."

"That's common knowledge," Loki turns to face oblivion, refusing to look this man in the eyes anymore. He knew no more than any submissive earth dweller, any peasant from his kingdom.

"I know that you've spent your entire life hopelessly attempting to appease your father. And I know that under this illusion of self-conceit, you believe yourself to be worthless, a failure," Loki clenched his jaw, choosing to remain silent for the time being. Self-hatred was a common trait, lucky guess. The Messenger continued.

"I know that you blame yourself for your mother's death," his eyes wandered from his reading to evaluate Loki's reaction. He had tensed up completely, clearing his throat as to act like the comment didn't haunt him in the way it did. Little did the Messenger know, he blamed himself for everything. He was just amazing at hiding it, perks of being a trickster. Flustered fingers came to rub at his temples.

"Alright, that's enough!" he croaked. "Can we not speed this up? Get to the whole 'You're going to hell' spiel?"

The Messenger chuckled to himself, his brows raising in amusement.

"You'll learn quickly, Loki. Time here doesn't work in the way that you are used to."

Loki stood sharply, pacing forward to slam his fists into the desk. The Messenger did not flinch. His eyes raised, revealing the intrigue in his expression.

"Tell me, Messenger. Is my fate a game to you?" He threatened, though the crack in his voice gave himself away. His adversary hummed lightly, leaning forward to share the same breath. Unfazed by the useless display of masculinity, the elation in his face disappeared.

"Such desperation, Mr. Laufeyson. You have been dealt treacherously against yourself," the observation felt more like a dry insult than anything else, and Loki leaned back to sputter aimlessly. When did his vernacular change? Why the prophetic vocabulary? "Now, allow me to answer your inquiry with another," he intertwined his fingers together, solidifying who had hold over the conversation. "Do you believe in predestination?"

Loki clenched his eyes shut, furious with the events that were currently occuring. Before today, he hadn't even believed in an afterlife! This was foolish anyways! What kind of deity would send a bantering, bipolar blighter to speak for them? A weak one, that's who.

"What does this have to do with anything?" Loki disputed, finally dropping his strong exterior in an attempt for answers. He was so tired. Tired of fighting, of living the romanticized, false life he was. He slammed back into his seat. Was this giving up?

"Because, Loki. Your credence is inaccurate." The Messenger stands, towering over that wretched desk. He is smiling again, widely and bizarrely. With two fingers attached to the glossy wood, he rounded the table top before jumping up to sit. He appeared to be so casual, that navy suit riding up a bit as one ankle crossed over the other. Loki shook his head, his palms coming up to wipe over his face.

"What?"

The Messenger leans forwards menacingly.

"Your fate is a game. And the controls lie in your hands. "

Chapter Text

Loki must have been choking again, that was the only explanation for this tightness in his chest. Chills had plagued his arms, his throat hoarse from breathing in the dry air. The afterlife was a lot more painful than anticipated, though he admittedly hadn't really thought about it too hard before he got here. He had known since he was a child, there was no peace in his future, no joy. Odin had robbed him of the pleasure the moment he worked himself into his life. The Messenger was long gone, his presence lost to the ticking of the impossible to discern time that struck through this place. The lack of his guiding voice was unnerving. Did he miss him, or was he simply afraid of the loneliness?

Nevertheless, the words that he had been left with had spurred the oncoming panic attack that was murdering his already damaged psyche.

"There are two choices available to you, Loki, " The Messenger had spoken in a vatic manner, finally giving up on that unrelenting wittiness that seemed to characterize him. The way he said his name... It was as if he truly was his friend, giving advice during a rough time. Though there was a part of his intonation that was disconcerting. It almost sounded like he didn't even want to give him this decision. Loki held his breath.

"Either succumb to the consequences of your prior actions, or," he had relaxed his body language to speak more casually, his eye contact unwavering. "If you choose, if you find you need the closure... "

Loki's interest was piqued. He had never known the joys of closure, not in all the death he had been faced with. Perhaps he would find it today. After all, what did he have to lose? Pride?

"All that has been spoken in your absence will be revealed to you, " he huffed, worrying his lip between his teeth. "And you will be sent straight to the Infernals. "

Loki chuckled hoarsely, his head falling in defeat.

"Is this a test?"

The Messenger solemnly shook his head. His silence was telling.

"I-" Loki began, only to be cut off.

"Your place has been reserved, we just don't quite know where. If you pick the first option, you have a chance at being sent to Paradise, " Loki could see now as the Messenger encroached on his personal space, his eyes were almost yellow. He realized he was wrong.

This was no man. No, this was something else entirely.

Loki was afraid to ask the question: Was he really dead? Was the radiating tenderness lingering over his throat real? Were you-Were you truly an entire realm away? You had told him to wait for you, how was he supposed to follow through on your wishes? It was guaranteed in his mind that the Infernals were not in your destiny, you did not possess evil in the same way he did. Which meant...

He needed to know. Blame it on his false hubris, he needed to know. His father, his mother, his enemies, you; what was the truth? What was hidden behind closed doors?

It was obvious the bias that was held by The Messenger. He did not want Loki to choose the second option, he did not want Loki to go to these proclaimed Infernals. Perhaps he was simply some sort of salesman, persuading lost souls to be optimists and getting their hopes up. Loki would not be one of these hopefuls. Did his new acquaintance know? Did he know that this was set into motion the minute he had come into existence?

"You've said it yourself," Loki sighed, standing to meet his adversary with a devout tone in his voice. "With all that I've done, with who I chose to be..." He smirked, exasperated. An eternity of torture was a tall order, a regrettably deserved one. Resolution was an odd feeling, a bittersweet impulse that infected him. He quite liked it.

"There is no place for me in Paradise," his eyes wandered to meet the wilted expression of this being. What was this camaraderie being shown to him? Why would someone like this care about where he ended up? He had been told once before, by that bastard Stark.

"Really walking that line, Rock of Ages. That whole 'good cop, bad cop' gig's not going to last forever, you're gonna have to pick a side sooner or later. "

"Equivocal," you had called it in private, stroking his cheek with the pad of your thumb. He was forced into silence by the sudden display of intimacy, his entirety relaxing into your hand. He would never bring his guard down like this for another soul, he had decided then. This warm feeling in his chest would be reserved for you, and you alone. You would be his only, forever and completely. "With the potential for something amazing."

Something amazing?

Was betraying and manipulating everybody he had ever loved amazing? There was not much good out weighing the bad, and he knew that well. What you saw in him would be a mystery for the rest of eternity.

The Messenger lowered his head, sticking out his palm in reconciliation.

"You have all of time to think about this. Please, just-" his voice faltered. Loki hesitantly took his hand, accepting a firm handshake that seemed out of place in the scheme of things. "Call out when you've made your decision."

One blink, and he was left once again completely alone, with nothing but utter blankness and his own thoughts. He did not need all of time. Hope of Paradise was a lost cause.

"Mother," Loki smiled at her loving memory. There was no afterlife for them to meet, it was exceedingly clear. His hands grasped at her absent necklace, bowing his head in an almost prayer-like motion. "I hope that you have found peace without me," he paused. "I'm sorry."

The Messenger's presence became apparent behind him, within the nothingness. He looked solemn, defeated and attempting to cover it up with a strong outer layer.

"Have you made your decision?"

Loki nodded, evading those piercing yellow eyes.

"Show me."

"Are you-"

"Please," Loki sharply turned to face him. Such desperation. "Please, show me my truth. "

Chapter Text

"That wicked brother of your's -"

...

"Don't fall for it! He'll just end up stabbing you in the back anyways-"

...

"Join the team!? He tried to kill us!"

...

"No son of Odin-"

...

"He deserves to be alone, and he always will be."

...

Whispers of past lives blew over a still wind, twisting and distorting in the nothingness like smoke over a fire, returning to burning ears in an empty echo. They crashed against each other, weaving into a mess of indiscernable, spited words.

"That heart of his is black."

"He can't be redeemed, he's gone too far this time, Frigga."

"Please," Loki was panting, his neck sore from whipping towards every source of his name being spoken.

And, of course, from being previously choked to death.

Spotted periodically around that engulfing blanket of white were hundreds of faces of those closest to him, their spirits replaying moments lost in time. Loki was too overwhelmed to focus on any one scene. Instead, he let their chorus of diaposed voices invade.

The Messenger was right, this was a mistake.

"He's my brother, I won't. "

Thor's husk broke through them all, fatigued and angered. Loki turned to meet the vision of his brother alongside the guard of the Bifrost himself, walking in stride down one of the many lavish halls of his childhood home. His disheveled presence was blind to them, abruptly ignored as always. Footsteps clicked loudly against the ornate stone, only a short stretch of the castle being shown to him in this replay. He allowed himself to follow, to listen in on words he was never meant to hear.

Grasped in Thor's fist was that damned hammer in all of its old glory. Loki quieted at the sight of it. This conversation had to have happened before Ragnarok, before Hela had crushed it in her grip and attempted to murder them. That was so long ago! Loki hadn't 'joined ' the Avengers, didn't even have the shift in his mentality to merely begin to think to work with them. He still had the Tesseract then, still believed that ruling the universe was his destiny. He was selfish, monstrous, perhaps because didn't know what it felt like to be loved.

He had realized when he started bringing gifts to you back from Asguard, when he couldn't look at certain objects without thinking of you; you had changed him. His temperament was different, gentler. And suddenly, he didn't crave power as he normally would. He craved peace, joy, because he knew.

He knew then what it felt like to be loved.

"This will not end well, Thor. He has betrayed you."

"Heimdall," Thor halts, that red cape swinging past him with its leftover momentum. "I don't care how many times he does this," he hesitates for a moment. "He doesn't need another traitorous presence in his life. I won't abandon him, I won't do what my father has done."

Thor turns over his shoulder, thundering down the hall.

"Brother," Loki breathes, jerking to reality and following closely. He was lost at this sudden revelation. All those years at each other's throats, promising that one day they would kill each other, all that competing for Odin's attention, the miscommunication...

"Thor!" He calls, hoping that by some miracle his brother would turn and try to fight him like they used to. Wielding that hammer, maybe he would simply laugh and open his arms for that dreaded embrace. Loki reaches out and touches his shoulder with that false faith that he detested so much. His heart sinks in his chest as he made contact. In a puff of grey smoke, both Heimdall and Thor are gone.

Loki stands alone in the middle of the hall, again assaulted by the abhorrent whispering of his past.

"He's my brother, " Loki repeated slowly. He checks his fingertips for residue of that smoke, only finding the remnants of earth stuck underneath his fingernails. He did not like this feeling of guilt. Everything in him could have sworn that Thor hated him, that he wished him dead.

He didn't realize that this disconnection was caused by his brother's attempts to protect him.

"Odin! Don't turn from me!" His mother shouts, her voice cracking with unprecedented emotion. Loki closes his eyes, again rubbing at his temples. This was already too much. "He's your son!"

Loki didn't want to turn and be greeted by her longing beauty, he would rather live in the dark for the rest of eternity. This event, obviously deemed important enough by a high power for his eyes, was not something he wanted revealed to him. That soft spot he had for his mother, he didn't want it to be manipulated or changed. He wanted to remember her as she was when he fled, he wouldn't live with himself if he didn't.

Well, couldn't.

It was almost painful, forcing himself to glance at her. She was in tears, her fingers twisted into her extravagant house robes. She was just as he had remembered, though looked as if she had been crying for quite a while. Still, so enchanting in her entiety. A glimpse of the interior of the castle treated tired eyes; sprawling marble and towering columns. Home, circa ten years ago.

"No, Frigga. The boy I knew is dead, " His father spits. Loki curls his fingers into fists. He had not seen his face in so long; that old, evil man. "What remains is a creature, we are too late to save him," Odin swings the large wooden door open to their quarters, not bothering to hold it open for his wife. Frigga grunts softly with its heft.

Loki wants with everything to touch her, to take his hands and wipe away the tears running down her face. If she could see him in that moment, would she recognize him? Would she see a monster? With all that he had become in her absence, what would she think?

His mother speeds to stand behind Odin, her brows furrowed and demeanor defeated.

"You refuse to see the other side of him! It's his birthright."

Odin slams his fist onto the table beside them in a sudden display of frustration, causing Frigga to flinch. She closes her eyes and takes a sharp breath.

"His birthright is death. You are why he still lives-"

" You're a monster-" Frigga's grovel is interrupted by a sharp slap against her cheek. Loki cannot handle himself at the sight. He lurches forward, his fury forcing him to attempt to attack his father. He knew it was useless, he knew that well. He remembered his father to be just as cowardly, striking a woman with no cause. That craven, repulsive brute...

His parents disappear at the first touch of fingers to fabric.

Loki's heart is beating faster now, thundering so hard he could feel his body jumping with it. He didn't recognize the tears running down his cheeks until they began to drip off his chin. His jaw, clenched to the point of discomfort, ached as he aggressively wiped over his face to fix himself of the pity. It was infuriating. He hadn't remembered being this angry in his life, hadn't remembered it surging through him like this.

How dare anyone touch his mother; his sweet, elegant, beautiful mother. Like Thor, all she wanted was to protect her family. Was that too much for his father? Not good enough, just like anything Loki had ever done. He had made the decision long ago; he would never live like that again. Was that why his brother was so angry? Because he walked away? If only he knew, if only anybody knew...

"Loki?"

He sighs at yet another calling voice, reluctantly attempting to find the source of the speaking of his name. Was this the Infernals? No rest for the wicked type?

"I'm going to get whiplash," he complains in a pant, emotionlessly joking to himself in an attempt to ease his nerves.

"Oh, you're asleep."

Loki perks up at the sweet sound of the voice.

"Dove?"

Chapter Text

"You're lucky you're cute, " You paused to look him over. Long tendrils of ebony hair fanned the tops of his cheekbones, all tension gone from his jaw and brow. Before you could stop yourself, you were kneeling beside his sleeping form, pulling a fleece blanket over his waist, and returning the book that had fallen out of his hand to its place on the coffee table. "Otherwise, I'd be waking you up and making you clean after yourself. You're messy for a prince."

Your tone, though sarcastic, was gentle; soothing waves of low whispers that could calm the most outraged soul with just a phrase. You stared for a long time, your hands searching for purchase within the ends of the fleece blanket. In time, they find their place: delicately whisking the hair out of his eyelashes.

"I wish you could be like this all the time," your fingers fall to caress his neck. You are wistful, now simply stroking him to sleep in an excuse to touch him. "I don't like it when you're stressed."

"Oh, love..." Loki rasped your name as he stood over both you and a projection of his own body, asleep on your loveseat in your apartment. He could see what you were talking about. There, in your encompassing presence, some of that peace that he craved so much swirled in. An expression that he had never seen in himself spread over his face: tranquility. And just like that, he could feel himself tearing up again. This time, it burned his eyes.

It was regret. He didn't get to share that tranquil version of himself with you, and for that he would forever mourn. It was too late, he was always too late.

You lean in and press your lips to the corner of his mouth.

"Rest now-"

"You must be fucking joking," From within another scene, your voice fades in. Loki reluctantly tears his eyes away from the intimate gesture to find its source, that being a couple paces to the left. He struggles to shake that numbing guilt accumulating within the depth of his chest. "No, no! You can't make decisions like this based off of rumors!"

You are pacing the front lobby of the Avenger's tower, a cell phone to your ear, your words riddled with anger. It's late, you look tired.

" I promise you, he is good-" you suddenly stamp your foot, cadence lowering exponentially. "Don't you dare interrupt me unless you want to lose another Avenger, Fury," You threaten. Loki approaches confusedly. There was no possible way you were talking about him, you had never once defended him to the team. You never really had to. The weight of his presence within the Avengers wasn't lost upon him, he knew how everybody looked at him. But where was he going to go? What was he going to do? Attempt to rule this world, again?

Yes, because that worked so well the first time.

"Well, would you rather him go back to doing what he was doing before? Roaming, making trouble?" You hold your head with your free hand, stressed beyond belief. "Fury-"

You suck in a breath as the person on the other end responds, silently pumping your fist in success after a moment of silence. You are smiling, your teeth sinking down into your knuckle to keep in an adorable squeal of excitement.

"Yes! One chance, I'll talk to him." You turn away from Loki, but he can still hear your optimistic voice. "He's going to do great, I promise-"

"Loki."

Loki exhaled heavily, the sharp pain of hearing that specialized way you would talk when you were upset enough to take his breath away. This was torture! The Infernals wouldn't hurt his heart in this way, there was no way they could. Still, he looked for you. He always would, for the rest of time he would.

You were standing solemnly in front of a mirror he didn't recognize , your hand layed wistfully over your chest. He could only see the beginnings of the room around you. It was dark, the way the streetlights were shining through the large windows on the wall shifting the ambience into something grim and sullen. This was not the Avenger's tower. This was something he had only seen in photographs.

It was your home, in the suburbs of some Midgardian neighborhood far from New York. You spoke fondly of your childhood home every chance you got; the people, the food, your old pets. You had went back? When was this? He hadn't remembered you leaving the city for any reason other than missions, there was no chance for you to. No time for holidays when the world never stopped needing to be saved.

"I never thought I would have to live this long without you, never thought I could. "

You appeared older, stressed in a way he had never seen. Your hair was swept back off of your shoulders in a simple updo, a long, black sequined dress skimming your figure. Dressed for a party, he supposed. Though you never seemed to enjoy parties, what was the occasion? A large popping noise caught his attention, the flash that followed through the open windows giving the cause away. Fireworks flourished in the street, blooming into mystical flowers of red and blue.

Ah, New Years. What fond memories...

"Nobody told me it was going to be this hard," You chuckle sadly, your eyes meeting your own in the mirror that was failing to show Loki's reflection beside you. You looked as if you were about to cry, fighting it back with all of your might. Loki wanted to touch you more than anything, to comfort you like he never got the chance to. Who were you talking to? There was nobody in the room. "But every year..." You suck in a breath and gather yourself within a large pregnant pause. A tear falls. Your makeup runs. "It never gets easier, does it? "

It was all piecing together now; the maturity in your features, the fatigue in your voice, your returning home... This was after Loki's death. How was that possible? Not even an hour had passed since he was on Midgard! Time-oh. Oh! The words of the Messenger were coming back to him.

'Time works differently here.'

Funny.

"I'm afraid not, " Loki relents, playing into your fantasy. He speaks as though you could hear, as though you were itching to turn around and greet him with a pitiful smile. He knew better than most. Death never got easier, loss never got easier. It was just a part of this sick existence mortals were bound to.

"Do you remember? " Your hands move to grip the edges of the dresser you were hovering over, exposing both your collarbones and the exasperated lilt in your tonality. You close your eyes. "It was your first New Year's with the team. Everybody had gone to that stupid party across town, but I was still sick because of the Sokovia mission. "

Loki gritted his teeth. He remembered the aftermath of the Sokovia mission well. You had come back to the tower too weak to stand on your own, having braved the harsh elements of the Russian countryside for longer than any human should have. Symptoms of hypothermia persisted for days afterwards, ending in a horrible fever that had you bedbound for weeks. Thus began Loki's loathing of the men in charge of mission dealings. How dare they put you in a situation like that! He would have much rather them send one of the Soldiers, or perhaps even himself! To listen to your relentless coughing and sniffling was exponentially more tortuous than allowing himself to freeze in the snow.

"You were all dressed up, ready to go, but..." You covered your mouth to soften the sob racking your shoulders, clenching your eyes shut. Loki could finally see what you were hiding around your neck. Sitting delicately there, the gold wiring glinting off of the reflection of the mirror with the help of the low streetlights, was his mother's emerald necklace. By then it had passed through three hands, three lives, two gone...

"But you-you saw me laying there. "

"You were so pale, love. I couldn't leave you alone, " Loki reminisced alongside you, not able to tear his eyes away from your outpouring of emotion. His fingers were twitching, cheeks heating up with the effort of restraint. If he touched you, you would leave like his parents had. And he would break down if you left without finishing the telling of your truth.

"You thought I was asleep," You muster after a moment of heartbreaking sobs, coming to terms with your ruined makeup and recklessly wiping at your eyes. Loki wrinkled his brow, slowly sauntering around to look you in the eye without the barrier of the mirror. What were you saying? You were so out of it then, there was no conceivable way you had faked your slumber.

He remembered vividly, yes. The moment he saw you it was decided, curled up in a mountain of blankets, all color gone from your cheeks. He was not going to that party. He had calmly taken off his suit jacket, perfectly folding it and placing it over the foot of your bed. Nobody had the thought to look for him, didn't even notice he was missing from the limo that frivolous Stark had recruited. No, nobody said a word until the Red Witch had burst in drunkenly and found him by your bedside, sober and free from the fatigue of social gathering.

He had placed his hand over your forehead as he had seen in those stupid movies you loved so much, finding it to be burning hot under his freezing fingers. You didn't flinch, didn't move, nothing. Surely you were dead asleep then. He had mused quietly, chuckling under his breath at his own choices that went against everything he believed himself to be.

Still, so beautiful even with your sickness.

Loki remembered sighing gently, fixing your messy hair and ruffled blankets.

"Be careful, my queen . Otherwise you might just make me fall in love with you." Under the guise that you wouldn't register the motion in your slumber, he had leaned over and lovingly pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth: the first of many stolen romantic gestures he would bestow upon you within your 'not quite' friendship. "And that's a dangerous thing."

He was whirled back into the presence by the sound of your fist hitting the dresser.

"But I wasn't," you take a deep breath, attempting to ease the grief racking your trembling figure to no avail. "I wasn't, God!"

Loki's chest physically hurt at the overwhelming sentiment, a feeling unlike anything he had ever experienced. She had heard? And still continued to stay and even offer to be his friend?

A friend of a loathsome, disgusting disgrace.

A monster.

His eyes flickered down to watch your shaking fingers, placing his own as close as possible beside them over the vanity before catching your eyes.

"I would choose to stay a thousand times over," he could feel his voice begin to give out from the exhaustion of emotion. "A million if life would permit. "

In that moment, the dark, ambient lighting showcasing the sharpness of your gorgeous features, it seemed like you had almost heard his words, and noticed his presence. All a facade? Maybe, but even that fleeting feeling was providing Loki with some semblance of emotional release.

This projection of you moves slightly, fingers brushing over his before disappearing into mist. Loki stands still for a long time, long enough to wallow in his own hatred of this cruel world and it's tendency to tear apart love that is true. Yes, a he had to convince him self that yes, he had made the right decision here. A lifetime of hell was worth the admittance that you were awake that day so long ago. That you had heard the declaration of one of the most sensitive parts of himself and continued to stay. It was worth the sacrifice in every meaning of the word.

A park bench that had suddenly materialized behind Loki caught him off guard, and knocked him off his feet. His back connected to the wood with a pronounced smack, his will to continue leaving along with his loss of balance. And so he remained down, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes to alleviate a developing headache that was sending him reeling. This was not what he was anticipating at all. He was awaiting the intense feelings of anger and resentment and guilt to permeate and destroy him, to cause him to start slamming himself against walls and ripping his hair out of his head.

But no.

He was simply empty. So unbearably empty.

Within the crashing noises of his own defeat echoing around his empty minds, something made its way to the forefront: A simple set of sharp, determined footsteps approached without hesitation. Loki, with no energy left to care, continued to attempt to ease the pain in his temples to no avail. They stopped a pace away.

"Oh, thank God! It's just you."

Chapter Text

Your hair was a different color. Just a touch lighter at the ends, and only seen when caught in the right light. It suited you well, matching your newfound maturity and bringing an air of class to your already timeless features. Loki had never categorized you as the type of woman to need the spontaneity that dying ones hair would bring. In fact, as long as he had known you, you were terrified of change. A crestfallen creature of habit desperate to keep hold on the past, he supposed. Though he was sure you knew that that was not possible in your line of work.

Change was inevitable.

Loki had lost the will to continue to follow these branching confessions with your last disappearance, settling instead on soothing the burning sensation that was overtaking his thought process. He sat up as you rounded the side of the bench to join him, letting his head rest in his hands. Was this giving up?

"What? No brooding admission? No declaration of undying love?" He could feel you adjust on the opposite side of the seat, the creaking bench revealing your oddly comfortable demeanor. You were leaning back, nose facing upwards to an unseen sun. So blissful, unafraid, confident. When was it his turn to feel such elusive things?

Loki chuckled softly, lifting his head to stare forwards into the nothingness. Oddly enough, his headache had alleviated itself with the sound of your strangely jovial voice. Everything sounded clearer, not muffled as it had been before. He breathed the deepest breath he had since he had appeared on this lifeless plane of existence, allowing himself to recline and play into your fantastical reality.

"Pigs may fly, " he hummed, breathing in sharply to keep in the intense emotions that threatened to overtake. "No matter, it's clear to any soul with eyes that I care for you. There will be no hiding it now." he fought the urge to turn his head and search for a reaction. It was no use, there would be none from this flawless projection of you. "I always have loved you. "

There was nothing to gain from hiding anymore. It was true, wasn't it? His love? He hadn't remembered ever even finding the courage to admit this to himself, there was no universe where he could admit it to a cognizant, conscious you. "Always and forever."

Your consistent silence is unnerving, so much so that Loki is forced to turn to look at you. Wasn't this supposed to be your time? Weren't you supposed to be the one reciting a brooding admission? A tearful affirmation of your hatred of him and his unpredictable mood swings, perhaps?

Your gaze is elsewhere, fixed somewhere far off into the distance. That strong posture of yours weakened before his eyes, and you slumped over with a bitter smile crossing your lips. Loki recognized that expression: You were hurting.

He sighs. This had to end soon. Otherwise, he was going to lose what little was left of his patience in the fight to keep his emotions in check. Was he ready for an eternity in The Infernals? There was no way to tell, though no torture would overshadow the acute disappointment he faced every time his eyes fell upon his reflection in the mirror. Is this what his mother saw when he fled? Is this what you saw with his dying breath? No, he could no longer handle this burning feeling in his chest.

"Messenger!" Loki called suddenly, standing to leave your side. His now fragile voice echoed against non-existent walls and ceilings, greeting his own ears in a mocking manner. "Please! Have mercy!" He recoiled over his own phrasing. What his father had spat at him through gritted teeth rang disgustingly true in this moment.

"You're a recreant, deceitful apostate," Odin had whispered over his shoulder during an attempted courting for his brother. " No creature will ever love you. " Loki had clenched his jaw, tightening his grip on his own wrists in an attempt to keep his unbridled anger at bay. He would have snapped at the sight of another princess floating into the throne room on gilded heels, if it hadn't been for his mother. From across the way she had quirked her brows at him, her lips curling into an infectious grin as she tilted her head towards a particularly gorgeous maiden as if asking: "What do you think of this one?" Odin would never allow him to have the freedom of choice, they both knew, but the illusion was a fun way to pass the time.

"This is not the torture you have promised me!" Loki called to no avail. No, this was much, much worse. A nervous breakdown was becoming an increasingly intoxicating option in this moment. What else was there to do with so much pent up emotion? There was nowhere else for it to go but out. A lifetime of bottling everything was coming to a tee right there in the endless nothingness. "Messenger? Messenger!"

Loki was seething, his blind fury twisting sadistically into an intense, radiating sense of hopelessness. The end of existence was supposed to be peaceful. It was supposed to be full of resolve and acceptance, not newfound hatred and regret.

"Loki?" Your siren-like voice repeats his name like a mantra, and it brings stinging tears to his eyes. "Tomca-"

"SHUT UP! JUST-Just... I can't. I can't, " Loki allows himself to return to the bench, now lifeless and defeated. Oh, yes. Now it was disgustingly clear. "I'm so sorry..."

This was giving up.

"I failed you," he struggled to admit it aloud. "I'm a burden on your name, and I loathe myself for ever allowing you to be associated with me."

Suffocating silence permeates, leaving in its wake the pathetic sound of sniffling sobs. The bench creaks softly as that merciless projection of you quietly stands. So beautiful, so enchanting...

"You are no burden, " You speak firmly, gently.

Loki stills, his breath catching in his throat. Recognition takes far too long in his grieving mind. He slowly lifted his head to meet you, not bothering to wipe away his tears or even brush his hair out of his eyes. "Every part of my heart belongs to you. And if I had known you felt anywhere near the same..." You scoff sadly. "I-You... None of this would have happened. "

You are staring straight at him. Not through, at.

Loki's jaw clenches to the point of pain, and he fervently stands to meet your strong, comforting, currently glassy eyes. That unidentifiable screen that had separated the two of you throughout this endeavor was not present in this instance. His breath is punched out of his lungs, leaving him gasping and weak.

"My Dove, is it-"

"Loki, you waited."

Chapter Text

Hope was not a feeling that Loki experienced often. In fact, he couldn't quite remember a time whereupon he allowed that infuriatingly addicting sentiment to take over. It always leads, well, lead to heartache and regret, and after a while... He couldn't handle it's hold anymore, causing him to refuse to endure it after years of unnecessary suffering.

So then came the self destructive tendencies.

In droves, that suffocating air of despair and unending fury devastated his life. It pulled him away from his mother, made the world believe that he was some sort of heartless, vicious creature. It made him second guess his identity, and accept those burning rumors as truth.

It had become apparent in these short couple moments, however, that his view on this perceived fallacy of hope was false. No. Hope and faith and trust were not burdens to be hated.

They were catalysts.

---

"You're not real," Loki rasped, standing stiffly before you. He wanted to both scream in your face and confess his darkest secrets to your twin, to both push you to the ground and embrace you until the incessant crying stopped. He settled on clutching the fabric covering his chest in order to quell the aching of his wounded heart. "You can't be real."

You simply smirk with downward cast, deeply pained eyes, your fingers twitching with what Loki could only presume was nerves.

"I'm honestly just as surprised as you are," You chuckle and attempt to close the gap between the two of you, a relieved grin over your lips. Loki stops you before you can lay a hand on him.

"No, this isn't real. Because..." He loses his composure, taking a long moment to pull himself back together. He breathes in sharply. "Because if you are really here then that means-" he couldn't stomach the thought.

You laugh.

"What? That I'm dead?" Your head is tossed back with an annoyed sigh as you notice that he is not sharing your amusement and is in fact, on the verge of tears.

"No," Loki's jaw clenches tightly. This is not the loving, romantic reunion he had imagined. What was that settling deep in the pit of his stomach? Ah, anger. Finally, a touch of familiarity in this new realm that he was thrust into. "It means you've ruined your chance at Paradise!"

"And?" You respond in that same sarcastic tune that you always did, the one that drove him absolutely insane. Loki speaks your name lowly, a warning. Your expressions softens at the vague threat the word carried, and you shift uncomfortably on your feet. All you wanted was to wrap your arms around him and his stupid little face, to have a single minute to make up for the hundreds of thousands that were lost over the past few years. He had never cried in front of you before.

And yet here you two were, your beloved Loki standing before you within the nothingness of this void, bitter tears dripping down his cheeks and off his chin. You take a step foward, and another, and another, and another. His head bows in submission. Your heart stops.

He was surrendering; to you or this situation, you weren't quite sure. Loki had never surrendered.

"I don't care about Paradise, " You whisper, your fingers reaching out to touch at his chin. It is yet another solidifying piece of evidence that proves that he is just as real as you are, and not just some memory that would disappear at the first contact of skin against skin. He is just as warm as he was all that time ago, when he had died a tortured death in your arms. It brought back biting memories of the last time you had seen his face, at his sparsely attended funeral. It had killed you to look upon his cold and lifeless features lying in that magnificent, emerald, velvet-lined casket. You had placed gently in his loose grip a bouquet of lively irises, his mother's favorite flower. Thor had looked at you oddly when you did. He opened his mouth to speak, but settled on clapping his hand down on your shoulder, refusing eye contact. Then came a lifelong understanding between the two of you, a brother-sister relationship that had gotten you through some of the hardest moments of your life.

Something flickers in Loki's body language before he closes his eyes and leans forward into your palm. Was it hesitation? Defeat? Relief? You're not sure if it matters to you in the grand scheme of things. How could it? He trusted you, that was all that was important. "I needed to see you again."

Loki flinches, stiffening as his hands shot up to grip your wrists. He analyzes you strangely, as if you had suddenly morphed into somebody he didn't recognize. You force a comforting smile.

His eyes were a marvel that you hadn't experienced in far too long. Light in color and endlessly cunning, able to draw the attention of everybody in the room with just a dismissive glance. That long hair, now disheveled and falling into his eyes, was so striking. You couldn't help but to remember the unique way it would splay out over the arm of your loveseat when he slept, or how soft it was those couple times he had allowed you to run your fingers through it. His expression, though fear inducing to anybody else, was far from scary to you. Maybe that's what initially drew you to him.

You could see the vulnerability behind the facade.

And so, you step forward in order to share the same breath.

"I-" You begin to speak, but are abruptly cut off by the tightening of Loki's grip as he violently pulls you to him. That facade of his shows a careless sneer, but there is something off hidden in the way he keeps you close. He searches your face hopelessly for regret, disdain, repulsion. He finds none of the above.

And so, he kisses you.

Chapter Text

A kiss from one of the most talked about princes in the galaxy was not anything like you had imagined, not that you had spent every single night for the past few years dreaming about it or anything like that. No, you spent every night craving it. However, that dominating, all-consuming, arrogant shield that he had built for himself within his lifetime, the one you would have thought he would kiss you with, was simply not present in this moment. You don't know why you had expected roughness, why you expected him to take control over you with a hand around your throat and fingers digging into your hip. As always, he was gentle.

Almost sweet.

Loki kisses you as if this is the last time he would ever lay his hands upon you; profoundly and vehemently exploring everything that he had missed in that little back and forth game you had played on Earth. Who were you kidding? Those stolen glances and flirty back-and-forths, covered by half-hearted excuses and perfunctory rationalizations, were not enough to fool anybody.

There was always something more there.

He drops your wrists in favor of grasping your jaw, his other hand moving to delicately stroke your hair away from your face. He is trembling. You sigh softly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. His collar is still bloodied, leather tunic still ripped at the top, and you realize that it probably hasn't been that long for him at all. As that strange man had informed at the beginning of this endeavor; Time works differently here. But you couldn't bring yourself to care.

You had missed him more than words could tell. An empty room had never made you feel as alone as it did after he died. Who else would knock on your door in the middle of the day and take control of your loveseat just to fall asleep in peace? Who else would you talk through your mission reports with to make sure they were coherent? Who else's arrogant ass would you save from eminent death when hubris inevitably won it's battle against rationality? The sense of heartache was so acute that you couldn't get to sleep without a myriad of pathetic tears and medication. Thor had walked in once, on a particularly lonely night.

"May I?" He had asked lowly from the doorway, his face fuller and his hair quite a bit longer in the aftermath of the blip. You had sniffled and nodded, moving out of the way to make room on your bed. Together you had watched old movies until you fell asleep, wordless and just desperate for the presence of somebody familiar. No Wanda, no Peter, no Natasha, no Loki. All that you had held dear was gone in a single, horrifying day. You relied on Thor for emotional support, which he was grossly unqualified to give to you. You persisted despite this. The reunion that had taken place a long five years later was bittersweet, and provided no real healing to your broken heart.

You remembered waking up often to an empty, cold bed after nights like those.

Though that warmth you yearned for was now right in front of you, satiating your hunger completely within the manner Loki holds you so tightly. He releases you after a long moment of indulgence, continuing to share your breath as he simply gazes at you with tired eyes. You lean forward and press your foreheads together.

"I missed you... So much," You are the first one to break the silence. His expression wrinkles into a grin at the sentiment, and he closes his eyes. Your fingers immediately move to delicately trace the features of his face. Wow, had you ached for soft moments like these, even if they were occuring in some strange equivalent of limbo.

"I know, Birdie," You stifle an uncontrollable smile at the pet name, one of your favorites. "I never wanted to leave you like this."

"It wasn't your choice to make," You speak with delicacy, knowing well his tendency to blame himself in situations like this. Loki huffs, his hand quick to grip your wrist as he pulled away from your touch. You squint at him. Still so afraid, even after all you had been through together.

"Who's was it then? Fate's? That's asinine," He spits, though his grip loosens. "I am the reason you hurt, because of a decision I made... With Thanos," His scolding is directed at himself, though you can't help but carry some of that weight on your own back. If you had just been a little sooner, maybe gathered the courage to step out of the bushes and fight for what you loved...

Thanos. Loki was not the reason you hurt, the reason you grieved. It was always Thanos, he was the source of the world's grieving, after all. Your brain treated you with memory of the silence of The Avenger's Tower during the fallout of the snap as society mourned their losses. Your steps would echo down half empty halls, none of the remaining team being able to look each other in the eyes. You all had failed so acutely, so directly, how could you meet the eye of such devastation? Even after everybody returned, nothing really was the same. Thanos made sure of this. You couldn't help but wonder what sort of afterlife he was destined to. Was He given the same choice you were? What did He do with it?

You didn't want to focus on things like that anymore, you were dead! It didn't have the jurisdiction to hold you down as it once did. Stuffing down your hateful thoughts seemed to be the least painful option for this situation.

"A fucking stupid decision," You settle on murmuring in response, earning you a dismissive scoff and a tight-lipped, regretful grin.

"Yes, a fucking stupid decision, " Loki repeats softly, tenderly pulling your hand between the two of you in order to press his lips to your palm. A moment of silence befalls you as he guides your hand onto his cheek. It's damp and quite red with the recent outpouring of emotion. You trail your fingers down to run them over the swollen, bruised skin tattooed into his neck. Everything comes rushing back in the worst way.

It was torment to see him like that, so weak and afraid, nothing witty to say. He was dropped like a ragdoll, like he was some entity barely worth the effort death would take. The scars on your knees were still present, and you vividly remember the nothingness you felt as you trudged to the middle field after the deed was done. There was so much dust in the air, why? There was no more yelling, no more clashing of weaponry.

James Rhodes, only a distant acquaintance at that point, was the one who had spotted you walking alone and unarmed. He was still fully suited up in Tony's technology, his silver helmet open and buzzing with broken wiring. His stinging cold palm gripped your arm, his cracking voice barking your name in order to rise above the ringing in your ears. His shaken presence wouldn't register in your mind, no matter how much you willed otherwise. You had scowered the plain silently, the one once filled with ruthless battle. It was now half empty, confused soldiers dropping their weapons in bewilderment. There were no faces you recognized through your tears, and that might have been the hardest part of it all to stomach.

"Are you hurt?" He finally caught your attention. You breathed in sharply as you fought to meet his eyes, tears uncontrollably rolling down your cheeks. You truly hadn't known him well before, but even then, in your stunned stupor, you could tell that this was no a different man.

"What happened?" You whispered. That sinking feeling in your chest multiplied. He looked away from you, squeezing your arm without meaning to. "Where did everybody go, James? James?"

"James?"

You could have killed yourself there, after he had taken you to safety to go help the others, and there were some nights where you wish you did. But now...

You are dead. And none of that matters.

"You have no idea what you missed," You struggle to speak with your recent memory still hanging in your head. Loki places his hand over your own neck, mirroring you. His mother's emerald necklace, the one you refused to take off, is hanging there silently. It had seen a thing or two over the years: funerals, weddings, fist fights, bullets, tears, frustration throws at the wall, everything. He doesn't speak of it as you would have predicted, simply toys with the thick, golden chain with a content look on his face. Was that... Was that pride that you saw dancing across his cheeks?

"Wasn't anything you couldn't handle, was it?" He smirks and you think for a second, just a short second, that he might actually know, but it is gone before you can prod. God, you missed that Chesire grin...

Your eyes are trained downwards as you lean in to embrace Loki and forget about your looming past. He hums, his head dropping to rest on your shoulder whilst you stroke through his hair. It's still so soft. And he's still so warm. And he's relaxing into you. He grips your hips to pull you even closer. Who needs Paradise when you have this?

You wish with everything you could stay still and enjoy this moment, but a single intrusive thought is haunting your ability:

When would this get cut off? When would that strange man come to take this away from you?

Chapter Text

"What happens now?" Loki's voice is raw as he breaks the numbing silence of oblivion, though his body refuses to back away and ruin this growing warmth between the two of you. He breathes in deeply, pressing his mouth to the crown of your head in order to prove to himself that you were tangible and not some cruel figment of his darkest fears. He couldn't stop this downward spiral, how was he supposed to? This sappy reunion seemed almost too good to be true, just as every source of joy was in his life was revealed to be. Some unknown force was biting at the back of his mind, trying and succeeding in its quest to convince him he had gone completely mad.

Perhaps he had! Perhaps all of this was just an amalgamation of his suffering, you were just a merciful projection of all that he had ever wanted: unconditional love. You were a fallacy fabricated by some Creator in order to get him to rest easy, so he would go down without a fight. The Messenger was a liar set out to make his downfall comfortable, the token deceitful apostate of this realm. What? 'Deceitful apostate?' A bitter taste flooded his mouth. Were those really his own words?

No.

A struggling breath.

No!

He must'nt speak like that, even in death. He was not his father, and he would not repeat words spoken to him in malice. As he had promised himself when he was but a child: He would not be held down by his father's expectations of him. On the contrary! He would be the man that his mother saw, the one that you had fallen for.

"Hey," You smile softly, leaning back to examine his face. His apprehension drops. Your hands fall from his hair to stroke over his jawline. You seemed so real here, Loki could almost forgo his intrusive thoughts. Almost. That strong composure of his breaks, snapping down all the way to his core. His fingers tighten over the fabric of your shirt at a sudden realization that racks his brain. His father had been correct.

He was weak.

This made him weak. You made him weak.

"It's not up to us," Your voice cracks with emotion, causing Loki to shake his restlessness away. If loving you made him weak, then he had never known strength. No, because this felt too good to give up, especially for something as useless as pride. He had never expected such an attachment, but something had been off ever since your first meeting. Past him would not be as keen, but it was a fond memory as of now:

Nick Fury had convened a conference long before any of this, leading to the convergence of every Avenger, every soldier, every combatant, and every almost-Avenger known to this world. Loki didn't remember for what reason. He was, after all, being held captive in handcuffs by his own brother. He wished now he would have paid attention, maybe this fiasco could have been avoided if he had just complied. But no, all he could focus on was the loss of sensation in his fingers at the tightness of his restraints.

"Don't pout, it's a safety precaution," Stark had grinned, patting his cheek as if he was some child put into time-out. Loki had jerked his head away. What a disgusting display of narcissism... Thor had stifled laughter, covering it up with an innocent smirk once Loki had glared at him angrily enough.

"What am I, a dog?" Loki had seethed, now noticing that he had caught the attention of the rest of the crowded room. They looked on with hidden expressions of amusement at his predicament, and the anger only grew. He had bit his tongue to the point of blood. They would all see soon enough, an abundance of words would only make him appear like the bumbling idiot they already perceived. They would all see his true wrath in time, he had silently promised. Laugh now, while you still can.

Soon enough Fury had started making assignments to the rest of the room, standing up from his post at the head of the table and directing the crowd with that terribly annoying voice of his; herding sheep. Thor had left Loki's side in the shuffle, replaced by a seemingly equally as uninterested young woman.

You.

Loki looked down his nose at you with squinted eyes, annoyed by your sudden, unwarranted presence. He had scoffed. You were only a touch shorter, though the difference was enough for him to feel that he could defeat you without qualm, and have you kneeling in his presence. Innocent eyes, muscular figure, attentiveness almost pouring out of you; an eager young cadet, no doubt. Though he could sense something different in you as compared to the rest of the room, causing his smug expression to increase in intensity: You were powerless. What were you doing in a room full of supernatural, highly trained, magical beings?

Loki opened his mouth to speak, to ridicule, but you had shushed him just as quickly.

"Acting more like a baby than a dog," You had snarked under your breath, fumbling with something in your pocket. A baby? Oh, you entitled brat...

" Excuse me? " Loki scoffed, bewildered by your boldness. Who was this girl and where did she accumulate the gall to speak in that manner to a man of status such as himself? In any other circumstance, he would have had you sent to the barracks and beheaded for simply looking to him without permission. Hell, he might have done it himself.

The distinct sound of a knife unsheathing from its carrier caught his attention. Loki jumped at the sharp noise. He remembered pausing, almost wanting to laugh. Here? Were you joking?

"You're going to kill me? Right here? In front of all of these people?" He had glanced around the room at distracted faces, appalled that some woman he had just met would be his demise. In front of his brother and all that he hated, was this where he would meet his end?

"Why? You scared?" You chuckled, finally looking him in the eyes. They were firey, more alive than anything Loki had seen in his long life. He had tilted his head, his lips upturning without his permission. Strange...

Your gaze snapped back to the bustle of the room at Fury's call, your hands blindly searching for the metal handcuffs currently cutting the circulation off to his fingers. Loki did not break to follow, instead continuing to analyze the abnormality that was you. You smirk once the tip of your knife reaches the lock of the handcuffs. "You looked pathetic. I couldn't stand it anymore. "

How charming.

"You do this often?" He sighed, finally moving to mirror your nonchalance. That crowd of try-hards were oblivious, as they always were; Self-centered and focused on the attentions that heroism would bring. You shrug.

"Free Asguardian princes trapped in cheap handcuffs? I can't say I do," The lock snaps and a delicious smile spreads across your lips. Loki was frozen at the sight of it, remaining still as you remove his restraints and tuck them silently into your pocket. You wrap your fingers around his wrists before he could move, clasping them together loosely behind his back. "Don't do anything stupid, Loki. It'll be both our asses on the line."

His eyebrows raised at the sudden speaking of his name, surprised that you had known it this entire time. The desire to know your's was overwhelming, overwhelming enough for him to keep his hands in place and continue your charade for the rest of the meeting. He could've dropped everything and ran at any minute, but you were so... So, what was the word? Different? Intriguing? Ah! Captivating.

"Fine."

"Why?" Loki struggles, breaking out of his daydream. He shakes his head. "Why you? Why us?" His need for control was faltering, devolving into some pathetic , weepy-eyed pleading for answers. A prior version of himself would be repulsed at this outcry, but he couldn't keep these questions at bay, these emotions. He had kept it in his entire life, why wasn't death the confessional he had craved?

You smile some sickeningly pitiful smile, leaning in to gently press your mouth to his. To quell, to calm, to prove that everything was alright.

"Fate is a cruel game, " You whisper. Your eyes are large and staring, filled to the brim with salty tears. Loki remains silent, breaking the intense contact in favor of following the caress of his hand over your cheek. The tension in your shoulders ease. His panic evens out the smallest bit.

"Unfortunate as it may be," A familiar voice calls in response, followed by padding, echoing footsteps. They reverberate loudly against an invisible ceiling and unseen walls, a thick layer of hopelessness settling over you. You gasp, turning on your heel to meet it.

You weren't expecting this so soon, you had died just hours ago! Loki smoothes his palm down your arm to clutch your hand, stepping before you protectively. That strange man makes himself visible in the blank whiteness, a dark speck against a smooth canvas. He beams from afar, stepping casually towards the couple with broad strides. His fists are tucked into his slack's pockets, adding to the eerily calm nature of his demeanor.

"Messenger," Loki acknowledges the man as if he is an old friend, long lost to the changing sands of life. He dries his tears quickly, rapidly rebuilding those walls around himself as if they were never broken at all. It's almost unconscious the way he separates you from this Messenger, protecting you completely from an unconfirmed threat. "You've returned."

The Messenger stops abruptly a couple feet away, his eyes softening as his gaze falls upon your concerned faces.

"Of course I have. You think little of me, Mr. Laufeyson," he simpers. His cheeks give way for a full blown grin, though the message doesn't make it to his eyes. He appears dejected, regretful. You step out from behind Loki to truly evaluate this man's intent, to which he squeezes your hand tightly in apprehension.

"Are you here to take us?" Your voice echoes in the void, it sounding foreign to you in the moment. The Messenger presses his lips together, his head dropping for a long pause before he lifts it to nod solemnly. The breath is taken from your lungs.

"Do not be afraid," The Messenger's voice is soothing, your shoulders dropping as he takes another step towards you two. You sigh, recognizing your own resolute nature. Strangely enough, you felt ready. All that anxiety that had held you during your lifetime had lifted, leaving only the steady beating of your heart.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You smile back at him, leaning to wrap your arm around Loki's. He is unusually tense, his breaths quick and unsteady. You wish with everything that you could hear his thoughts, to look into that wonderful mind and caress away the unending pain that overtook his every motive. You had known since the beginning that there was something unseen in him, you were just happy to have unlocked any of it at all.

Your temple falls to rest against Loki's chest in acceptance, and he hesitates before moving to look in your eyes.

He didn't want this fear. He wanted peace, for at least a moment. He thought he deserved it, after all that he had been through, and fought for. And now...

Loki was staring down death disguised as a man, beckoning him to take the final step into-into what?! The accumulation of the triumphs and failures of his life? He didn't want to face that! The unknown was terrifying to him. Maybe it was because he knew, deep down, that it would be nothing good. It couldn't be, that wasn't in his cards. That wasn't his destiny.

And you had just made it so that it wouldn't be yours either. For that he was angry; angry and fearful.

Just as he had lived on Midgard, Asguard, and any other fucking planet he had ever stepped foot on.

"C-Can we go together?" You ask whilst continuing to look in Loki's light eyes, which squint with your question. How were you so alright with this? The Messenger chuckles lightly, eyes glued to his unscathed dress shoes as he considers your request. His head tilts to the side, shoulders shrugging lightly.

"I don't see why not," The Messenger waves his hand, finally lifting his chin to acknowledge Loki. An empty, wooden doorway appears from thin air in response, standing tall a few feet away. Loki feels you flinch with its sudden presence, both of you figuring out at the same time something unnerving: You could see right through it's confines and into extended nothingness. This is the entry to the afterlife?

How underwhelming!

Loki, disbelieving, turned to confirm his apprehensions with the Messenger. The man simply bowed his head in a nonconfrontational manner. Loki felt like an animal about to be put out of its misery, one given a day full of indulgence before inevitable death. That pitying stare, he had seen it his whole life.

"When you're ready," The Messenger steps away, leaving Loki to sputter. This was it, he supposed. He just-He never could have imagined that it would be like this. You are pulling away to examine the entrance before he could dwell any longer. Loki lets your grasp leave him, frozen in disbelief.

Coming to terms with his own mortality was harder than he could have ever imagined. Being a god, it wasn't something he had to think about often. Nothing was set in stone, he could have lived forever if he had wanted it enough... Who was he kidding?

That's a gross exaggeration.

His entire life, he had been invincible. Invincible in his anger, but so weak in execution. And you, with your fear of change and distaste for unplanned adventure that he had grown to love over the years, you were the strength he was missing. You were steady and consistent, everything he craved within life.

Your hand reaches out to him from the doorway, pleading. You appeared incredibly peaceful here among the nothingness, a comforting smile slowly dancing across your lips. He quickly musters the courage to take your hand, silently begging for encouragement with an uncertain glance. You provide it in abundance.

For fuck's sake, Loki would follow you anywhere.

"Do you trust me?" You ask suddenly, and Loki can now hear the trembling of your voice. You are stoically staring forward, attempting to hide your fear and failing horribly.

"You know I do," Loki scoffs, analyzing your reaction to his words. He is given no insight. "Why do you ask?"

The apples of your cheeks light up, a light chuckle leaving you. You are swaying on your feet, hyping yourself up for what would inevitably come next.

"Just... Just wanted some confirmation, " You admit, raising your focus to run it over the spectacle before you.

Your destiny sat humbly behind a bare doorway, free of frills and extravagance. Together you approached, hand in hand, hearts beating faster in the striking presence of the unknown. You take one last look into the face of the man you had spent the better part of your life grieving, attempting to convey every lost whisper of your life and devotion with a single glance. He takes a deep breath, clasping your hand tightly.

And suddenly you are back in your humble bedroom on the top floor of Avenger's Tower, catching his eyes from across the coffee table. You are having tea, reading silently together in the last glimmers of a dusky sunset. He slowly brings his cup up to his lips, silently closing his book and taking a moment to look at you. Just to look at you, how wonderful is that?

"My Dove... When you cross, find me on the other side, will you?"

He smiles, and it's just as wonderful the hundredth time.

You gently bring your hands up between the two of you, readjusting your fingers in order to hook your pinky with his. The motion is reminiscent of some similar pledge made long ago, one lost to the turning pages of time.

"I promise, darling."

"Hey!" The Messenger calls just before you take the simultaneous first and last step towards fortuity. Loki squeezes your hand tightly while turning to take his final glance at this stranger that he had pegged worthy of his trust. The Messenger tucks his hands back into his pockets in an unhurried motion, eyes refusing to find a place to rest between the two of you. "Good luck, I'm rooting for you."

Loki nods solemnly in recognition, swallowing the lump in his throat after much struggle.

"To you as well, good man," he settles on after a moment of silence. The doorway is still there, unchanged as he turns back to face it. Ever present and consistent, stripped of all the glamor he was used to in his old life. He supposed he should have predicted that's what destiny would look like in the end, for all subject to the woes of mortality met the same demise. Death was death, no matter the fashion it occurred. The outcome was always the same: A life led and a life lost.

A game, this all was. A game with controls that lay far from our reach. Was it cruel, unfair, and potentially dangerous? Yes, though not unwarranted. Necessary.

That was the risk of living, however. To live and lose, a sacrifice all must make. It was...

Inevitable.

"I'll wait for you."

"I know."

The threshold is crossed, the unknown is embraced, and The Messenger is left alone upon his plane of existence. He sighs to himself in the pair's absence, solemnly closing his eyes and lifting his head to a blank sky.

"Be kind to them," he speaks aloud, as if he knew that somewhere, somehow, something was listening to him. The doorway groans loudly in response from its post, before dissipating into a smattering of green mist and disappearing within the bare atmosphere. He hums lightly, tilting his head with a noncommittal chuckle.

"The Messenger, " he repeats the moniker, amused as he begins to step away from the scene of the crime. His footsteps echo loudly.

"I like the sound of that."