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He didn’t mean to go back. Not at first, anyway.
He crashed at Victor’s because he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. Loki could remember feeling shittier, but not recently. So he did the responsible, adult thing and got smashed. He could feel Victor’s scorn and ignored it. They weren’t friends, not really.
He slammed straight through the giddy, manic phase and into crying, and suddenly it was all he could do. Loki put his head down on the table and took a few deep, wet breaths.
“Sam hates me,” he said. “He has to. God. I can’t believe I - fuck.” His first goddamn friend in a long time and of course he’d managed to fuck it up because that was what he did, and for what? Because he hadn’t been able to get his head out of his ass and see what his stupid fling with Tony Stark was doing.
“Probably,” Victor agreed. Loki hiccuped and lifted his head just enough to pour himself another fifth of whiskey.
“Should’ve…should’ve…” Stayed away from Tony fucking Stark, for one. Not been such an ass. I’m sick and tired of being the person who has to clean up your mess, Sam had said, and could Loki really say that was unfair? “I can’t go back."
Victor shrugged. "Do what you want. I’m going to sleep."
About halfway through the bottle, Loki decided he needed to apologize. At least. He needed to tell Sam that he got it now and Sam had been right and he was a fuckup and was always going to be a fuckup. Sam deserved to know. So he walked, though it seemed to take a lot longer than Loki thought it should have.
When he got there, though, and stared at the door, he couldn’t make himself knock, so he just slid down to the welcome mat and stared at it, swaying slightly. Maybe he could just stay here. Maybe he could just lie down here and die. You’re drunk, a small voice at the back of his mind murmured. Sam isn’t going to want to deal with you drunk. Inconsiderate fuckup.
Loki wasn’t sure how long he sat there staring at the door, still crying a little (he couldn’t figure out how to stop) until Sam opened it. He looked stressed and tired and worried. Maybe, Loki thought belatedly, he should have just called.
"Thank fucking god,” Sam said, the breath exploding out of him, and then he was hauling Loki up off the mat and hugging him. Loki’s arms wouldn’t quite cooperate and his head fell heavily forward onto Sam’s shoulder. He smelled like detergent and Sam and home and Loki heard himself make a pathetic sobbing, snuffling sound.
“I’m sorry,” he made himself say. “I’m - I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You were right. I fucked it up, I fucked it all up.” He hiccuped, once. “I should never have…”
“Where have you been?” Sam’s voice didn’t sound angry, and he was pulling Loki over the threshold, closing the door behind him. Like he wanted Loki to stay. “I heard Tony…”
Loki choked on something between a laugh and a sob. “We broke up. For good, a week ago. We both realized…we weren’t going to stop. We were just going to keep pushing and pushing…” They’d both been spiraling, hard. He remembered being high as a kite and pressing a knife into Tony’s hand. The look on his face when he drew blood, panic and disgust and then he’d jerked back and started yelling-
Three years sober and he’d trashed it like a total goddamn idiot. Would’ve served him right if he’d bled to death. Would’ve been only fair, probably.
“I’ve just been…couch surfing."
Tony had tried to talk him into going to rehab, but not that hard. All they’d wanted then was not to see each other again.
Sam was guiding him further into the apartment, still holding onto him. He was warm, and Loki realized he was shaking with cold. "You could have come back.”
“I didn’t want to,” Loki said, which had been true, was still true, but here he was. He hadn’t wanted to face Sam again, to hear the I told you so.
Sam sighed, heavily. “I’m sorry about what I said, It was shitty…unhelpful."
Loki tried weakly to push him off. "But not untrue.”
“A little true, maybe. Doesn’t mean all. And doesn’t mean I needed to say it.” Sam was still holding him up, which was good, because Loki wasn’t sure his knees were going to hold him. “I’m sorry, okay?"
Don’t apologize to me, Loki wanted to say. You shouldn’t apologize to me. Do you want me to go? But that was too many words. "I am also…sorry,” he said, words slurring together in his mouth. “I shouldn’t have…sorry.”
He heard Sam sigh, and then they were moving further into the apartment. “Come on, man,” Sam said. “You need to sleep it off.” Loki realized belatedly that Sam was bringing him down the hallway, which didn’t make any sense, except maybe it did, a little. This didn’t seem like hatred. Maybe Sam didn’t hate him, not completely.
“Okay,” he said, because Sam had stopped talking and it seemed like he was supposed to respond. Everything was so confused, but it seemed like maybe things were all right, sort of.
He needed to know, though.
“Sam,” he said, catching hold of the nearest bit of plaid he could see. “Sam…we’re fine. Right?"
Sam was quiet long enough that Loki felt his heart skip a beat, but then he said, "you’re okay, right?"
Loki wasn’t sure about that. Wasn’t sure about anything, right now,except that he was tired and the whole world was rocking like a ship. "Yes,” he said, and then corrected, because Sam would want him to be honest, “I think so?”
“Are you going to be okay?” Sam asked.
That…Loki made himself nod. Probably. Yes. He would figure out how to be, or at least figure out how to pass for it again.
“Then yeah,” Sam said, and Loki thought he might have smiled. “We’re okay.”
That was something, at least. Everything else might have gone to hell, but at least maybe he could still have Sam.