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Loki, in his impaled state, had a momentary lapse in judgement.
It was only once he was stumbling through the Yggdrasil that he had the thought that hey, maybe seeking shelter in a realm you led an invasion into a year ago isn't a great idea!
But, well, being impaled messes with your rationality a bit.
Careful to avoid New York, he nearly tripped into the gap to Midgard.
He found himself in London, in a rather busy area. He's immediately glad he’d had the forethought to wrap a cloaking glamour around himself while in the space between worlds, disregarding the strain it put on his seidr, which wanted nothing but to thread the flesh in his chest back together as fast as possible.
He sidestepped into an alley, taking deep breaths. Reassuring himself by checking that he was still cloaked from Heimdallr’s gaze, he let himself unravel. He slid down the wall, his breath quickening.
The tissue in the deepest layer of the wound had nearly knit itself together now. His vision swam, and his fingers shook against his now useless chest plate. He began to undo the various straps and buckles that were part of his armor. Norns dammit, he just had to make his armor so complicated, didn’t he?
Suddenly there’s a presence to his left. He stills completely, heartbeat thrumming in his ears.
“Goodness, dear boy, are you alright?”
---
Aziraphale is getting ready to close the bookshop for the night when he feels a spike of emotion somewhere near.
He pauses, taken aback by the sheer amount of misery being projected. It doesn’t feel quite… human, either. Certainly not Ethereal, but not quite Occult either.
Overtaken by curiosity and a healthy amount of concern, the angel quickly flipped the shop’s sign to ‘Closed’ and stepped out.
What he finds is a boy, curled up in the alley between the bookshop and the greenery next door. And the boy's aura is… a mess , to put it bluntly.
Misery, panic, and desperation take the forefront, and curiously, there are wisps curling around him, looking to be a greenish-gold in color. Magic of some sort- spread over him in a veil that isn’t functional on the angel’s immortal eyes, and seemingly gathered around the boy’s chest and oh lord he's been impaled.
Aziraphale quickly unveils himself, approaching the young man with caution so as to not scare him off. “Goodness, dear boy, are you alright?”
He stops moving, and his eyes slide over to Aziraphale, terrified.
“I mean no harm- you’re hurt. I want only to help." Aziraphale held his hands up placatingly and watched the boy search his face for deceit.
---
Loki is hopelessly confused. How in the Nine can he see me? Secondly, how in Hel does he not know who Loki is? It’s been just over a year since the invasion on Midgard, surely the mortals are not that forgetful.
He sees the man seem to consider something, and braces himself, readying a teleportation spell should he need it. His seidr cried out in protest.
But instead of an attack, a wave of warmth washes over him, his racing thoughts begin to slow, and he is overcome by a sense of relaxation that has alarms going off in his subconscious. His eyes snap to the man in front of him, body going rigid.
This is not a mortal.
(Aziraphale, meanwhile, is concerned that the flare of his aura is seemingly having the opposite effects.)
“Dear boy, are you alright?” He unintentionally echoed himself.
Loki looks at him guardedly, looking more and more like a cornered animal by the minute. “I don’t take nicely to people who mess with my head.” He says quietly, dangerously.
The man looks alarmed. “Oh, Lord no, that was not what I was trying to do.” He says, seeming genuinely distressed. “I was just hoping to alleviate some of your tension. It can’t be doing good things to your… injury”
As if on cue, one of Loki’s ribs popped back into place. He let out a strangled cry. He hadn’t even known he’d broken that one.
(Aziraphale hesitated before moving. He was not doing himself any favors in the trust department.)
“I am quite sorry for this dear.” was all the warning Loki was given before they were both in the upstairs section of the bookshop. Another flick of his hand, and Loki’s wound was stitching itself up doubly fast as it had been.
He let out a gasp, falling back onto the carpet. His seidr flowed freely, replenished by some unseen force. Despite the hole somewhere narrowly close to his heart, he felt more alive than he had in… years, honestly.
Head clouded with pain and exhilaration, he all but forgot about the possibly hostile (though that was seeming less likely by the minute) entity in the room. Loki was unsure how long he’d been on the floor. It can’t have been long, because once he was able to move without irritating the closing wound, the man from before was fussing over him, trying to help him up.
The man had him settle on a plush sofa a few feet away, then hurried to another room muttering something about bringing tea.
Loki took a few deep breaths, bringing his heart rate down enough to focus.
He decided to take the time to examine his situation. He really ought to be leaving now. For whatever reason, he didn’t. In his head he claimed to need more information on whoever this powerful entity was. For safety reasons.
Either way, he didn’t seem to be in an entirely dangerous position at the moment. The man was decidedly not hostile. Loki had yet to parse out his intentions, but he seemed painfully earnest about wanting simply to help.
The mortals had once named him the patron of lies, he knew when someone was entirely devoid of them.
The man (What was his name? He couldn’t keep calling him ‘the man.’) came back into the room carrying two cups on a plate with what looked to be sugar packed into cubes.
The Europeans, Loki remembered with a start, used those to sweeten beverages. He had learned that on a past sojourn to Midgard. One that had involved more scholarly curiosity and less ‘oh norns I'm bleeding out, yes let’s seek shelter in the realm that solely knows me as a terrorist.’
There was a cup in front of him now, and in an effort to show his gratitude he took it. He blew on it to cool it down and subtly check it for any suspicious substances.
Luckily, the tea was not laced with anything, which was another point to the stranger in front of him being benevolent. Said stranger was sitting stiffly, fiddling with his hands that were in his lap. His posture reminded Loki of the posture he had to keep in the royal court. It almost made him self conscious of the way he was slouched over the sofa. Then again, he’d just been impaled. He had a rather good excuse.
The stranger's eyes flicked around, landing on Loki’s chest often, face pinched with concern. Yes, the man was strange, sure, but he was painstakingly sincere.
Loki cleared his throat. “Why did you bring us… here?” It crossed his mind now that he had no idea where ‘here’ was. The man seemed to tell. It was disconcerting to be read so easily.
“We’re in my bookshop, dear. And I figured we would’ve made quite a spectacle had we stayed out on the street.”
Loki was silent for a moment.
“The people on the street couldn’t see me. You shouldn’t have been able to either.” He said uncomfortably. He shifted positions on the sofa, unsure whether he should cue up his teleportation working again.
The stranger started. “Oh, yes, I’m sorry.” He said, but didn’t expand on that any further.
They settled into an uncomfortable silence, during which Loki was certainly leaning towards leaving, until the man spoke up.
“Oh, where are my manners? You may call me Aziraphale.” he said brightly, extending his hand.
Loki shook his hand, out of politeness more than anything. “Loki.”
At that moment, a bell rang out downstairs. Aziraphale looked at the stairs warily. “The shop is closed, who-”
“Angel?” rang in the bookshop, the last syllable drawn out. Aziraphale started, standing up quickly. “Oh goodness, I completely forgot!” He strode towards the door, turning back for a moment to smile at Loki. “Worry not, just someone I forgot to get back to. Stay put a moment, I’ll be right back.” and he walked out.
Loki blinked. He was truly out of his element here.
Aziraphale came back in with someone who looked like his antithesis. They were muttering to each other when they came up the stairs, though they stopped once they crossed the threshold. The tall lanky being looked disconcerted by the situation, though likely for different reasons than Loki was.
He pulled up a chair that Loki was sure had not been in the room previously, and sprawled in it in a way that pushed the definition of ‘sitting’ to its limit. It was hard to get a read on his expression due to the dark glasses on his face, and Loki felt rather exposed in comparison.
Aziraphale sat as well, smiling sympathetically at him. It made him feel marginally better.
The other man spoke first. “Sooo… Loki, yeah?” he said, tilting his head a bit. Loki simply nodded, not trusting his voice. He made the aborted motion of extending his hand, seemingly thinking better of it for some reason. “Crowley.” He said, with a small but decidedly sharp smile.
“I’m Aziraphale’s… ah.. erm-” He struggled for a moment before Aziraphale cut in. “Lover. He’s my lover.” he finished warmly. A flush traveled up the back of the other man’s neck, but he made sounds of agreement.
Loki didn’t know what to make of him. Until he figured it out, he had tea to finish, he supposed. Taking careful sips, he thought of ways to get his footing here. He could reveal his identity, he supposed. Though that wouldn’t likely end well with one (two?) immensely powerful beings in front of him.
Crowley interrupted his thoughts. “How’d ‘Zira come across you, kid?”
“I am not a child.” He says on instinct. Crowley looks skeptical. “I was… injured, and he came across me attempting to heal myself. He essentially kidnapped me in an attempt to help.”
Aziraphale spluttered. “I didn’t kidnap you! Truly! I just… changed our location to the bookshop so I could more easily assist in healing you.” He said frantically.
Crowley chuckled, looking amused at his expense. “You brought him to a second location, Angel? Oh goodness, I think that is kidnapping,” he said humorously.
Then he suddenly sobered. “Hold up, you were injured?” He asked, concern coloring his tone as he raked his eyes over Loki’s form, taking in the dried blood. Loki couldn’t parse out for the life of him why the man cared.
“Impaled.” Aziraphale blurted out, cringing afterwards.
Crowley looked over at Aziraphale, horrified. “What??” Loki rushed to clarify.
“It truly wasn’t that bad, I could’ve healed it myself just fine.” That didn’t seem to make it any better.
Crowley looked back over at him, and although Loki couldn’t see behind his glasses, his raised eyebrows seemed to imply that his eyes were blown wide. “Holy shit, kid!” He muttered, carding a hand through his hair.
“Not a child.” Loki repeated.
Crowley took a fortifying breath. Loki tried again.
“I’ve had worse, really. You needn’t make a fuss about it.” He said somewhat nervously. The man in front of him just looked mortified.
“Needn’t make a fuss?? Dear, you had a gaping hole in your chest!” Ah, and Aziraphale looked even more so.
"Yes, and I had a perfectly fine handle on it." he said, getting irritated.
Crowley nodded indulgently, attempting to placate him. "I'm sure you did."
Loki grit his teeth. He was not a child in need of coddling.
Aziraphale cleared his throat. "Ah- putting that aside for the moment," he paused. "Is there someone we can call? Surely somebody must be looking for you."
Loki twitched. "No. They likely think me dead. …Again." He added, like an afterthought. He averted his eyes from the two. "I don't wish to return."
Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged glances, seemingly having a nonverbal conversation. Loki wondered if that was a product of knowing each other extremely well, or if they had some sort of telepathic connection. The subtle expressions they were sharing seemed too nuanced to be just gestures.
"Were these people the ones who caused your… impalement?" Aziraphale asked carefully, turning back to him.
Loki raised an eyebrow.
"Um. Indirectly, I suppose, but no. I was mostly at fault." He paused, wondering whether it would be safe to explain further. Oh, to Hel with it, he thought. "I was in a… battle of sorts, and impaled the creature from behind. My blunder was not stepping away once I had done it. The creature turned and pulled me onto the sword as well. It narrowly missed my heart."
He stopped to evaluate the others' reactions, not sure whether to continue. He couldn't place the emotions on their faces, but there was no pity apparent. That was reassuring. He took a deep breath, ready to continue. Aziraphale interjected.
"You really needn't continue if you're uncomfortable, dear." Loki looked up, startled. Ah. One of the emotions he could parse out was concern. Touching .
"It's alright, truly. I fear the rest of the story is necessary for comprehension." He continued his explanation. "I knew the wound wouldn't be fatal, but my… companion, seemingly, didn't. He was under the impression I was dying. And I-" he stopped, "Hang on. Erm. I need to back up a moment."
He looked up to see them both looking at him with a ridiculous amount of patience. "Take your time, my dear. It's perfectly alright." Aziraphale smiled warmly.
Norns, how did I ever perceive him as a hostile? "Alright, erm. See, before I had been in this situation with my companion, I was- imprisoned." They didn't look surprised at that, for some reason. "I had only been released temporarily because they needed my expertise in navigating. Once the journey was over, I was to be put back into containment. And that wasn't overly pleasant, so I'm sure you can understand why I might not want to, eh, do that."
Crowley nodded, looking contemplative. "Yeah, no, makes sense."
Loki cleared his throat. Why in the Hel was this so difficult? "So, when my companion seemed under the impression that I was… soon to be deceased, I played along." Though the pain didn't take much acting, he thought ruefully. "I crafted a minor working to make myself appear more- dying, I suppose, and. 'Died' in his arms. Then once he was forced to leave my 'corpse' there, I hauled myself up and- brought myself here."
He slumped into the sofa, finished with his tale. Now all that was left to do was to wait for the moral lecture that was bound to come.
"Ngh, yeah, I- would've done like- the exact same thing."
Sorry, what?
He looked up to see Aziraphale looking pointedly at Crowley before turning back to him and humming.
"Yes, I suppose this was an understandable course of action." Aziraphale said thoughtfully. "As your story seems to imply that reasoning with your companion was off the table, it's entirely rational that you took the opportunity presented to you."
Loki stared at them blankly. I'm starting to think 'strange' was an understatement.
Aziraphale spoke again. "And- you said you had been imprisoned, dear? Did you commit a crime? Or were you wrongfully detained?"
Honestly, Loki thought, it was refreshing to speak to someone who didn't immediately assume his guilt. Still, he attempted to clarify.
"I don't- well-" He had a thought and revised his statement. "I suppose that the convicted receive a… trial on Mi-" Shit. "In most places, yes?"
He could see them cataloging his slip-up. Ugh. Wordsmith my arse.
Crowley nodded, waving his hand in a so-so motion. "Yeah, uh, most places." Aziraphale stilled at that. Hm.
"Well I suppose in that aspect I was… wrongfully imprisoned. I didn't have a trial, just a sentencing." Did Asgard even hold trials anymore? Or was the Allfather still not out of his 3,000 year power-trip?
"A life sentence in solitary confinement." He clarified.
Crowley looked slightly horrified at that, and Aziraphale's eyebrows were high on his forehead. "What crime-" Aziraphale began to ask.
"Angel, I hope you know that whatever you say next makes you a Grade-A Hypocrite." Crowley drawled, and Aziraphale looked affronted.
Loki knew a deflection tactic when he saw one, but he was grateful nonetheless.
Crowley addressed Loki now, a smirk playing on his features. "You wouldn't believe the number of times I've had to break this one out of jail." He jerked his thumb in Aziraphale's direction.
Loki's eyebrows rose. He would not have pegged the soft-spoken man to have been a criminal.
Aziraphale scoffed, turning his body to address Crowley directly. "As though you haven't been imprisoned before."
Crowley rolled his eyes. Or at least, Loki thinks he did based on the movement of his eyebrows. He couldn't very well see the man's eyes. "You were facing the death sentence, Angel. And for the record, I haven't actually been in prison before."
Aziraphale looked at him incredulously. "There is no way that's true." He said, narrowing his eyes slightly in disbelief.
"It is!" Crowley insisted, grinning now. " Never been imprisoned! Arrested, once, but never imprisoned."
"What on earth did you get arrested for?"
"Ngk- drunk driving, actually."
The two voices faded into familiar background noise for Loki.
Their bickering was somewhat comforting. He was getting tired of having to talk, anyway.
Aziraphale looked back at him, as though remembering he were there. "Well," he said, turning back forward, "I don't suppose you have a place to stay?" He asked softly.
The question gave Loki pause. What had his plan been when he chose to come to Midgard? Live on the streets, he supposed. It wasn't as though there was no shortage of mortals who would welcome him into their establishment.
He could've waited and hidden on the streets until he built up enough seidr to construct a glamour. Then he could've blended in with the mortals well enough to get along.
Yeah, he hadn't put much thought into it before, had he?
He was silent a bit too long, and they quickly took that as a no. "Well, if you want, you can stay here 'till you get back on your feet. Or, y'know, as long as you need." After a moment Crowley added- "We have a spare room."
Aziraphale looked over at him in mild confusion. "No we-" Crowley looked at him pointedly, not-so-subtly wiggling his fingers. Aziraphale's face split into a smile. "Oh, I suppose we do, don't we?" He said lightly.
Loki chose to ignore whatever that was in favor of addressing the part of it that had his thoughts screeching to a halt.
"...Why?"
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. "Why what, dear?" Crowley simply looked at him empathetically.
Loki spoke carefully. "What do you have to gain by letting me stay here?" These two men were swiftly destroying all his preconceived notions about strangers.
Crowley sighed. "Listen. I'm not about to throw a homeless and recently impaled kid- yes, yes, you're not a child, got it- out onto the streets." He cringed. "I don't need that on my conscience."
Loki was silent for a moment.
Aziraphale spoke kindly. "Just for the night? It's meant to get rather cold tonight. Then we can discuss this further when we're all rested."
Loki didn't bother to tell him that cold was actually a comfort. He sighed. "I suppose just the night couldn't hurt."
Aziraphale beamed at him, and Crowley seemed to slump in relief.
"Kay. Well, I'm exhausted, so I'm going to sleep." Crowley said, standing up from his chair and stretching. "C'mon kid, I'll show ya to your room." Loki resigned himself to the use of the word 'kid' for now, standing as well.
Crowley began to walk towards the door before he paused and looked back. "Might want to wash up first actually."
Loki looked down at himself and the dried blood surrounding his chest and abdomen, silently agreeing. Crowley started out the door, and Loki followed.
He spared a glance back to Aziraphale, who was busying himself with the tea tray, smiling to himself.
"Your clothes are a bit torn up, too, huh?" Crowley added as they tread down the hallway. "I think some of mine will fit you, if you're comfortable enough with that." Loki shrugged noncommittally. This felt surreally domestic.
…One night couldn't hurt.