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"I'm afraid your story doesn't end just yet", and the smile accompanying the words has been the thing of Magnus' nightmares for last two years.
*
Shield had been quite eager to keep him, but he had been adamant in his decision to return to Ystad, to life he knew, was comfortable with. To his team, if they still wanted him, to his job – solving crimes and catching the bad guys – bad guys he could deal with – he would even welcome the paperwork.
After months and months of therapy, of skin grafts and endless string of men in suits who kept an eye on him, he was more than ready to leave it all behind – to file it in a neat little mental folder 'things I want to forget, but I know I won't, but I will try my damn best to'.
*
His house is dusty, electricity and water cut off, but it's nothing that can't be dealt with. He walks like a blind man – keeps a hand on the wall as he takes in the scents and noises and that relief of 'home home home finally home my home'.
All the things he believed he would never ever come back to.
*
Life is starting to look good again. It was rough at first, but he expected it – the disbelief, the "What the hell happened to you?!", "Where have you been all this time?!", "Almost two years, damn you!"
They don't tell him, but he knows a 'we thought you were dead' lurks beneath the surface. They still have a place for him, a job he still believes in. He says "I've had an accident", he says "I really, really can't talk about it", says "I'm sorry."
After few drinks, he might say "Aliens. I ran over an alien and he took me to his home planet, and we used to worship them as gods." And they would nod nod nod and not pry anymore, just share meaningful looks. He might, uncharacteristically, say "Fuck you" to that, but he knows, in their place, he would do the same.
Sometimes they look at his scars (those they can see, at least – he never showed any of them the ones on his arm and chest) and he sees a burning curiosity – wish to touch them, to ask once again.
*
But life is good. They catch thieves, murderers, rapists – and they are all human, just human – no superpowered beings, no mythical creatures, no strange artefacts that break laws of physics. He never once complains about paperwork, and he knows Kurt's eyes follow him worriedly – Kurt yearns for him to fight back, to complain, to say "I don't wanna do this, I want to go out with the rest of you, I'm not going through piles and piles of papers on the off chance that I will find something useful."
Doing paperwork won't make his insides spill over the dirty pavements – won't make him jump into a fire for an ancient lunatic.
*
Routine is good. Habits are easily slid into. Morning coffee and toast, newspapers. Jogging again. Work hours, that he steadily prolongs, because they occupy his attention. No time to think of golden haired aliens and their crazy brothers. No time to remember golden place and golden apples and suspicious eyes.
If his dreams stray down the forbidden paths...well. He refuses to remember them come morning. He is healing (not physically, because the doctors did all they could, and even though his scars are not as bad as they could've been, his skin is never gonna be smooth again), but mentally, he thinks he is better.
Days slowly turn into months and months bleed into year already.
Magnus can again get annoyed at little things he was impassive to in the beginning. He can smile more easily – less effort and more sincerity.
Lisa offered to give him prolonged leave at first, suggested he might see a therapist. He refused both, replying that work and his teammates would be better for him.
Sometimes they all go out for drinks, and Magnus is relaxing.
*
It's not alarm that wakes him up, or a phone call from Kurt. The bed shifts somewhere near his feet – an added weight. He fights sleep when a voice, velvet and contemplative, pierces through warm clouds and haze.
"You are more resilient than I thought."
And he shots upright, hand going for a gun he keeps at his bedside table.
*
Two years, his mind supplies, just two years.
*
Loki disappered just as swiftly and quietly as he appeard. Magnus thinks about calling in sick, but he can't stay alone here. His home is not safe. Not that anywhere is safe anymore. Not if Loki is on the loose again.
He is twitchy the whole day, enough to warrant comments and worried questions. He jumps at shadows and he is sure that in the background noise he hears a laughter, poisonous and vicious and – he shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be here, don't let him be here.
*
But Loki is sitting in his armchair, regal and elegant, hair longer and smile wilder. He gestures for Magnus to sit as well, and his feet carry him without his command.
*
"What are you doing here?" he whispers, terrified. Shouldn't he be locked up somewhere, chained and gagged and hidden from the worlds?
Loki smiles, kindly, answers the questions he doesn't ask.
"I was indeed imprisoned. Foolish thing to do, but our dear sentimental Thor couldn't bear the thought of executing me."
Somewhere, Magnus finds the strenght to answer. "That sounds like Thor. Not that I agree with him."
"Ah, so you do have some spine. I was wondering what Thor saw in you, besides your looks."
"What are you doing here?" he repeats, firmer. His hands grip the armrests.
"It's a pity for you, to resemble me so much. But it makes my job easier."
*
Magnus wakes up in his own bed, and Loki is standing beside him. Only, he doesn't look like Loki. He looks exactly like Magnus, down to every blonde curl and the scars left from skin grafting.
"They bound my magic and stilled my tongue", Loki says quietly. "They enchanted the cell, kept a very close eye on me. But they kept forgetting one thing. They despise magic and never tried to invent something new, to better the old ways. And I, I've learned so much in places between realms. They have no ways to keep me contained."
Magnus can't move, but he flinches when Loki's fingers carefully thread through his hair.
"I was promised something, should I fail. No realm, no barren moon, they said", Loki continues.
Magnus thinks he sees where this is going. No, his mind whispers, please don't, not anymore, please don't, I've had enough.
"I will be grateful for something as sweet as pain, they promised. Oh, hush now."
Magnus is crying. He wishes to die. He can't bite off his tongue.
"Think of it this way. You will help get realms rid of Chitauri. Because, once Thor finds out they took you – me – he will wage war on them. And he will win.
I have no doubt they will do awful things to you, and even worse when they realise you are not me. But it's all for the greater good."
*
The last thing he remembers is Loki's smile on his own marred face as he brought him to this cold, dark place, left him alone and barely able to move – looking to anyone who might watch as a sick, exhausted god, who used up all his energy to escape his prison.
"Heimdall", he whispers. "Heimdall, are you watching?"
Before he can beg for help, a hand settles on his shoulder, and cold dread stops his heartbeats.