Archive of Our Own

One of the things about the God of Lies and Stories that no one could argue with was his ability with illusion magic. He could craft false scenery so real you could feel the breeze on your face, a banquet table full of delicious food you could nearly taste, objects you could feel the weight of in one’s palm. He could even mimic the voices and appearances of people to the utmost degree. Loki’s studious observation of everything in his vicinity attributed to his recreations; even among the gods, his capability with his seidr had no equal.

It had been a long time since he had used this knowledge for anything other than what he referred to as parlor tricks: a quick trick to get the upper hand in combat, a shift in others’ perception so he could get by unseen, and his own glamour upon his own person to hide his… imperfections.

Today would be a good change of pace. It had been about a month since he and his older brother had been reunited. Loki had indeed died at the hands of the wicked overlord Thanos, yet miraculously revived by the victorious snap. It seemed the Norns would not let him go just yet. He and Thor had settled in New Asgard, and only recently started working with the Avengers again. His relationship with his brother had been going better than before, but Loki simply couldn’t get his brother’s friends to trust him.

Which, to be quite honest, was completely understandable and to be expected. Considering what they knew was his failed attempt to conquer New York, he had a lot to make up for. Thor had full faith that Loki would do the right thing in the end. The Avengers didn’t know him (or love him, his traitorous mind supplied) like his brother did. When asked, Thor advised him to have an open and honest (bleh) conversation about what had occurred in New York, what led him there, and who he was now. Damn him for his newfound emotional maturity.

Despite his own hesitation, Loki had agreed with him. Dying for a third time had changed something in him. Or maybe he’d always felt this way. Either way, Loki had nothing (and everything) to lose anymore. He was tired of his own games. He wanted his brother to know the truth, to know he loved him this entire time, and to trust him again. He wanted to be able to fight for what he believed in alongside the team.

But dreams do not become reality without hard work and effort. He had consistently helped his brother, aided his people in life on the Statesman and New Asgard, assisted the Avengers in difficult fights, and (hell) had even sacrificed his own life when Thanos arrived. Conversations needed to happen. It was time for the God of Stories to live up to his name. He was going to tell the team a tale of Loki.

Loki and Thor sat a comfortable distance apart on a couch in the living area in the Avengers Headquarters. Loki absently flipped through a book he’d read hundreds of times while trying to appear unbothered, anxious energy thrumming through his veins. He must’ve been failing since he could feel Thor’s gaze on him. He probably thinks he’s being subtle. A quick glance told him there was no disappointment in Thor’s eyes, only concern. More feelings bubbled up within Loki, but he couldn’t linger on it now, not when he had something he needed to do.

As if sensing his tumultuous emotions, Thor quietly turned to face him, setting his phone down. Softly, he asked, “Loki?”

Loki shook his head, keeping his gaze averted. He was fine. Also, he was definitely not dealing with this right now. He just wanted to get this over with. Loki closed his book and set it on the table next to him, there was no use pretending with that now, and the meeting should start soon anyways.

His brother slid closer to him, and raised a hand to hover over Loki’s, silently asking for permission. When he didn’t protest, Thor’s large, calloused hand tenderly enclosed his own. He’d be okay. They’d get through this together. Probably.

“Hey guys. I, uh, hope I’m not late,” Bruce said as he shuffled into the room. The rest of the team followed shortly after. Loki pretended to not notice the quizzical and apprehensive looks on their faces as everyone took their respective seats. His brother gently squeezed his hand before letting go, meeting his eyes for a moment. Just a soft reminder he wasn’t alone. That I don’t know what I did to deserve.

The Spider-Child, Peter asked, “Well, what did you call us here for?”

Time to rip the bandaid off, I believe the Midgard saying goes. Loki let out a deep breath, and looked up into the unfamiliar eyes of his peers, and slipped his usual mask of indifference on his face. “I have called you here to ask for a moment of your time. Upon consideration, and conversation with my brother, I would like to open up communication.” Thor gave him a supportive nod. “If you don’t mind, I would like to share a story. A tale of two brothers.”

He waited. In turn, each member of the team nodded in affirmation. That eased his tension, if only a small amount.

Loki spread his hands, feeling the usual rush of seidr in his palms. With a snap of his fingers, the living room around them melted away into a memory, replaced instead by glittering green and golden light. A new scene instantly formed around them; the ornate halls of Asgard accompanied the silhouetted forms of two boys. Loki, his voice even and steady, narrated, “This story begins as most do; there are elements you will be familiar with, and secrets which have yet to be unveiled. The truth of the events that play out depend on what you choose to believe.”

The illusion forms acted out what he narrated, a moving tableau of color and light. “This story begins with two young brothers. They were inseparable, despite their differences. They were two sides of the same coin; for what one was, the other was not. One was friendly to all, the other shy and reserved. One strong physically, the other weak and routinely ill. One pig-headed and short-tempered, the other patient and silver-tongued. One walked in the light, the other in shadow. One unburdened by the judgement of others, the other crushed under its weight. One was loved, the other was not.

‘“While the brothers were equally strong in their own ways, this is what eventually split them apart. They began spending more time apart as unseen feelings began to take root. While both brothers were princes in line for the throne, only the older brother received special privileges from their father. The younger brother studied magic from their mother instead. Their mother obeyed the will of their father, and her time with the younger brother became rare. The younger brother worked harder and harder to gain the respect of his family and peers. His gift with illusions resulted in his reputation as a liar, regardless of what he used them for. He slaved over court documents and treaties, learning the best ways to communicate and get what they needed, only for the credit to go to his brother. The younger brother spent countless years learning more skills, only for his father to tell him he wasn’t enough.

“The younger brother grew jealous. What had he done to deserve this? He couldn’t help but think there must be something wrong with him. And the other brother? His confidence grew into arrogance, which pushed both of them further apart. His gentle kindness mostly forgotten, his physical prowess turned to a brutish, foolhardy rage.

“The older brother ascended to the throne soon, an honor that he did not deserve. The younger knew that his brother just needed a push to return to who he used to be. Or perhaps, someone even better. A king he would be proud to serve. The younger brother set a plan in motion, each piece playing out precisely on schedule, to get his brother banished and redeemed, without any harm befalling his home.

“The younger brother had what some may consider a gift, but he considered it a curse. His ability to uncover the truth led to scandal and pain. This time, however, it was his own. After discovering hidden passages in where they lived, the younger brother stumbled on a box with mysterious power. Upon holding said box, he learned the truth of where he came from. His family was not his own, his beloved brother was not his, and, worst of it all, he was a monster living in human skin. The same type of monster in stories parents tell their kids to fear at night so they won’t misbehave. The same type of monster they had been taught to hate. He had been right to feel he never belonged, as he hadn’t in the first place.

“So, the younger brother did the only thing he could think of. He went to his father to ask him the truth. He,” Loki swallowed the lump in his throat. “He told him that all he had discovered was true. The younger brother asked, then, why make him a prince. His father told him he would never become king. That was the older brother’s birthright. The younger brother, his birthright was to die.”

Thor let out a gasp next to him. Loki ignored it and kept going.

“The younger brother knew his place. Yet he could not stand for it. All he wanted was to be equal to his brother, whom he loved most. His father hated him this entire time due to his origins, he thought, and everyone else must’ve sensed his differences somehow. The younger brother decided to prove his loyalties to his family by eliminating the monstrous race he hailed from. He didn’t want to be a monster. Not to them.

“Nothing played out according to plan. When the time came to pull the trigger, he couldn’t. When his brother came to stop him, he didn’t retaliate. He failed. Defeated on the bridge between worlds, clinging to the edge of reality, all he saw when he looked into his family’s eyes was hatred. The younger brother was doomed to be the villain of the story from the very beginning. It didn’t matter what he said or did; Father and the rest didn’t hate him for where he came from. Their hatred stemmed from his very core. He was wrong. But… the younger brother was okay with playing the villain, if it meant his brother now walked on the right path. He chose to end his story here. He let go.” The scene plunged into inky blackness.

The darkness pulled back to reveal a hulking silhouette everyone immediately recognized. The warlord stood before the crumpled younger brother, before dragging him away.

“And that’s when HE found him. The younger brother awoke to imprisonment, chained by the wrists, ankles, throat, and muzzled, unable to move. The enemy demanded servitude. A chance at “redemption,”” Loki spat the word out, disgusted. “They attempted to extract information, removing the muzzle only to get no response. The younger brother didn’t yield. He wouldn’t betray his family.

“The enemy changed tactics to torture. They started with physical torture: electrocution, starvation, extreme temperature exposure, and of course the classic brutality via weaponry. They rammed metal bars into the roof of his mouth when he talked back, only to remove them to dead silence. The little prince died for the first time here, speared through with jagged shards of metal. But they would not let him rest. His story didn’t end there.” Loki silently willed his voice to stop shaking. “The younger brother still did not yield. The enemy moved to phase two: mental torture. He re-lived his worst moments. Each disastrous decision, consequence, and punishment. Too creative to stop at reality, every nightmare appeared as his waking reality. His brother and mother, dead by his own traitorous hands. His-”

Loki stopped. Inhale. Exhale. Continue. “Nothing worked. The younger brother had his mind on his side. So the enemy took that away, as no mental fortitude can withstand the power of the Mind Stone. The enemy took control, and the following events smeared together in a haze of barely coherent thoughts. They forced him to hurt, steal, and say whatever they pleased. With the remaining scraps of his fractured mind, the younger brother figured out the best possible outcome. If he played his cards well, he could alert the world’s best players to the oncoming danger, and unite them. Like a team. Besides, the enemy hadn’t obtained the full scope of his abilities. Technically he lost the fight for the enemy, but he succeeded in his own goals. The ending battle even loosened the enemy’s grasp on his mind.

“He was free. Even though he was imprisoned, he was free. Momentarily. As his new reality started to settle in, he became increasingly aware of what had transpired. He was alone. Alone to do self-reflection, to stew in it. He was unable to explain he hadn’t been in control of his own actions. He asked himself what he’d done to deserve this, yet knew he deserved worse. If he hadn’t attempted heinous actions at home, hell, if he hadn’t fought his father at all, none of this would’ve happened. It was his fault.

“His mother’s murder sent him over the edge. He needed to do something. Anything. His brother offered him a deal, to avenge her life and set him free. He took his chance. The two brothers united as a team again, not without difficulties. They fought alongside each other until one fateful moment. It happened nearly instantly. The younger brother took a fatal blow meant for his brother. It wasn’t even a question in his mind: if it came down to his life or his brother’s, he knew who he would choose, every single time. The younger brother died for a second time.” The scene faded to black again.

“Defying all logic and explanation, the younger brother returned from his venture in limbo.” The scene came back into focus. It reflected the spoken words. “He came back exhausted and permanently scarred. Recharging his strength, he made the long journey home. His brother wasn’t home. His father proved incapable of ruling. The younger brother was the last of the royal family, so he needed to take his father’s place to keep everyone safe. But he couldn’t do so as himself. No one trusted him, he was a villain, a monster.

“So he took upon the guise of his father to rule until his brother returned. The younger brother felt sickened to his core. He was playing a role never meant for him, with the same appearance as the man who hated him. Day in and out, he worked hard to provide the care and attention the people needed. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. This he understood now more than ever.

“And then the world ended.” Loki was feeling exhausted. Talking didn’t take much effort. Honesty did. It felt strange. He took a moment to gauge the audience’s reaction. They seemed invested enough, he supposed. I just want this to be over. I don’t want to do this ever again. He looked to his side. His brother was crying, soundless as he rubbed his red eyes. Shit. I messed up again. I’m sorry, brother. I’ll get this over quick.

“The brothers were united again, to stop an unstoppable threat. This time, one their now dead father had created, their secret elder sister. They’d lost their home, as the only way to stop their sister from ruling all nine realms was for the younger brother to trigger the destruction of their home. He was temporarily trapped inside the palace, drained of enough seidr to teleport away, having used most of it for combat. The only way out was the damned cube. He didn’t want to die again. So… he used it.

“The younger brother threw himself into working to protect and care for everyone they rescued. He wanted a fresh start. The chance to prove to his brother that he was on his side. He always has been. It didn’t matter how people treated him, he healed their wounds, strategized routes, and gave up his rations. He’d lost everything except his brother. He couldn’t lose him too.

“But… the enemy from before had caught up to him. He’d played right into their hands. They must’ve done something to track him when he was their prisoner. They asked for the cube, or they’d kill everyone. And the younger brother knew, when it came to his life or his brother’s, what he would pick. Every. Damn. Time. He swore his undying loyalty to his only remaining family, almost his last words before the enemy killed him.”

With a flick of his wrist, Loki collapsed the illusion. It faded out in green and gold sparks. The cold metal and modern furniture returned to view, stark against the vibrant seidr he’d wielded. Here he sat, facing their judgement. He fought the urge to look away or flee. He took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, folding his hands on his lap. “And now we’re here. Are there any questions?”

Almost instantly, questions started pouring in from all sides of the room.

“You’ve died three times?”

“So you didn’t want to conquer New York?”

“Why did you come back here?”

“You have a sister?”

“I thought Odin was the All-Father. Why would he act like that?”

“How’re we supposed to know if this is true?”

They might as well have just dumped a bucket of ice water on his head. If they had done so literally he would’ve turned blue, so he was glad they hadn’t done that— dammit! That’s completely not the point. Where am I even supposed to start? What do I do— how to say— I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. His head was reeling, thoughts blurring together. Instinctively, he looked to his older brother. Thor hadn’t said anything yet. He looked decidedly broken. Are you happy now, Father? Happy I still can’t do anything right? Not even with the best of intentions—

“Brother?” Thor asked, the sound wobbly and hesitant. “What did they do to you?”

His sincerity could’ve killed him. The air left his lungs as tears welled up without permission. “What?”

“[What did they do to you, little brother?]” Thor repeated in their native language. How incredibly unfair. Loki blinked. His face felt wet. He couldn’t breath, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. There must’ve been conversations happening around them, but to him, the world fell dead silent. Minutes had passed. It felt like hours. He needed to pull himself together, finish what he started. He closed his mouth, swallowed the tears, and then spoke.

“Yes, I have died thrice. No, I’m not sure how I managed to come back each time. No, I never wanted to conquer any part of Midgard.” His throat felt dry, his voice sounded too flat. He may be a master of linguistics, and the God of Stories, but communication was so difficult. “I came back to be with my people, to make New Asgard our new home, and to stand by my brother’s side once again. And… as I said, it’s up to you to believe what you will. I do not ask for forgiveness, nor do I ask for your sympathy.”

Stark demanded, “What did you take from Asgard? Some kind of super weapon?”

“The Tesseract, but that’s it.”

“Nothing else?!” Came the shouted response.

“No! Just the Tesseract!”

That seemed to snap Thor out of his mental spiral. Confused, he asked, “You did what?”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Loki realized that he’d raised his voice. He never did that. There was no point in maintaining his usual mask, but it still pained him to witness it shattering into pieces. “If I hadn’t taken it I would’ve died with Asgard! I didn’t want to take it! Though, maybe it would’ve prevented the attack on the Statesman had I been incinerated in the vault with it…”

“No! Norns no! I have never wished you dead, nor would I even consider that as a valid option.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t blame me for the attack? Loki avoided looking at him, knowing there would be some sentimental expression in his eyes. Not dealing with that right now.

The uncomfortable silence was broken by a question. “I’m sorry if this is rude, but is this what you… really look like?”

“It depends on what answer you’re looking for.”

Thor softly cleared his throat, hinting that he needed to keep going.

“As a shapeshifter, I can take many forms. Each are all myself, yet appear different from each other. If you are referring to the glamour,” Loki snapped his fingers, removing his comfortable mask of perfection. “Then this is what my Aesir form truly looks like.”

He knew what they saw. Dark circles around his eyes betrayed his exhaustion, his face a shade paler than normal. And then there were the scars. A few scattered across his face, less prominent than the rest. Leftover signs of strangulation tainted his throat. Slim scars traced the curvature of the visible skin on his arms. Jagged markings marred his slender hands and wrists, left from when they stabbed metal to hold him down, more brutal than the usual leather straps. Countless other markings covered his body, hidden by his clothing. The worst of which being the black wound carving a line up his torso. That one had never properly healed. It still looked as fresh as the day he had gotten it.

“But, perhaps you mean this instead.” Loki shed his Aesir form. Icy blue skin decorated with runes, blood red eyes, and blackened claws for nails… Jotunn traits. Still unmistakably him. The same blemishes. The same face. Just… the true monster within on display. “So, now you see me.”

Surprised murmurs arose from the audience. His brother seemed surprised to see this form, but there wasn’t a trace of hatred in his eyes. Only something bordering on sadness. Strange. I can remember a time where that would’ve been different. All these eyes on him were starting to become unbearable. He snapped his fingers. Sheltered behind his Aesir form and his glamour, he sighed in relief. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yes—”

“Wait!” Peter said on impulse. “Does that mean you’re not Asgardian?”

“No—” Loki was cut off as his brother threw a protective arm in front of him, anger coloring his face with its red hue. Thor spoke, voice even and controlled, “Though he was not born of Asgard, he is one of our own. He has the same right as I do to claim this identity.” Thor looked back at him, something indistinguishable in his eyes. “That is, if he desires to do so.”

Loki raised one eyebrow in response. Thor retracted his arm, realizing what he’d done. “My apologies, brother.”

“It’s quite alright. To answer your question, my bloodline hails from Jotunheim. But, my brother is right. My family is from Asgard.”

Bruce asked, “So, uh, is it tiring keeping that up all the time? Um, the glamour, I mean.”

“No. I don’t really even have to think about it anymore, honestly.”

“Do you think we could run some tests—”

“Absolutely not.”

Peter jumped in to ask, “How do you get your god powers? Or are those just normal on Asgard?”

“Our father determined what our titles would be. There’s a ceremony for it.”

Thor added, “Mjolnir is where my powers came from, initially. He gave it to me at that ceremony.”

“He didn’t give me anything, except for the role I’ve played for so long. Though I suppose that ‘The God of Lies’ is better than ‘The God of Catastrophic Failure.’” Loki mused. His brother elbowed him lightly.

Stark again jumped in with a question. “A good alibi, isn’t it? How do you expect us to believe you’ll be content with playing a hero? I don’t care about your sob story, what’s to prevent you from trying to take control again?”

Loki grabbed Thor’s wrist before he could move. Their eyes met, frustration evident in the furrow of his brother’s brow. Loki shook his head slightly, trying to tell him it wasn’t worth it. “The person who tried taking over was. Not. Me. I used to think I wanted to rule, but I know now that was never what I wanted.”

Loki loosened his grip on his brother’s wrist, sliding his hand down to hold his hand, a gesture that was instantly reciprocated. Loki continued, “The whole reason for having this conversation was to take accountability for what I’ve done, regardless of if I was in control or not. I have done countless things wrong. Besides, I’m tired of running.” Running from my mistakes, from dealing with the consequences, running from my family… I just wanted a home. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t keep lying to myself  

Loki exhaled a tired sigh. “That’s all I have to say, really. Thank you for your time.”

Loki and Thor quietly packed up their few things they had brought, everyone else had been long gone at this point, and began walking out of the compound. It was an uneasy silence, interrupted only by the sound of their shoes.

“Loki?”

He held the door open for his brother as they finally made it outside. “Yes, brother?”

“Why hadn’t you told me any of this before?”

“Um,” Loki was uncharacteristically caught off guard. He supposed he should’ve expected the question. “I do believe you know the answer to that already.”

“Loki—”

“I guess it’s more in the spirit of communication to say it directly.” He stopped in place. He made direct eye contact despite how uncomfortable it felt. His brother halted, watching him patiently. “I didn’t think you would’ve believed me. I don’t, I can’t- I can’t lose you again.”

Loki looked down to his shoes. There were imperfections in the pavement, cracks from wear and tear. Fascinating stuff.

“I’m not going anywhere, brother.” There was that gentleness that Loki didn’t deserve again. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. I wish I could’ve prevented all the pain you’ve gone through, but I am here for you now. And that’s never going to change.”

“So, we’re okay?”

“Yes. We’re okay.” A pause. “What do you need right now, Loki?”

“I want to go home.”

“Okay. Let’s go!”

Loki stood on the porch of their shared house, leaning against the railing. Brilliant stars pierced the darkness of the night. A soft breeze rustled the bushes he and his brother planted together, clustered in an aesthetically pleasing way around the path leading home. Loki mindlessly gazed into space, until his eyes caught on something next to him, its glass walls reflecting the astral light.

Loki and Thor had spent the course of several days building a greenhouse for the former to plant the seeds he’d saved from Asgard. Specifically, seeds from Mother’s favored garden. Gazing on it now, Loki only felt guilty. Usually it was a positive memory. He remembered the look of pure joy radiating off of Thor’s face after he’d finished staking the last flowerbed, beaming as sweat covered his reddish face. His brother loved him.

Loki turned to instead look behind him. Their shared home, his home loomed over him. A comforting sight, that to his eyes, in this moment, left an uneasy pressure in his chest. Thor had lived here by himself before Loki’s return. Yet, he had immediately let him stay. Loki thought about the bookshelves peppering the walls that Thor put together, so Loki would have a place to put the books he’d rescued from Asgard. Loki had his own bedroom, decorated as he pleased, although he opted to sleep curled up next to his brother. His bedroom served as his office and where he practiced magic and mixed potions. His brother let him reorganize to his heart’s content, and then respected it, always putting things back in the right place. He recognized his particularities about cleanliness as well. Thor let him do all of this. Welcomed it. No questions asked. His brother loved him.

But why me? Loki turned back to the stars, leaning against the railing. The same railing he and his brother had painted over. A sigh escaped his mouth, barely audible over the sound of the front door opening. His brother made his way to his side, mimicking his posture. Loki looked up at him. Lines of cautious worry contorted his face, eyes shining gently in the night. Sentimental fool. Why is he even worried about me? Loki thought. After everything I’ve done, why haven’t you given up on me, brother?

“Loki?” Thor’s subdued voice cut through the silent air. Dammit, did I say that last part out loud? “Loki, brother, I would never give up on you.”

“After everything I’ve done?” Loki shot back, anger seeping into his voice. “I’ve hurt people! I’ve hurt you! I’m not even your real brother, Thor. I’m a monster. You should know that better than anyone”

“Loki, look at me!” He obliged. His brother’s face ran with tears, his eyes looked panicked. Thor’s hand came up to envelop his shoulders. He was kind, even now. Why? “Do you remember what you said today? Even when I was a jerk to you, when I abandoned you for my own arrogance when you needed me, you never gave up.”

“But that’s different!”

“How is it different? Yes, you’ve made some bad decisions, but there was never doubt in my mind that you would return to the right path. I’ve been ready to support you no matter what you decide to do. You’ve lied, you’ve tricked me, and you’ve hurt me, but I know you, brother. I know who you are. You’re my trusted advisor, my best friend, and my baby brother. You’re the same person who learned healing magic to patch me up after a fight, the same person who comforted me when I had nightmares, the same person who gave the best gifts, the same person who remembered whenever I had something going on, and the same person who let me ramble on about something I cared about even when it didn’t apply to you. You’re thoughtful, resourceful, kind, curious, and one of the smartest people I know. And I can still see all of that in you—”

“I don’t–”

Thor scooped him into a hug, firm but not tight. Loki buried his face into his brother’s shoulder, and clung to the soft fabric of the back of his shirt. He choked out a muffled sob. “I know who you are, Loki. You are no monster. You’re a good man.”

Thor loosened his grip, pulling back far enough to place their foreheads together. He spoke, almost whispering, “I know who you are.”

Loki shivered with the intensity of his voice, quiet but devastatingly sincere.

“And I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He felt the press of his brother’s lips on his forehead. He tugged him back in for a hug, Thor’s hand moving to comb through his hair. “I think Mother would be proud of us.”

“Yeah?” Loki let out a silent laugh.

“Yeah. You did good today. Thank you for trusting us with your story. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Mhmm.” Loki groaned. “You truly are a fool.” There was no bite in his words. Thor had noticed, given he’d rolled his eyes. Loki relinquished his hold on his brother. Thor acquiesced, and led him back inside.

“Now what?”

“Now is time for sleep, dear brother,” Loki declared. “As for the rest, we will figure it out together.”

“Together!” Thor beamed at him.

Loki returned his smile with a smaller one, soft but genuine.

“Together.”