Archive of Our Own ^beta

At first, running had made so much sense. Loki had woken, confused, frightened, and surrounded by strangers. There was someone there claiming to be his brother Thor, as if Loki were foolish enough to believe him. The shape was convincing, very much what Thor might look like fully grown, but the shifter had overdone the performance with his claims of love. Oh, Loki knew (hoped) that Thor cared, but to embarrass himself by admitting it? That was far more unbelievable than the idea that Thor was suddenly an adult. There were spells that could cause someone to age rapidly, but Loki was quite convinced that no magic in the Nine Realms could convince Thor to talk so openly about feelings. Whoever this imposter was, it certainly wasn’t his brother.

Then the other boy had smirked at him, mischievous in a way Loki recognized immediately. Their escape hadn’t taken long at all, with Loki’s talent for magic and Clint’s talent for being exactly where he shouldn’t working together to confound the adults looking for them. They had run, and Clint had told him about this Midgardian institution called a “circus” where kids like them would be welcomed. Kids like them. Loki hadn’t ever been part of a “them” before. It was oddly…nice.

It hadn’t lasted long before Father found them, face dark and foreboding. Apparently he had not been pleased by the mortals’ incompetence in losing Loki in the first place. He had used magic to discern their location, although it had taken some time for him to translate what he saw into something the mortals could use as a landmark. (Loki made a mental note to look into ways of blocking scrying spells, when he had access to the library again. It wouldn’t do to be so easily found.)

Father had brought with him the shapeshifter, (who apparently wasn’t an imposter after all), and a few of the Midgardians in their identical black clothing. Running from mortals was one thing, but Loki wasn’t foolish enough to run from the Allfather. (No matter how much fun the “circus” would have been.) Clint had taken more convincing, but Loki’s reluctance to leave finally persuaded him to stay as well. Loki was grateful. He liked Clint, and didn’t want him to go away so soon.

Suddenly they were being ushered into one of the strange metal contraptions the Midgardians used for transport. Clint looked like he wanted to bolt again, but Loki took his hand and squeezed. Thor did that sometimes, when Loki was nervous, (not scared, he was big now, too old to be scared). It helped.

When they were back at the same metal building they had left just a few days before, the Midgardians led them into a room. Another man was there, with an eyepatch like Father’s. Others were there as well: a man who was blonde and muscular, (making him look a little like the new, adult Thor), two other men far too small to be true warriors, and a woman whose eyes were fixed on Clint. Most importantly, as far as Loki was concerned, Mother was there. She looked relieved to see him, but remained still.

“So you finally managed to retrieve our runaways? Man, who would’ve thought you could cause so much damage with baking supplies. Should I be looking into this? Is this a thing now?” The slender not-warrior would have continued talking, but the man with the eyepatch sent a glare his way reminiscent of the Allfather in his worst moods. Wisely, the not-warrior closed his mouth and said no more.

Having subdued the talkative mortal, the man turned his attention back to Father. “Now that we’ve brought them back, I’m assuming you can fix the problem.”

Father sighed, then looked down at Loki. For a moment he simply observed, as if making a decision. Finally he nodded. “I can return your agent to his rightful age and memories. However, it would be for the best if Loki were to remain as he is.”

By this point, Loki had figured out that he was missing years. A lot of years, judging by the adult that was his brother. Both Father and Mother also looked a little older than memory suggested they should, and it made far more sense for him to have been made younger than for everyone else to have been made older. But why would Father not want to return him to his proper age? Thor shifted slightly, but said nothing. Mother merely looked sad.

The man with the eyepatch raised an eyebrow. “Whatever you want, he’s your kid. But give me back my agent. Now.”

Loki nearly gasped aloud at the thought of anyone daring to give the Allfather an order, but to his surprise Father said nothing. Instead, he moved forward and placed his hands on Clint’s head. Clint looked like he would rather be anywhere else, and Loki gave his hand another reassuring squeeze. Whatever was happening, whatever reason Father had for wanting to leave Loki as he was, Father wouldn’t hurt Clint. Loki was certain of that much.

Father began to chant, a low, soothing murmur. For a few minutes nothing seemed to happen, but then his hands began to glow. Suddenly, the hand Loki was holding was much larger, with new callouses on the fingers. He looked up, and although he had been expecting it he was still shocked by how much taller his friend had grown. Clint looked startled, then confused, then suddenly, impossibly angry. He jerked his hand out of Loki’s like it burned him.

“Clint?” It was the woman, the one who had not taken her eyes off Clint since they walked in the door.

Clint’s lips thinned. “Yeah, I’m good. Fucking tired of magic screwing around in my head, but good.” He glanced down at Loki, and the rage in those eyes was startling. What had he done? Why did his friend suddenly hate him?

Without a second glance back, Clint walked over to the woman. They spoke for a few moments, voices low enough that Loki couldn’t make out what they were saying. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know anyway.

Mother frowned for a moment, looking between Loki and Clint, before pasting a smile on her face, (the false one she used in court, with people she secretly disliked). “Director Fury, I believe my husband has some things he wishes to discuss with you. Could I perhaps take my son to a different room? It has been a rather long day for him, and he needs rest.”

Director Fury, (so that was the man’s name), nodded. “Understandable. I’ll have one of my agents show you around. Just keep him out of trouble.” One of the black-clothed Midgardians stepped forward with a polite smile, and Loki fell into step behind him and Mother. Thor looked torn, but stayed behind.

They maneuvered their way through a few twisting hallways, before entering a smaller, cozier room. This room had windows and comfortable-looking furniture, and Mother sat down in one of the chairs, beckoning Loki to join her. The Midgardian who had brought them here left the room, still without saying a word.

“My son, why not rest for a while? Your father needs to speak to the mortals, and it will be some time before he returns.”

Loki frowned. “Mother, why did Father decide to leave me at this age? Did I do something wrong?”

Mother got a strange look on her face. It was one Loki had never seen before, and he couldn’t read it at all. Then she smiled, the court-smile.

“No Loki, you did nothing wrong.” The subject was closed, at least for the moment. That didn’t change the fact that for the first time in his life, Loki was certain his Mother was lying.

The time passed slowly. Loki knew he was supposed to be resting, but he couldn’t sleep. To please Mother he rested his head on the arm of the couch and closed his eyes. But with them closed, all he could focus on was the look on Clint’s face after his memories had been restored. He had hated Loki. Why? What had Loki done? Had he lost his memories as some sort of punishment? Was that why Father didn’t want to bring him back? The questions circling through his mind prevented any sort of relaxation.

After an uncertain amount of time the door opened once again. Loki opened his eyes and sat up quickly, watching Father walk into the room. He looked tired.

Mother hadn’t moved. “Well? What did the mortals say?”

“It took some time, but Director Fury finally agreed to our proposal.”

“That is good.” Mother sighed, her posture altering as her muscles relaxed. “Yes, that is good.”

Loki was fairly certain his input wasn’t wanted, but his curiosity could not be contained. “What proposal?”

Both Father and Mother looked at him, odd expressions on their faces. It was almost like they had forgotten he was there until he spoke. Perhaps they had. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Mother was the first to respond. “Loki, my son…we feel it might be for the best if you were to remain here. Just for a short while.”

Here? On Midgard? “Is this for the same reason you decided not to return me to my real age?”

Father sat down on another chair. “Yes, my son. It is a long story, but…your older self…” He trailed off, as if uncertain how best to continue.

The memory loss had been a punishment then. What had he done?

“Crimes were committed, that the people of Asgard will remember and for which they will want…justice. Some people were hurt. Others died. You tried to kill your brother and his friends.”

Thor? He’d tried to kill Thor?

“However, it was not…entirely…your fault. You were upset and frightened, lashing out at those you thought had betrayed you. I do not believe your original intent was to hurt anyone.”

Except it had been. It must have been. Why would everyone have been looking at him that way, with suspicion and anger, if he hadn’t meant to hurt anyone? If it hadn’t been his fault, entirely his fault, why did Clint hate him now?

Mother took over. “It does not matter. What was done was done, but you are not to blame for it. You do not remember what happened, or why, and are completely innocent of the crimes committed by your older self. We just need some time to explain that to the people of Asgard, to ensure that no one punishes you for things beyond your control.”

“But…what if it happens again? What if I hurt more people?” Loki’s voice trembled, though he tried his best to hide it. Princes of Asgard do not cry.

Father and Mother exchanged a complicated look over his head. For a moment it looked like they were arguing without saying a word, before Father finally sighed and nodded. Mother turned back to him.

“You are our son Loki. You always have been and always will be. The madness experienced by your older self was because he doubted that. He discovered, at a most inopportune time, a truth we had kept from him. Perhaps we should not have, but we thought it was for the best...” Mother’s voice trailed off, and she gazed into the distance, looking at nothing. Or maybe at a figure that now existed only in her memories. Loki couldn’t tell.

“What did he find out? What truth?”

“My son…you were not, in fact, born of Asgard. We adopted you as an infant, and raised you as our own.”

Father continued speaking, but Loki could barely hear him. Only fragmented words made their way into his consciousness. War. Jotunheim. Temple. Laufey.

Laufey’s son.

Loki couldn’t hold it in any longer. Prince of Asgard or not, (not, not, he was never of Asgard at all), he started to cry.

Mother held him close to her, as Loki couldn’t remember her doing for a long time. Father stroked his hair. Both of them assured him, repeatedly, that he was their son. That his birth didn’t matter, (but it did, it had to, this explained everything). Neither spoke of love.

When Loki finally stopped crying, his head hurt, his eyes hurt, and he was very, very tired. Mother and Father were still there, holding him. Mother’s own eyes looked a little watery, (tears? It couldn’t be, queens cried even less than princes), but she smiled at him nonetheless.

“Do you understand now?” Father’s voice. Not-Father? He kept saying Loki was his son, but did that necessarily mean he was Loki’s father? Did the possession go both ways?

Regardless of his inner thoughts, there was a question to be answered and only one possible answer to give, when Father used that tone of voice. “Yes Father.”

Father smiled at him too, now that the answer was correctly given. “Good. Do not worry. Your stay here will be short, and soon you will be able to return to Asgard. Thor will be here, as well, to look after you.”

Thor? His brother (not-brother) who was so much bigger than Loki now? Thor, who had sworn to slay all the monsters? Did Thor know the truth? He must not, could not, he would never have allowed Loki to live if he knew.

Loki knew it was useless, but felt he had to try. “I did something to the mortals too, didn’t I? To Clint? Why then is it safer for me here?” His voice broke. “Why not just let me come home?”

“Midgardians are a forgiving people.” Father’s voice was firm. “More so, perhaps, than our own. They have less time to hold grudges. And they have no interest in harming children. It may be difficult, at first, but they will see you for who you are, not who you used to be. You will make friends here, I am certain of it.”

How long was he expected to stay? Father and Mother kept saying it would be only for a short time, but they also expected him to be here long enough to make friends. Make friends, as if that were possible. He had spent his whole life on Asgard and had no one that was truly his friend, not Thor’s. Clint had been his first friend, and that had ended as soon as he remembered what Loki had done and the hatred entered (returned to?) his eyes.

Mother was standing, smoothing her skirts (wiping away the traces of Loki’s presence). Father stroked Loki’s hair one last time, then stood as well. “We must return to Asgard now. I am sorry that we cannot stay longer, but the sooner we return the sooner we can convince the people of your innocence.”

Innocence. As if he were innocent, as if Loki had not done those horrible things, (hurting people, trying to kill Thor). But he had, for all that he could not remember it.

Innocence. As if a Frost Giant monster could ever be innocent of anything.

After Mother and Father left, Thor showed him to a set of rooms that he explained now belonged to Loki. The rooms were barren and impersonal, but Thor told him that he could order decorations. All he needed to do would be to ask one of the mortals for assistance, and they would help him. Another reminder that Loki was expected to stay here, that these rooms were now supposed to be home. After all, Asgard could hardly be home to a monster.

Loki refused to speak, and soon enough Thor left him to get used to his new rooms. He paused in the doorway, looking back at Loki sadly, before finally saying “Good night, brother.” The door closed behind him.

Brother. Mother and Father hadn’t told him then, as if Loki needed more proof than his continued existence. Thor wanted to be a mighty hero, and what better way to become a hero than by killing a monster? Monsters didn’t deserve to live, after all.

Loki didn’t deserve to live.

No matter what Mother and Father had said, Loki knew that the horrible things he had done would inevitably be repeated. Frost Giants were wicked, vengeful, evil creatures. It was their nature. It was their blood. Perhaps Loki had escaped this long because of his Asgardian upbringing, but nothing could thwart it forever.

Even before he remembered the truth, Clint had still known. They had played games of make-believe together, and Clint had been Hawkeye, the hero, while Loki had been Merlyn, a villain. Thor’s friends knew it too, when they insisted that he play the villain’s role if he wanted to be allowed to join their games. Perhaps they didn’t know he was a Frost Giant, but they must have sensed something evil in him. He might try to fight it, but his nature would prevail. He was destined to always be the villain, never the hero.

Except maybe there was a way. A single path he could take, to prevent him from once again hurting the people he loved. One became a hero by slaying a monster. Perhaps it could still count when the monster was yourself?

Loki left his room, slightly surprised to find the door unlocked. Evidently the mortals did not fear the monster in their midst as much as they should. The hallways were shadowed and silent. Enough time had passed that everyone should be asleep, or at least relaxing in their own rooms. He remembered passing a kitchen on the way here. Thor had carefully pointed it out, telling him to help himself to any of its contents if he felt hungry. He made his way back there now.

The knife block on the counter contained a large variety of blades. Most were too small or dull for Loki’s purposes, but he found one that would do and returned to his rooms. Once inside, he examined the blade carefully, considering the best method. He lacked the strength to properly swing a sword, but even his strictest instructors had to admit he had a talent for daggers. When working with such a small blade, it was important to know exactly where to put it. Loki had always been a fast learner.

Had he been fighting another opponent, he might have considered a blow to the heart. But the angle was awkward, and there was a risk of lodging the blade in a rib rather than hitting anything vital. No. When attempting to kill someone (yourself) with a knife, it was best to go for the throat.

Loki took a deep breath, turning the knife around in his hands, watching the overhead light reflect off the blade. At least this would be quick. Closing his eyes, he placed the blade to his throat and dragged it across.

“Shit!”

He had expected pain and a few moments of bleeding, followed rapidly by darkness. He had expected to collapse to the floor and die, alone, as a monster should. He had not expected to see a small grate in his room fly open, with Clint appearing out of nowhere as if summoned by magic. He had not expected Clint, who hated him now, to be dragging the blanket off the bed and holding it to his throat, trying to slow the flow of blood. (He was on the ground? When had he fallen?)

“Thor! Dammit, fucking hell, THOR!”

Loki heard the door fly open, banging against the wall. Clint started to speak, but the sound of running feet drowned out the words. Clint cursed again, but the feet returned just a few seconds later. Thor appeared in Loki’s line of sight, holding…a healing stone? Where had he gotten…

“Loki, brother? Hold on, let the magic work, Loki? Loki?”

His throat hurt. That was the first thing he noticed, upon awakening. What had woken him up? He was tired, so tired, all he wanted to do was go back to sleep.

Then he heard the voices.

“…saw him in the kitchen grabbing a knife, thought he might be up to something.” The sound of a throat clearing. “Guess he was.”

“You have our gratitude.” Mother? Why was she here? Hadn’t she gone back to Asgard? “Had you not followed him…”

“He would have died.” Clint’s voice. Angry. Why was he angry? Why was he here? “Do you have any idea why this happened? He was fine when he was with me, until you started talking to him.”

Mother began to protest, but Clint wasn’t finished. “Hell, were you expecting this? ‘Cause I gotta say, the magical whatever-it-was Thor had was useful, saved Loki’s life, but I talked to him and he said you gave him the damn thing right before you left. If you did know, it might have been nice to get a heads up that your son was suicidal before he slit his own throat.”

The sudden sharp crack of a palm against a face nearly startled Loki into moving, but he managed to hold still. “Are you accusing me of, of driving my son to suicide? Of knowing he was planning this and doing nothing? The healing stone was left in case there was an emergency! I certainly never expected, we never thought…”

Mother’s voice broke off into sobs, and Loki couldn’t stop himself from opening his eyes. She was standing nearby, her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. Across from her was Clint, a red mark on the side of his face. His expression was angry, but also a little…guilty? He had done nothing wrong, unless you counted making Mother cry, so why would he feel that way?

Clint turned towards the bed. His eyes widened, and the guilty look became more pronounced for a moment. “Uh, maybe we should…finish this later. Loki’s awake.”

Mother’s head jerked up and she whirled around. “Loki? Loki, my son, my son…” She quickly moved to the bed and took Loki’s hand in hers. “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

Clint cleared his throat awkwardly. “He could probably use some water, well, ice chips, Bruce says they’re better for him right now.” A moment’s pause. “I’ll just go let Bruce know he’s awake, alright?” He left the room, walking a little too fast to be casual.

“Mother?” Loki’s voice was hoarse, like it was sometimes when he was ill. Talking hurt, a little, but not as badly as he had feared. “Mother, what happened?”

Mother squeezed his hand, even as her eyes filled with more tears. “Loki, do you remember what you did? What…” Her voice broke, and she swallowed heavily. “What you tried to do to yourself?”

Loki hesitated, then nodded. “I remember that. But I cannot understand why, why…”

Mother’s voice was gentle. “Why what, Loki?”

“Why save me? Monsters deserve to die. Why not just let me die?”

Mother’s face froze, her entire body stilling. For a moment she didn’t even seem to breathe. Then, abruptly, she leaned forward, clasping his hand in both of hers. “Is that…Loki, is that why you tried to kill yourself? Because you think, you think you are a monster that needs to die?”

“I am a monster. You said it yourself. I hurt people, I killed people.”

“Loki, no! That is not, Loki, we thought we had explained.” Mother took a shaky breath, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, she looked at Loki intently. “Loki, whatever your older self may have done, it has nothing to do with you. He was an entirely different person, his crimes are not yours…”

“But what does that matter!” Loki’s throat hurt too much for him to truly shout, but he tried anyway. “He did those things because he was a Frost Giant, a monster. Even if I’m not responsible for what he did, I will just end up repeating the same crimes! Better to die before, before I hurt anyone else, before I…” Loki couldn’t continue. Mother pulled him into a firm embrace as he began once again to cry.

“Oh Loki. My son. Why do we always fail you?” Surprised, Loki tried to look up, but Mother kept his head pillowed against her shoulder. “Listen to me. Loki, listen. I know what the tales tell, and should have done something about them before, but Frost Giants are not monsters. Your older self, despite his crimes, was not a monster. He was angry, and hurt, and so he hurt other people. Nevertheless he was my son, and he was no monster.” She took his head in her hands, shifting him so that she could look directly into his eyes. “Loki, you are not a monster.”

Loki tried to shake his head, to contradict her, (because how could she be right, he was a monster, he had to be), but she held him tight and continued. “I know this is hard for you. I should have realized how hard, should have stayed with you, so many things I should have done…” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Loki, we failed you. Your Father and I, we failed you. But you live, and as long as you live, there is the possibility of a second chance. Will you give it to us?”

Unable to speak, Loki just leaned against her shoulder and cried some more. He suspected she knew the answer anyway.

Later, the other not-warrior came in, introducing himself (“Dr. Bruce Banner, feel free to just call me Bruce”) and taking a look at Loki’s throat. Mother hadn’t left Loki’s side. He felt oddly reassured by that.

Bruce smiled and fidgeted a little with one of the nearby machines. “Well, it looks like you were amazingly lucky. That, uh, healing stone did a great job. No permanent damage as far as I can tell, although your throat might still be a bit sore.”

Mother inclined her head. “I thank you for your care, Dr. Bruce Banner. Does that mean my son is able to return to his quarters?”

Bruce shrugged. “I don’t see why not, although it, uh, might be best for him to not…be alone right now.”

“That has already been arranged. Tony Stark has been kind enough to move a second bed into Loki’s rooms, although I may move to other quarters in a few days. Regardless, as long as my sons are on Midgard, I shall stay here as well.”

Loki gaped at her. “But, you are the Queen, you cannot just leave…”

“I can and I will. Thor is currently on Asgard, packing a few things for me." Mother’s expression turned wry. "I believe he also wished to have…words…with your Father. He certainly did with me. But he will return by day’s end, and then we will both remain here, with you, until it is safe for you to go home.”

“Home?”

Mother smiled down at him. “Yes Loki. As long as you wish it to be, Asgard will always be your home.”

The move did not take long, and soon enough Loki was back in the same rooms as before. He immediately sat down on his bed with a tired sigh. The carpets had been replaced, as had the blankets on his bed, (apparently the mysterious Tony Stark was responsible for this as well. Loki wondered if this could possibly be the talkative not-warrior from before. Surely not).

Mother left him alone, (“Just for a few minutes, my son”), in order to go to the kitchens and provide them both with some food. She had seemed momentarily uncertain whether it would be worse to leave him alone or to take him back to the place where he could easily procure another knife, but Loki had complained of tiredness and thus made the decision for her. Truthfully, he merely wished for a few minutes to think.

A slight noise made him pause, frowning, and look once more at the strange grate in his room. His memories of what exactly happened after putting the blade to his throat were unclear, but he seemed to remember…He stood on the bed, and peered into the grate. A familiar pair of eyes stared back at him.

“Well, I guess that’s me caught then. Mind if I come in?”

Without waiting for an answer, Clint smoothly removed the grating and emerged from a small tunnel behind it. (What was the purpose of such a tunnel? Was it solely to sneak through the walls?) Seconds later he was standing in the room. His cheek, Loki noted with some slight amusement, was lightly bruised.

Clint shifted, mouth twisting momentarily, before looking Loki in the eye. “Look, kid…I’m sorry.”

Of all the things Loki had expected Clint to be in here to say, that was certainly not one of them. “You’re sorry? Whatever reason do you have to be sorry? I am the one who…” Loki trailed off, realizing he still didn’t know what it was he had done. At least, not what he had done on Midgard. Still, he (his older self) had done…something. That much was clear, and therefore Clint had no reason to be apologizing.

“That’s not true. You didn’t do anything. You’re just a kid, a good kid. Yeah, you were kind of a dick when you were older and evil. But I shouldn’t have been so ready to take that out on you. I should have realized that you were just as confused and scared as I was, maybe more. Truth is…” Clint paused again, clearly choosing his words carefully. “I was never mad at you, not really. It was just, I liked you, when we were the same age. You were fun, and smart, and a really good friend. And then suddenly I’m older, and you’re not, and I’m being forced to realize that the adult I’d hated wasn’t always such a bad guy. Which made me wonder what on earth, or on Asgard I guess, had happened to you to change you so much. It was…easier…when I didn’t have to think about that. But none of that was your fault, and I’m sorry if I made you think it was.”

Loki didn’t know what to say. He still didn’t think Clint had any reason to be apologizing at all. But he was, and really, there was only one way to respond. “I…accept your apology? And I am sorry too, for whatever it was I did to you.”

To his surprise, Clint laughed a little. “Yeah, see, that last part is why you shouldn’t be apologizing to me. It wasn’t you, you don’t remember it, let’s just consider it water under the bridge and start over.” He extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Clint, also known as the Amazing Hawkeye.”

Hesitantly, Loki took it. “Hello, I am, well…” Loki of Asgard, of Jotunheim, son of Laufey, son of Odin…

After all he had learned, who was he? Everything had changed. But perhaps not everything had to.

Loki took a deep breath. “Loki Odinson, and very pleased to meet you. Although I think that if we are truly starting over, this time I’d prefer not to be Merlyn.”

“Nah, I think we’ve already covered the villainous angle. Although Merlyn is still an awesome character. You could be a different Merlin, Merlin the good wizard. Or you could just stick with Loki. Not a half-bad hero name, all things considered.”

“Loki, the good wizard.” A smile tentatively spread across Loki’s face. “I think I like the sound of that.”

“Then keep it.” Clint smirked at him, and although it looked a little different on his adult face, it was the same, mischievous grin that Loki had recognized the first time they met.

“Although, do you really have to be completely good? ‘Cause let me tell you, my talents, your magic, we could have so much fun with that, and Tony’s been all but begging for a good pranking ever since I met him…”

Laughing, Loki grinned back at his friend.