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Loki frowns from where he’s leaning back against one of the walls in Stark’s tower, overlooking the party in full swing in front of him.
It’s not that he’s unhappy they defeated the Mad Titan. On the contrary, he’s certain he’s never breathed more freely in the last six years than he’s doing now. In fact, Loki couldn’t say he’s feeling unhappy at all. Defeating Thanos with little lives taken on their behalf is something that if you had told Loki from a week ago would happen, he would have laughed in your face, and then stabbed you for lying to him for good measure.
But the thing is… Loki’s never liked post-battle feasts.
They were regarded so highly on Asgard. Loki has countless memories of watching Thor laughing with Sif and the Warriors Three from the background, recounting their latest ventures, drunk off his ass as the whole room listens with rapt attention. He remembers Odin, smiling at Thor the way he never smiled at Loki. He remembers the bitter taste in the back of his throat.
Back then, it was just another way he was different from the rest of Asgard.
In all honesty (and maybe his oaf of a brother is right, he has changed. He can’t remember the last time he was entirely honest) Stark’s party isn’t the worst one he’s attended.
There’s a significant lack of ceremonial banquet like the ones that filled the table on Asgard. Instead, a row of forty or so boxes line one of the shelves, each containing what one was a full ‘pizza’ (a Midgardian food that Loki found he enjoyed quite a lot, actually) and now only a few pitiful slices.
There’s still dancing, but replacing the orchestra on Asgard are many speakers, and the music is much less… elegant than the ones from his past (Loki’s surprised to find out that he recognises many of the tracks on Stark’s playlist).
That being said, Loki doesn’t recognise the track currently blasting from the walls. It’s still definitely from Stark’s playlist, the rock fitting in with all the previous songs, and judging by the reactions of a few of the heavier drinkers in the room, a well liked one at that.
Speaking of…
Loki attempts to catch sight of his brother. It’s not as easy as it used to be – the room’s packed, and unlike many previous feasts, Thor isn’t even attempting to be the centre of attention.
For all he used to complain, it really did make keeping track of his brother easier.
He spots the Captain conversing with a few others – one of which, strangely enough, sporting a metal arm instead of flesh. They seem less drunk than their companions – alas, Loki is not here to speculate on his reluctant-companion’s drinking habits.
Standing nearby the group is Bruce, who’s in deep conversation with the Widow. He and Loki lock eyes, for just a second, before the latter nods and diverts his own away. The conversation looks like a well needed one.
It’s Stark who has taken up Thor’s old mantel of being the life of the party. He’s standing in the middle of the room. Tucked under one arm is something rolled, long and white, with multi-colored spots littering the visible surface. The man seems to be trying to convince a few members of the ‘Guardians of the Galaxy’, as well as a couple of Midgardians, to do something. It peaks Loki’s interest, and for a second, he debates walking over.
And then he feels the tap just above his elbow.
The man swings around, one hand ready to conjure a dagger at a moments notice, and comes face to face with the person who dared to touch him—
A boy comes into view. His hair is a dark brown and his eyes are wide, looking at Loki’s hand – sparking with seidr – with unrestrained awe on his face. Loki realises at once that he recognises this person, though he had not been able to catch their name.
“That’s so cool!” The boy – for he is just a boy – breathes. Loki blinks, the out of place feeling which has surrounded him since before the Battle had even began doubling. “I heard from Mr. Stark that you can make stuff appear and do illusion magic and stuff, but I’ve never seen it in person! How does—”
All of a sudden, he cuts himself off, cheeks flushing into a deep red. “Ah, sorry. Uhm, I saw you were standing here alone and I thought— not that you probably want the company but— well Shuri’s gone to annoy her brother so—”
“It’s… fine,” Loki says, freeing the boy from his misery. “You’re welcome to stay, if you want.”
The boy beams.
“Thank you, Mr. Loki!” He grins, and sticks out a hand. “Peter Parker!”
Ah. And Loki had almost expected the boy’s last name to match Stark’s own.
“Pleasure,” He replies. To his own surprise, he finds that he’s not entirely lying.
There’s a prolonged silence, made more awkward as the previous song fades out and the next starts up.
This aint a song for the broken hearted
The boy – Peter, he reminds himself – hums, nodding along to the song. His hands have been jammed into the pockets of his jeans, eyes flitting everywhere but Loki.
“I like your shoelaces,” He blurts out.
It’s a ridiculous notion. The shoes Loki is wearing – high boots, the ones that go with his fighting gear – have plain black shoelaces.
“Thanks,” Loki replies, too taken aback to negate the immediate response ingrained into his memory. “I stole them from the President.”
The silence that stretches between them now is the opposite of the awkwardness it had been a few seconds ago. Parker gapes up at Loki, who stares back down at the boy, bewildered.
“Oh my God,” The boy breathes out. Loki has the sudden, horrible realisation that the boy in front of him knows. “You—”
“If you spill a word—” Loki hisses, resisting the urge to summon a knife, only because of the people he is in a room with.
“Oh my God!” The brown haired boy squeals. “You know! You have Tumblr!”
Loki grimaces. “I may have—”
“What’s your blog name?” Parker asks, pulling a high tech – or, at least, more high tech than the one Loki had previously possessed, before his Fall – out of his pocket. “I have to know, oh my God Ned will never believe me—!”
Loki’s eyes darken. “You are never to tell anybody of this. Understand?”
The boy’s movement slows, the near frantic typing of his password reducing. “Oh.” He swallows. “Right.”
Loki nearly sighs in relief. Thank the Norns.
“Only,” Parker continues, seemingly unaware of Loki’s internal stress, “If you tell me your blog name.”
The Asgardian stares. Parker stares back, unblinking.
Maybe Stark does have a child, after all. Children with different last names existed on this realm, if Loki remembers correctly.
He’s not sure if it’s the boy’s stubbornness which wins him the information at the end, or purely Loki’s deep-rooted curiosity in what the boy in front of him will do.
(When Loki thinks back on this moment, months later, he comes up with a third option – that buried deep down, he knew he would not regret it.)
(He’s right. As Parker becomes Peter and the Princess of Wakanda becomes Shuri and the suspicious looks from the rest of the Avengers fade into friendliness, Loki doesn’t regret it. Any of it. Not for one second.)
pbparkourrr | Mutuals
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