Chapter Text
PART 1
Loki’s POV
Death lasted longer than Loki expected. Not the moment of dying – Thanos’s hand crushing his windpipe, the titan’s breath hot against his face as everything went dark – but the after. The void had weight to it, a pressure that made silence feel like something physical pressing against his skull. No schemes to plot, no audience to perform for. Just him, alone with the versions of himself he’d spent centuries outrunning.
When Hela first appeared to him in her domain, Loki had expected execution or eternal torment. Instead, she’d looked him over with something like recognition, the way one sees their own reflection in tarnished metal.
The conversation happened in what passed for evening here – Hela’s realm didn’t bother with proper day cycles. They stood near the edge of her throne room where the stone floor gave way to an abyss that whispered with the voices of the forgotten. Loki had been watching her carefully when the subject finally escaped him.
“You tried to destroy Asgard.”
“And Asgard tried to destroy me.” Hela raised an eyebrow.
Loki’s mouth twisted – not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. “So what is it? You had your feelings hurt? Is that it?”
“Odin tried to erase me.” Her voice dropped, sharp edge dulling into something that sounded almost like confusion. “I conquered his enemies. Expanded his realm. Became exactly what he wanted – a weapon, a daughter who didn’t flinch.” She turned to face him fully. “And when I was too good at it, when I wanted more than to be his executioner, he locked me away like I was the monster.” She exhaled sharply. “Of course I was hurt.”
The admission seemed to surprise her as much as it did him. She went still, the kind of stillness that comes before violence, and something in her jaw tightened. The green glow from below cast shadows under her cheekbones that made her look suddenly, strangely human.
“You got your heart broken.” Loki said softly, his words surprisingly gentle.
He knew the shape of that wound intimately – the specific way it felt to be deemed insufficient by the person whose approval you’d bled for.
“Don’t act like you understand what that means, Loki.” She snapped.
He did, though. He knew the shape of that wound intimately – the specific way it felt to be deemed insufficient by the person whose approval you’d bled for. The words came out quieter than he intended, directed more at his own boots than at her. “I understand more than you think.”
Hela studied him with that unsettling intensity she had. Then something in her expression shifted – not softening exactly, but recalibrating. When she finally spoke, her voice had lost its cutting edge. “You really are tiresome, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.” He glanced up, found her watching him with something almost like solidarity.
They didn’t speak of it again – no need for further excavation of old wounds. But after that night, when Hela made one of her caustic observations about ambition or failure, Loki heard the subtext differently. Recognized the defense mechanism in her cruelty because it was the same one he’d perfected over centuries.
He couldn’t say when they stopped being warden and prisoner and became something closer to the siblings they were meant to be. Maybe it was somewhere between the third discussion about Odin’s failings and the night she laughed – actually laughed – at one of his sardonic observations about their father’s hypocrisy.
They got along now, in their own flavour.
In another life, he might have settled into this. Hela’s realm had a certain appeal – just two bitter children of Odin trading barbs in the dark. He wouldn’t have minded too much spending the rest of eternity annoying the hell out of her here.
But Thor was alone up there. And Loki had promised himself, in that last moment with Thanos’s hand around his throat, that if he ever got another chance, he wouldn’t waste it on cowardice.
Convincing Hela of his plan took the better part of two years. Not because she couldn’t resurrect him – she was the Goddess of Death, after all – but because she refused to do anything without proper compensation. They negotiated like rival merchants, trading terms and conditions until Loki finally offered what she wanted: a favour, unspecified, to be called in whenever she chose.
It was a dangerous promise. Hela wasn’t known for reasonable requests. But Loki had spent his entire existence slipping out of impossible binds, and he’d bet on his ability to outwit her when the time came. He’d always been good at finding the loopholes. Plus, he had a feeling that she had grown at least a bit fond of him by now.
“You seem so sure about leaving. To re-join our brother, and maybe get killed trying.” Hela remarked bluntly. “Because it seems like you’re an enemy on every realm, so I’m guessing Midgard won’t be any different.”
“Yes, yes, and most definitely.” Loki smirked wider. “What can I say? I simply refuse to stay in my lane.”
“Then you’re a fool.” Hela shot back, her eyes narrowing in disdain. “Take it from me, family is overrated.”
“I used to think that.” His throat tightened around the admission. “Until I realized I burned every bridge myself. Pushed away everyone who might have actually…” He didn’t finish the sentence. “I mean, you can’t tell me you haven’t enjoyed having a pesky little brother around. I, for one, have grown to like our little chats.”
“You’re delusional. And we’re not blood-related, need I remind you?”
“You remind me frequently. But I’ll take some family over none at all.” He shrugged, then sighed. “Thor’s alone, and I’ll not leave him to his own. Not this time.”
“Instead, you’ll leave me alone. How thoughtful.” She countered dryly.
“So you do like me.”
Hela’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Shut up before I sew those flapping lips shut.”
“Been there, done that.” Loki’s smirk didn’t falter.
Hela, her patience clearly fraying, conjured a jet-black spike from the ground with a flick of her wrist. It shot up through Loki’s chest with a vicious speed, the sharp end piercing his ethereal form. It retracted just as quickly, leaving no visible damage, but the pain was real.
“Ow. Been there too.” Loki quipped, though his voice was strained.
Hela glared at him, her fury still simmering. “Taunt me again. Go on.”
Loki tilted his head, unfazed. “You really need to find better ways to express your feelings.”
“Please, like you did a stellar job of it when you were alive. You want me to show sentiment?” She spat the word, as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. “I think not.”
“Alas, it did finally kill me. So I see the reason to hesitate.” He leaned in slightly, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Yet, it is what will convince you to give me life once more.”
Hela’s expression darkened, and she growled, “Oh, go to Hel, you little shit.” But even as she said it, the venom had drained from her words.
“But I’m already in it.”
“You’re so– annoying!”
Loki’s smile never wavered. “That’s one of the better things I’ve been called.”
Hela rolled her eyes dramatically. “Norns’ sake,” she muttered exasperatedly. With a sigh, she extended her hand toward him, her regal presence undiminished despite her annoyance. “I definitely don’t want you here anymore. Are you ready to do this or what? We don’t have all day.”
Loki, still as cheeky as ever, popped his ethereal lips and placed his hand over hers, his grin spreading. “I’ll still find a way to visit.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” Hela muttered.
“But I’m telling you, you’re going to miss me.” Loki teased in a sing-song voice.
And suddenly, Hela’s magic.
It felt like falling and flying simultaneously, her power wrapping around his essence and pulling it somewhere else, somewhere with breath and heartbeat and all the messy complications of being alive.
PART 2
Thor’s POV
For months after failing to stop Thanos, Thor had kept to himself. He’d allowed himself to slip into self-imposed isolation, believing himself unworthy of anyone’s trust. His failure hung over him, a weight that sank him every day. The booming laugh, the easy grin – all gone underwater.
But when Bruce delivered the news that a foreign vessel had entered Earth’s atmosphere, Thor’s chest tightened with something he hadn’t felt in months.
The craft, it turned out, carried Valkyrie and the survivors of his people.
They’d escaped. They were back.
He had people again. Not just memories and regrets, but living, breathing Asgardians who needed him. He stepped back and watched them take in their new surroundings – uncertain, but relieved. Earth’s military was helping them settle, easing nerves, offering water and blankets.
But even as his people milled around him, alive and safe, something sour turned in Thor’s stomach. His throat tightened. He should have felt happy. He didn’t.
Bruce noticed. He’d grown good at reading all their moods.
“It’s a huge thing, Thor. You got your people back. This is good,” Bruce said.
“It’s very good.” Thor’s laugh came out sharp, brittle. “The Norns have my eternal gratitude.”
“Hey, talk to me.”
Thor held his tongue, his gaze flickering downward. He shook his head slightly. “You will think me selfish and a horrible king,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“I won’t, and you know it.”
Thor’s eyes blinked rapidly, and he looked down, jaw working. For a long moment he said nothing. He saw that Bruce was about to leave and give him, and the words came.
“I don’t want these people,” he admitted.
Bruce followed his gaze across the crowd of Asgardians – returned, saved. “I get it. Being a king and having to be responsible for so many people must be hard.”
Thor shook his head, harder this time. “No. I don’t want these people.” His hand cut through the air, then dragged through his short hair. “I want Loki. I want my parents. My childhood friends.” His voice caught. “But I’ve been granted none of them.”
Bruce’s expression softened. He understood now.
“And you hate that you can’t feel contented with what you’ve been given back.”
Thor met his gaze. “Yes. So you see, it makes no sense at all. I have my people. I have you guys… I–I should be happy.” He closed his eyes. “But I’m not.”
“Thank the Allfather, you’re alive!” Valkyrie’s voice cut through the moment. Her eyes swept over Thor, and a grin tugged at her mouth.
“Yes. Yes, I am. Thank you for protecting what’s left of Asgard,” Thor said.
Valkyrie’s grin faltered, just for a second. He remembered then that she’d probably watched half their people turn to dust too after all. She cleared her throat and straightened. “You could thank me further with liquor. How’s everyone?”
Thor let out a sound that might have been a laugh. “I’m really glad you survived.”
“And I you, your highness. Majesty. Whatever.” Valkyrie’s tone was light, but her eyes stayed on his. “Seriously, how’s the merry gang of screw-ups? Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually missed having you guys around.”
Thor sucked in a breath, harder than he meant to. His smile flickered and died. “I’m fine, as you can see. Obviously. Bruce fares well, too.”
Valkyrie’s smirk faded. “Lackey?”
Thor looked down. “Loki, yes.” His jaw clenched. “My brother– he… Thanos crushed his neck like it was glass after you escaped. But honestly, he could be anywhere. He’s come back before. He could be alive.” He paused. “I don’t know. I don’t even have his body.”
Valkyrie’s face went still. She stepped closer. “I’m so sorry.”
Thor gave a single nod. Loki had always been there – even when they’d hated each other, even when everything was broken between them. It was hard to imagine a future without him, even harder to accept that he might never come back this time.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Thor muttered. “But I’ve lost him before, haven’t I? And I survived. Maybe I’ll survive this, too.”
That night, Thor dreamed of Wakanda.
It had been a while since the last nightmare about Loki.
The first body he found was Vision. What was left of him. The Vibranium shell lay motionless, the Mind Stone socket empty. Dust had begun to gather in the hollows where his eyes had been. His right arm and part of his chest were caved in – the shape of a boot, massive and deliberate.
His cape was torn in two. The sight made Thor’s chest ache.
Not far from Vision, Loki was choking on his own blood.
Thor didn’t know how his brother had ended up here. He just saw him – impaled in three places. Two jagged steel pipes jutted through his left thigh and hip. Something else had gone through his chest. Loki tried to roll onto his side. The pipes scraped against concrete, and even in the dream Thor felt the wrongness of it – metal grinding bone. Blood leaked from Loki’s mouth as he coughed, body jerking weakly.
Thor ran. He didn’t remember deciding to move – just that suddenly Loki was in his arms, and he was running toward the sound of voices. Around them, Wakanda’s jungle burned in strange, beautiful colours. Smoke rose in violet and gold. It wasn’t until then that he realised how beautiful Midgard had become in the aftermath of something so cataclysmic.
He kept his eyes on the sky as he walked, as everything continued to feel muffled and distant. He didn’t look down at his brother’s face.
By the time he reached the main triage site, Loki was a–
“Black tag.” The accented voice was quiet, apologetic.
Thor’s attention snapped back. A young Wakandan medic stood in front of him, hands stained dark red. Sweat shone on his face.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” The medic’s gaze flicked to the body in Thor’s arms. Corpse now.
Norns, Loki was supposed to heal.
He didn’t notice when Loki had slipped through his fingers.
How did he not notice?
When he woke, he wondered if it would’ve hurt any less if he’d lost Loki a little later than he did.
The bathroom smelled like spilled lager and mildew. Thor gripped the sink’s edge, knuckles blanched, and made himself look up. Stained flannel. Gut pushing against the fabric. A bottle dangling from his other hand because when wasn’t there a bottle? The king’s crown now sat heavy on his head, but it was a crown he no longer felt fit to wear.
Outside, New Asgard’s streets were quiet – just wind and the distant sound of the sea. There were no graves to visit. Father, gone. Mother, gone. Loki, gone. Asgard itself, scattered ash in space. No headstones, no cairns. Nothing to stand in front of and pretend he was doing something useful. The silence didn’t live outside. It lived in his ribs, in the hollow behind his sternum where his heart was supposed to beat with purpose.
He raised the bottle. Took a pull. Set it down harder than he meant to.
“Brothers don’t leave brothers behind.”
His own voice, years ago. So damn certain. He’d believed it, too. That nothing could sever what he and Loki had.
But he’d been the one to let go first – not physically, but in all the ways that mattered. Every time Loki had lashed out, Thor had turned away. Every time Loki had needed him, Thor had been too busy playing hero. And when Thanos closed his hand around Loki’s throat, when bone cracked and the light went out of his brother’s eyes, Thor had done nothing. He’d been pinned, helpless. Useless.
He used to think Loki was the one who couldn’t get it right. The embarrassment. The liability. And he’d loved him anyway, which he’d thought made him generous. Noble, even. What a joke.
Loki had been fighting the whole time – fighting to belong, fighting to matter – and Thor had spent centuries not seeing it. Now Loki was dead, and Thor was the one stumbling around drunk in a borrowed fishing village.
The weight of that truth hung heavy. He wasn’t the hero. He wasn’t the god he had once been. He was just a god past his prime, a hypocrite.
Then– movement. In the glass.
A familiar figure. Behind him. Dark hair, sharp angles, green.
Thor spun, boots skidding, shoulder slamming into the doorframe. The room lurched. Or he did. Everything blurred at the edges.
“Hesitate to believe it’s… you,” he said. His tongue felt thick. “Wha’re the odds, aye?”
Loki stood there, whole and sharp-edged as ever, one brow arched. “Are you drunk?”
“M’not drunk. Merely tipsy.” Thor scrubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. Couldn’t look at him. Looked at the floor, the wall, anywhere else. “You’re not real. You’re never real… leave me alone.”
“Thor.” Bruce’s voice, from the doorway. Careful. Worried. “Buddy, I can see him too.”
“You think so? Well you didn’t– you didn’t see Thanos snap his neck. I did though, I saw that.”
“He’s real, Thor.” Bruce moved closer, reached out – touched Loki’s arm, then let go fast when Thor’s gaze snapped to the contact. “Flesh and bone. I promise.”
Thor shook his head. His jaw locked. “Loki’s dead.”
Footsteps. Soft, deliberate. Loki moved closer – close enough now that Thor could see the stitching on his collar, the way his chest rose and fell. So impossibly alive.
“Brother,” Loki’s voice was low, unbearably gentle. “If you’d just look at me.”
Thor went rigid. “No.” He turned his back, shoulders hunching. “It can’t be. Can’t– he has to be dead. I watched him d–” His voice broke. Chest seizing. “I can’t look. He’s dead. He’s dead.”
A hand closed over his. Warm. Solid. Real.
The bottle slipped. Shattered. Glass skittering across the floor, beer soaking into the boards.
This Loki didn’t flinch. Didn’t let go.
Thor’s breath hitched. When he finally turned, his face was wet. He hadn’t even felt himself start crying.
“Please... actually be here. Please.”
Loki’s other hand found his, laced their fingers together. Held on.
Something in Thor’s chest gave way. Some dam he’d built without realizing, some weight he’d been carrying so long he’d forgotten it wasn’t part of him.
“L-Loki.”
He moved without thinking – crossed the space between them and pulled Loki into his arms. Tight. Too tight. Loki stumbled, caught himself, wrapped his arms around Thor in return. And he laughed.
It was the most beautiful sound Thor had heard in years.
“Don’t go.” He choked into his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Loki’s arms tightened.
“A strangely stimulating year or two in Hel doesn’t erase the centuries I’ve spent saving your hide,” Loki remarked, his voice dripping with that usual sarcastic bite. “It’s become a chore, admittedly. But I’ve… I’ve missed it. It wouldn’t be wise to leave the universe’s greatest oaf of a brother alone, would it?”
Thor laughed through his tears, his voice breaking, “Indeed. Think of the poor universe.” He still clung to Loki, “I’m sorry you didn’t get to go to Valhalla, brother.”
Loki went still for a moment. “I think I’m good either way,” he said quietly. “Just a hunch.”
“Stay here.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Thor closed his eyes. Drew in a shaking breath. For the first time in months, the silence in his chest didn’t feel so heavy.
Loki was here.
PART 3
Loki’s POV
Three days back, and Loki had already catalogued the ways Thor had changed. The laugh came too quickly now, forced through his brother’s throat. When Thor turned away, his shoulders carried a different weight – not the proud breadth of a warrior, but the slump of someone trying to hold up a collapsing ceiling. Loki had seen that posture before. In mirrors. In the spaces between lies he’d told himself.
Thor had lost everything – their mother. Their father. Heimdall. Asgard itself, reduced to dust and memory. He carried the names of the dead like stones in his pockets, and Loki recognized the gait – that slight hitch in his step when he thought no one was looking, as if his body remembered the weight even when his mind tried to forget. Loss didn’t heal. It just learned new ways to cut. And Thor had never learned how to fail quietly.
The universe had moved on – assembled itself, buried its dead, kept breathing – and his brother was still standing in the wreckage, trying to figure out what came next.
Loki watched Thor pour his fourth drink before noon and say nothing. He watched him start sentences about Asgard and let them die halfway through. He watched, and he kept his mouth shut, because some things you couldn’t say out loud – like I know how this feels or it doesn’t get better, you just get better at pretending.
They talked. Or rather, Thor talked – rambling, circular stories about battles Loki hadn’t been there for, about Valkyrie and the remaining Asgardians, about Rocket and his jokes that never quite landed. Loki let him talk. It was easier than admitting he didn’t know how to fix this, that maybe there was nothing to fix.
The gaps in the story nagged at him more than he wanted to admit. Thor would talk about the Guardians, about Peter and Rocket, but the moment Loki asked about Earth – about what happened after Thanos – his brother found somewhere else to be. The evasion was clumsy, obvious. Thor had never been good at lying. Whatever had happened with the Avengers, with Thanos’s corpse and its severed head, Thor wasn’t ready to face it. Which meant it was bad.
He had volunteered exactly one piece of information: Barton lost his family. All of them. Went on some kind of murder spree across continents until Romanoff dragged him back.
“Are they together now?” Loki had asked, because the way Thor said it implied something.
“Honestly, no one can tell.” Thor had shrugged, then poured another drink. “Maybe not even them.”
Bruce arranged the meeting with the remaining Avengers for him. Loki wasn’t naive enough to call it a favour – more like damage control, a chance to explain himself before Stark showed up with a repulsor cannon. Still, Bruce had kept quiet about his return for three weeks. That had to count for something. Possibly the only thing standing between Loki and a midnight assassination.
The compound’s common area smelled like coffee and metal, warm bodies in a cold space. Loki scanned the room – new faces he didn’t care to know, a few he recognized from the Battle of New York – and then his gaze stalled on blue skin and cybernetic plating.
His hand went to his belt before his brain caught up.
“Thor, get behind me!”
“Oh, for–” Thor’s words blurred, vowels soft with however many drinks he’d already had. “We’re getting Bloody Marys, Loki. I’m not doing this sober.”
Loki’s palm found Thor’s chest, pushing him back. His brother swayed slightly, and Loki adjusted his stance to keep him upright while his eyes stayed locked on the Luphomoid.
“Stay there.” He didn’t bother checking if Thor listened.
A dagger materialized in his palm – muscle memory, instinct – and he moved. Nebula’s cybernetic arm caught his wrist mid-strike, metal screeching against the spell-reinforced blade. The impact rattled up his shoulder, but he’d expected resistance. She’d upgraded her since their last encounter.
He twisted, trying to wrench free, but her grip tightened – hydraulic strength, unforgiving. She pivoted and drove her knee into his ribs. The air punched out of his lungs as he hit the table, wood splintering under his weight. He rolled, came up in a crouch. Then charged forward.
“Sloppy.” He feinted left, slashed right. The blade caught her forearm – shallow, barely a scratch on the metal plating, but enough to prove his point.
“Shut up.”
“You’re getting slow.”
Nebula didn’t answer. She closed the distance instead.
Her fist came at his face. He ducked under it, spun behind her, blade angling for the exposed wiring at her spine–
Something small and furry hit him like a cannonball.
“Enough!” Claws sank into his shoulder, sharp enough to pierce leather. Loki staggered sideways, trying to shake off – a raccoon? “Oi Thor! Get your psycho brother under control!”
Loki spun, dagger rising. Rocket’s claws raked down his forearm and the blade clattered to the floor.
“Keep your butter knives away from my people, you pokey bast–” Loki’s elbow caught him in the face mid-sentence, and Rocket went flying. He hit the ground, rolled, came up spitting mad.
“Time out!” Stark’s repulsors whined to life, both gauntlets aimed squarely at Loki’s chest. Romanoff had a gun. Barton had an arrow nocked. Even Bruce looked tense, like he was considering whether this warranted a Code Green.
Everyone was on her side.
“How did you infiltrate this place?” He kept his eyes on Nebula, voice sharp.
“Blue Meanie’s with us.” Stark said.
“With you?” Loki laughed harshly, disbelief flashing in his eyes. He straightened, jaw tight. “You’re working with a committed daughter of Thanos. Either you’ve developed a death wish, Stark, or Midgardian intelligence has dropped even further than I thought.”
“You worked for him too.” Stark’s tone stayed light, but his eyes didn’t. “So maybe get off your high horse before you fall off.”
“She has a name, jackass!” Rocket’s voice came from somewhere near the floor, still angry.
Loki’s gaze slid to it, then back to her. “Oh, I know exactly who she is.”
A beat.
“Nebula.”
“What’s happening?” Thor pushed his sunglasses up into his hair, squinting like the fluorescent lights were personally offensive. “Did I miss something?”
Loki’s attention snapped back to Nebula. “Still looking to make him proud?” he mocked.
“He’s dead.” Nebula’s voice didn’t waver. “Along with his cause and my allegiance.”
“You don’t just walk away from him.” Loki took a step forward. “You’re just like the rest of us. His creation.”
She didn’t move. “He killed Gamora, okay?”
Loki stopped. “What? No. That– no, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“He took her to Vormir and killed her.” Nebula repeated, and this time her voice cracked. “Threw her off the cliff to get the Soul Stone. There wasn’t even a body to find.” She paused. “And when I arrived here on Terra, Stark– he and the Avengers took me in. So here I am.”
Loki said nothing. His hand rose – an aborted gesture, half-formed – and fell. The green magic shimmering around his fist dissolved into nothing.
“He killed her for a stone.” His voice came out flat. “His favourite. Gamora.”
“Yes.”
Loki’s frown deepened for a moment, then he finally stepped back. He looked at her properly this time, and felt like he was seeing someone different. “Okay.”
“Okay?” She sounded like she didn’t believe him.
“Yes, okay. You could’ve led with that.”
“Oh, was that supposed to happen before or after you tried to stab me in the throat?”
He almost smiled. “Ideally before.”
Something that might’ve been amusement crossed her face too.
“So– question.” Stark’s voice cut through the moment. “How exactly do you two know each other?”
Loki shot Tony a withering look. “It’s not a terribly interesting story.”
“You just tried to kill her. That definitely sounds interesting to me.”
They spoke at the same time.
“I tortured him for Thanos.”
“She tortured me for Thanos.”
The room went very still.
“Oh.” Stark blinked. “Torture. Okay, that’s… cool, cool, cool. Wow.” He looked at Rocket. “I need a drink.”
“Ditto,” Rocket muttered.
“Juice box for me. Very healthy.” Stark started toward the pantry. “Rocket?”
“Vodka in mine.”
Thor’s POV
The silence after Bruce’s suggestion pressed against Thor’s temples. He was aware of Steve across the room, arms crossed. Nebula’s posture – that rigid, defensive stance. Rocket’s eyes darting between them all, hungry for conflict or resolution, he couldn’t tell which.
Thor couldn’t quite focus on the faces around him. Loki’s reappearance had opened something in his chest – a door he’d nailed shut after Titan, after the silence that followed the Snap.
Steve was the first to break the silence, his voice steady. “Can we trust him?”
Nebula’s jaw shifted before she spoke. “You don’t have to let him in on our operations if you’re not comfortable,” she said, glancing at the others before returning her gaze to Steve. “But I trust him not to be a threat or a problem.”
Rocket, of course, wasn’t buying it. He snorted, “You know he has plenty of reason to hold a major grudge against you, right? Torture... I mean, torture for a whole year on a somewhat healing magic-wielder at that. That’s really something.” He gestured to Nebula, then to the door as Loki waited outside. “But there you go putting your trust in the guy. What the hell is the deal between the two of you?”
“Torture buddies, sort of. Trauma bond?” She shrugged, unwilling to elaborate.
“Some bond,” Rocket mumbled, still unconvinced.
Tony’s eyes narrowed. “You’re sure he’s not on some mad power play again? Seeking to reap the benefits of a broken universe Thanos crushed?”
Nebula met his stare without blinking. “He hates Thanos as much as the rest of us. It’d be hypocritical not to give him a chance, if you gave me of all creatures, one.” Her arms tightened across her chest. “But more importantly, he cares for his brother more than you’d think. That’s your leverage, if you ever need it.”
“He cared enough to come back for me... he did. Even after I left him paralyzed on a rubbish planet.” Thor’s voice came out hoarse. The memory played in his head – Sakaar, the remote in his own hand, watching Loki convulse on the floor. He’d laughed.
“Yeah, well. He’s also tried to kill you.” Rhodey’s voice was matter-of-fact.
Bruce added softly, “But yet he gave up the Tesseract in exchange for Thor’s life. I think it’s safe to say that Nebula is probably right.”
“Did he... did he call for me?” Thor heard himself ask.
No one spoke. He could hear the hum of the ventilation system.
“What?” Nebula asked.
“When you– when Thanos–” He blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears he felt coming up at bay. “When Loki was hurting, did he call for me?”
Nebula’s eyes dropped to the floor. She shifted uncomfortably. “He called for all of you.”
“He hoped we were coming.” Thor felt his face contort before he could stop it.
“Your family would’ve been proud,” Nebula said. “You raised him strong. It took a long time to break him.”
The words hit Thor like a fist to the sternum. Raised him strong. He wanted to laugh – or vomit. He’d raised Loki to endure torture. That’s what she was telling him. That his little brother had screamed for help that never came, and somehow lasted longer because Thor had once thrown him in combat training when they were boys.
He crushed the can in his hand. The aluminum crumpled with a sound like a small bone breaking. His vision blurred.
“She means well, Thor.” Rocket said, softer than usual.
Bruce stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and steering him towards the door. “Come on, buddy. Let’s take a walk.”
Thor let himself be led. Behind them, the room stayed quiet – no one seemed to know what to say after that. He was grateful for it.
PART 4
Loki’s POV
Loki had always been a master of subtlety and misdirection, but being around actual people again meant biting back commentary that once would have flowed like wine. The common room. The training facilities. The kitchens at odd hours when Thor wandered through looking for Pop-Tarts. Loki found himself in all of them now, a shadow that had learned to stand in lamplight.
Not quite trusted – Steve still kept a careful distance, and Barton’s hand occasionally drifted toward a weapon that wasn’t there – but no longer actively shunned. And as Thor began appearing more frequently, showered and dressed in something other than stained sweatpants, Loki’s role shifted.
His brother had become his fixed point.
He’d begun hovering around Thor more than anyone else. It was almost instinctual, this protective force he now exuded over his sibling, and if anyone noticed, no one had the guts to comment. Not that Loki would have tolerated it. He wasn’t the type to indulge in quiet dissatisfaction anymore. Not when it came to Thor.
There was once when it happened during a mission debrief. Stark was recounting an extraction gone sideways, his tone casual.
“–and Thor’s still got the reflexes, even if he’s now working with, what, an extra seventy pounds of–”
“Finish that sentence.” The words left Loki’s mouth before he’d consciously decided to speak. He hadn’t moved from where he leaned against the wall, but he felt every eye turn to him. Good. “Please. I’m curious what you think comes next.”
Stark’s mouth opened, then closed. His hand froze mid-gesture.
“That’s what I thought.” Loki’s smile was all teeth. “My brother’s body is not your punchline. Find another joke.”
The silence stretched. Then Romanoff cleared her throat and redirected the conversation. And Stark for once, stayed quiet.
Loki remained exactly where he was, but he didn’t miss the way Thor stared holes into his side. He pretended not to notice.
“Brother,” Thor said one afternoon, after Loki had stared down a junior S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who’d snickered at Thor’s Crocs. His voice was soft, almost embarrassed. “I’ve got this. You don’t have to–”
“I don’t have to do anything.” Loki didn’t look at him, adjusting the strap of his own Crocs – navy blue, because he’d sooner throw himself off the helicarrier again than wear Thor’s garish yellow ones. “But I also don’t have to tolerate fools.”
Thor’s mouth twitched. “You used to call me a fool.”
“I still do. The difference is I’ve earned it.” Loki finally met his eyes, and something old and complicated passed between them – years of barbs and bruises, the particular language of brothers. “Only I get to make fun of you, Thor. That’s how this works.”
Loki could tell before he even opened the door. It was late afternoon – too late for Thor to still be sleeping unless something was wrong. The corridor outside his brother’s quarters was empty, and when Loki pressed his palm against the door, he could feel the stillness on the other side. Not the stillness of absence. The stillness of someone trying very hard not to exist.
He let himself in without knocking.
The room was dark, curtains drawn, and it smelled stale – sweat and alcohol and the particular mustiness of air that hadn’t moved in too long. Thor sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, staring at the carpet as if it held answers. Six empty bottles on the nightstand. A seventh clutched loosely in his hand.
Loki stayed in the doorway, not entering, not leaving. He crossed his arms loosely and tilted his head, reading Thor like a book with half its pages missing.
“What’s wrong, Thor?” Loki kept his voice soft.
Thor didn’t answer immediately. He pressed his palms against his eyes until his knuckles went white, then dragged them down his face. When he finally looked up, his eyes were red-rimmed and unfocused.
“Every time I look at you,” Thor said, his voice rough and ruined, “I remember what we’ve lost.”
Oh.
The words hit like a blade between the ribs. Very clean. So precise.
Loki felt his jaw tighten, felt the old familiar need to cut. Every time Thor looked at him, he saw loss. Of course. What else would he see? Loki was loss. He was the embodiment of every mistake, every failure, every burned bridge between them.
His first instinct was to make some callous remark about how Thor had never needed him to remember loss, how he’d always carried it so publicly, so obliviously attention-seeking. But the words died in his throat. Because Thor wasn’t looking at him with anger or resentment. He was looking at him with grief so raw it was almost obscene. Still, the damage was done.
He forced his expression smooth. “I see.” The words came out quiet, controlled. It took more effort than it should have.
“No–” Thor started, stumbling over his own tongue. “That’s not– I didn’t mean it like that.”
But Loki was already taking a step back. Self-preservation. He recognized the look on Thor’s face – regret, maybe, or pity – but it didn’t matter.
Every time I look at you. The words would loop in his head for days, he already knew. Another scar to add to the collection.
Loki didn’t say anything. And the silence seemed to drive Thor into a panic.
“No, no. You don’t understand…” He pushed himself up too fast and wobbled, grabbing the nightstand for balance. “Please, I didn’t say it right. Wait–”
Loki needed to leave. Needed air. Needed distance before he said something he couldn’t take back. “Get some sleep, brother. You’re drunk.”
“I’m not that drunk.” He was. Loki could hear it in his voice, see it in the way he moved. “Don’t go. Don’t–” Thor’s voice cracked.
Loki’s hand tightened on the doorframe. He should’ve started walking away. But his feet wouldn’t move.
“What do you want from me?” Thor’s voice was desperate. “Tell me. Tell me what you need and I’ll– I’ll do it.”
“I don’t know yet.” Loki wasn’t looking at Thor directly. The admission tasted bitter. “I don’t even know if coming back was the right thing. For you. For anyone.”
Silence.
“I’ll leave you to rest.” Loki said finally, and turned toward the door.
“If it’s that easy, then go!”
Loki froze.
“Leave! That’s what you do best, isn’t it? Leaving. Dying. Disappearing. Running away.” Thor was standing again now, swaying slightly. “You’re so good at it. So just do it again!”
Loki stood perfectly still, his back to Thor, feeling like his lungs had forgotten how to work properly. He’d expected many things. Not this.
He simply left, closing the door behind him with a soft click – quieter than a slam, more final somehow.
The corridor was empty. Quiet. He stood there for a moment, staring at nothing, his hand still on the door handle. Inside, he could hear Thor moving – a crash, the muffled sound of cursing, something heavy hitting the floor.
He let go of the handle.
His hands weren’t shaking. That was good. That meant he was fine. He was always fine.
He walked back to his own quarters – he didn’t remember the journey, just suddenly finding himself sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at his floor. Thor was right, of course. Leaving was what he did best. He’d done it so many times it should feel like second nature by now.
So why did it feel like drowning?
He didn’t sleep.
He lay in his bed, replaying the conversation endlessly. He should leave. Properly this time. He could be gone before dawn – he’d done it before, knew exactly how to slip away unseen. Thor clearly didn’t want him here. Didn’t need the constant reminder of–
No.
Loki sat up abruptly, rapping his knuckles against his temple.
Thor had been drunk. Grieving. Lashing out the way wounded animals do. And Loki – Loki had been running for so long he’d forgotten there was any other option.
When pale sunlight finally started filtering through his window, he made a decision.
He dressed carefully – green tunic, black leather, the armour of familiarity. Combed his hair back. Made sure his expression was neutral, controlled. Then he walked to Thor’s quarters and knocked once before letting himself in.
Thor was on the floor, back against the bed, looking like death warmed over. His head snapped up when the door opened, and the expression that crossed his face – surprise, hope, fear, all of it naked and unguarded – made something twist in Loki’s chest.
“You came back.” Thor’s whispered.
“Of course I did.” Loki stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him. The words came easier than he’d expected. “I wasn’t really planning on going anywhere.”
Then Thor was moving – stumbling forward with all the grace of a newborn foal – and suddenly Loki had an armful of his brother. Too tight. All muscle and weight and the smell of stale beer.
“Thor, I can’t–” Loki staggered backward under the momentum, hit the wall, overcorrected. His foot caught Thor’s ankle and then they were falling, a graceless tangle of limbs and leather hitting the carpet with matching groans.
For a moment, Loki just lay there with Thor’s weight pinning him.
Then a laugh bubbled up – breathless, slightly pained. “You’re crushing me.”
“I’m sorry.” Thor’s face was pressed against Loki’s shoulder, his arms still locked around him like Loki might disappear. His voice was muffled, thick. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it.”
Loki’s hand hovered for a moment, uncertain, then settled against Thor’s back. “I know.”
“Everything feels… wrong. I don’t know how to– I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I know that too, brother.” The words came out softer than Loki intended. He pressed his fingers against Thor’s spine, felt the shaking there. “It’s alright. We have time.”
And lying there on the floor of Thor’s quarters, Loki tried to believe it too.
They had time. Time to heal. Time to rebuild. Time to find their way back to each other.
Loki found Tony Stark crouched beside a fallen log, poking at something in the moss with a stick. The woods smelled of pine resin and damp earth. Strange, that of all the beings in the nine realms, he was seeking counsel from this one – this mortal who’d once had a missile with Loki’s name on it locked and loaded.
Stark hadn’t noticed him yet. His shoulders were loose, unguarded in a way they never were inside the compound. Loki’s chest tightened. He recognized that posture – the brief, stolen moment when you thought no one was watching.
He’d been an enemy. He still might be, in some ways that mattered. But Stark had made sense of Nebula, and that counted for something.
“Hello.”
Stark yelped – actually yelped – and rocketed upward, all coiled springs and misfiring reflexes. When he landed, his hand was already at his throat, fingers pressing against his pulse point like he was checking it was still there.
“Don’t–” Stark’s voice came out higher than usual. He cleared his throat, dropped his hand. “Don’t sneak up on me. New rule. And while we’re establishing boundaries, don’t hand me things, don’t touch me, don’t throw me out of my own goddamn building.” He was pacing now, three steps one way, three steps back. “Just– stay the hell away from my neck, alright? Everyone goes for the neck. Why is that?”
Loki went still. Not the calculated stillness he used as a weapon, but something smaller. His fingers curled briefly before he forced them straight again.
The fear in Stark’s eyes was already fading back into that artificial brightness he wore like armour, but Loki had seen it. Put it there, maybe not today, but on a day that still counted. He hadn’t meant to – but intention mattered less than result, didn’t it?
He could apologize. The words were right there, formatted properly, ready to deploy. But Stark Stark didn’t strike him as someone who’d appreciate empty phrases, however sincerely meant.
Loki decided on a safer way to respond. “I would reckon it’s because it’s a vital point.”
“That was rhetorical.” Stark stopped pacing, fixed him with a look that was half-annoyance, half-exhaustion.
“Oh.”
Stark’s laugh was sharp enough to cut. “You know what the problem is? Can’t trust anyone. Not you, not Thor, not the guy with the shield who’s supposed to be the moral compass. Friends, enemies, people who couldn’t decide which they were.” His hand drifted to his neck again, dropped. “I’m full up on choke-outs, thanks.”
Memories flashed behind his eyes briefly – Thor’s forearm against his throat. Thanos’s fingers like iron circling his windpipe. The sensation of airlessness had so many textures, and he knew them all.
“Me too,” he said.
Stark’s head snapped up. For a moment they just looked at each other – two people who’d learned that betrayal often wore a familiar face.
“I didn’t mean to cause you distress,” Loki said. “Today, I mean. The rest of it...” He exhaled through his nose. “The rest of it happened. I can’t unhappen it. But it wasn’t personal.”
“Please tell me that wasn’t your version of an apology. Because one, I didn’t actually hear the words ‘I’m sorry’ in there anywhere. And two, if that was your attempt, it was possibly the worst apology in the history of apologies. I’ve heard better from JARVIS when he crashed my system.”
Loki didn’t flinch at the harsh words. In fact, he almost expected them. His past wasn’t something he could just erase, and Stark– well, Stark wasn’t the kind to just let things slide. Loki knew that.
“I was simply clarifying my intentions. I know better than to ask for something I don’t deserve.”
“Good, because we’re not there yet. I get it, you were just trying to survive, blah blah, had to carry out his orders, sure. But bygones are certainly not bygones, and probably might never be.”
“I respect that,” Loki said. “But I assure you, you don’t get anything.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t pretend to know my motivations.”
Stark stepped closer, and there was something dangerous in the casualness of it. “Then enlighten me. You owe me that much. Start there.”
Loki’s fingers flexed. Once, twice. “I wasn’t fighting for survival.”
The words were finally out there.
Stark’s hand came up to his mouth, dragged down. “So you’re just– what, you’re actually insane? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I’d already tried to die.” Loki’s voice was flat, factual, like he was reciting coordinates. “Multiple attempts. They don’t let you, though. It’s remarkable how invested people become in keeping you alive when they still need someone to punish.” He paused. “So when Thanos offered me New York – a mission on Midgard, Asgard’s precious pet project – I took it. Asgard can get rather trigger-happy when doling out execution sentences, if you know what I mean. Thought I’d finally found a workaround.”
Stark had gone very still. “That’s not–” He stopped. Started again. “What the hell.”
The silence stretched.
“Does Thor know?” Stark’s voice had lost its edge. “About the... about any of that?”
“He never asked.” Loki’s smile was a knife turned inward. “No one did. Though I suppose if they had, I don’t think I would’ve answered.”
“You can’t just–” Stark’s hands were moving now, that frantic gesture-language he spoke when words weren’t enough. “You can’t just drop that on someone in the middle of the woods like you’re discussing the damn weather.”
“You asked.”
“I asked about New York! I didn’t ask for–” He stopped, recalibrated. “Why even tell me?”
“Because you asked,” Loki repeated, slower this time. “And because I’m trying to prove my intentions are genuine. However futile that may be.”
“Even if I believe you, it doesn’t mean I trust you.”
“Gods, no.” Loki actually smiled, and it was almost real. “Never trust me.”
“Okay.” Stark scrubbed both hands through his hair. “Alright. Look, we’re not there yet. Not even close. But you’re being honest. I can work with honest.” He paused. “And for the record, this whole straight-truth thing is way more disturbing than your usual mind games. I appreciate it though.”
“You’re welcome. But I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
“Don’t test me,” Stark said, but there was no real heat in it.
Loki looked away, toward where the trees thickened into shadow. When he spoke again, his voice had a different quality to it. Smaller, somehow.
“The thing is... I didn’t actually come here to unload my life story on you.”
“No?”
“No. I came because–” He stopped. Sighed. “Thor’s… still slipping, and I don’t know how to catch him. I barely know how to stay upright myself.”
“And you’re asking me.” Stark said it flat, like he was testing the reality of the statement.
“I don’t know how to talk to anyone else.” Loki’s admission came out rough. “Rogers would give me a speech about family and duty. Romanoff would dissect my motives until there was nothing left. But you – you got through to Nebula. Someone that damaged, that far gone. Which means there’s something in you that people don’t see. That I didn’t care to see.”
Stark was quiet for a long moment. “You can’t just pick up his pieces,” he said finally. “That’s not how it works.”
“Then what–”
“You have to have to help him rebuild. And that’s different.”
“But I can’t rebuild what’s broken. I’m not that kind of god.”
“Picking up pieces is about you – making yourself feel useful, like you’re fixing something. Rebuilding is about him. What he needs. What he can handle. What shape he wants to take when he’s done.” Stark kicked at a root. “And I’m gonna level with you – sometimes you just... you learn to live with the cracks. Work around them. Sometimes the cracks are the most important part.”
Loki stared at him. Stark wasn’t looking back, his gaze somewhere in the middle distance.
“You sound like you know.”
“Yeah, well.” Stark’s smile was crooked, tired. “I’ve got plenty of practice.”
“Hmm,” Loki hesitated for a long moment, his eyes scanning Stark’s face. “I’ll think about it.”
Stark nodded. “Yeah. You do that.”
They stood there a moment longer, two beings who’d spent most of their lives being whatever others needed them to be – weapon, villain, hero, sacrifice. The woods were quiet around them except for the rustle of wind through pine needles.
Then Stark turned and headed back toward the compound, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. Loki watched him go.
He did think about it. Kept thinking about it through the following weeks as something strange and uncomfortable took root between them.
Not friendship – neither of them was naive enough to call it that. But something. A recognition, maybe. Stark would nod at him in the hallways. Loki stopped making certain kinds of jokes. Once, he found Nebula and Stark arguing about the proper way to disassemble a Chitauri weapon, and when he’d tried to leave, Stark had just waved him over like it was normal for the three of them to be in the same room without bloodshed.
They were all broken in ways that didn’t fit back together right. But maybe that was the point. Maybe you didn’t need to fit together – you just needed to be broken in compatible ways.
He still didn’t trust them. Not completely. But late at night, when Thor’s nightmares woke half the compound and Loki didn’t know what to do with his own hands, he thought about what Stark had said.
Work around the cracks. Sometimes they’re the most important part.
It wasn’t hope, exactly. But it was something close enough to keep him moving forward.
PART 5
Loki’s POV
Loki had never really been the type to gravitate toward children, let alone feel at ease around them. But there was something about Morgan that caught him off guard. Her gaze held no suspicion, no judgment – just curiosity. For someone who’d spent far too long in the shadows of his past, that felt… rare. She saw him for what he was, and to her, that was simply Loki. Not the villain, not the god of mischief, not the fallen prince – just Loki.
Stark had seemed surprised when they’d first met – wary, even. Loki understood. His history with children wasn’t exactly spotless, and he’d half-expected the girl to recoil. Instead, Morgan had this way of approaching him, head tilted with that innocent curiosity that made his usual walls feel pointless. She saw through them without even trying.
The first time Stark properly introduced them, Morgan had been just three-ish. Loki had braced himself for the usual awkwardness.
“What are you doing here, bug?” Stark had asked, opening his arms to catch her.
“Mommy asked me to come and say hi to your fwend.” Her words were still a little garbled.
“Did she?” Stark had smiled, amused.
Morgan looked at him for a few seconds and Loki felt the urge to look away. Then she leaned in close to Stark’s ear, one small hand cupped around her mouth. Her whisper carried anyway. “Uh-huh, she says that he gets sad eyes when he sees me. Maybe if I say hi, he won’t be sad anymowe.”
Heat crawled up Loki’s neck. He fixed his gaze on the gravel beneath his feet. Caught. The child had noticed – and worse, her mother had noticed him noticing. He wasn’t used to being seen like this, stripped of pretense by a toddler’s blunt honesty.
Stark raised an eyebrow. “You been creeping on my kid?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Tell me what I should think, then. You’ve got about five seconds before I freak the fuzz out and ban you from my property.”
“Children don’t–” He stopped, choosing his words with uncharacteristic care. “They don’t regard me with anything already decided. Not the lesser prince. Not the megalomaniac monster from New York. They haven’t lived long enough to build that kind of… bias. So when they look at me, they just see–” He gestured vaguely. “Someone. Me. It’s just… nice.”
Stark went quiet for a beat – long enough that Loki almost regretted saying anything. Then Stark’s expression shifted, something unreadable passing behind his eyes.
“All I heard is that you’ve got a secret soft spot for kids.”
Loki shrugged shyly. “If that’s the way you wish to take it.”
“Who would’ve thought that underneath that icy exterior, you’re just a big ol’ softie like Thor.”
Loki turned his face skyward, huffing through his nose in frustration. “I would like this conversation to end. Now, preferably.”
Stark chuckled, glancing down at Morgan. “Well, Pep’s more perceptive than anyone gives her credit for.” He shifted Morgan in his arms, met Loki’s eyes. “So– this is Morgan Stark, officially. The other lady who has my heart.”
Loki’s attention dropped to the girl, who’d tucked her face against Stark’s shoulder now, suddenly shy. Something twisted in his chest – not unpleasant, but unfamiliar. He found himself smiling before he’d decided to.
“Hello, child.” The words came out softer than he’d intended. “It’s good to finally meet you properly.”
Morgan looked up at him, her wide eyes full of curiosity. “Hi.”
“Tell Loki here how old you are,” Tony led.
“Thwee,” Morgan responded proudly, holding up three fingers, her lisp still adorably apparent.
Stark’s whole face changed – in that way Loki had only seen a handful of times. “She’s three and a half. Apple of daddy’s eye.” His hand moved through her hair, gentle, rhythmic. “Smartest toddler in the world – yeah, I can say that. Best Stark ever made.”
Loki watched the two of them, something easing in his chest. “She’s very well-spoken for her young age. A sign of great intelligence.” He paused. “She’s beautiful, Tony.”
If Stark noticed being addressed by his first name now, he didn’t say anything about it.
“Thanks, Reindeer Games. That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Loki cleared his throat, trying to mask his embarrassment.
“You don’t look like a weindeer,” Morgan giggled, bright and unrestrained. “Why does Daddy call you Weindeer Games?”
Loki sighed, “See what you’ve done?”
Stark smirked, leaning back and crossing his arms. “C’mon, Rock of Ages. Look at that adorable little face. That perfect toothy grin. If she’s gonna flash that award-winning smile because she thinks you’ve got a weird name, then you’re just gonna have to accept that you’ve got a weird name.”
“But I don’t. My name is Loki.”
Morgan reached out suddenly, poking his forearm with one small finger. Loki went very still. She looked up at him with those innocent eyes. “You weally made of wock, Weindeer?”
Stark couldn’t hold back his laugh. “Daddy’s girl.”
“Tony, remedy this.”
“One day, but not today,” Stark was thoroughly enjoying every second of this. Then he leaned toward Morgan conspiratorially, dropping his voice to an exaggerated whisper. “Hey, did you know Loki can do magic?”
Loki shot him a glare that would’ve been more effective if his mouth hadn’t been doing that thing where it almost smiled. “I can hear you.”
Morgan was already excited. “Can you, weally? I wanna see. Pwease? Pwease...Woki.”
“Oh, she’s smart alright.” The word caught him off-guard – Woki.
Loki hesitated. He’d conjured illusions for intimidation, for deception – never just to delight. But Morgan was bouncing on Tony’s hip now, eyes bright with expectation, and something in him couldn’t refuse her.
He lifted his hand, let the seidr gather at his fingertips – familiar, warm. With a twist of his wrist, golden light spilled into the air around them, cascading like water that defied gravity. The palace spires of Asgard rose in miniature, glittering and impossibly detailed. Even the waterfalls moved, shimmering as they fell into nothing.
A sound – something between a squeak and a gasp – came from Tony. Loki didn’t look at him, or he’d smile too obviously. “This was my home,” he said quietly. “This was Asgard.”
Morgan went silent for half a second – then squealed, clapping her hands together. “As-gawd...” She breathed it out like a spell. “So pwetty.”
When Loki finally glanced at Tony, the man was staring at the illusion and forgotten how to close his mouth. “Neat trick, Off-world Houdini.”
“You got the bestest magic ever, Woki.” Morgan smiled up at him like he’d just handed her the world, and the noise in Loki’s head went quiet.
He’d been seen by kings, by warriors, by gods and monsters. But being seen by her, by this small human who called him Woki and believed his magic was the “bestest ever”–
That, he realized, was different.
That, he didn’t mind at all.
He was already wrapped around this child’s finger.
Tony’s POV
Tony groaned. He’d been this close to a peaceful fifteen minutes – workshop, coffee, maybe a snack – and then Morgan had come barrelling in, insisting that Loki was sick. And when his daughter got that look in her eye, the one that said she knew something everyone else had missed, Tony had learned not to argue.
“We were just talking about As-gawd, Daddy.”
So here he was, crouched in front of a god who couldn’t catch his breath. Loki’s chest jerked with each inhale, shallow and wrong, and a faint green shimmer pulsed at his fingertips – magic leaking. Tony had seen Loki angry, smug, dangerous. He’d never seen him look small.
Tony dragged a hand down his face. Christ. How was he supposed to explain this? Morgan was still watching from somewhere behind him – he could feel her eyes boring into his back – and Loki looked like he was unravelling at the seams. Tony’s hands hovered, uncertain. Touch might help or it might make things worse – he didn’t know enough about Loki to guess which. And despite everything, Tony wasn’t about to be the guy who made this worse.
“Loki, can you hear me?”
“I don’t– this doesn’t–” Loki’s words fractured. “Never happens. Didn’t. It’s… something’s wrong–” He stopped abruptly, his breathing growing sharper. “Can’t breathe. Something in the grass, the dirt– it’s poison, it’s–”
Loki didn’t do vulnerable. Didn’t do lost. But there it was anyway, written all over him – the same trapped-animal look Tony had seen in his own mirror. He knew that feeling. The one where your body turned traitor and your brain insisted that your end was near and there was nothing, nothing you could do to make it stop.
“It’s a panic attack.” Tony kept his voice level. “You’re talking. That means you’re past the worst part. Just gotta ride it out now.”
“No. No, this is– I’m losing my mind. I’m going to die here… choked to death. I can feel it, the ground, the– everywhere–”
Tony shifted closer. “Hey. Look at me… yeah, there you go. It’s gonna stop. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it will.”
“Are you... certain I’m not dying?” Loki’s breathing was slowing, just a fraction. Like he was listening.
“You’re not dying.” Tony’s jaw tightened. “I know it feels like you are. But you’re not.”
“How can you be sure?”
For a moment, Tony’s eyes softened. He didn’t know what Loki had gone through, not all of it. He didn’t understand the pain that Loki was living with. But he could imagine. Tony had enough of his own scars to recognize the same hollow despair when he saw it.
“Because I’ve had them too.” The words came out rougher than Tony intended. He swallowed. “After New York. After I went up into space and saw… all of that. My brain really tapped out after. Took months before I could sleep without waking up convinced that I was suffocating.” He paused. “Feels like a lifetime ago, but the fear doesn’t really go away. You just learn to recognize it for what it is.”
Loki’s breath hitched. “I’m– I owe you–” He stopped, tried again. “What I did to you. The part I played in New York. I’m sorry.”
Tony was silent for a while.
“It’s okay, Loki.”
“Do you mean that?”
Tony hesitated. “I mean… it’s not okay. What happened. But right now? Yeah. It’s okay.”
“That didn’t make any sense.”
“Look, you made choices. Bad ones. I’m not pretending you didn’t.” Tony ran his thumb along where his arc reactor casing used to be – force of habit. “But I also know you got dealt a shit hand. And if what I went through messed me up this bad, I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for you.”
“What do you know?”
“Do you really want the answer to that?”
“I suppose not.”
“Besides, it’s not like you were my friend who lied to my face about who killed my parents. That would be personal.” The words came out sharper than Tony meant them to. “That would be saying… I was never your friend, or I was such a bad friend that I didn’t even deserve the truth. That my trust meant nothing.”
“Is that why the Avengers fell out?”
Tony shook his head, rolled his shoulders back. Enough of that. “Not getting into that today.”
Loki’s next breath came easier, and the green light flickering around him dimmed to nothing. “Is it... is it over?” He whispered, sounding as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself.
“Yeah, good job.” Tony wagged finger at him, “And just so we’re clear, this doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t mean I trust you.”
“Wise man.”
Tony pushed himself to his feet, knees protesting. Loki was still sitting in the grass, looking wrung out but significantly less like he was about to disintegrate.
“Can you stand?”
Loki nodded, though it took him a moment to actually do it. When he did, he swayed slightly, and Tony caught his elbow on instinct.
“Easy.”
“I’m fine.” Loki pulled away, embarrassed. He looked toward the house, where Morgan’s face was pressed against the glass door, watching. When she saw them both looking, she waved frantically.
“She’s worried about you,” Tony said. “Probably gonna insist on making you soup or something.”
“Soup?”
“It’s her solution to everything.” Tony started walking back toward the house, and after a beat, Loki followed. “Fair warning: she’s four. The soup will be… an experience.”
By dinner, Loki had recovered enough to humour Morgan’s promise that alphabet soup would make him feel better.
He ate slowly, and some of the remaining tightness in his shoulders finally eased. Morgan was right there beside him, pointing out letters and inventing words that made no sense but made her laugh anyway.
After dinner, the two had run off to the backyard again.
“Come back, Loki!” Morgan’s voice carried through the open door, high and delighted. “Where did you go?”
Tony looked up from his specs pad.
“Do another one!” More giggles. He exchanged a look with Pepper.
“Are you curious?” She asked.
“Huh. I actually am.”
Pepper set down her magazine. “What are they doing out there?” A pause. “Should we be worried that Loki’s more fun than we are?”
“We’re fun.” Tony pushed himself up from the couch. “We’re hilarious.”
Neither of them expected to see what they did next.
The sliding door banged open. Morgan tumbled through, and behind her – Tony’s brain registered it half a second too slow – something scaled and serpentine slithered across the threshold. He was on his feet, moving, but Pepper was faster.
“Morgan!” She had their daughter in her arms before Tony crossed half the room, holding her tight and away from whatever had just followed her inside. “No, baby. Snakes are dangerous.”
Tony’s heart was still hammering, but he couldn’t help it – “That was extremely attractive, just so you know” – even as his eyes tracked the floor for the snake.
Before Pepper could respond, Morgan’s small hands turned her face. “It’s just Loki, Mommy. He’s being silly.” Her whisper bordered reverent. “He turned into a fwog. And a dwagon!”
“A dragon.” Tony looked toward the yard, where something gold-green glimmered near the bushes outside. “Great. How are we supposed to compete with that?”
Loki stepped out from the shadows, back in his usual shape, that familiar smirk on his face. One that Tony was beginning to see less as a weapon.
“Just showing little lady Morgan that most fairytales and myths have it wrong,” Loki said. “They’re beautiful creatures. Nothing to fear.” He glanced at Morgan. “Isn’t that right, baby Stark?”
“I’m not a baby!” Morgan wriggled in Pepper’s arms. “I touched a dwagon. I’m brave!”
Loki bowed, lower than necessary. “Indeed. My mistake.” When he straightened, there was something genuine in his expression, buried under the theatrics. “In fact, you would make a wonderful member of the Valkyries. Where I’m from, only the bravest warrior women get to be one.”
He winked. Morgan giggled and squeezed one eye shut, tongue poking out in concentration as she tried to copy him.
Tony looked at Pepper. Pepper looked at Tony.
“So,” Tony said. “Shapeshifting.”
“Apparently.” Pepper still hadn’t quite let go of Morgan, even though their daughter was doing her best to squirm free.
“In our backyard.”
“Unsupervised.”
“We should probably have a conversation about that,” Tony said, looking at Loki. “Like, ground rules. ‘Don’t turn into apex predators around our toddler’ feels like it should be in there somewhere.”
But Pepper set Morgan down anyway. Their daughter immediately ran back to Loki, and Pepper didn’t stop her. Tony watched Loki crouch down to Morgan’s level, letting her grab his hand and pull him toward the yard. A year ago, Tony would’ve stepped between them without thinking. Now… he stayed where he was.
“Thank you,” Loki turned back and murmured. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Loki!” Morgan tugged on his sleeve. “What’s next? Can you be a dolphin?”
Loki’s smirk returned. “That’s a surprise for later. But I think I can manage something interesting enough.”
They ended up on the patio, Tony and Pepper side by side, watching Morgan chase Loki’s illusions across the grass. The sun was setting, everything gone orange and soft, and Morgan’s laughter carried clear across the yard.
Tony bumped his shoulder against Pepper’s. “Loki’s fun now. That’s weird, right?”
Pepper’s mouth quirked. “We’ve been completely outclassed.”
PART 6
Loki’s POV
Three years. Loki hadn’t meant to count them – hadn’t meant to measure time the way mortals did – but the rhythm of Tony’s workshop had become his metronome. The hum of arc reactors, the smell of solder and coffee, the particular quality of afternoon light through reinforced glass. These marked his days now.
Tony had begun filling in the gaps – recounting what had happened in their world while Loki was off pretending to be dead or missing. He circled around the Sokovia Accords though. Loki could feel it in the way conversations would veer close, then away. Until one evening, when Tony simply gestured to the chair across from him and said, “Sit.”
So Loki sat.
The story came in fragments at first. Rogers. Siberia. The Raft. Names Loki recognized, places he didn’t. Tony’s voice stayed level, clinical almost, but his fingers kept returning to his chest. Apparently where someone named Barnes had struck with his metal fist.
Loki listened carefully. Let the silence settle between them before speaking.
“I understand Rogers’ impulse – loyalty to one’s brother-in-arms is no small thing.” He watched Tony clench his jaw. “But loyalty without wisdom is just sentiment in armour. You were trying to prevent another New York. Another Sokovia. Rogers was trying to prevent his friend from facing consequences.” He tilted his head. “One of these is about the world. The other is about a man.”
Tony chuckled at that.
“Besides,” Loki added, something sharp glinting in his eyes, “Rogers has the kind of self-righteousness that makes princes into tyrants. I’d know.”
Then one day, back at the compound after a mission, Loki stopped mid-stride in the lab. Bruce stood by the kitchen counter – all eight feet of him – pouring coffee into a normal-sized mug with surprising delicacy. Green skin, Banner’s eyes, the Hulk’s frame. The cognitive dissonance made Loki’s fingers twitch with the urge to check for illusions.
“What is this?” He circled Bruce slowly. “Did you finally get a haircut?”
Bruce laughed – a warm, genuine sound that belonged to neither Banner nor Hulk but somehow both. “No, Loki. Actually, you gave me the idea.”
“I did?” Loki stopped, genuinely surprised.
“Yeah.” Bruce set down his mug. “You once told me I needed to ‘accept the monster.’ That I couldn’t keep running from it.” His massive shoulders lifted in a shrug that seemed almost vulnerable. “So I stopped running. Figured out how to embrace both sides.”
He had found a way to merge the two.
For a moment, Loki said nothing. Then, quieter than usual: “You look… whole.” He met Bruce’s eyes. “It suits you.”
They laughed. Loki felt his chest go looser.
Bruce’s laughter faded into something softer, more knowing. Loki found himself smiling back – small, but real.
Perhaps balance wasn’t about erasing what you’d been. Perhaps it was about making room for what you could become.
In the fifth year, on an afternoon that seemed no different from any other, everything changed.
Loki heard the cars before he saw them – multiple engines, the crunch of gravel. He didn’t look up from the small wooden house Morgan had insisted he help “guard” from imaginary unicorns.
Voices. Familiar ones. Rogers. Romanoff. Banner’s new rumbling bass.
And one he didn’t recognize: “–swear Tony said upstate, right? This is upstate? Because I’ve been in the Quantum Realm for what felt like five hours but was apparently five years and I really need this to be the right house–”
Loki remained where he was – perched on Morgan’s “guard post” stool, a position that would’ve been undignified if not for the princess inside the wooden fort who’d ordered him there. He could feel their stares before he looked up.
Rogers stood at the front, shield-less but still carrying himself like he wore it. Romanoff beside him, sharp-eyed as ever. Professor Hulk waved at him. And a stranger in an ill-fitting jacket who looked at Loki like he’d seen a ghost.
“Oh my god.” The stranger – Scott Lang, Loki would learn later – stared. “That’s Loki. The actual– with the scepter and the aliens– that Loki?” His voice climbed higher. “What the hell happened in the last five years?”
“Hello Bruce.” Loki addressed warmly.
“Hey Loki.”
“What’s going on?”
“Wait till you get a load of this, we–”
“Um, is this normal?” Scott’s head whipped back and forth, alternating between the two.
Loki didn’t bother standing. “You’re new.”
Steve stepped forward. “What are you doing here?”
Loki glanced at him, expression flat. “I could ask you the same.”
“We’re here to talk to Tony.”
“What a coincidence.” Loki settled back against the wooden fort. “So am I.”
“Loki?” Morgan’s voice came from inside the fort, small and muffled. “Who’re you talking to?”
Her head popped out from the door, ducking. Hair escaping from its ponytail, juice box stain on her shirt.
Loki’s expression shifted instantly – theatrical delight that might’ve been partly genuine. “Ah, she emerges at last. Her presence is grace.” He pressed a hand to his chest in mock reverence. “I’m honoured, Lady Morgan.”
Morgan giggled and launched herself at him. Loki caught her with the ease of long practice, settling her on his hip. “You always talk funny.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” He stood, Morgan already perched on his side. “I speak perfectly normal.”
She giggled again, delighted by the obvious lie.
Loki could feel their eyes on him – the weight of their collective shock. Good. Let them recalibrate. Let them wonder.
He glanced back at the assembled heroes over his shoulder. “Come. We should tell your parents they have visitors, Morgan.”
She leaned close to his ear, her whisper loud enough that everyone probably heard anyway. “Are they Daddy’s friends?”
Loki paused for a moment. Were they Tony’s friends? Once, perhaps. Some of them. Now?
“I don’t know,” he said, loud enough for all of them to hear. “But they’re good people.”
Morgan twisted in his arms to face them and waved. “Hi.”
They waved back. Even Romanoff’s expression softened – a minor miracle.
Tony’s workshop became a war room.
They’d moved inside after Pepper insisted – she’d given the assembled Avengers one long look that said if you’re staying, you’re staying properly – and now they crowded around Tony’s holographic displays. Time travel. The Infinity Stones. Heist logistics.
Loki leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching Tony sketch probability curves in light.
They wanted to take all six stones and undo everything? His own mind tracked variables. Success probability: low. Casualties: near-certain.
Madness.
But Thor would go. And if Thor went, he’d die – properly, this time. And Tony would go, because Tony couldn’t help himself. Which meant Morgan would lose her father.
Which meant Loki was going too.
The others had dispersed to various corners of the house – Scott enthusiastically explaining the Quantum Realm to anyone who’d listen, Rogers and Natasha talking in low voices by the window.
Tony found him on the deck, watching the lake turn silver under moonlight.
“So,” Tony said, joining him at the railing. “Time heist. Thoughts?”
“None that would matter.”
“I’m building a gauntlet. New one. Nano-tech, distributed power relay to handle all six Stones at once.” He paused. “Someone’s gonna have to use it.”
Loki said nothing.
“I need to know.” Tony turned to look at him. “Are you in? Actually in? Because you know what we’re up against. Even with everything we’ve got, it might not be enough.”
“I’ve already died twice, I’m not eager for a third performance.” Loki said lightly, then met Tony’s eyes. “But… I made promises to a child about unicorns now. Can’t very well keep those if Thanos wins.”
“Just making sure. You’ve been a bit of a wild card.”
“If I were a wild card, you’d know. You’re welcome to think of me as a necessary variable in this equation.”
“Necessary variable.’” Tony huffed something between a laugh and a scoff. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
The deck door opened. Pepper stepped out, holding two cups of coffee – one for Tony, one for herself. Her gaze flickered to Loki, then back to her husband.
“Am I interrupting?”
“Never,” Tony said automatically.
She handed him his coffee, then turned to Loki. “Can we talk?”
“Of course.”
Pepper set her coffee down on the railing. “I know you’re capable of a lot more than you let on, Loki. I’ve seen enough.” She looked at him steadily. “When this happens – when you all go after Thanos – I need you to keep Tony alive.”
Loki opened his mouth.
“I’m not asking you to risk your life for him,” she continued. “I’m telling you that he’ll do something stupid and heroic, because that’s what he does. And you’re just going to have to stop him somehow.”
For a long moment, Loki simply looked at her.
Then he inclined his head – small, but genuine. “As long as I still draw breath, you have my word.”
Tony cleared his throat. “Well. That’s… good to know.” He took a sip of coffee, then another. “Going soft on me now?”
“Don’t be absurd.” Loki’s smirk returned, sharp-edged. “Your particular well-being happens to be purely incidental.”
“Uh-huh.” Tony’s mouth twitched. “Can’t trust you, right?”
“That’s right. I’ve got to keep you on your toes.”
Pepper watched them both, then picked up her coffee and headed inside. “Men,” she muttered, but there was something almost fond in it.
They stood there in the dark, the lake reflecting stars neither of them looked at. Somewhere inside, Morgan laughed at something Natasha said – her voice bright and unburdened by knowledge of Infinity Stones or the weight of promises made on decks.
“She can’t lose you,” Loki said quietly.
Tony nodded. “I know.”
“So don’t make me keep that promise the hard way.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Loki didn’t believe him for a second.
Cap’s voice droned on, assigning teams like pieces on a board. Loki barely listened – until he heard “Clint and Natasha” paired with “Vormir” and “Soul Stone.” His spine straightened against the wall.
No. The word formed in his mind before he could articulate why.
He’d watched the archer and the assassin long enough to recognize what passed between them in the tilt of a head, the brush of a shoulder. Not friendship. Something older, deeper. The kind of bond that would end up with one of them dead and the other wishing they were dead, should they succeed on Vormir.
Loki pushed off the wall. “That’s not happening.”
Every face turned toward him. But he held his ground even as Cap’s voice sliced through the silence. “Excuse me?”
Loki clasped his hands to keep them still. “I said no.” He let the words settle, firmer than they expected from him. “Send Thor and I instead.”
Clint snorted. “Why? So you can sabotage our plans?”
“I’m trying to save your lives here.”
“Save our lives?” Clint’s mouth twisted. “Sorry, but you’ve never been the saviour type.”
“You can’t go there.” Loki’s gaze darkened. “None of you will succeed.”
Clint leaned forward, frowning. “What are you talking about? Be more clear than that.”
“This knowledge will burden you,” Loki muttered.
“You’re just being cryptic,” Clint shot back.
“Thanos sacrificed the closest thing he had to a daughter to obtain the Soul Stone.” Loki paused, letting them absorb it. “You see, one has to sacrifice what they love most– who they love most. Your friendship, your bonds – none of it makes you immune. You’ll have to make that choice. Just as he did.”
The room went dead silent. Clint’s eyes found Natasha, held there a beat too long. She looked away first, but her fingers curled at her sides.
“Would you stand by and let the other die in front of you?” Loki’s voice dropped, softer but no less cutting. “All this on the off-chance you could save the universe?”
Clint broke first. “Yes. We’ll do it. I’ll take the plunge. After everything I’ve done – it’s only right. I’m not losing anybody again.”
Natasha’s voice came out deceptively level. “So you’d make me lose you, then?”
“What–”
Loki shook his head. “You people are heroes. You’re all too good for this. You’d never sacrifice your own brethren.” He glanced between them. “And you two – you’re definitely more than that.”
Clint’s and Natasha’s eyes narrowed in unison. The anger he expected. The confusion though – that surprised him.
“I don’t know what you’re suggesting.” Natasha’s tone went glacial.
“I do.” Clint’s fingers twitched. “And I’m this close to killing you.”
Loki raised a hand, eyes rolling. “You two really need to talk.”
“Enough.” Thor’s voice boomed from across the room.
He crossed the space in three strides and grabbed Loki’s arm, yanking him back hard enough that Loki stumbled. He’d been silent up till now that Loki thought he’d drifted off to sleep.
“You haven’t heard me out–” Loki twisted in his grip, but Thor’s hand clamped tighter.
“No!” Thor’s face flushed. “I know where this is going. You’re going to ask me to kill you.”
Loki opened his mouth, but Thor cut him off.
“I don’t want to hear it, Loki. Don’t you ever–” His voice cracked. “Don’t think so little of your own life that you’d suggest it.”
Something in Loki’s chest twisted. “You don’t have to kill me. It’s just about letting me fall. I know the cost.”
Thor shook his head vehemently, a tear tracking down his cheek. “If we’re going to Vormir, you’ll have to kill me instead.” His voice went rough. “If you’re ready to do that, let me know.”
He turned and walked out.
Loki stood there, the words he’d prepared dissolving on his tongue. He knew Thor would’ve been stubborn about it, but the tears – those undid him.
“I’m not having my brother killed.” His voice came out harder than he intended. “He’s firepower. He’s useful for a fight, not for this kind of dumb sacrifice.”
Tony broke the silence. “Neither are you. We’ll figure something else out. Just– we need some time to think. That’s all.”
“Fair,” Loki said, stepping back from the group. “I’ll have a think about alternatives as well.”
The group dispersed. Loki caught the look that passed between Clint and Natasha before they separated – brief, weighted, unfinished.
He waited.
When Natasha rounded the corner twenty minutes later, walking fast, he stepped out in front of her.
“Nobody told you eavesdropping is rude?”
Loki grinned. “Oh, I’ve been told plenty.” He tilted his head. “But Agent Romanoff… this is love, isn’t it?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Love is for children, remember?”
“Then I suggest you give being a child a try.” His tone lightened, but something genuine threaded through it. “Opportunities don’t come often for people like us.”
“You think we’re the same?”
His smile faded. “In some ways, maybe.”
She studied him for a long moment, then walked past without another word. But he caught the slight hesitation in her stride, the way her shoulders didn’t quite drop back down.
Close enough to understanding.
PART 7
Loki’s POV
The room felt different when they reconvened an hour later. Clint and Natasha stood side by side near the window, and Loki noticed immediately – not what had changed between them, but what had settled. Natasha’s shoulder tilted toward Clint’s. His hand hung loose at his side, fingers twitching occasionally, like he was stopping himself from reaching for her. Their eyes met once across the table, brief, and something passed between them that made Loki look away.
The rest of the team had filtered in: Steve near the doorway, Tony at the head of the table, Rocket perched on a chair with his arms crossed. Bruce hovered uncertainly by the wall.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve got a new plan. It still involves me dying.”
Thor’s chair hit the floor before Loki finished his second sentence. The crash made Natasha’s hand twitch toward a weapon that wasn’t there. Thor stood, chest heaving.
“I’m leaving.”
“But I haven’t even gone into the details yet.”
“I’m this close–” Thor pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, hard enough that when he pulled them away, his skin was pink. “Please stop this. I can’t keep listening to you plan your own death. I can’t.”
His hands were shaking. Thor – who’d held the Bifrost against the might of Jotunheim, whose hands had never trembled in battle – was shaking.
Loki moved forward without thinking, closing the space between them. He’d scripted Thor’s objections during sleepless hours before dawn, prepared counterarguments for every protest. But watching his brother’s pain over and over again–
“Listen to me. I’m not going anywhere.” Loki kept his voice low, steady, the way Frigga used to when one of them woke from nightmares. “I promise.”
“But you said–”
“Yes, the plan involves me dying. But another me.”
Thor’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“The original plan was to New York, 2012. Grab the stones. I propose we grab something extra – an alternate version of me, the one from that time. Bring him back here.” Loki paused, looking to each of them. “Then leave him to me.”
Rocket snorted from his perch. “Oh great. Two Lokis. Because one wasn’t enough of a headache.” He jabbed a claw toward Loki. “What’s to stop the 2012 version from just, I don’t know, stabbing you and taking over your life?”
“Because he’ll want to die by then,” Loki said simply. “Once I tell him what I need to tell him.”
A beat of uncomfortable silence.
Clint, to everyone’s surprise, held up a hand. “Hear him out.”
Loki gave him a small nod then turned back to Thor, whose expression had grown flat. “You want me to throw an alternate you off a cliff.”
“I’m sure I can get him to commit willingly. And knowing you, you’d love me in any dimension or reality. Sacrifice that ‘me,’ get the Soul Stone. When you return, I’ll still be here. Ipso facto, you won’t really lose me.”
“But you’d make an alternate me lose you.”
Loki’s shrug was calculated – light, dismissive, the kind that used to drive Thor mad when they were children. “Alternate you probably already lost me. That world could do without a Loki.” He meant it. The 2012 version of himself was a wound that hadn’t stopped bleeding, poisoning everything it touched.
Then he saw the look in Thor’s eyes, recognised it well. He’d seen it on the Statesman, right before everything went dark. The look of someone watching his brother die and being powerless to stop it. It made Loki’s chest ache in ways he’d spent centuries learning to ignore.
“I see,” Thor murmured.
“I didn’t mean–” Loki stopped, exhaled through his nose. Tried again. “2012 Loki is… warped. Angry. So full of resentment he can’t see past it.” His gaze dropped to the floor, then forced itself back up to meet Thor’s. “We lost him the moment he let go of Gungnir. It would make little difference if he returned to Asgard hollow anyways.” A lie, maybe. Or a truth he needed to believe.
Thor shifted on his feet, still undecided. Unsettled.
“I know I’m asking for a lot,” Loki admitted, now looking to Tony. “But this is the best solution I have.”
Steve had been silent through all of this, standing with his arms crossed near the door. Now he stepped forward.
“This is insane,” Steve said. “We’re talking about condemning someone to death. A version of someone in this room.”
“A version who led an alien invasion,” Loki countered. “Who killed eighty people in two days. I’m sure you remember Agent Coulson–” He stopped, jaw working. “That Loki is a war criminal.”
“That Loki is also someone’s brother,” Steve reminded, looking at Thor.
Thor didn’t respond. He was staring at Loki like he was trying to memorize his face.
“He’ll do what we need him to do, okay?” Loki replied. “And fact is, his reality is going to be much safer without him.”
Tony sighed deeply. Then he turned to Steve, extending his hand. “Do you trust me?”
Steve studied Tony’s face – really looked at him. Then his features softened. He grasped Tony’s hand. “I do.”
“Then trust Loki. Because hell if I know why, but I trust him. And if he says this is how we could win, I believe him.”
They had two hours before the quantum tunnel would be ready.
Loki spent it alone in his quarters, not preparing, just sitting. Thinking about the version of himself he was about to manipulate into dying. Thinking about whether that made him better or worse than the monster he’d been.
When the call came through the comms, he stood. Smoothed his expression into something neutral.
And went to meet himself.
The quantum tunnel hummed, then flared. When the light faded, there were two figures standing on the platform instead of one.
Thor stepped off first. Behind him–
2012 Loki was thinner. Sharper. His eyes moved like a cornered animal’s – Tony to Steve to Thor and finally landing on himself. He looked – gods, he looked like Loki remembered feeling. Raw. Unrefined. Filled with anger and bitterness that had hardened into something almost impenetrable.
Familiar, but not. Like looking at a reflection in a broken mirror. For a disorienting moment, he wasn’t sure which of them was real.
Loki held still, studying himself the way he might study a puzzle box. He knew every mechanism, every false bottom, every place where the pressure needed to be applied.
He knew this version of himself better than anyone here ever could. Knew what drove him, what kept him awake at night. The 2012 version was reckless in the way of someone who’d already decided he was lost – who’d built a throne out of his own self-destruction and called it purpose.
But it had never been about power or stones or proving something to Odin. It had always been fear. Fear of being nothing, of meaning nothing, of disappearing and having no one notice. And fear – fear was a language he spoke fluently.
The others stepped back, giving them space. Tony’s hand hovered near his chest – the arc reactor, or where it used to be. Natasha had shifted her weight, ready. Even Thor looked uncertain, his gaze moving between his brother and his brother’s ghost.
“Well,” the alternate Loki said, and his voice was Loki’s voice, sharp and mocking. “This is new.”
“And you’re scared,” Loki pitched his own voice low, almost gentle.
The trick with himself was knowing when to push and when to let the silence do the work. His younger self’s sneer came fast – defensive, practiced – but his eyes gave him away.
“I’m not scared of you.”
Loki took one step closer. His alternate self’s weight shifted backward – barely perceptible, but Loki saw it. A tell.
“Of course you are. You’re scared of everything.” He watched his other self’s fingers curl into fists. “That’s why you’re so reckless – why you destroy everything. You think if you burn it all down, that maybe you won’t have to face the truth.” Another step. They were close enough now that Loki could see the pulse hammering in his alternate self’s throat. “That you’re terrified.”
“I don’t need your lessons. I’ve been through enough to know that I’ll never be what they want me to be.”
“You’re right. You’re not, and you never will be. But that’s not the problem. I see it in your eyes – you’re tired. You wanted an end to all of it, didn’t you?”
There it was. A flicker of doubt in his younger self’s expression. The cracks were forming.
“Mother dies because of us.” Loki let that sit for three seconds. “Because we led them right to her. The Dark Elves come for the Aether, and she dies protecting–” He stopped.
The alternate Loki flinch like he’d been struck, his face going grey. “You’re lying.”
“I’m really not. And the worst part?” Loki’s smile was cruel. “The absolute worst part is that we don’t even get to see her again after. We’re in a cell when it happens. We find out second-hand.”
Other Loki’s eyes cut away – too fast, too desperate – and when they came back, they were wet.
Frigga. The first person who’d ever looked at either of them and seen something worth loving. Of course she was the lever. Of course she was the place where his armour had almost no thickness.
His alternate self’s shoulders dropped, the fight bleeding out in increments. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“If I go back, she still dies?”
“Likely.”
“And if I do this– whatever you brought me here for–”
“Maybe she lives. Maybe the absence of you changes her fate.” Loki paused. “And you’d get to mean something. Finally.”
The alternate Loki looked at him for a long moment. “What can I do?”
Loki told him.
And when the other version of himself nodded, eyes distant with grief that hadn’t happened yet, Loki felt something release in his chest.
Maybe this plan of his could really work.
Thor’s POV
The ship was too quiet.
Thor sat at the controls while Tony, Bruce and Scott completed the final checks on technicalities he didn’t understand. He tried not to look at the Loki sitting across from him – the alternate version. The one who’d agreed to die. Not his Loki. His Loki was going to go with Rocket to retrieve the Aether.
Vormir was still a quantum jump away, but Thor couldn’t stop thinking about the last time he’d watched his brother let go.
The alternate Loki sat rigid, hadn’t spoken since he sat down. Hadn’t looked at Thor. Just stared at the viewscreen like he could see his death waiting in the hangar outside.
Thor must’ve zoned out at some point because the next thing he realized was this Loki leaning near the ship’s comms, speaking.
“Why aren’t you coming with me, Loki? You’re the one who’s supposed to understand this. Why isn’t it you? Why is it Thor?”
Through the static, Loki’s voice came back. Careful. Measured.
“First, they don’t trust me that much. Much less two of me.” A sigh. “Second, I have to lose the one I love.”
Thor’s grip on the armrests tightened. He kept his eyes forward. Because if he looked at the other Loki now, he’d see his brother’s face crumpling. And Thor couldn’t– he couldn’t do that.
“What do you mean? I… I’m not sure I understand.” The alternate Loki sounded confused.
“You have to lose someone you love to get the Soul Stone.” Silence on the line. Then, quieter: “It won’t work for you and me. Because frankly, I don’t love myself enough for it to matter.”
Thor had known – of course he’d known – but hearing Loki say it like that, so matter-of-fact, made him want to put his fist through the console. All the times he thought he’d shown Loki he mattered, that he was loved, that he was wanted… and some part of his brother still believed himself worthless.
Still believed the world was better off without him.
The alternate Loki had gone very still across from him. His knuckles were white where he clutched his knees.
“Thor has to do this with you, because I’m not the one who loves you. He is.”
The words hung in the ship’s recycled air. Thor’s throat closed. Loki had never – not once, in all their centuries together – said it that plainly. Not when they were children playing at warriors, not when Thor earned Mjolnir and Loki turned quiet and distant, not even on the Statesman with Thanos’s hand around his neck.
It was always coded, always hidden in jokes or anger. Thor blinked hard and kept his focus on the stars.
But then alternate Loki turned to look at him, and Thor made himself meet those eyes – his brother’s eyes. “You’re not alone, Loki.”
He wouldn’t be. Not at the end. Thor would make sure of that. He wanted to promise more – that it wouldn’t hurt, that there was meaning in this, that the sacrifice mattered – but they were both past lies now.
The alternate Loki stared at him. His eyes were too bright, but he didn’t look away.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Thor’s vision blurred. He nodded once.
The winds on Vormir tore at Thor’s cloak as they climbed. Each breath was bordering painful – the air too thin, too sharp. Neither of them had said a word since they’d left the ship. Thor kept his eyes on the jagged path ahead, but the silence pressed against his skull like a thumb on a bruise.
When they reached the peak, the Red Skull drifted toward them like smoke given form. Its voice scraped the inside of his ears, reciting names and fates like it was reading from a shopping list. A soul for a soul.
A reminder that the cost of the stone was as steep as it had been warned to be. And as they stood before the altar of death, Thor grew more uncertain.
His boots scuffed against stone as he paced, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. Every time he looked at the cliff’s edge, he saw the other cliff – the Bifrost shattering beneath Loki’s fingers, the way his brother’s expression had gone blank before he let go.
“I can do this. I can–” Thor stopped pacing. “No. No, I can’t. This plan sucks, it’s a horrible plan. This is– we’re not doing this.” His fists clenched as he muttered to more to himself than anything. “My Loki will figure something else out. He will. He’s– I mean, you– no... both of you are so smart. We’ll just go back and think on it. There has to be a way around this.”
“Haste then, brother.”
Thor’s head snapped up. The alternate Loki was already halfway down the path, shoulders hunched against the wind.
“Wait, you mean it?” Thor’s chest loosened. “You’ll come back with me?”
“I’m starting to think this was a bad idea too.” Loki glanced over his shoulder, something almost apologetic in his face.
Thor was already moving, catching up to him. “Yes. Alright. New plan. We’ll–”
But then his fingers passed through Loki’s shoulder.
The illusion warped, then dissolved into nothing. Thor’s stomach dropped before his mind caught up. He spun around.
Loki stood at the cliff’s edge – the actual alternate Loki – his back to the void, lit from behind by Vormir’s sickly orange sky.
“You really have to stop falling for that.” His brother sighed, but his voice was almost fond. “Don’t come any closer, please.”
“No.” Thor took a step forward, ignoring the edge, ignoring everything but Loki’s face. “Didn’t you– weren’t you listening? We’re going back. You’re going home to your timeline. To where you belo–”
Loki shook his head. The wind pulled at his hair, but he didn’t move to push it back. “Let’s face the facts, brother. I don’t think I’ve ever belonged anywhere.”
Thor’s heart clenched. “You do.” His voice was frantic now. “With me. You belong with me – side by side, the way it should’ve been. The way it should be forever.”
For half a second, something softened in Loki’s face – something that looked almost like hope. Then it was gone. He lowered his head, mouth twisting into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s a nice thought. But I’m too far gone for that.”
Thor stretched out his hand, fingers trembling. “Don’t do this.” His throat closed around the words. “I love you.”
Loki’s eyes glistened. “I have to.” His voice barely carried over the wind. “And you know it.”
“Please.” The word came out broken. Thor didn’t care. “Please don’t make me watch you die again. I’ve had enough of leaving you in cold barren realms.”
Loki looked at him for a long moment. Then, gently: “Close your eyes.”
Thor stared.
“I’m serious. Turn around.” Loki’s voice was steady now. “And close your eyes.”
Thor’s fists clenched. He wanted to argue. He wanted to grab Loki by the shoulders and drag him back to the ship and refuse to let go until they found another way. But there was no other way.
A sound tore out of Thor’s chest – half sob, half roar. He slammed his fist into the stone beside him. It shattered. Dust and shards cut his knuckles and rained down on the ground. He barely felt it.
His vision blurred. When he glanced back one last time, his hands were shaking so badly he had to hold Stormbreaker with both of them.
“I’m sorry we asked this of you, Loki.”
“It was my choice. Now just… think about your best memories of us. Personally, I look back with fondness on the first time we tried magic. Do you remember?”
Thor huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “We were terrible.”
“You were terrible. I had a flair for it.”
“You set your own robes on fire.”
“You set your hair on fire. And Mother definitely knew.” Loki’s voice was lighter now. “She probably watched the whole thing.”
Thor’s mouth twitched despite everything. “And what about when you turned into a snake but forgot to change your face? You looked–”
“I looked mysterious.”
“It was the most hilarious yet horrifying thing I’d ever seen.”
“Hey! At least I got results.”
“Singed hair is technically a result, too.”
Loki laughed – a real laugh, the kind Thor had come to appreciate so much.
Then nothing.
Thor spun around.
“Loki?”
No answer.
He ran. His boots skidded on loose stone as he reached the edge and looked down.
Loki lay at the bottom of the cliff, impossibly small from this height. His hair fanned out across the rock. His body was still as blood mixed into the earth beneath him.
“Loki– brother, I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”
Light flared at the edges of his vision – orange then white, searing, pulling him backward through time and space. He tried to hold on to the image of Loki’s face, the sound of his laugh, but the light swallowed everything.
Then– water. Cold and everywhere. Thor gasped, choking, the Soul Stone burning hot in his clenched fist.
His thumb fumbled desperately for the button on his wrist. One minute. He’d only be gone one minute in his own timeline.
One minute, and he’d see Loki again. His Loki.
He pressed down.
PART 8
Loki’s POV
Things moved so quickly after that.
The gauntlet was built and ready within hours, stones locked into place. And then chaos unfolded once Hulk closed his massive hand around it, and snapped.
For a heartbeat, the world held its breath. Then the tremor came, running through earth and air and flesh, leaving nothing untouched. The energy didn’t just surge – it screamed, a sound that bypassed ears entirely and rattled in Loki’s bones.
Then, through the settling dust, figures began to materialize. First one, then dozens, then hundreds – the vanished, returning.
Movement in the shadows. Loki caught it half a second before the blast – Alternate Nebula, the wrong Nebula, raising her weapon. The betrayal that should’ve been anticipated but wasn’t – an unexpected variable that shifted everything.
This wasn’t over.
The battle raged.
Loki witnessed orange portals blooming like wounds in the air, spilling out armies – Wakandan warriors, sorcerers, Asgardians who shouldn’t exist anymore but did. Captain America’s voice cut through: “Avengers!” A call to war that raised every hair on Loki’s arms.
After that, only Thor’s roar. Only the clash of Stormbreaker meeting alien steel.
Then Loki saw it.
Tony, somehow, impossibly, drawing the Stones to his own gauntlet made out of Bleeding Edge tech. Loki saw the toll the gauntlet had taken even on Hulk’s form.
No, a Midgardian body can’t handle that kind of power.
There was no time to think. He ran.
His unsteady legs carried him faster than he had expected. He threw himself forward, just as the Stones came together in a burst of unnatural energy. He reached out desperately, fingers brushing against Tony’s iron-clad hand just as another snap occurred.
The moment they touched, he felt power flood through him. Not like magic – magic was controlled, directed, known. This was a wildfire in his veins, in his marrow, eating through him cell by cell. Everything went white. For a split second – or an eternity, time had lost meaning – the universe collapsed inward. Then the power spread out.
It didn’t consume Tony entirely. Didn’t consume Loki entirely. Diffused just enough.
Loki collapsed. The ground was cold against his back, or maybe he was just burning. Tony lay beside him, and Loki’s stomach dropped. Half of Tony’s body had gone ashen, the skin cracked like dried earth. The energy was still eating him.
Loki reached for his arm and pulled. The damage came willingly, flowing into Loki like poison finding a new host. It was the only thing he knew how to do.
“Stark? Tony?” He rasped. “Come on.”
Tony stirred with a jerk, breath ragged. “I’m good! I’m good, I’m– shit, I’m actually alive. I think.” A shaky laugh. “Did we seriously just win?”
The laugh didn’t reach his eyes. Shock, disbelief, exhaustion – all tangled together.
“Yes, it’s over.”
“What hap– Jesus,” Tony’s gaze finally focused on him. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to keel over.”
Loki groaned, forced himself up. Every nerve ending was screaming. He looked at Tony, still clutching that damned gauntlet, and he scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean? We both look equally poorly.”
Tony winced, managed a weak smile. But his expression shifted as his eyes scanned over Loki. It was then that the god took a look at himself. The charred skin, the patches turning blue at the edges. Frost Giant blue.
“FRIDAY, what happened?”
“The energy surge from using the stones was shared by two bodies, Tony.” FRIDAY responded immediately. “Your survival statistic improved when Loki made contact. And continued to improve, until you regained consciousness.”
“You saved my life, huh.” Tony muttered quietly.
The trickster let out a shallow breath and shifted gingerly. “What were you thinking, wielding a gauntlet of your own?” The reproach in Loki’s voice couldn’t quite hide the tremor underneath.
“I wasn’t. Thinking.”
“Get it off you.”
Tony blinked absently, then started working at the gauntlet. It came away in pieces. Underneath, his hand was almost gone. Blackened sinew clinging to bone, the spaces between filled with char. Loki had seen battlefield injuries before but this was revolting.
“Fuck.” Tony breathed.
“I’ve got it.” Loki’s hand trembled as he reached for Tony’s.
The genius flinched. The ruined flesh was hot against Loki’s own cold fingers. The transfer began – he could feel it, that wrongness flowing into him again like ice water in his veins. Tony’s hand started to knit back together, cells regenerating. While Loki’s arm darkened in response, first darker blue then more terrifying black.
Tony jerked back then. “No–” His voice shook. “Stop. Stop it, I’m not– you’re going to lose the arm. Heck, you look like you’re about to die the third time. I thought you weren’t doing that.”
Loki’s lips twisted into something tired that might’ve been a smile. “Well, I’m not. My tissue is much denser than a human’s. I’ll heal. With time.”
He met Tony’s gaze directly, and continued. “You saved the universe. You saved all of us. You’ve managed to slay the monster who’s haunted me for–” His voice caught. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I was– he... he tried to tear apart everything about me. Very nearly succeeded.” A pause. “You know what that’s like.”
Tony’s expression shifted. Understanding. He knew about monsters. About what they did to you, even after they were gone. “Yeah.” He stammered, “I–I might have an idea.”
Loki nodded. “So this is the least I can do. Because I owe you.”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong.” Tony sighed. “Just– give me a second. Let me think.”
“I have blood on my fingers, Stark.”
Tony gestured at Loki’s burned arm. “Yeah, literally.”
“Not what I meant.”
“Then what’s your point? Because this really isn’t the time for poetry and Shakespeare.”
Loki’s voice dropped. “My hands are practically stained crimson. They have destroyed everything I’ve touched. But these past few years, this right now… I cam do something good with them. Let me help you. Just this once.”
Tony’s expression faltered. “I’ll find another way.”
“Are you a good father?”
“What?”
“Are you a good father?”
Tony stared at him. “I– yeah. I mean, I try to be. I hope so. This parenting thing is... well, I’d like to think I’m an ‘okay’ father, but...”
Then the thud of repulsors.
Pepper landed beside them, still in her suit, faceplate retracting. Her expression was tight, worried, but her voice came out steady.
“He’s a great father. You know this, Loki.”
“I do.” Loki turned back to Tony. “So stop being a fool. Let me do this, and you’ll get to hug your daughter tonight. You’ll get to hold her hand when she’s older, teach her to build things.”
“But–”
“There’s no shame in losing a limb. But you have an alternative. I’m offering it. Take it. You don’t have to feel guilty, it’s okay to think for yourself once in a while.”
Something clicked. “Damn it,” Tony muttered. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
“Fantastic,” Loki’s voice was dry. “Ridiculous. I’ve never had to convince someone to accept help before.”
Tony gave him a half-smile. “Something tells me we’re not that different.”
They clasped hands. A handshake, like a deal being struck – kind of poetic one might say. Loki began the process once more. Both of them tensed, jaws clenched.
“Honey?” Pepper’s voice was soft. “You okay?”
Tony nodded, even as his hand shook. “We will be.”
He watched in quiet fascination as his skin healed back into pink. Whole. Then his eyes moved to Loki.
“Uh, the rest of you is turning very blue. Do I need to be concerned?”
Loki managed a weak grin. “Frost Giant, remember? This is how I look by default, I’d imagine.”
“Oh, right.” Tony’s mouth twitched. “It’s a really good colour on you by the way.”
Loki felt a faint sting in his eyes. He blinked quickly as he looked away. “Thank you,” he said quietly, teeth clenched against the pain.
“Just stating facts, Reindeer Games.”
An exasperated groan. “Will you never stop calling me that?”
“Nah, it’s caught on.”
“Fine. Then tell Morgan how amazing Reindeer Games saved her father’s foolish, self-sacrificing ass today. I’m officially the cool uncle. Literally.”
Tony’s grin widened despite everything. “Don’t get me started. She already thinks you’re the coolest.”
The war was over.
Thanos was dust.
And somehow, impossibly, they were all still breathing.