Chapter Text
The sphere between the realms of Ydrassil was timeless, the god knew.
Nevertheless, the time he spent in between her roots, fleeing the Chitauri, felt like a millenia, like half an eternity.
The Chitauri were unforgiving creatures, lusting for his blood as payment for their fallen comrades. Their determination to catch the god and to regain what had been stolen from them was unbreakable.
They wanted to torture and kill the wanna-be king they had once dared to turn into their puppet, so they could eventually reforge their wounded honor.
Never again Loki would fall into their mercy.
The Chitauri's attack had occurred months after Loki had been returned to his former home by Thor and then sentenced to imprisonment by Asgardian law.
The Golden Realm had not been prepared for it.
The Trickster should have known:
The realm of the gods was arrogant, blind to the dangers that lurked far away in the shadows of the universe – the Aesir had never thought it possible that they could be harmed by alien forces.
Loki could have told them, since he had sensed the upcoming and long anticipated attack days before, but no one would have listened to the fallen prince.
Not after what he had done.
Moreover, Loki's thoughts had become bitter, filled with hatred for the ones he had thought of as family in times not so long past. A part of him had lusted to see them burn.
Yet in the end, after it was all over, the god wished he had warned them.
Everything had started when violent tremors shook the earth, a vibration in the air that created a humming sound and left a feeling of static on Loki's skin, a strange tingling sensation that had made his flesh creep in anticipation.
Seconds later, the air outside had filled with terrible screams as the first attackers shot down from the sky and covered the city in fire. The agonizing cries and pitiful shrieks of the masses had been loud enough to be audible through the small window of the cell they held him captive in.
In another time, Loki might even have enjoyed the sound - but not today.
It had taken the hordes of the Chitauri only mere minutes to find their way down into the vaults of Asgard, where they had processed to kill the guards and destroy the massive metal door that had contained the Trickster.
He had not cared to speak to them nor hesitate in any way.
With his bare hands, Loki had killed them all - that much he was still capable of, even though he was far from being in his best condition.
He had wrung necks, snapped bones, and crushed their ugly, reptilian skulls, until the attackers had been nothing more than silent, unmoving corpses on the ground.
With one of their energy-blades, Loki had been able to cut the magic-binding shackles off his wrists and leave the cell, picking up one of the dead guard's spears as he went.
The god had known the Chitauri had not come specifically for him - despite any oaths of vengeance – for not even their most treacherous ally was worth this much effort.
No, they were after something far more valuable, an artifact worthy of destroying worlds and sacrificing whole peoples for:
The Tesseract, the last piece required for them to obtain absolute dominance in the universe, which was hidden deep inside Asgard's weapons' vault.
Loki might not have been sane - maybe he never had been – and his thoughts were twisted, so tortuous sometimes even he did not understand them. Yet, there was one thing he was sure of:
Thanos must not be allowed possession of the cosmic cube.
Luckily, the Chaos god had reached the vault before the attackers.
Except for the faint screaming and battle noises coming from above, the halls beneath Asgard had become silent. Their usual guards had been busy fighting outside, or already lying dead somewhere, killed by intruders. So, Loki passed, unchallenged, through the halls towards the vaults.
He had gone this way many times, and still remembered every stone of it.
The doors of the huge room had opened easily for him, for the magical defenses had weakened, unable to withstand any being that possessed magic - and Loki possessed a lot of it.
As did the Chitauri.
There, inside, he had found it:
the cube, glowing its usual pure and mesmerizing blue, positioned on the pedestal where the Casket of Ancient Winters had once been exhibited – that was before Loki had decided to steal it, back in a time which now felt like another life.
Loki's steps had slowed at the sight of it, the sounds of battle ceasing for a moment as the cold, energetic light of the Tesseract fell across his face, completely taking him in.
Time had seemed to stop around him, everything blurring into a mess of colors and fading into the background. Everything became meaningless compared to the infinite blue in front of him.
With a slow stretch of his hands, the god had reached out for the cube and taken it, his fingers tingling.
Even before touching it, Loki had felt a connection to the Tesseract - but not with this level of intensity, not with the surging feeling that he held the entire universe in his hands, the sensation of being dragged down into the blinding blue light, not-
Inhuman screeches at the other end of the vault had torn the god out of his mesmerized state and, without wasting a second more, he had allowed his magic to carry him away in a whirl of color and light.
Asgard would be fine without him, and without the Tesseract.
Loki had been sure of that.
Despite all of his efforts to keep hidden, Loki's enemies had kept track of him.
They had found him in the forests of Alfheim and burned them down, he had not been able to escape them in Vanaheim, where the beasts had destroyed entire towns searching for him, devouring everything and leaving behind nothing but a burning path of death and destruction.
They had found him everywhere: on the most distant of moons and on dead planets without suns that were frozen to a degree even Aesir would not have been able to survive.
The Chitauri had chased him until he had lost track of time, fleeing through the branches of Ydrassil in a never-ending flight. Even in the shadows of her roots, in the darkest corners of the Nine Realms, he had not found shelter.
There was no escape.
So it came to pass that Loki, God of Mischief and Chaos, now found himself on a barren rock orbiting Midgard, his weary gaze fixed on the blue planet.
His energy was drained, his muscles aching with every movement, protesting against the cruel exertion, demanding rest, immediate rest - and he was tired, just so tired.
Yet, the simple fear of what might happen if the creatures found him had kept him running for what felt like eons.
God or not, every living being has a point where it can go no further - and now, Loki had reached that point.
It was a cruel joke: he was in the possession of the most powerful object in the universe, but he had neither the resources nor the knowledge to use it.
The Tesseract was continuously speaking to him, wordless whispers filled with promises of endless strength and energy, but it was in vain, futile, only frustrating - Loki could not use the cube's power no matter how hard he tried.
Life had been a tragedy before, before all of this, but that tragedy had seemingly found its grand finale.
It was painful, shaming to admit, but Loki desperately needed help.
Help from someone who was able to use the Tesseract's energy, who could enable him to use the energy for himself, and who could protect him from the Chitauri, at least for a little while.
Whether he liked it or not, a Midgardian was the obvious choice.
Yes, they were mortals, but these mortals had proven to be capable of much more than anyone would have guessed. They had burned a whole Chitauri ship out of the sky and, as defensive and determined as they were, they would do it again.
But who would give him shelter, who could turn the Tesseract into a useful weapon?
Names flooded through the god's mind, images of faces he had almost forgotten flashed in front of his eyes as he remembered the mortals he had been dealing with during his attempt to subjugate mankind.
He thought of Fury, Barton, Selvig, and a dozen others he had met during his short time on Midgard, but none of them fitted his needs.
It was hard for Loki to concentrate, and he had to close his eyes to think, his brows furrowed in concentration. Something was in the air, and his senses were screaming alarm - the Chitauri were close by, likely to attack at any moment.
Then Loki's mind stopped at the memory of one particular mortal: the one with the smug grin, the big mouth with empty rhetoric, and the appalling amount of self-confidence.
What had been his name? Stark?
Yes, Stark, he had even written the name all over his hideous building. Of all the people the god could think of, Stark seemed the one most likely to help him.
An Avenger, his enemy, yes – but on the other hand, that mortal had approached him even when they had stood at the brink of war and tried to offer the god some comfort.
Not that he had wanted any of it at the time.
As Loki thought about it, more and more information flooded in, emphasizing his idea. Facts Barton's mind had revealed for him and facts he had picked up himself before he had gone to war with Midgard:
that Stark had been known to be a master of human technology, that he had developed the world's best weapons before he had whitewashed his name, and that he was a man of great wealth and therefore great power.
Yes, he would visit Stark.
He would have the man build him a weapon with the Tesseract's energy - whether by Stark's own volition or not.
Loki would make him do it, no matter what.
A small glimpse of the mortal's image in his mind was enough to let Loki's magic carry him away into nothingness, out of the infinite emptiness of space and to the place where the mortal dwelled.
He clutched the Tesseract tightly to his chest, hidden under his shredded cloak – it was the one thing that put his life in danger, but was his only way to freedom at the same time.
When Loki opened his eyes, he found himself in a dark room.
Gravity now pressed down on him, telling him he had made it back to earth.