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Ghosts of dear temptations, heed;
I am frail, be you forgiving.
See you not that I have need
To be living with the living? (”Rainy Night,” by Dorothy Parker)
It is strange, being dead. He left so much behind in Svartalfheim, and sometimes it feels as though he scarcely knows himself any longer, not when he spends every moment of every day playing at being the All-Father. He is still Loki, but sometimes he does not feel it - feels as though he is hovering outside himself, watching his illusion of the All-Father’s face go through the motions of ruling, shoring up Asgard’s defenses, rebuilding what was damaged in the attack, replacing the Infinity Gauntlet in the vault with a false duplicate and tucking the real one in an extradimensional pocket.
Loki does not forget Thanos, and he is sure Thanos has not forgotten him.
But yes - it is strange, being dead. Loki hears his name, now and again, though it is seldom spoken in his hearing - they fear the All-Father’s reaction to mention of the traitor son, perhaps. Volstagg asks, when Loki frees him, before he is sent to Muspelheim with Fandral.
“What became of Loki?” He asks carefully. So Thor did not tell them, Loki thinks.
“He is dead,” Loki says coldly, glad that he does not have to feign feeling in the All-Father’s skin - whatever Odin felt, he would not be expected to show it to his warriors. (Whatever Odin felt - Loki remembers how he bent forward for a moment after Loki told him, how he stood like an old man and then fell.) Volstagg looks stunned, and Loki adds, “he was killed in battle on Svartalfheim,” because he always did like Volstagg best.
Volstagg’s expression crumples slightly and Loki fears for a moment that he will cry,and he doesn’t not know what he would do then. “Oh,” he says, finally, and then draws himself up. “I am sorry for your loss, my king. Deeply sorry.”
Loki waves a hand, something in his belly squirming uncomfortably. “It was his best deed in years,” he says, and by the look on Volstagg’s face perhaps that was too cruel, but Loki cannot truly care. It was, after all. Was meant to be an end, and it would have been a good one.
Fate has a cruel sense of humor.
Volstagg and Fandral leave without complaint for what is an exile in all but name. Sif he keeps close, away from the battlefields she loves so well. Heimdall…there is no way to punish Heimdall that does not also cripple Asgard.
With some humor, Loki holds a funeral for himself. It is surprisingly well attended, even if the ceremonial boat is empty. He thinks he may even hear someone weeping. Sif’s eyes, when he turns to her, look a little red.
“Are you well, Lady Sif?” He asks, thrown, and she bows her head quickly.
“Yes, my lord,” she says. Loki does not press her.
It is hard to feel grounded, now that he is dead. Hard to feel real. Sometimes he feels as though he is going to crack open and begin screaming, wishes that he could throw aside his disguise and let Asgard rip him to shreds.
In those moments he retreats to the All-Father’s rooms and locks himself in, sits beside Odin’s shimmering body and goes world-walking.
At first, he intends to go anywhere but Midgard. There are vast, wide vistas of space open to him, and even if he knows their dangers now (too well, etched into his skin though the scars are long gone) his curiosity is greater. But his steps lead him, always, back to that little green realm at the center of Yggdrasil, and on that realm he always finds his way to Thor.
The first time, Loki watches him from a distance, cloaked from sight, as he rakes leaves in Jane Foster’s backyard, gathering them into large black bags. It is so breathtakingly mundane that Loki wants to laugh. The Mighty Thor, laboring in this way? Laughable.
He draws a little closer and sees that Thor’s expression looks tired. Is he sleeping well? The question pops into Loki’s head against his bidding. Is he eating enough?The mortals’ notions of food are so…thin.
Thor pauses, and looks in Loki’s direction. He freezes and jerks back, jumping back to Asgard. He is breathing hard, heart pounding, though Thor could not possibly have seen him. Foolish, he thinks. Reckless.
He looks toward the All-Father’s face, slack in sleep under the barrier of the Odinforce. “You foolish old man,” Loki sneers. “You sent him to Midgard to humble him and you made him weak. I could have killed him. I could still.”
Odin does not respond, of course. Loki should know better than to expect anything else from his liar-father.
Loki does not mean to go back, but he does. This time Thor is in New York, amongst the mortals who called themselves the Avengers - the mortals who defeated Loki. They are gathered together, seeming in high spirits. Thor is laughing, and it makes something ache in Loki’s chest.
But for all he is not truly here…Loki feels more real, looking at Thor. He glows so brightly here. Loki cannot help but think that he made the right decision, in allowing Thor to leave Asgard and its throne. He looks happy here.
(Loki tries not to resent that happiness.)
He lingers late into the night, hovering like the monster on the edge of their firelight, unseen. When the talk begins to die and the mortals stagger off to bed, Thor is left with his hawk, who appears to be very drunk. “Come, my friend,” Thor says. “It is time for you to go to rest.”
“Nuh uh,” Barton says, but he lets Thor half lift him, nearly carrying him toward the elevator. Loki follows like a shadow. “Thor,” Barton is saying. “Thorrrr. You’re -great.”
Thor chuckles, low and quiet. “Thank you, my friend.”
“S’too bad,” Barton says, and shakes his head. “Too bad. Guess you can’t choose your relatives, though.”
Loki would laugh, if he thought it would not be heard. Thor stiffens, however, his expression flickering oddly. “Come, Clint Barton,” he says after a moment. “Your bed awaits.”
Thor emerges from pouring Barton into bed and pauses in the hallway. His shoulders slump slightly and his smile falls away a little, his expression pensive. Loki would have expected it to sit poorly on Thor’s face, but he looks older now, more worn. Thor has grown.
(Loki wonders if it is his death that aged Thor so, or Frigga’s.)
For a moment, there is something in Thor’s face like what Loki saw when he was dying, looking up at Thor as he shook his head and called Loki fool, fool. A part of Loki, instinctive, wants to step forward and reach for him, to…
He almost wishes, for a moment, Thor could know that he was alive. If someone else shared his secret, perhaps he would not wonder at times if he did die back on Svartalfheim, and now is nothing more than a ghost dreaming that it still lives.
Loki flees before the feeling can overcome him.
The next time he seeks out Thor, he is in battle. It is not glorious - the foes, to Loki’s eye, seem small and few. Thor seems to agree - he is only half engaged, clearly a little bored.
One of the warriors pulls out a small amulet. Loki’s eyes catch on it, on the blood-red stone that catches his eye.
He moves without thinking, casting his own bolt of magic that redirects the spell into the side of a building, which melts promptly into slag.
Thor whirls, his eyes flicking to the building even as he flings Mjolnir at the warrior holding the amulet, trying desperately to reactivate it. Thor’s eyes keep moving, however, roaming wildly back and forth, searching. Did he see? Loki wonders, shrinking back even knowing that his spells of cloaking are strong. Does he wonder…
No. Thor will assume it was one of his teammates, nothing more.
When the battle is over, however (with no further incidents - Loki stays, to be certain), Thor lingers on the outskirts, scanning the buildings. The Captain approaches him, and Loki casts a simple spell to bring their words to his ears.
“What is it, Thor? Is something still out there?”
“No,” Thor says, but slowly. “No, I do not think…no enemy, at any rate.”
“Something else, though?”
“I am not certain,” Thor says. “I feel…or thought I felt…” He trails off. Loki knows he should go. There is no chance of Thor seeing him, but he still should not linger here. “Someone deflected that spell,” Thor says, and Loki holds his breath.
“Thor,” the Captain says after a moment. His voice is gentle. “I know…sometimes after someone’s gone, you keep looking for signs that they’re still there. There were a lot of things flying, or that amulet thing might have malfunctioned, or…”
“I know you are right,” Thor says, after a moment. “But my heart is slow to accept it.”
Loki feels himself start shivering, and he cannot stay. He is beginning to feel dead again, except that he would hope being dead would not hurt like this, like there was still a blade in his chest.
Perhaps it is death that has cooled his anger. Because his anger has cooled. It is still there, all the hurt and pain of before, but if his first death banked embers into flame (hot, raging flame) then his second appears to have doused them into coals. Loki is so tired, sometimes. When he sits by Odin, the All-Father’s face seems to mock him.
“I am a good ruler, old man,” Loki says. “Better than you ever were. Asgard will be ready for Thanos because of what I do.” In the silence, however, he adds, “I am tired, All-Father. Is that why you collapsed this time? Because you knew I was too weary to savor this victory?”
Perhaps that is why he keeps going to Thor. Thor has always been what he defined himself against. Now, when he feels he is wavering, perhaps he seeks Thor to reawaken life in his sundered breast.
The councilors argue with him over his plan to ally with the Ljosalfar. They are deceiful, untrustworthy, Bragi says. You cannot truly expect Asgard to accept them as equals.
I expect obedience, Loki answers. Or does the All-Father’s word no longer mean what it used in the Golden Realm?
They subside at that, shamed; but they will argue with him again tomorrow, on every point. Loki could kill them all. (He will not, however.)
Loki retreats into Odin’s rooms, angry, and leaves Asgard.
He finds Thor in the back of a darkened room. His mortal Foster is standing at the front, talking about the stars. She is clever, Loki has to grant grudgingly as he listens, though she is also wrong about a great deal. He could tell her, perhaps, if they were on speaking terms. If she did not think him dead.
When she finishes, Thor stands and applauds. A few join him - most stay sitting. Foster looks embarrassed, but pleased as well. A sour taste blooms on the back of Loki’s tongue and he leaves, resenting Thor’s shining face turned toward her even as he thinks good, he does not still grieve, good.
Loki’s dreams are odd and twisted things when they are not downright nightmares, rising up out of the dark of his mind to rend him with sharp teeth. He does not sleep often these days, preferring to spend his nights thinking, writing, planning.
When these things grow tiresome, or when he begins to feel thin, like the fabric of himself is starting to wear, he goes to Midgard. He no longer even pretends that he is going anywhere else. For the most part, Thor is asleep, and Loki stands above him, hovering less than an arm’s length away, watching him breathe. I could drive a knife into his throat, Loki thinks once, watching him like this. I could slice open his belly like a pig, but the thoughts are rote and have no savor. He does not want Thor dead. If he is truthful, he has never wanted Thor dead. (Those moments, when Thor fell to the ground and Loki realized that he had - it had felt as though Asgard herself was crumbling. He had told himself it was flying but in truth it was falling. He has not stopped falling since.)
Tonight, however, Thor is awake, sitting on Jane Foster’s balcony and looking at the sky. Loki wonders if he is looking for Mother’s stars.
“I wonder sometimes,” Thor says, and Loki starts, a jolt of fear stabbing into his chest that he has been seen, but no, Thor is not looking at him and his spells are still intact. “Where are your stars, Loki? You should be in the heavens as well, with mother.” Loki falls still, for a moment unable to breathe. “I hope that you are with her,” Thor adds, after a moment. “You both deserve that.” After a moment Thor stands, brushing off his pants, and smiles. It is…not a happy expression, but it is not wholly sad, either. “Sometimes I believe I can almost feel you. Watching me. Do the dead watch the living? I hope not - I hope you are truly at peace, untroubled by the world - but selfishly…I am comforted.”
Loki’s lungs will not inflate. He longs to step forward and reveal himself. He longs to vanish. Thor should know better. Thor does know better. If he were alive, Thor would not rejoice, and nor would Loki - they would only be at each others’ throats, again.
And yet. Something in Loki yearns, like being near Thor could still make him whole, could do anything but make him shatter.
Thor bows his head a moment and smiles very softly before turning back into the house. Loki is left standing in the shadows, half tempted to press at the door, scratch like one of the draugr, let me in, let me in.
He turned away, took one step and then another. And another, into the space between worlds. A dead thing.
Let me in, let me in.
Thor falls. Blood pours from his chest, and his companions are all far, distracted by their own battles.
Loki does not think, does not pause before he is at Thor’s side and pressing down, his hands slick with blood in seconds. Thor gasps in pain, his eyes struggling to open. “You fool,” Loki hears himself say. His heart is pounding and he is afraid, sovery afraid. “You great fool-”
“Loki,” Thor says, and reaches for him. Loki flinches back, instinctively, and Thor’s hand drops, but he is smiling. Smiling, as he bleeds, and Loki calls on his magic and forces it into Thor’s body, trying to give him strength, to give him time to heal. The wound is - ugly. He could reach into Thor’s chest and hold his heart if he wished, Loki thinks hysterically. He wonders if it would feel as large in his palm as he knows it is. “Loki. You are here.”
“Stay still,” Loki says. “Stay still and live.”
(If Thor dies, who will there be to hold him down? If Thor dies, Loki thinks he will fade like a wraith, as if Thor’s memory was the only thing keeping him solid.)
“Loki,” Thor says. “I have missed you. I have missed you so much. You and mother.”
“Oh no,” Loki breathes. “No, Odinson. You are not going to die. Not today.” He pours his magic into Thor until his eyesight greys and his heart skips a beat, and then has to stop, panting. Thor’s eyes close slowly and Loki feels a wail rise up in the back of his throat, but he glances down and the sound is - closing. He can hear shouting, coming closer.
Thor still breathes. He will live.
Loki pushes himself to his feet and staggers away, drawing on his last reserves to conceal himself. He watches the Avengers come, huddle around Thor exclaiming in fear. Watches them take him away.
I have missed you so much.
Loki feels cold.
He returns to Thor’s beside, a few days later. Sif has remarked on his - the All-Father’s - unease, and he dismissed her snappishly only to realize after she had gone that he had sounded far too much like himself.
He finds Thor in one of the mortal hospitals, dingy white and drab enough to make Loki want to scream. Thor lies in a bed, looking pale and…vulnerable. But he breathes. His heart beats. Valhalla will have to wait longer (a long, long time) before her Valkyries can claim the Odinson.
Loki jerks when Thor’s eyes open with a sigh. He notices the way his fingers flex, and then he glances to the left, eyes lighting on Mjolnir - and then to the right, and for a moment Loki imagines that he looks bereft, as though he had expected someone there.
There is a knock on the door. It is Foster, looking disheveled as though she has run straight here. “Oh god, Thor,” she says, one hand flying to her mouth. Thor gives her a tired smile.
“I am well, Jane,” he says, and she nearly staggers over to the chair by the bed, sinking into it.
“Thank god,” she says, and then laughs, shakily. “Or, well, you, since I guess it’s your healing powers that saved you…you’re really all right?”
“I am still healing,” Thor allows. “But I…will be well.” For a moment, his expression shifts, turning…pensive, perhaps. Loki, about to leave to flee this maudlin reunion, pauses.
“What is it?” So Foster is not blind. Thor is quiet for a long moment, and Foster prompts, “Thor?”
“I saw Loki,” Thor says. “As I was…after I was struck down. He was there.”
Jane drew back a fraction, but only for a moment, and then her face softened. “Oh, Thor,” she breathed. “I’m sorry. Sometimes…people talk about seeing things when they’re…hurt badly. Seeing people.”
Thor closed his eyes. “It was not - it did not feel like a vision, Jane. It felt real. He was there, and I might have touched him. He said…he called me a fool.” Thor shakes his head. “Sometimes…he feels so close. I almost did touch him, only I feared to reach out and find…”
Foster’s expression is sad. Loki cannot look at her, but he does not want to look at Thor, either. He could show himself now, say here I am, I was there, I am alive.
He would ruin everything he has built, if he did.
“I thought for a moment he might be reaching out for me, from Valhalla,” Thor says. “To guide me there. But he said…he told me to live. That I would not die. I could feel him pushing me back, forcing me to heal - I know you will call this a figment of my mind,” he says, “but I felt it. I know that he was there. Saving me, even now.” Thor’s eyes shine, and Loki feels himself shudder, because it is so muchlove, there, and it is not his, it is the Loki-who-died, and he wishes he could be that Loki, if nothing else then for Thor’s sake.
Foster looks a touch as though she wants to weep. “Who knows,” she says, after a moment. “I’m not going to - I’m not going to tell you it’s impossible.”
“I have feared that he would blame me,” Thor says. His voice is very quiet, and Loki has to strain to hear. “For leaving him. For letting him die. But seeing him then…I did not feel he hated me. I think perhaps…perhaps he truly is at peace.”
Loki cannot stay. He flees to Asgard, to his seat beside the sleeping All-Father, dreaming his inscrutiable dreams while Loki goes on existing, a dead man in his own life.
He is shaking, Loki realizes. He does not know if he wants to laugh or cry.
Oh, Thor, he thinks. Oh, Thor.