Hey guys. So... um... I did the thing. The Thing. That I swore I'd never do, and I really, really REALLY tried not to do, but... I'm not gonna finish this.

And I'm really bummed about that because for a time, I honestly loved this story! And I wanted to see it written out. But more than that, I wanted you amazing people to be able to read it. You gave me so much support - this was the first story that I actually felt people liked, and felt genuinely excited to post each chapter because I knew I would get amazing, wonderful, supportive comments that would send my self-esteem up into the sky - and you deserved to see it finished!

But, I don't know, I kind of started to hate it - and this happens a lot - second guessing everything about it to the point where I start to think it all sucks... and then I had a new idea that I actually liked way more and I started to write for that idea, and before I knew it, all my motivation for writing this story was gone.

I'm really sorry about that. But I do have more prewritten chapters. And I know somewhat how I INTENDED for this to end. So I can post those, and then give you all a summary of the rest. Because, honestly, I did get pretty close to the end

()()()

"Kill them," Thanos said, as he leaned down to look Loki in the eyes. His boulder of a face twisted into a smile. "Or I will kill you.

"Oh, but first you will suffer. I will break your bones," he reached out and gripped Loki's arm in between his fingers. Loki hissed in pain as he tightened his grip, squeezing, squeezing. He kept squeezing until the hiss turned to a groan, and to a desperate cry. Then he let go.

"And I will cut you to pieces," Loki took an automatic step back, but behind him the Chitauri leered and there was no escape. Thanos stepped forward and lifted Loki's chin, delicately. Loki never saw the knife coming; it was from behind him, held by one of the Chitauri, and it sliced across the backs of his legs, making him scream and drop to his knees. Thanos' smile widened, a crack in the earth, an abyss formed after an earthquake. He knelt and lifted Loki's chin again, almost lovingly, running a finger along his jaw.

"And when you think I am finished, when you think you will finally be able to die, then you will know that the pain has only begun."

Thanos did not torture him; he was above that. Instead, he stepped back and watched as one of the Chitauri stepped forward and struck Loki in the side of the head. Stars fell on the edges of his vision, and his head jerked to the side, but he did not scream, he did not have time, for the next blow came to his side, a vicious kick. He sucked in a rasp of a breath and it tore from his lungs just as quickly, a cry to make stone hearts shatter and break, the driest eyes overflow with tears.

He fell from his knees, onto his side, but they tangled their spiny fingers in his hair and lifted him like he was a dead animal, about to be roasted on a spit.

A spear stabbed him through the shoulder, and Loki could not scream because his throat was filled with tears and vomit. All he did was choke. And he was ripped in two, and the cracks spread like wildfire. An earthquake tore him at the seams. It crumbled him.

It broke him.

"But if you do kill them, you will be liberated. Loki Laufeyson, if you can only kill them, you shall be set free."

()()()

When he had heard Thanos' voice, everything had gone dark. He didn't see the living room anymore. All he had seen was blood, trickling down his forehead, dripping into his eyes and stinging like acid.

And he saw himself, bruised, battered, broken on the ground before Thanos. He was frozen, as the Mad Titan's voice roared in his ears like an untamed, crashing sea.

"Why aren't they dead? Do you think me a fool?"

Loki could not reply. The others - Banner was all he could think of, but he knew there were more - would hear him, suspect him, kill him.

"I want their heads on platters. I want their bones. I need them gone. Answer me!" The Titan roared. "Kill them, kill them, do not hesitate!"

He had not been this angry earlier, but he was furious now.

But now he was gone, and Loki was sitting in the center of Banner, Rogers, and Stark, so much smaller than them, like some horrible metaphor he didn't want to know the meaning of. Pieces of his hair were braided. The air smelled of chocolate. Banner had tears in his eyes.

So easy. It would be so simple, if he had a knife, to grab Banner by the hair and slit his throat. He would stab Rogers in the heart and Stark in the chest and he would strangle Potts and it would be so easy. And now he had to, for Thanos had spoken to him and now he had to.

But he didn't have a knife.

And he couldn't think. That voice in his head kept screaming, like he had at the hands of Thanos, with blood in his eyes, gasping for breath.

It's not real.

Thanos didn't speak to you!

You fool, you fool, you're broken and it's not real, can't you see?

Thanos never touched you, the Chitauri never tortured you. You should be sane but you aren't, and that's your own fault, because you always had too much pride to ask for help.

Not that you deserve it.

But don't you see? You wanted this - you wanted to kill them, and now you don't, and you are hiding from the truth because if you face it you'll die but that would be better than killing them, when they are more deserving of life than you, by thousands upon thousands of times.

Go away.

You did this to yourself. You put me here.

No.

"Loki?"

It was Banner.

"What?" Loki snapped.

"You weren't responding, again. Just staring, at nothing. Are you okay?"

"I am fine." Loki hissed.

Nothing was wrong with him. He did nothing wrong. Those memories were real, and he wasn't broken, and he deserved to live…

Please. Just let him deserve to live. It was all he had to keep him above water, his need for life, the enduring fight for air. It was a lighthouse in a churning, deadly sea. At least let him deserve it. He wouldn't ask for anything more.

Ha! Unlikely.

You are always greedy. Filthy little fingers, grasping at everything that is not yours to take.

"Loki!"

Loki blinked, and the world came back into focus. Stark was beside Banner now, snapping his fingers in front of Loki's face. Loki drew back in irritation.

"Okay, good. Focus on my face, okay? You keep zoning out. Do you know why?"

Loki ignored him.

Instead, he traced the lines of Stark's throat with his eyes. His fingers itched to close around it. And squeeze.

Why did his eyes burn?

"Sorry, Bruce," he heard Stark say. He couldn't see him, because the blackness was closing in again, the endless black and he couldn't see, or think, or do anything but fall forever.

Two hands clamped down on his shoulders. Stark was looking intently into his eyes. "Loki. Stay awake. What's going on with you? Focus on my eyes and my voice. What's wrong?"

The truth. The truth would convince them, the truth would set him free.

"Thanos," he whispered. "He is in my head. Speaking to me. Taunting me."

Lies. He never taunted you.

Never even spoke.

Why can't you remember?

"Every time he speaks, I cannot see. Hear." Loki raised his hand from his lap, but there was no purpose in it, and he dropped it back down. "Feel."

"What's going on?"

Stark turned his head. "Pepper…" He said, softly. "You should go."

Loki let out a breath. He raised his chin.

A pause. Then, "Okay." Retreating, clicking footsteps.

Stark removed his hands from Loki's shoulders. Loki raised his chin even higher, allowing Stark to inspect him, for he would not find any flaws, Loki would not let him.

He was sick of appearing broken. Hadn't he already shown them enough?

They only want to help you.

You could show them everything and they, in their foolish compassion, would not even condemn you for what you have done.

Stark snapped his fingers. "Loki."

Loki let out another breath.

This was concerning. He couldn't stay awake when the voice began to speak. He wanted to stay awake. He hated the unending dark.

"Loki. Talk to me. What did Thanos say? You can tell us. I swear. We'll listen, and we won't… hurt you. Or whatever you think we'd do. We won't, I promise."

Banner pursed his lips and did not speak, but Loki could hear his voice echoing in his mind. "Doctor's vow."

Don't lie to them.

Don't.

Please.

It wasn't a lie. Loki wasn't a liar, he was good… good enough to deserve the breath in his lungs, he was.

He licked his lips. His throat was dry. His lips hurt where he had bitten them.

Keep biting, keep hurting.

Maybe it'll drive me away. Maybe I won't have to feel this.

I wish… it wasn't so cold.

It wasn't cold. Loki wasn't cold. He wasn't.

Stark's hand fell on his shoulder again and Loki jerked away, out of spite.

Banner made a low noise in his throat. Stark dropped his hand to his side. "Sorry," he said.

"I'm sorry, Thor!" Loki called after his brother's retreating back, his stiff, angry steps, and the broken spear in his clenched fists.

Thor didn't acknowledge him.

"I'm sorry…"

"Thank you." Loki said. Because he couldn't show how angry he was at them, how much he hated the insignificant ants. So he acted, like he always did. He was not like Thor. He was not strong enough to bear the burden of truth, because he had so much truth to tell.

But truth would bring them closer, wind them around his finger. These gullible ants, they would only begin to trust him if they thought they knew who he was.

So Loki took a deep breath.

"He said he will kill me. If I leave, for even a moment, he will descend from the sky and strike me down."

He bit his lip.

"And I am defenseless here. It is only for you that he has not killed me yet." Loki's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "But that does not mean he cannot find a way to torture me. He always has a way. They say…" he recited, tonelessly, remembering a passage from one of the books in the library. "'Destruction follows the Titan like a violent shadow. He stands still and silent as a stone, and behind him, everything burns.'

"He thinks the fire will bring beautiful growth. A utopia, maybe, or a new age. That is what he still tells me, over and over again. He doesn't stop." Loki shuddered. "I hate him."

You mean I don't stop.

Thanos has only spoken to you twice.

But I have spoken to you hundreds of times, and I won't stop.

Do you hate me?

His hands clenched and unclenched, but he wasn't trying to do it. It was like something was working from within his body, taking him over in subtle ways. His fists wouldn't stop clenching.

Outside, rain fell in torrents against the window. He could see it lashing and circling outside. Gray, blurred sky.

"If I only had my magic," Loki spat, striking his knee with his fist. "I could be safe from him. And I could block him out, I could be free from him, finally, after such a long time..."

A million shards of glass mutated, rising up out of the dust, hissing and spitting with blood in his mind. They mutated into the bracelets around his wrists, circling and circling, red. If he only had his magic, they would disappear, and everything would be fixed.

"But you won't give it to me," Loki allowed his eyes to widen, allowed himself to back away from them.

"It's dangerous," Stark said. "It would explode. It might kill you, and kill anyone standing near enough to touch you, or remove your bracelets. It's too dangerous. But I'll find a way, just give me more time…"

"No. No, there is no time. But you don't care, do you? You don't care! You would let me die! You would let him have me, again, but I cannot go back to that place, it would kill me… it would break me, and I am already broken, I'm already insane and I can't think…"

He hadn't meant to say that.

He hadn't meant to start to hyperventilate, either.

But the memories of Thanos were so strong, overpowering in their ferocity, taking over his mind with the dull screaming he remembered, the horror from before as flesh melted from his hands, burning and burning again with red and red and too much red.

Blood, blood, blood, sickly sweet, running in rivers down his white skin, dripping from his fingers. The glint of glass, the burning behind his eyes.

That was you.

You did that.

But you never listen.

It's hopeless, isn't it? You never listen - so we're going to die.

"Loki look at me. Loki, can you see me? I'm right here." It was Banner. Maybe. He couldn't see.

"Laufeyson, my favorite plaything.

"My broken little toy."

Heavy, stone fingers. A sharpness. Pain, excruciating pain.

He opened his eyes and screamed at them.

"No! I'm mad, I'm evil, I'm a worthless monster!" he pulled at his hair like he was insane, like he was in a padded room, rocking on his heels in the corner, and the image made him feel sick.

It wasn't true, was it? Why was he saying those things? But he couldn't stop. Couldn't get his mind under control, couldn't stop yelling. It was like the words were someone else's, and he was forced to vomit them out through his lips. It all tasted like acid, because it wasn't true. If he was worthless, why would he want to live?

If he didn't want to live, he wouldn't have anything left.

Only his pounding heart, his erratic breathing, two things to add to the long list of things he despised about himself. Things he wanted to fix.

All of him would be broken - not only his mind but every functioning piece of his body would be a twisted lie because if he was alive, that would mean he was malfunctioning...

Stark reached out a hand, and Rogers shifted, coming nearer to him. But Banner shook his head, wordlessly, and they backed away, and Loki waited until he once again had control, until he no longer wanted to shout things that weren't true, and until the small piece of him that wanted them to come closer, to hold him, anchor him, that hated when they backed away from him like he was an injured, cornered animal, had gone.

"You're not," Banner said. He sounded helpless, like it was all he could say, even though he knew it wouldn't be enough.

But Loki knew that. He knew perfectly well that he wasn't mad, wasn't evil or worthless. He wasn't a monster. He couldn't fathom why he had said it.

He wanted to sleep.

But that would be so dark…

Don't make me go to sleep.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll stay quiet, just don't make me…

Loki shoved the voice away.

"I am tired," he said.

"Loki…"

"You sure?"

"Hey, you can talk to us."

"I need to rest," Loki insisted. He stood up, did not wobble, and began to make his way to the elevator. Long, graceful steps, like he was known for. Not a trace that anything was wrong, because nothing was wrong.

You sound like you're trying to convince yourself.

Loki scowled.

"Hey!" Stark was suddenly in front of him. "You're not going back to the hospital room, are you? Bruce told me you want a normal room, and I agree." He grinned. "So come on, Olive, and I'll show you where the Asgardian princes sleep."

"Olive?" Banner asked, raising an eyebrow.

Stark sighed dramatically. "Come on, guys. All of the other reindeer?"

To his surprise, because Loki didn't understand the attempt at a joke, Banner burst out laughing, and even Rogers cracked a smile. Stark crossed his arms, looking smug. "Yeah, yeah, I'm a genius. Anyway, come on," and he set off to the staircase. They went up one flight, and into a hallway, and with a dramatic wave of his hand, Stark opened a door.

It was the biggest room Loki had been in so far, other than the living room. And a wide window, through which he could see the city and the sky. But best of all, there was a real bed. Not a hospital cot, not the floor of a glass cell, not jagged stone. A real bed, like the one in his room in Asgard. Wide enough to sprawl upon, to sink into. Loki couldn't help the smile that crossed his face.

"You like it, Olive?" Stark and the other two were crowded behind him. Stark turned towards Banner, smirking. "That's one point for Tony Stark!"

"I wasn't aware we had a point system going on here," Banner said.

"When it comes to me, there's always a point system. Whoever makes Olive the happiest gets a point." Stark smiled, and it seemed infectious, as Banner and Rogers smiled, as well. Loki didn't know what to do with his face. "We used to play this game when my dad was pissed cause of work, or whatever," he said. "Me and my mom. We'd make him food and stuff, and if he smiled, or seemed mildly intrigued, we'd get a point. Mom always won, but," he shrugged. "It was a fun game."

"That does sound fun," Banner said, voice suddenly soft.

Pathetic ants - running to fill his every need, falling at his feet. When Loki smiled, they felt like their lives had reached their purpose, apparently. Unsurprising. It was pathetic.

It was.

"Well, Olive, guess we'll see ya later," Stark said. "By the way, Steve's making quiche…"

"What?"

Stark clapped a hand on Rogers' shoulder. "Didn't I tell you? Oh, sorry about that. Guess you'll have to cancel those super-important, and existant, evening plans, huh?" He snapped a finger as he left. "Oh, and it better be cheesy, or I'll throw it out the window!"

Rogers and Banner exchanged what appeared to be a knowing glance, full of amusement. Then Banner's smile vanished, as his eyes fell on Loki.

"Bye," Banner said. Fiddling with his hands. "I'm sorry. Again. Sorry."

"What happened?" Rogers asked. He said it like he had been wondering for a long time, and finally hadn't been able to stop himself from saying it, against his better judgement. Thor's voice sounded like that often.

"Here. You, go make quiche," Banner pressed a finger to Rogers' chest, pushing him slightly towards the door. "And keep in mind, if you're too heavy for Tony to throw you out the window, I can definitely finish the job. A quiche isn't quiche without cheese. Nothing is anything without cheese. Anyway, bye. See you. Sayonara."

"You'll tell me later."

"Maybe."

But Rogers didn't leave. Instead, he crossed to where Loki was standing in the middle of the room. "And you," he said. "Whatever you think, whatever you were saying, it isn't true. I'm not good at talking so I'll keep it short, but here's the deal: you aren't crazy, you aren't broken, you aren't evil. Whatever he told you, it isn't true. And we'll never let you die. I'll talk to Tony about giving you your magic back, okay? Who knows, he might already be on the same page. But I'll talk to him. Is that okay?"

Loki nodded, quickly, before Rogers could change his mind.

He thought of power in his veins again, so much a part of him it was like his own blood. He felt so empty without it. If he had his magic back, everything would be all right.

"Okay," Rogers said. He brushed past Banner, and they glanced at each other, and then he was gone.

"Hi," Banner said.

He was in the doorway, leaning against it. Loki felt exposed in the center of the room, so he backed away and sat on the bed. Banner didn't move towards him, and Loki was grateful for that, but his skin still crawled when Banner's eyes fell upon him, because they held so much knowledge, and his gaze was heavy.

"So, it's fine if you don't want to forgive me. You said 'thank you' but that's different, and who knows, you might have said it to make me stop pestering you. But look. I want you to know that I mean it when I say I'm sorry, and even if it annoys you, I won't stop saying it, because I genuinely feel awful, for what I did, because it made you angry, and scared. That's… negative points, for me. A shit ton of negative points.

"But I wasn't lying when I said I would never leave you alone."

Loki flinched. Stubbornly, avoided Banner's gaze, keeping his eyes on the floor.

"Even if you hate me, I won't leave you alone. I won't let you get hurt again. Because I'm your friend."

Loki jerked his head up at that, to see that Banner had come closer, and bent his knees so they were at eye level.

"And friends don't let friends get hurt, if they can do anything about it. I can. But I'll try my best to make you feel comfortable - we don't have to talk about anything you don't want to talk about, and I won't try to touch you, and if I'm making you feel scared or… or whatever, just tell me and I'll back off. Okay?"

This ant thought he could frighten Loki?

No, Loki was only frightened by the darkness, and the blood and the pain of Thanos. It was the only thing that tormented him in his dreams, the only thing he could not bear to think of.

The ant was inconsequential. A mere speck of sand in the beach that was the universe, and he would soon be caught up in the tossing waves and hurled beneath water, and drown, and be no more. Anything he could do to Loki would end in only a few decades, and it would hardly hurt.

But whatever had left him like that, broken on Stark's doorstep, had hurt more than anything Loki had ever felt before.

You are truly broken, aren't you?

Banner was waiting for an answer.

Loki twisted the bedsheet in his fists. "If you wish," he said, because that would hurt Banner.

Banner's face fell. "No, Loki," he said. He continued to speak, but Loki did not hear him.

No, Loki.

Loki jerked backwards, back hitting the wall. "What did you say to me?" he snapped, feet and hands scrambling for a hold on the mattress. It was brief, but it was horrific, the sudden flash of memory, invading his mind like a Chitauri army, waving spears and crushing him beneath their heels. Crowding outside of his cell and laughing at him.

"No, Loki."

And Odin's face grew smaller, and smaller, and Loki didn't know why but oh, yes, he had let go, hadn't he?

Had he thought about it? Considered holding on? Or had it been a reflex, programmed into his skin, automatic, the urge to fall?

Thor screamed after him.

But did not try to catch him.

And Loki knew, that if Thor had tried, he would have twisted and fought with all his strength to push Thor away, so that he could plummet.

Because he wanted to die.

Little did he know the horrors that awaited below.

"All I said was…. Hey, stop biting your lip. It's all red. I think it's bleeding," Banner said.

"Who are you to tell me what to do?

"What to feel?

"Pathetic mortal, I am your king."

Loki did not say it because his teeth were too firmly embedded into the skin of his lip, like arrows in the wall of the training grounds of Asgard, a thorny backdrop Loki had often seen as he spun, and blue smoke trailed lazily from his hands, and he smiled at it like it was an old friend.

Practicing endlessly in the dead of night, too ashamed to let them see his secret love - the colors as they twirled, the power at his fingertips - a woman's strategy, a weak man's strength.

Gone.

"What's wrong?" Banner was holding his hands out in front of him, like he thought Loki was about to attack him, and Loki hated it. "What did I say?"

Loki forced himself to calm down. He couldn't have a panic attack every time someone mentioned Odin. Or anything else on the quickly growing list of things that were likely to induce panic in him.

"Nothing. I'm fine," he said.

Banner raised an eyebrow.

"I want my magic," Loki said.

"I know. We're talking about it."

"Thanos will kill me."

"He'll have to get through me, first."

"He will."

"I'm sorry. I wish we could give it to you. But it's hard to know."

"Know what?"

The look in Banner's eyes said - whether you are a stone-cold killer, whether you deserve to fall under the hand of Thanos, whether you deserve a glass cell and torture for the rest of your life.

Instead, he said, "For one thing, how to safely remove them. Your magic is there, on the bracelets, steadily rising in power. It's like - uh - it's like you're breathing, and we're catching your breaths in a container. The container isn't growing, it's just getting more pressurized in there. I guess we should have thought about that before putting them on your wrists, but we didn't know how your magic worked, and apparently it was the easiest way to contain it - the power circling around in the metal. But what will happen when we take them off? It'll go out of control.

"And when your magic is back, Fury might be able to detect it. That's a bigger issue. I think we should have told you about that before now, but I didn't want to freak you out, but I guess… yeah, he'll know you're here."

Loki stiffened.

No, no, Thanos can't find me, don't let him…

I don't want to die, I don't.

Even though I keep saying I do, I don't mean it, I swear, you have to believe me.

I want to stay here.

Loki, the real Loki, didn't want to die either, and couldn't let Thanos have him.

But if he had his magic, surely he would be able to kill them before Fury got him? It wouldn't be difficult. Unless his magic returned slowly, unless his magic had been damaged by the bracelets…

It was a risk he had to take.

Do you honestly believe that?

"So," Banner said. "Probably best you don't have it for a while. Or not. Hell, I don't know. If Thanos knows you're here, why hasn't he attacked us by now, if he's so strong?"

"He does not believe he is as powerful as you," Loki said, dully, hating the taste of the lie on his mouth.

No, Thanos knew he was stronger than them. The only reason he hadn't attacked yet was that Loki was still his creature, his little, broken toy. (That was what Thanos thought, not Loki. Loki knew he wasn't broken.)

"Then there's nothing to worry about, is there?" Banner said, idiotically, smiling.

Loki could not say anything. He could not disagree, for that would expose his lie. But he could not agree, for he wanted to throw up (and he couldn't do that, not again, not in front of Banner), and if he tried to speak, he surely would. So he remained silent and tried not to shake.

Banner moved to a chair soon after, and produced a book from somewhere on his person, pulled a pair of glasses out of his pocket, put them on, and began to read.

Unfair of him. Cruel of him. Like he was drinking whisky in front of an alcoholic.

So long since Loki had read a book, had breathed in the pages, had lost himself in them. He wanted to lose himself. Ached to lose himself.

()()()

It was something he had known about for decades; the blatant racism of Asgard. It fascinated him as deeply as it disgusted him, but being an Aesir, not to mention a prince, he would never have to worry about it, and thus did not concern himself with it overly.

However, his morbid fascination sometimes led him to the library, sometimes to his little corner behind the rows of shelves. Over the years, he had found certain books, certain passages, and he knew them like the back of his hand, because, for some reason, he had continued to reread them, over and over again. As if, for some morbid reason, he enjoyed torturing himself, enjoyed forcing himself to digest the words, retch on them, and consume them again.

"The order of the Nine Realms is clear: Aesir first, as the supreme beings. All others fall after them. And then, of course, at the bottom of the list; those groveling, foul blue pieces of dirt known as Frost Giants. Nothing but killers, liars, and thieves. It is in their nature, marked down on their bones, and in their blood. There are no good Frost Giants, and there never will be."

So the seeds of his brokenness were planted, years in advance. For when he discovered the truth, he remembered, immediately, what he had read. He did not have to return to the library and read it again, but his memory used to be perfect and he knew them by heart.

()()()

"How do you make quiche, anyway?" Steve asked, staring at the contents of the fridge, which were sparse. He guessed Tony hadn't gone shopping since Pepper left.

"Chef Rogers doesn't know how to make quiche?" Tony put a hand over his heart. "Blasphemy. But don't worry, I got you covered." He pushed Steve aside, which was only possible because Steve stepped away, and dug around before taking out - "Premade quiche!" He showed it to Steve with a flourish, grinning. "I know, you're flabbergasted, aren't you? Back in your day you had to grind your own flour, and that was only for the crust."

Steve took the quiche with exaggerated stiffness, jerking it out of Tony's hands as if he was angry. He read the label. "Cook for thirty minutes."

Tony wagged a winger at him. "Tsk, tsk. Looks like someone hasn't fully appreciated my genius yet. My super-sweet, modified oven should do the same in five. Stick it in, Chef Rogers." He coughed lightly, putting a hand over his mouth, eyes gleaming mischievously.

"Seriously?"

"Sorry."

Steve put the quiche in the oven, which preheated to 300 in only ten seconds. Then he stood, and leaned against the counter, arms folded.

"Is that your 'serious position'?" Tony asked, grinning and folding his own arms, and leaning in the same way.

"No."

"Mmhmm."

Steve turned his head to look out the window, hiding a smile.

"But seriously," Tony's tone changed, and he pushed himself away from the counter. "Is something up? Besides the obvious, of course. But for a while there, all you did was sit in the kitchen… kind of like me, I guess, always in my room," he laughed, and Steve couldn't tell if it was forced, or if he actually thought it was funny. "But is something up, big guy? Come on, you can tell me. I need to get in my Steve points, too."

Steve looked at him, impassively. Wasn't it obvious? "I was in 1944 three weeks ago."

Tony's lips thinned into a line. "But you're here now. You can't just…" he picked up a glass that was on the counter, full of amber liquid, and examined it. "Waste your life."

"I'm not."

Tony smiled. "Yeah, I know. Seems like that, doesn't it? Seems like, if you only stay away from everything for a little bit longer, your head will suddenly clear and you'll understand the secrets of the universe." He set the glass back down. "Newsflash. Doesn't work like that."

But Tony hadn't lost everyone and everything he cared about, and been thrown into a world he didn't understand. Tony hadn't lost his best friend.

But, Tony had lost his parents, just like Steve. And there were probably things Tony hadn't told him - something bad enough to make him drink until he went numb, and did nothing but stare at the ceiling.

"There was this kid. Bucky." Steve said. "Once."

Tony sat on the counter, legs dangling. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, Cap, but I'll listen."

Steve shook his head, smiling. "No. He… well, we did everything together. One time we went on this rollercoaster, at Coney Island, and I threw up. And there was the time he passed out because he drank too much - actually, that happened more than once." He turned his head from Tony, looking out the window. "We had this joke - about which one of us would get into a newspaper first. Every time one of us did something stupid, we'd run to get the paper the next morning, and pretend to be surprised when nothing was there. I got into the paper first, of course. But… I'm sure you can guess what happened… well, he ended up in the paper, too."

"And you were staying away from us because…?"

"I don't know. I kept thinking about him." He was supposed to be with me until the end of the line.

"Word of advice, from a guy who hasn't followed it. You'll never get ahead by staying in the same place."

"Yeah."

Tony smiled, warmly, walked to Steve and clapped a hand down on his shoulder. "Good talk." Something beeped. "Looks like your quiche is ready."

()()()

Banner must have noticed him staring.

"Do you want to read it?" he asked, holding up his book.

"No," Loki choked out. His mind was filled with words.

"Sure?"

"I don't want to read it," Loki repeated, with more force. He had changed his mind. He didn't want to read a book ever again.

"Is something wrong?" Banner set the book on his knee, and pushed his glasses up his nose, concern in his eyes. Concern that Loki hated.

"No," he hissed. Why wouldn't the ant listen to him? Believe him? Leave him alone?

A voice crackled through the air like a whip.

Hey, Olive and… another inventive nickname. Food's up! Oh, and that's a point each for Steve and me. He made it, but I get to announce it and make everyone laugh because I'm hilarious. So, Bruce, looks like you're not doing too hot, bud. Better step it up!

But, seriously, get your asses down here. Tony out.

Loki did not move. He was hungry, but he would stay here. He wondered if Banner would sacrifice his dinner to stay with him. He wouldn't mind watching Banner go hungry. Maybe Banner would throw up because of the pain of hunger pangs, and Loki wouldn't be the only one out of the two of them to be so deeply humiliated.

But Banner has no scars on his skin.

No scars carved by his own hands.

"Are you gonna go get some food?" Banner asked. One leg was crossed over the other, tapping at the air. He flipped a page.

"No. I am not hungry."

"Oh. Okay. Jarvis, tell Steve to bring two plates of quiche up here, ASAP."

At once, sir.

"I am not hungry." Why wouldn't the ant listen to him when he spoke?

Banner shrugged. "Maybe. But you might get hungry when you smell it. Wouldn't want you to miss out."

()()()

"I'm not hungry," Loki insisted, again and again.

"Of course you are. It's your brother's thousandth. You have to eat. It's disrespectful not to," Odin said.

But Loki's appetite had fled when he looked out at the dizzying crowd - so many Aesir, all packed together like bundles of sticks, clamoring for attention. There were so many vibrant colors, all muddled. So many scents, twisted together like a rope. So much of everything that it overwhelmed him, and it stole the emptiness from his stomach. He was so much younger then, and he hated the sense of all those people, so close, all around him,

"I'm not hungry," he said, again.

"Nonsense. We told you not to eat before the celebration. You must learn from your disobedience, Loki. I command you to eat." Odin said, before turning away and taking his seat at his throne.

Loki slid into a seat beside Thor, not listening to the talk and the laughter shared by him and his loud friends. He didn't care what they had to say. He felt too sick for that.

He picked at the food when he felt Odin's eyes on him.

Bastard.

So he ate, and ate. Chicken legs, slathered in butter. Heaps upon heaps of potatoes. And all around him - the din of noise, the icy cell closing in, as the people cheered for Thor when he ascended the steps of his throne.

Later, Loki threw up all his dinner.

He never told Odin.

()()()

A weak stomach. One of his many faults.

It was common among Frost Giants.

But it was not all so bad.

Why do you only remember the unhappy times?

"Banner," he said. "I would rather not eat."

Evidently, Banner had not so quickly forgotten the promise he had made only minutes before, that if Loki grew uncomfortable, he would stop whatever he was doing, because he nodded quickly, and said, "Sorry, yeah, okay. I was just worried. Sorry."

Always worried.

How fragile did he think Loki was?

He is only trying to help, he's just concerned…

"I don't want your concern," Loki said, in a voice so laden with bitterness, it was a wonder it did not stick in his throat, it was a wonder it was not so heavy that it ripped through his neck. He stood from the bed, and it was wonderful to be so much taller than Banner, so high above him, like being a king again. "I don't need it."

Banner put the book on the floor, cautiously. "Sorry."

"And stop apologizing. Empty words. Prove it. Prove it, I dare you."

It rose up behind his eyes - a cracked, howling beast, clawing at him with such intense emotions, so many he couldn't describe or name or understand. He blinked back a sudden wave of disgusting tears.

(I dare you, I dare you.)

(I dare you to die.)

It hurt in his chest, and it spread until it made his hands shake, his fingertips grow numb. Numb… cold. Was his skin turning blue? Panicked, he looked down at his hands, but they were still pale and white.

A flimsy shield to cover the monster that lies beneath.

But he felt like ice.

The door opened, and Rogers was there, holding two steaming plates of quiche. And Banner was staring at him, eyes dripping with worry and pity for the pathetic, puny god, and it was all a lie - couldn't they see? - because Loki was not pathetic he was a king and they were his subjects, and he wouldn't let them treat him this way.

"Get out!" he screamed, backing away until he fell onto the bed, and backing away more until his back hit the wall. "Leave me alone!"

()()()

"Loki? Are you okay? I thought I heard you throwing up…"

Loki retched again, and wiped the vomit from his lips, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked so hollow.

"Loki?"

And suddenly, his chest burned with anger, and he was shouting before he understood why. Shouting at Thor to leave, to never come back, because Loki hated him and always would, always would.

Finally, the shouting stopped, and ended in something halfway between a whisper and a sob. Loki folded his arms on the sink and dropped his head into them and didn't stir when he heard Thor's retreating footsteps, slow, even, and fading, and gone.

He was alone.

And he only felt worse.

()()()

His plan was falling apart.

He was supposed to keep them close. Supposed to fool them into thinking they could trust him enough to return his magic, but that had already failed, hadn't it? They wouldn't return his magic. And now he was taking the tender bond of trust he had forged between them, and crushing it between his fists. As if he wanted to die.

And he didn't stop screaming, for if he stopped screaming he would start crying.

But his anger had already gone, and now the screaming hurt his throat, and felt empty and raw. He balled his fists and dug in his nails and the pain somehow rounded the edges of his ragged voice, and was able to shove it back down his throat, and he was able to return to silence without bringing tears to his eyes.

The screams echoed. And Loki was a dead man walking, but he was beyond caring so he let his head fall into his hands. The slight shuddering of his shoulders was because his eyes were wet and tears were threatening to fall and his breath kept hitching, sobs threatening to overwhelm him.

He didn't see them go.

But when he looked up, he was alone.

"I'll never leave you alone again."

Liar.

They were all liars.

Loki struggled to hold back his (pathetic) tears. They kept rising up behind his eyes, because (you are not a king, you are broken, broken and sad) everything was falling apart.

He didn't deserve this.

He had done nothing wrong.

Thanos had (done nothing to you) hurt him. He had. And Loki had done (everything) nothing to deserve it, he had simply fallen, and Thanos had forced him to fall further, and now here he was, still falling. None of it his fault. He did not have to feel guilt, regret, because he was innocent.

Those were shackles he would never have to bear. The heaviest of bonds were not his.

He was (a murderer, with hands dripping blood) innocent.

He was (a monster, and not because of his blue skin) good.

Deep down.

He was good.

Liar. Always a liar.

Filthy.

Evil.

Worthless.

Insane.

And broken, forever.

Listen to me. Look at me, Loki, and listen.

You can't do this anymore. Can't lie. It's useless. Do you know how broken you'll be when you know the truth?

Shattered beyond repair.

And the longer you wait, the worse you will be.

It may be hopeless already.

But if there is even a shadow of a glimmer of hope, I want it. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life.

Loki didn't understand what these thoughts meant. But he wanted them to stop.

Go away, go away, leave me alone…

No.

Loki struck the mattress with his fists. He brought them down against the wall, but it did nothing but shoot pain up his arms. He tangled his fingers in his hair and pulled. He gasped, desperately, for air.

Listen to me.

Listen well, Laufeyson.

Or I will torture you with my voice until you are too numb to move, too numb to resist.

You will listen, and you will stop this madness. You will end this lie, and the truth will wash over you, red-hot, and it will break you, finally and forever.

You will be a mindless creature, rocking back-and-forth on its heels and sobbing into its hands but it is a price I am willing to pay because I will not let you kill them.

So listen.

I dare you.