Chapter Text
Earth is tired, bitter and angry, devastated, and whatever small remains of its people in power stays, they have better things to do than political battles over the even more devastated Asgardians refugees. So they’re given barren land in ties with their ancestors, a multitude of wary looks, most concentrated on Loki (he sees them coming from both sides), and an invitation to settle in, which is a polite way of saying no more help shall be spared.
Which is fine, good even. There’s so little left of Asgard, a mere couple hundreds at most out of thousands, it’s impossible to rebuild in image of their previous system. Yes, Thor is king now, mighty and beloved by his people. Without a throne, without a court, without the all-seeing.
It’s time for Asgardians to change, to rebuild their way of living, and Loki… Wants no part of that. Now that it finally happened, now that the brute stone ways of millenia have been shattered like he longed for them to, he finds himself even less part of them than before. Asgard is no more a golden cage, and without the cage part Loki finds himself truly at liberty to walk away.
Or he would’ve, if not for Thor.
Week or so later, another spaceship approaches Earth, Thor gets called and Loki follows.
Carol Danvers is but another one of those who could but didn’t. He briefly ponders why, yet he doesn’t really care.
He stays in the corners and witnesses the shadows painted deeply across everyone else. Nebula gives him one steady nod and pays him no mind.
There’s a little too much familiar things of old here, laying in the pathways of several years ago, reawakening the buried memories and dragging them to the surface, even as he shies away from them.
One look at Tony, and it couldn’t be more clear how this is nothing like then.
The Avengers assemble for their namesake, a rag tag group that never could police who was and who wasn't part of them. It’s a joyless hunt, teeth bared, sense of defeat sharpened and turned into a double edged spear.
Thor, enraged, cuts off Thanos’ head. Loki feels a disappointing nothing. There’s no satisfaction in killing a leftover shell that already accomplished its purpose.
They come back from the little pocket retirement planet home, a small peace heaven all for Thanos, and now one big curdling red spot in the middle of it. They’re met with several politely curious faces and a single minded thrumming disappointment. If they’re here, then it already did not work.
The entire mismatched group reconvenes in the Compound’s central area, Steve taking the lead, standing in the center and doing his utmost to bear the weight of the news properly.
“Thanos had already destroyed the stones,” he announces, spine ramrod straight, voice made of soldier steel.
Loki sees Tony’s friends, those that stayed, mutely nod. One of them firmly grips Tony’s shoulder. Tony glowers, at Steve, at the room, at their fate.
“He has- had a farm on that planet. No army, no ships, nobody else.”
“What, a farm? Seriously? So he gets to live out his days peacefully farming in the middle of nowhere now that his job is done?”
“No, Tony,” Thor speaks up. Gently almost. “I killed him.”
“And what now?” Tony sneers, attempting to stand up and batting away the hand on his shoulder. “That’s not good enough.”
“Tony, Tony, calm down, please,” Steve tries to placify, hand reaching as if to calm down a cornered animal.
“Why should I?” Tony bristles, successfully pushing away his friend and stumbling over. Breathing ragged, he adds, “you killed him, fucking yay, he still got his happy end, he still killed-”
“We did what we could, and you’re still healing, you can’t… you can’t hurt yourself any further, alright?”
And Loki watches, and he can see the exact second, the one step too far and something in Tony breaks.
It should've sounded like a shattered glass piece under a pressurizer. The only thing he can hear is his own breathing stutter.
They’re still talking, they, he knows it keenly, haven't noticed anything, couldn't notice, and this time, as Rogers finishes the question, "...alright?" Stark doesn't twitch in anger and despair and so much more, doesn't smile with edges too sharp, doesn't give back.
"Yeah," he says, face blank, shrugs and doesn't even turn away, sliding down on the closest sitting surface.
(Yes, Loki said, face blank, and took the Scepter offered to him, counting the seconds before he could leave this place, if only for a breath of respite, for a fleeting illusion of freedom that didn’t exist.)
His hands tremble, even clenched in fists behind his back (don't show your reactions where they can be seen). Tony has them relaxed, limp at his sides.
It's not the same. They're similar, Loki thinks, to an almost uncomfortable, uncanny point, and so the world around them screws them over in a familiar way, the only way it could get at them.
He just maybe wishes he could've seen this sooner.
He sees it now, and so he stays.
Nebula goes, Thor goes and Loki should follow.
He doesn’t. He stays, more at peace amidst these shadows than the air of New Asgard. He has a purpose here, more than he could with Asgard.
He doesn’t try to explain to Thor, yet the look he gets accompanied with a firm hand on his shoulder makes him think that Thor might understand it in part. He promises to visit (it’s a lie they both know, but nothing will stop Thor from coming instead) and sees Thor off, Banner at his side.
Tony is a no show, though Loki can feel his stare on the back of his head. There's nobody at the windows when they come back.
Despite the place getting emptier, fewer people spending the night here, the days become louder and livelier. Business talks, politics, emergencies, somewhere between it all, both unfamiliar and not faces bustling from entrances to conference rooms and back, Loki involves himself as an unavoidable presence. People who’d like to bar him from participating or even just being present are numerous, but he gets an official pardon (doesn’t take much to guess the two behind that), and besides, nobody who dares to try achieves anything with that.
Resident Asgardian Representative , he gets classified as, and he leaves them to their petty order. As long as nobody bothers trying to push him out of where he wants to be, needs to be, whether physically or through loud weighed words they pretend are not threats.
Loki can’t find it in himself to laugh at them, but at least Bruce, fairly familiar with him by now, can appreciate the futility.
...
He watches Tony again, intentionally this time. He's not sure what to expect now, so he keeps an eye on him. Swallows and ignores how his own chest seems to lightly collapse on itself. It's fine.
Maybe with time, he thinks, he can reconstruct himself, reignite and spark anew. Never the same, just as Loki cannot ever be Loki Odinson of Asgard again. Still, with his too fast mind, too destroyed world and too stubborn good intentions, Loki cannot imagine Tony remaining still and broken.
Tony has been fiddling with his phone, occasionally speaking aloud to Friday, all of them in wait for the meeting to start.
The team, the Avengers, were in shambles even before Thanos, as Loki has gathered. Now that the threat has passed, now that they lost, the pieces remaining lay further apart than ever.
So much for that plan.
There's pressure on them, against them. People are angry and lashing out, others desperately call for help. Somehow it falls to them to aid both.
The door opens, Natasha walks in. Friday chimes something louder, via the general intercom rather than Stark's personal phone, and the meeting begins as the opposite side of the table lights up with several projections of unknown to him humans.
Tony is subdued, barely paying attention beyond the occasional half-hearted argument, presented with just enough snark it won't be dismissed as not serious. His phone projects its screen into a neat little illusion of a bigger surface, his eyes and fingers dancing on that area.
"Mr. Stark, are you even paying attention?" The projection shows someone rising up from their seat, and the very top of their bald head dissipates into nothing, beyond the range of cameras. Tony blankly stares at them. "Do you realize the importance of this discussion? There is an uproar outside. People want action."
Tony narrows his eyes, collapses the screen in his hands in a jerky motion. Looks at the rest of the room, eyes widening slightly when he reaches Loki, (contempt, guilt, contempt and guilt and disassociated interest, Loki knows their expressions, none of them will have anything different, he understands).
"The people," Tony says back, " are panicking. They are panicking because every system in the world has gone down, and all of the measures in place are temporary. Most of them have already grieved, and now they want to know when their normal life will resume. When will they be able to go to the closest shop and not find it half empty. When can they travel to see whatever family they have left. Stability, stability is what they need, and not a bunch of superheroes to protect them. They've had that, we've tried that, and it didn't work." Tony takes a shaking breath. Nobody dares disrupt the momentary pause. "Stark Industries is doing whatever it can to stabilize what we have. Chains of shipment, factories, community work, servers, hospitals, whatever we can get our hands on. There's only so much we can do. Even if it's a lot, and clearly more than everything you even thought to do."
Loki looks, really looks at Tony again and sees the defiant resolute spark back in him. In his words, in his movements, he leads the room, and whatever the one on the other side of the projection replies it doesn't matter. Tony bites back, an edge softer, an edge sharper, broken pieces realigning in a slightly different yet familiar picture. Loki's relieved sigh is drowned in his monologue and he admires Tony, Tony Stark, stronger than anyone would think, fixing himself, fixing the world around him however he can, with whatever he'd been given. It hasn't even been a full week since he shattered, and he's already back, resolute and magnificent with his mind.
...
They're hours into this somewhat pointless discussion, going round and round in circles. Fruitless. Maddening.
Tony is back fully immersed into his own work, leaving the rest of them to battle out... whatever it is they didn't agree on. There's few things they do agree on, nowadays.
Loki contemplates leaving, the door tantalizingly close, and behind it some quiet and calm. Some of Odin's council meetings were more productive than this, a low bar Loki didn't think he'd ever have to use on Earth. And yet...
He'd done what he came here to do, he certainly has no desire to listen to the squabbling any further nor is he in any obligation to. He has really no reason to stay.
He stays, and watches, and lets himself be enthralled by this mortal that's so similar to him. However much that is a bad thing.
There's a slam, a shout, both Loki and Tony hide their flinches and look up.
"Unacceptable!" Another projection screams, voice painfully shrill. "I will not have a-"
Tony makes a swift waving gesture with his right hand and her words get cut off immediately. The holograms collapse, leaving the table emptier, dimmer.
The startled silence lasts little before he claps his hands together, turns back to his team. "Well, meeting adjourned, as you can see."
The Captain carefully starts, softly, "Tony-"
"Nope, whatever you want to say, Cap, I don't wanna hear it."
There's a new tension Loki spies in Tony. Something ugly and dark resonates within him.
"They won't be happy with us," Rhodes sighs.
"Nobody's really happy with us right now," Natasha counters, rounding the table. "We might as well let them stew. Like it or not, they need any help they can get their hands on. And that includes us."
Stark stands up, swipes his phone up from the table and heads to the door. "Well, I'm gonna go do something more useful than sitting around and arguing about politics. See you all," he sharply stops at the door, turns around to glance at everyone, "hopefully not too soon."
"Tony, wait." Steve reaches out after him, though doesn't dare touch.
The other stiffens. Loki finds himself copying it unintentionally, readying himself. Building walls out of paper in a well practiced motion, by instinct, at this point. Taking breaths that are just a touch too deep, too forceful. He's suddenly glad his chosen spot is as far from the door, it's looking crowded.
He twists his fingers together. He's safe, as sane as it gets, as good as it gets. He's not there.
Stark is.
"Yeah, Tones, wait up." Rhodes climbs out of his chair and walks over to him, braces whirring softly. There's no hesitation as he swings an arm over Stark, oh so accidentally placing himself in-between him and the rest of the room. "I'm coming with you."
Stark nods, the door opens before them, and Rhodes walks with him, besides him, just ever so slightly leaning more of his weight on his shoulders as he makes a step.
Loki cannot look away. That's the last straw, the final push. Not the shouting, not the despair, not the wavering in Steve's expression or his pleads. The colonel leans just a tad bit more on Tony. Tony slumps, all strings cut away, harshly torn out of him, ripping him violently apart and leaving his heart raw and naked and bleeding for the outside world to attack and swallow until there's nothing left.
Nobody notices. Nobody else recognizes it.
Loki chokes on his own thoughts, wills the pain away (it didn't work then, it won't work now), and how is it the second time is so much worse?