The Avengers 2012 (Loki’s Version)
This is chapter two of The Marvel Cinematic Universe Phases 1-3 (Loki’s Version) don’t miss reading Thor 2011 (Loki’s Version) first.
Author’s Note: Hey y’all! It’s time for chapter two, where we get a sneak peek into what was going on in Loki’s head during the events of The Avengers. When I finished writing it I found myself surprised by how short it ended up being, especially considering that Loki is such a major character in this movie. That said, when we get to The Dark World (hopefully next week) you’ll be in for a much longer chapter because it’s already nearly twice as long as this and I’m nowhere near done. Also, the prologue to my MCU time travel fix-it in this series Snap Back to the Past AKA the Infinity Stones Adopt Tony Stark is up, so make sure you check that out when you have a sec. It will be a much happier story than this is, just by definition of the fact that this story is canon compliant and what happens to Loki is… not pleasant. I love him but he needs a hug. And therapy. So bad. So, so bad. As always for this fic this is canon compliant which means canon-typical violence. There is also mention of torture, depression, death, and mind control.
The Avengers 2012 (Loki’s Version)
Loki was falling. He fell for longer than he could have ever expected. He fell for so long that falling became all that he knew. He did not remember a time before the fall. Before the void. Before the cascade of nothingness.
Time passes differently in the void between worlds. He watched the birth and death of stars. He watched the universe expand and wither. He witnessed just how small he was, just how meaningless, just how small of a spark any of them were. He knew nothing and everything all at once. He was unmade and put back together.
He continued to fall. He felt like worse than nothing. Cast out by his only family—no, for they were not his family.
NO, Loki.
He had killed his father. He knew not who his mother was, if she were even alive. Nothing but a stolen relic. Who would leave a baby to die on holy ground? Now he could never ask. He was lost to the void, and had killed the only person capable of giving answers.
He had proved himself to be the monster he had feared all along. How had everything gone so wrong? He was only acting as he had been taught. He was an Odinson was he not? No, Laufeyson. Who was he? Loki Silvertongue, but his tongue was heavy and made of lead. He was of Asgard. He was what Asgard had made him. If he was a monster it was one of Orin’s creation.
Odin was not his father. But Odin was the one who had taught him war. Who had taught him battle, who had taught him to fight and to take what he was owed. Loki was the rightful king of Asgard. Thor had been cast out, and Odin lay asleep. He was the second son, but he was in the line of succession. How dare they call him a usurper.
Loki stopped falling.
His mind, which was swirling with rage, which was exploding with knowledge, which was pulsing with awareness of the vast multiverse and its boundless design, landed hard. He laughed. It was a maddened laugh, it tore through his throat, so dry from disuse that he began to cough blood. Where was he?
Before him stood a hooded figure with pale skin and many fingers, head tilted. They were on a large asteroid, seemingly in deep space.
The figure continued to stare, silent, as Loki’s laughter and coughs finally abated and he asked “What is this place?”
“I think the more important question is how did you come to be here?” The figure asked.
“I fell. I know not for how long. And now I am here. Wherever here is. Who are you?”
“I am the Other. That is the only name you need to know, Loki of Asgard.”
“How do you know my name?” Loki stilled.
“Your mind is fragmented and screams out through cracks. We can fix that, should you help us.”
“Why do you think I can help you?”
“The master saw your fall through the void. We plucked you out and led you here. You have power, and seek to wield it.”
“Why should I trust that you would grant me thus?”
“Because you will not like the alternative.”
The Other’s lips curled into a cruel smile, and suddenly Loki’s world exploded into pain.
Loki had truly never wanted to be king. But he was the rightful king. Not a usurper. And it stung that no one recognized that. And the truth was that he did like power. He did enjoy having people bow down to him. Not so much because he sought to be a ruler, but because he truly did think that these Midgardians were the lot of them idiots. Honestly, they could not be trusted to rule their own lives. With all of their petty wars, the way that they mistreated one another because of the color of their skin or their gender or their sexual and romantic preferences. It was truly sickening. No, better that they be ruled, that they not have the option to enact such cruel regulations on one another for such petty reasons.
But of course, here came the heroes. There to ruin Loki’s plans, Thor butting in as always. He was not particularly surprised. A part of him also appreciated the challenge. He enjoyed having genuine competition. If there were no one who could genuinely go toe to toe with him then there would be no glory in his victory.
Yet he could not deny that there were small moments of doubt, moments that he kept hidden from the other. With how fractured his mind was, there was, it was an easy thing to slip things past the creature. The Other and Thanos may think that they had a firm grasp on Loki’s mind given its maddened state, given the pain that they had put him through. But Loki bowed to no one. He was indomitable. If these “Avengers” stopped their plans Loki did not plan to protest. They would have won fairly and honorably. Loki knew when he was beaten.
He stabbed Thor of course, but it was hardly a killing blow. The blade was so small that he doubted that it even penetrated Thor’s armor. [If Loki was aware of what love languages were, he would probably say that his was stabbing. Love was dagger.] And it was true that Loki had pressed the button that released the glass cage that kept Thor trapped into a 30,000 foot drop, but the man could fly and had a hammer forged out of the heart of a dying star that could easily break through flimsy Midgardian glass. He was not exactly defenseless.
He may have underestimated the green beast, however. There was a man inside there, a clever one, and the beast was strong. He had used his seidr to invisibly spy on what was going on in the helicarrier while he was “trapped.” The idea that any of them thought they could keep them in that cage was laughable. He could easily skywalk out at any moment, given there was not a single magic barrier or ward stopping him. He split a fragment of his consciousness out to spy on their progress with the scepter, nurturing the agitation it was creating. An unexpected part of him panged with empathy as he heard Banner express how he had attempted to end his own life and failed. He remembered letting go and the seemingly endless fall, only to realize that he had not reached Hel after all, but was instead frustratingly alive and in the clutches of someone who would use any means to have him submit to their will. And Loki would not submit. He had not. This was a mutually beneficial agreement. And if he arranged things so that they were more in his favor, so that things did not go as well as the Other might hope… well that was something he kept to himself.
And it was as he lay groaning in pain, the floor dented beneath him from the force with which the beast had smashed him to the ground, that Loki realized he was free. The tether between himself and the Other had been severed. At some point during his fall he had caught the attention of Thanos and the Other. Taking advantage of his madness and confusion the Other had infested his mind, leaching into his thoughts. They used this connection to monitor him, to punish him with psychic anguish that would on occasion manifest itself magically and physically with its strength.
Now… now the beast had freed him. Loki at last finally had his mind to himself again for the first time in he was not sure how long, and it was at the hands of one who himself suffered from a mind split between two forces in conflict for control. He almost wanted to laugh again but he was in pain worse than the Other had ever unleashed. He hoped that these… Avengers were able to defeat the chitauri. He was fairly certain they could close the portal—he had noticed the backdoor that Selvig had put in, though he had pretended elsewise.
Loki pondered his next move, and decided that the best thing for him to do now was to wait and see what would happen next. The beast had dealt him a great injury, on top of the fact that he was still recovering from those which Thanos and the Other had dealt him. Yet he had also done him a great service because he could take advantage of the perceived need to rest and exaggerate its gravity in order to heal from the collective blows dealt. Furthermore, he took the time to begin the long process of mending the cracks in his mind and his seidr. The loss of the cohesive view he had of his identity after the reveal of his true heritage had done immense damage. Given all that had happened he never had the time or energy to truly go through and try to repair it.
Nevertheless, he had barely scratched the surface before the battle was over and the avengers had won. He made note that they had used some kind of weapon of mass destruction against the chitauri and that should he ever return to Midgard he should research the origins and capabilities of such weapons more thoroughly since he had been unaware that there were people on Midgard with the capability to use them that would be so willing to sacrifice such a large civilian population had not the Man of Iron took it upon himself to reroute the device towards the primary chitauri ship.
As the avengers grew closer to where Loki lay he drew himself up, not wanting to appear threatening but also not wanting them to perceive him as the broken thing he sometimes felt he was—not that he would admit that to a single soul.
If it’s all the same to you, I’ll have that drink now.