Chapter Text
Svartalfheim
Loki woke alone. Thor was gone, and Jane. Once again he found himself discarded when he was no longer of use. He supposed he was used to it. He no longer had it in him to feel rage or hurt at the betrayal, only weariness. He had thought better of his brother, but then Thor's words had always been nobler than his actions.
Thor had abandoned his body on the battlefield as if he were no more than a hired mercenary, and no one in Asgard would come looking for his corpse. There was no funeral boat waiting, no grieving loved ones needing a body to weep over. He was abandoned and alone; a recurring theme in the pattern the Norns had woven for him.
But he was not dead, somehow. Or perhaps he was. It was hard to tell, sometimes. Certainly he would be dead, if he did nothing. There was a certain appeal to doing nothing, to drifting away to an easy death. He smiled a bitter smile. That was what the Void was supposed to be, and look how well that had turned out. No, if he chose to die, he was going to make sure of it. Loki cast his eyes over the remains of the battle. There were knives enough. It would be a simple thing to help it along.
He set the option aside and turned to the next. Asgard may not come for his corpse, but they would be more than willing to drag his body back to its cell. If he called, they would come, if only out of fear of him free. All that was required was to lift the spell that clouded Heimdall's eyes. It would be weak of him, perhaps. More of a surrender than dying would be.
He sighed, the pain following the curve of his breath in and out. He lifted his head, eyes tracing the half covered tracks of Thor and Jane that led to the caves. His last option. He could feel the portal ahead. He did not have enough strength to make his own paths, to escape, but he might have enough to follow. He would be of no use, as he was. More than likely he was just changing the site of his grave. He wanted to scoff at the sentiment, but still a part of him wanted his mother to be proud. He pictured her standing in the fields of Valhalla, turning her gaze to him.
He took in a wheezing breath and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.
Sanctum Sanctorum
Dr. Stephen Strange was tired. For weeks there had been incidents stemming from the thinning barriers that preceded the Convergence, a trickle that had turned into a torrent, a thankless and unending task of herding interdimensional beasts and beings back into their respective corners of the universe.
He hadn't even been on Earth when the Convergence hit, just seen highlights of the battle on the late night news. He would have to call Dr. Foster and get the details, but it could wait. The world was safe and all he wanted was a long, hot soak in the tub.
Which is when his ward went off, alerting him to a very particular and very unwelcome presence. He swore under his breath, blaspheming a certain Norse deity while calling for his cloak and transporting himself to an abandoned warehouse in London.
It wasn't what he'd been expecting. It was Loki, yes, but an unconscious, barely breathing Loki lying in blood and broken class. As a surgeon, the decision to help was simple. As Sorcerer Supreme, the decision not to involve Shield or the Avengers was equally simple. He wanted Loki off the planet; they would insist on keeping him. Fortunately, as both surgeon and sorceror he needed no assistance to accomplish both.
He transported them back to the Sanctum, into the small surgery room he kept for emergencies. It took time, but he managed to stabilise the god. Here, too, were unexpected discoveries. He shook his head and put it out of his mind. If it did not affect the safety of Earth, It was none of his business. He called Jane Foster and soon enough Thor arrived, looking both relieved and irritated.
"I thank you for contacting me. I assure you my brother will be returned to his cell where he will not be able to deceive me thus again."
"Oh?"
"He led me to believe in his death, and that he had sacrificed himself for me, no less."
"If you mean the 3 inch hole in his chest, that's pretty real."
"It is an illusion. My brother can appear in many forms."
"You know, if you actually stopped to listen instead of charging headlong into a conclusion, we'd be done this conversation already. I detected Loki's magical signature in London and found him in an abandoned warehouse, unconscious and nearly dead. I brought him back here. He's out of danger, for now, but hasn't regained consciousness."
A stricken look swept over his face, an unsettled cloud of doubt and guilt.
"He must have followed us through, Jane and I. I didn't – I thought he was dead. I swear. Norns, I left him there."
"I'm sure it was an honest mistake," said Stephen, hoping to move the agenda along. "I've done all I can for him here, but he'll need to see the healers back in Asgard. Sooner rather than later," he added pointedly.
"Yes, yes, of course."
"Good." Stephen clapped his hands together in approval and shifted them to Loki's room. "Tell the healers that in addition to cleaning and binding the wound that I had to transfer dimensional energy to him to keep him alive. It shouldn't cause long term problems, but if they aren't familiar with that type of spell I'd be happy to give them any information they need."
Thor nodded as he gathered Loki up into his arms. "I will do so."
"Right. Oh, and I'm sure you've got your own reasons for leaving the geas in place, but he'll heal faster if you remove it. It's a drain on his magic, and frankly he needs all he can get right now."
Stephen tried to usher Thor and ended up walking into the suddenly immobile god. Frowning, Stephen looked up only to find Thor staring at him as if he had just sprouted two heads.
"Ah," said Stephen. He saw his dream of an early evening slipping away and sighed. "You didn't know."