C18H27NO3

Loki officially hated his life as he was thrown backwards with the power of Thor’s swing. Landing on his back, head cracking against the cement beneath him painfully, he wondered what he had done to deserve this.

Had he pissed off the Norns somehow?

Did they just hate him?

Maybe he was just cursed with really bad luck.

“Everyone, steer clear of Thor. I’m going to try and get him near the Hulk. It might trigger at least some memory as to who the enemy is,” Loki instructed, wincing as an explosion went off next to him.

He should have known that Amora would use some mindless beasts as her army. What was worse, though, was that it was a series of different kinds of mindless beasts.

There were hulking beasts with faces like flesh free humans, others hunched and deformed, there were a handful where their skin was translucent and you could see the blood running through their veins, the shift of their organs, their bodily functions as they happened.

It was like a horror movie and Loki was jumping around trying to get his brother into the right mind, but he had gotten too close to Amora and she managed to trigger the berserker rage, the mindless anger that clouded the blonde’s judgment. The anger could fuel him to slaughter an entire army in minutes, but also harm and kill those close to him.

“Loki, you might want to but that on a back burner. I got eyes on Amora with the tesseract,” Tony voiced and Loki shuddered, looking over at his brother than that was beating one of the fleshless monsters there, thankfully.

“Alright,” Loki breathed out. His hands were trembling; his lungs shook with each exhalation of breath.

“Clint, eyes up. You and Stark are in charge of getting anything that’s leaving the perimeter or moving where we can’t get it. Watch our backs. Natasha, you’re with me. We can’t exactly get the Hulk to Thor, although it seems like Banner has a bit more control right now.”

Loki jumped over one of the hunched monsters, letting out a burst of seidr that shoved them in Thor’s direction—kept him occupied.

“Get a good amount of the enemy near Thor. It’ll keep him busy long enough until I can calm him down.” Casting a cursory glance upward, he cringed. “And get ready. It looks like it’s about to pour.”

“You have to control your emotions!”

Odin’s fist hit the table and his goblet shook, the liquid amber inside of it spilling slightly over the edges. Loki could hear the droplets splashing against the wooden surface, beautifully polished as it was.

He had lain on that surface countless times when he was but a few years younger; had curled on top of it, knees pulled up to his chest and side pressed solidly against the wood. He would press his ear against it and listen to the sounds of castle reverberating through the wood.

It was hypnotizing, soothing in a way, whenever he needed to escape from the latest torment the Warrior Three had inflicted.

They had quite the twisted sense of humor—at least when it came to him.

No one would think to check any of Odin’s studies first and Loki would hear them coming when they finally did. He would slip over to the window and duck outside, climb down the walls with precarious footholds as his only aid.

Thor winced, looking over at his father with eyes that were slowly becoming wet and the skies outside rumbled, rain pouring down from the heavens.

“Father, do not blame him. You said it yourself that it would get worse when he got to this age and now he is—you’ve done nothing to prepare him.”

“Loki, be silent.”

“But, Father—”

“Be quiet, Loki! Shut your mouth and go to your room.” A pause, then, “both of you” and Thor immediately turned and bolted from the room. The skies seemed to roar to life, like a sleeping dragon coming alive. Lighting crackled, bright and dangerous, striking the land and disappearing in a mere second.

“Very well, your highness,” Loki spit, eyes blazing before turning on his heel and walking out, not lingering to see the enraged look on Odin’s face.

The skies wept just as Thor did that night, heavy, but soft. He hated crying—Loki knew. It was one of his ticks, to say the least. He remembered sitting next to Thor that night, fingers weaving through the fur of the pelt he was situated on, watching the small tremors course through his brother’s larger frame—definitely larger than Loki’s at least.

“Thor—brother—what upset you so today? Normally it’s not this bad.”

The blonde mumbled unintelligibly into his pillow, body tensing and Loki let his hand reach out, shaking and hesitant, to gently rest his palm against the male’s shoulder.

“Thor?”

“I almost lost it with Sif,” Thor finally let out, voice quiet and low, eyes slowly blinking open as he turned to look at Loki. His cheeks were tear-stained, eyes red and slightly puffy and Loki resisted the urge to coo at the sight. The raven merely dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a soft cloth, wiping at his brother’s cheeks.

“Oh,” he whispered softly, dabbing under his eyes with the cloth and watching as Thor pressed his eyes closed, another tear escaping.

“I—I don’t even remember what she did—or said and next thing I know, she’s on the—the ground and Fandral is with her and Volstagg’s trying to hold me back and—oh, Norns,” Thor moaned, hands shaking as he lifts his arms, reaching out, reaching for Loki. And Loki willingly fell into his brother’s embrace, as he always did, and let himself be held close to the strong body and feel the tremors that ran along it.

“It’s alright, brother. Sif is fine; she’s unharmed, correct?”

Thor nodded stiffly.

“Then, fret not, brother, and calm down. Count, start at one—it’ll calm you.”

And Thor did and the skies finally stopped rumbling as much as they did and the rain slowly ebbed away and the skies cleared slowly as Thor fell into sleep.

Loki eased himself out of the embrace and slipped out of the room after covering Thor in a soft blanket, and closed the door behind him.

“Captain, you’ve got incoming at two o’clock,” Clint called over the comm. and Steve barely suppressed the urge to groan like a whiny teenager, ducking as one of the transparent skinned monsters slashed at his throat, swinging his arm with the shield forward to knock the beast away.

“I can’t get to my two o’clock right now. Can you cover it?”

“I’m a bit busy at the moment,” Clint replied, sounding winded and when he spared a glance upward to where he had last seen Clint on the roof of one of the lower buildings, he could see the man fighting, eyes flicking about wildly. “Captain, find a way to get to it—it’s right there!”

“Jesus!”

He jerked in surprise, grabbing the creature in front of him by the arm and yanking it forward, bringing the shield down hard on his neck.

He gaze did not linger on the disembodied head as he dropped it and turned around, sight being met with the gold and red of the Iron-man suit, lying a few feet away, shooting a repulsor beam at the deformed body on top of him. There were smoked spots on the creature’s skin, but it wasn’t going down.

He moved to help, but then there was a hold where the creature’s chest had been, a gaping cavity, and then Tony was throwing the thing off him before the blood droplets could get on him.

“I should,” Tony grunted, getting to his feet and working out the kinks in his joints, “make you start paying for the amount of damage,” he huffs a breath, turning his mask covered face to look at Steve, “my suit goes through around you.”

Steve breathed a laugh, throwing his shield at an approaching creature and watching it cut through the abdomen. Tony cringed, looking away.

“These things sure are ugly,” Steve stated conversationally and Tony snorted; the sound was slightly metallic and distorted through the face plate.

“Tell me about it. And I thought I looked bad after a few all-nighters.”

Steve barely managed to bite back a smile, but his lips twitched upward just slightly.

“Natasha, you’ve got one coming in on six o’clock.”

“I got you covered,” a voice breathed through and then Loki was landing behind Natasha, jamming an ice covered hand through the creature’s throat and tearing the head off. The ice, soaked in blood, melted off, uncovering Loki’s pale hand.

The soles of his bare feet were red and slightly sticky with dried, or still drying, blood Steve noted as Loki walked over, emerald eyes casting about to take in their surroundings, assessing how far the next threat was.

“How’s Thor doing?”

“Occupied, for now, thankfully; we need to keep him that way. Hulk?”

“Smashing,” Natasha said as she pulled out a gun from its holster and shot an approaching figure through the throat head.

Loki sighed, brow furrowing just as the first few droplets fell from the heavens and it began to pour. Steve cast a concerned glance at Stark, momentarily worried for the suit, but Tony seemed to think it was a minor inconvenience, not paying the droplets any mind. He was probably the luckiest out of all of them—able to stay dry despite the pouring water.

“How heavy does this rain typically get?” Steve asked finally.

Loki looked up at the sky, lips pressed tight into a thin line. “Pretty heavy…”

They all could feel the true dread behind the words.

“Alright, we’re going to need to keep on the lookout. Visibility is going to go down, we don’t know by how much, so keep your eyes open.” The Captain America voice, as Tony so helpfully dubbed, slipped out and it was a quick reminder that the battle wasn’t over yet.

“Got it, Capsicle.”

“Why aren’t the numbers going down?” Clint yelled, stabbing an arrow into a creatures head before pulling it out and firing the same arrow at another creature. He pulled a knife from its holster, ducking as a monster swung his hand forward, stumbling back a few steps before charging forward, feigning left, but striking to the right, drawing the sharp blade through the throat of the creature.

“I don’t know. They keep appearing too far from Thor and the Hulk.”

Clint sighed partially in relief, partially in frustration. The sound of Natasha’s voice was soothing, but the words she spoke were not, setting him on edge.

“What if we gathered closer to them?”

“It’s too dangerous. In the time it takes for the enemies to get close enough, Thor could potentially confuse us for the enemy and the Hulk might just follow his example.”

“Fuck.”

“Accurate,” Tony sang over the comm. as he swooped down, dispatching another creature.

“How’s everyone holding up?”

There’s a grunt from over the comm. and the captain’s voice comes through, sounding exhausted and beaten, but still there was a note of strength in it, “I could do this all day.”

“I would prefer not to,” Clint hissed, barely managing to leap back in time as two of the creatures launched at him from opposite sides.

Their minds were never in the same place when it came to Bruce and the Hulk—at least almost always. It was one of the reasons Bruce hated turning into the other guy. The monosyllabic vocabulary of the Hulk rivaled with his own complex way of talking with scientific terms that apparently only tony understood and Loki.

It was frustrating and the added irritation wasn’t good for the Hulk. It made him worse, harder to control, more filled with rage and it put Bruce on edge, always put Bruce on edge.

But right now, he needed to get control, to operate with himself behind the controls and not just let his mind slip into the green haze it did when the other guy took control. He could catch snippets of the conversation going on between the others, but it was a bit choppy between the Hulk’s roaring and the pounding rain and—when did that happen?

The forecast did not show rain, but in his mind all he could think was smash, crunch, break, smash, smash.

The next roar the Hulk let out was all Bruce, all anger and annoyance at the green giant because dammit—he needed to think straight!

There was something with Thor. He lost control or something, right? They kept talking about bringing the enemy to Thor, so that meant something. Maybe he could just pick some of them up and launch them in Thor’s direction.

A good drop to the ground didn’t seem to kill them and there was plenty to go around.

That was a plan, a pretty solid plan, Bruce decided, but then the fact of the matter was that he didn’t have as much control over the other guy as he would like. It was always a debate with him as to what they would do, how they would do it; like arguing with a five year old, though he’d met five year olds with a more expansive vocabulary than the Hulk.

Okay, he thought to himself, looking down and around at all that around him. Let’s do this.

“Um, guys,” Tony called over the comm., soaring overhead and landing behind Natasha to blast one of the creatures behind her, cringing internally at the sight of the things transparent skin. “I believe the Hulk is playing fetch with Thor.”

When Loki’s eyes finally fell on Amora, he expected several things. It was kind of cliché, to expect a surge of anger that left him seeing red, or some kind of slow motion to go down. None of those things happened.

In fact, he honestly felt nothing, distantly numb as he muttered, “I’ve got eyes on Amora; be on your guard,” before making his way through the battle, through the piles of dead beasts and puddles of blood.

Her eyes were drawn to him, to the sight of him without the glamour, tall and regal looking even though he wasn’t wearing his Asgardian armor or his helmet—clad instead in skin tight leather spandex with weapons strapped to his thighs and waist and wrists and back.

Loki place a hand on his chest, muting his power level, making himself seem weaker. It was always a good tactic to do when around other mages, especially those who were a bit self-obsessed.

Amora was smart, though, so he didn’t mute his power much, just to the same levels he had when she knew him, when they had hung before—well, everything.

The memories still bothered him despite the time that had passed, and he doubted it would ever stop. Amora was one of the things he detested about Asgard. She was the point where he lost his brother completely, she was the point where he truly realized just how alone he was.

She was where he realized that really people didn’t want to be around him and he was mildly okay with that and it terrified him. It terrified him that he was so okay with it because the only reason he was okay with it was because didn’t know any different.

And now that he had friends, had a family, had people that enjoyed being near him for whatever reason, he didn’t want to let it go. He didn’t want to it to be washed away, ripped from his hands and dragged through the mud, stomped all over by heeled feet.

Closing his eyes, he teleported himself to the rooftop she was on, looking at her with a carefully neutral face.

He had never understood what the warriors of Asgard meant when they whispered about how she was so pretty and that she would grow up to be a beautiful woman. He didn’t understand why they continued to whisper about her curves and her bust and her rear long after she had been dragged from the gates of the castle, spitting insults, blonde hair flying about her like a freakishly yellow storm.

“Loki,” she spoke, like a sigh, her voice sweet and high as she turned to face him.

He was deciding whether he shudder that ran through him was disgust or the rush of memories that overcame him for a split second.

“Amora,” he responded in kind, bowing almost mockingly and he could see in her eyes that she had caught on and wasn’t at all pleased by it. Though her smile stayed in place, her expression became colder, less sweet and crueler.

“Rumor had it that you were dead, at least that’s what most of the high class of Asgard was hoping when you’d been gone for so long.”

“I never put my ear to the rumor mill, only my lips, otherwise it’d drive me ill.”

She walked over, slinking, hips swaying with the movement in what was probably supposed to be enticing, but Loki was more worried for her spine. It didn’t seem comfortable to walk like that in those high of heels.

He was actually surprised she didn’t slip on any of the puddles and the excessive rain dropping on the roof. Her hair was wet and matted down, but she seemed to have expected it because it was pulled back in a high pony tail like what Sif enjoyed wearing.

Up and out of the way, Sif had said when Thor had asked her why she hardly let it down.

Of course they both knew that it was also partially due to the fact that the last time she wore it down, she had golden tresses and the next day when she awoke it had been to find the locks sheared off.

Never let it be said that Loki wasn’t vengeful, especially if you tried to drown him.

Fandral had suffered some rather serious shrinkage in the genital area for the next few months in retort for that as well.

His own hair was wet as well, hanging in wetly around his face and there was the occasional part clinging to his neck uncomfortably.

“Ah, yes, wise words, my sweet raven. But why come here? Midgard is such a weak place, ruled by weak people cursed with dismally short life spans.”

“Midgard is also young, if you’d care to remember. They still have much to learn, yet their advances should not be belittled. Besides,” he smiled, an honest one despite the situation, “they have excellent food. There’s this great donut place down on, uh,” as he gazed down at the wreckage, he caught sight of the aforementioned donut place with windows broken in and some chunks of cement missing. He winced. “Well, there was a great donut place, but you trashed it.”

“And you’ve made,” she paused, looked down at his friends fighting against the creatures, holding their own against them and he felt his heart swell with pride, “some friends?”

He nodded, didn’t want to grace her with a verbal answer when it came to those he held dear to him. She didn’t deserve to know how much they meant to him.

“They’ll leave you, though.”

She was closer now, not but a few steps away, a few feet between them and he instinctively tensed. She hadn’t done anything threatening yet, but he didn’t hold much hope that she would remain docile.

“They’ll leave you all alone and go to Thor, just like I did.” She looked at him, her eyes wide, lips twisted downward as if she felt bad for him. “They know you’re not worth it. They just couldn’t find the proper excuse to leave.”

Loki’s nostrils flared, a glare coming over his face, teeth gritting together. What she was saying was wrong, completely wrong.

“Sooner or later they’re going to leave you, they’re going to go to Thor, or death will claim them—they might suffer, die from a disease that’ll kill the slowly. They’ll die in agony.”

Her voice hissed in his ear and he knew for certain that this time his shudder was undoubtedly in disgust.

He moved closer to the edge, away from her.

But the words were in his head, now, as much as he didn’t want to listen to them, as much as he didn’t want to believe them, there was still the fear of maybe she’s right.

There was a grin on her face, cruel and sinister.

His heart was in his throat, his fingers stiff and hands clammy.

Maybe she was right, in some sick way. If he thought about it, it was true.

It was all true.

Eventually his friends would leave him, maybe not to Thor, but to someone else, or to death itself. He couldn’t have that, he couldn’t live with that. It would break him; destroy him so completely he wouldn’t remember who he was anymore.

“Why not deliver it with your own hand? At least then you’ll be assured that it was quick and,” he tilted her head to the side, eyes scanning the battle raging on below, “painless—for both parties.”

Loki’s eyes clouded, he slumped forward, looking down at the battle with a heavy stomach, insides roiling uncomfortably. “Maybe,” he breathed, tilting his head back up to look at Amora, “maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” she crowed, slinging an arm around his shoulders and he blinked in surprise. Solid—this figure was solid. He could feel her magic coursing through her body. “When have I ever steered you wrong?”

She wasn’t as powerful as she could have been without Odin’s curse for her attempts against the crown.

“Never,” he whispered and she cupped his cheek, turned his head to face her and gave him her winning smile.

It made him sick.

“Exactly,” she drawled and maybe it was that one word, that blatant belief in a lie, something they both knew was untrue, that made him snap.

His hand flew to her throat, claws digging into the skin and his eyes narrowing, red bleeding in as his skin turned paler and paler, lips tingeing blue first before his skin followed, turning a pale blue that deepened, turned darker. The lines of the royal family of Jotunheim raised on his skin, his horn curved up out of his forehead.

He bared sharp teeth, black nails digging in deeper into her throat.

“You’re a bit anti-climactic, darling,” he hissed, watching the cold burn appear on her skin and she cried out, her magic immediately coming her rescue and lighting her body up in orange flames.

“You’ll burn here, Loki,” she hissed and he let out a roar of pain as the fire licked at the blue skin of his hand, burning more than it would in his Asgardian form.

“You won’t get to see it.”

He pushed past the pain, dug black nails in and tore as the ground froze in ice.