Frostwitch

"What's he doing here?" Clint shouted, striding toward the younger of the two brothers. He shoved him aside, pushing him away from Wanda, who lay motionless on the ground. "Did you come to watch her suffer? Huh? Is that your kind of entertainment? Don't even try to deny it."

Loki said nothing. Without a word and with an impassive expression, he stepped aside and helped his brother lift James from the ground. He had never had the chance to get to know him well. In truth, aside from his half-brother, he didn't know anyone particularly well. Not that it was surprising.

He had never found the courage to go to Earth with Thor and apologize for what he had done. He had blamed himself for a long time. Even though he had been under Thanos's influence back then, it made no difference to him. He was the one who had done all those terrible things to those people. But he would never admit it. After all, he was Loki.

"She's not doing well. We need to get her to the tower as soon as possible," Clint said, barely detecting a pulse in the red-haired woman's wrist.

As Thor descended from the tank's roof, Loki watched Clint struggle to lift Wanda. The grimace on his face revealed that, despite his strength, he wouldn't be able to carry her off the damn roof—not with his twisted, sprained, or possibly broken ankle.

"Are you going to help, or just stand there staring?" Clint asked pointedly.

"I was waiting for you to ask," Loki replied, unbothered, before lifting the barely conscious girl.

He helped the archer climb down from the roof, and together they followed the path Barton indicated. The trickster god had also been wounded by Hydra's soldiers, something that hadn't escaped Clint's notice. His attire was torn at the shoulder, exposing a bullet wound. Blood trickled from it in a thin stream, staining his dark clothing.

The journey to the tower took longer than expected. Time was of the essence for Wanda, and they should have arrived as quickly as possible, but Clint's injury slowed them down. He refused to let Loki take Wanda to the tower alone, so every time he lagged or stopped, Loki had to do the same.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Natasha's indignant voice rang out as soon as the elevator doors opened, accompanied by Pepper's equally concerned expression.

Clint immediately fell into Natasha's arms, who had clearly been waiting for him. Helen Cho must have done a good job patching her up if she was already back on her feet. Meanwhile, Pepper rushed to Wanda's side, her small steps barely keeping up with Loki. She grasped Wanda's hand gently, guiding the trickster god toward Helen's lab.

Loki placed the girl on the first available examination table. In an instant, a dark-haired woman rushed to her side.

"Why didn't you bring her sooner? She's in critical condition!" Helen snapped.

"We just got here," Pepper responded quickly, her golden hair disheveled, cascading over her cream-colored pajamas adorned with moons and stars.

"You're lucky. She's still alive, and I can stabilize her. But I'm warning you—next time you cut it this close, I might not be able to save her."

***

Clint and Natasha stood in the doorway, waiting for the young woman to regain consciousness. They didn't approach the bed, though—Loki was already sitting there, watching over her. For the past two hours, he had done nothing but stare, as if waiting for something inevitable.

"How much longer is he going to sit there?" Clint whispered to Natasha.

"Oh, come on, Clint. He's not doing anything. You're just being paranoid," Natasha murmured in response.

"I am paranoid because the last time he showed up here, he nearly destroyed the entire city and killed at least eighty people," Clint muttered through gritted teeth. "And if you haven't noticed, after his visit today, the city is in ruins again—and at least a hundred people are dead."

"Hey! This time, it wasn't his fault. He came to help—" she hesitated, the words feeling strange on her tongue. "Okay, that does sound weird, but still—"

She didn't get to finish her sentence. Wanda stirred, her eyelids fluttering open as she adjusted to the harsh light.

Clint immediately moved forward, but Natasha, noticing Loki shift uneasily, held him back.

"Wait. I want to see what he does," she murmured, gripping Barton's arm.

Loki leaned in slightly.

"It's too bright," Wanda groaned softly, shielding her eyes with her hand.

With a flick of his wrist, the god dimmed the lights, leaving only a faint glow in the room.

"Where's Bucky? Is he okay?" Wanda asked, glancing around and realizing where she was. "Can you take me to him, please?" She grasped Loki's cold hand.

Her touch was unbelievably warm. And though he hated to admit it, it was pleasant. Her skin was soft, velvety, and smelled like freshly baked cookies.

Loki merely nodded and helped her to her feet. After a few steps, he noticed she was barefoot.

"Hold onto my neck," he instructed, lifting her into his arms.

It was easier this time. The wound on his shoulder had mostly healed, and the pain had nearly faded. But something else lingered—an unsettling feeling, a quiet voice in his mind telling him that what he was doing was wrong. That he was being driven by something other than logic and reason.

"Your skin is so cold," Wanda murmured, resting her head against his chest. "You should wear something warmer."

Loki didn't respond. He had already realized—on the journey to Earth—that coming here had been a mistake. He should have stayed away from her. But now, it was too late to turn back.

A part of him wanted to stay. To be close to her. To breathe in the scent of vanilla cookies that clung to her skin, to run his fingers through her fiery, silk-soft hair, to listen to her gentle, melodious voice.

But he knew better. His place was in a gilded palace of marble, in a realm of myths and legends.

He could not love her. He could not want her. She deserved someone better—someone more than what he could ever be.

And so, he had to disappear into the shadows. Forget. And never return.

***

Night had fallen, and the living room was illuminated by soft, warm lights. Almost everyone was gathered on the couch—except for Steve and James, who were likely spending this traumatic evening alone.

The moment Wanda spotted Natasha, she tore herself from Loki's arms and ran to her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you safe," Wanda smiled.

"You too," Natasha replied.

Loki met his brother's gaze. Thor turned toward him instinctively. The trickster god's expression was so cold that, even from across the room, it sent a chill down Thor's spine. Loki had a way of making people feel his stare, as if it burned through their very core.

"It's time for us to go," Loki said coolly. "Midgard no longer needs you."

"Let's stay a little longer," Thor responded casually, ignoring his brother's words.

"Yeah, you should stay," Natasha chimed in. "Nothing's going to happen to you if you do."

"I'm not so sure," Loki muttered.

"Neither am I," Clint grumbled, turning an arrow between his fingers. "I can't promise I won't stab you in your sleep."

"Try it, archer," Loki shot back, lifting his chin.

A quiet laugh rang out from the other side of the room. Pepper covered her mouth, giggling at the exchange. Soon, Natasha and Wanda joined in.

"Alright, enough with the testosterone contest," Pepper teased.

“Clint… Shouldn’t you be heading home by now? Laura and the kids are probably waiting,” Natasha added with a laugh.

An offended Barton stood up from the couch and headed to his room to grab his things. Loki watched him with a smug expression, tracking his every move until he disappeared through the door.

“And what are you staring at?” Thor asked, raising an eyebrow at his brother. He knew Loki inside and out, could read him like an open book, even when Loki insisted otherwise. “Enough with your princely sulking. Sit down.” He patted the seat beside him, smirking. “We’ll teach you how to play a game or two.” With a cheerful grin, he grabbed Loki’s arm as soon as he got close to the couch.

“About time we befriended the mighty God of Mischief,” Tony quipped with a smirk.

***

The evening stretched on, and the clock crept toward three in the morning. By that point, Loki had long since forgotten his earlier resolve—to return to Asgard, to push aside thoughts of the red-haired girl who had somehow taken up space in his mind. In fact, he had forgotten all the promises he had made to himself. The more time he spent near Wanda, the more he wanted to understand her. He didn’t even need to speak to her; just her presence was enough to push all other thoughts to the back of his mind. He watched her, studied every move she made, almost obsessively.

“Look at the time,” Natasha sighed, a little surprised. “It’s nearly three. I think we should all head to bed.”

“Oh, come on, one more round,” Thor said, shuffling the deck of cards in his hands. “Look at them,” Natasha gestured toward Tony, who was dozing off with Pepper curled up against him, and Wanda and Wilson, leaning sleepily against each other.

“Fair point. I suppose we should all call it a night,” Loki agreed.

Natasha got up, gently nudging Wanda and Sam awake. With a swift motion, she snatched the cards from Thor’s hands, slid them back into their box, and snapped the lid shut.

“You can play tomorrow. Right now, it’s bedtime,” she said with a small smile. “Loki, would you carry Wanda to her room? She’s so exhausted, I doubt she’d make it there on her own.”

“Of course,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.

Without hesitation, he scooped the red-haired girl into his arms. Her hands instinctively wrapped around his neck, and her head rested against his chest. Looking down at her, she seemed so innocent, so pure and beautiful, so… perfect.

He laid her gently on the bed, tucked the blanket around her, and pulled the curtains closed, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate waking up to blinding sunlight in the morning. He was about to leave when her quiet, barely audible voice stopped him at the door.

“Will you stay with me?” she murmured sleepily.

For a moment, he stood frozen, torn between reason and something far more dangerous. Should he stay, or should he walk away and forget? Step back into the shadows, or let himself feel what he had sworn to suppress? He hovered on the edge of logic and recklessness, but in the end, there was only one choice. He was Loki. The God of Mischief. He did not show feelings. He did not deserve this.

Turning away, he pulled the door shut behind him and vanished into the darkness.

He couldn’t stay