Chapter 4
Loki had never repaired a timeline so quickly. He flooded Wade Wilson’s universe with enough energy to keep it going for billions of years without another anchor being, working fast with his heart pounding in his skull. He paused only as he stood in front of the time door he’d constructed for himself, realizing, a bit self-consciously, that he wasn’t exactly dressed to go ‘out’ in an enormous helm and a long robe, much less go to battle. Perhaps he’d assume the — what had Wade Wilson called it? — ‘business fuck-me’ look.
Stop overthinking it, he told himself, feeling his attire change as he walked through the door. Yes, this would be the first time he’d seen Mobius in months. Yes, he had been pining uselessly over that man for the entire time, but now wasn't the time to think about any of that, certainly not when the man’s life was on the line.
A voice that sounded suspiciously like his mother whispered in his head. Maybe it is.
Loki bit back tears, trying not to think about how much Frigga would have adored Mobius.
He stepped out onto a ruined street, in patent dress shoes and his old suit, sans the coat. Kid Loki’s dagger was strapped to his back, which he felt immensely grateful for as he surveyed the scene in front of him. A veritable horde of Deadpool variants were streaming from a sling ring portal, attempting to slash through black-suited TVA agents to —
Well. Loki had never felt that kind of temporal energy before. Whatever it was, it was coming from that subway station, and it was feeding on the timeline around it.
Loki winced. Already, he was feeling the effects of being separated from the tree. He could feel its anxiety at being left alone, without guidance, without his safety net. Loki often felt as though the tree were somewhat sentient, whether it actually was, or whether caring for something over the course of several isolated months caused him to project a personality onto it, he couldn’t really tell. Either way, some time alone would be good for the tree — they both had to build confidence.
He pulled the knife off his back, twisting it anxiously in one hand as he surveyed the battle. It was hard to see anything in the thick of leather-clad Deadpool variants and TVA hunters, but after a while, he caught sight of Logan just a few meters away. The Wolverine was facing off against a variant dressed as a samurai, his face drained of color as he stood stock-still, every muscle tensed like he was in a shootout. The samurai’s blade was leveled across the neck of a girl, a girl with long dark hair and pink sunglasses.
Loki froze. The sight from his vision was barraging him in real time, a girl no older than sixteen or seventeen held at her knees by a Deadpool variant, her face contorting in rage —
The scene changed into a whirl of limbs and flashing blades. Logan dove forward and for a moment, Loki couldn’t see what was happening — until a decapitated limb flew past him, and that same teenage girl sliced through the samurai with claws that had emerged from her fists. Her sunglasses weren’t even crooked.
A wave of relief crashed over Loki. He should’ve known, the future was never set, not since he’d enabled the timelines to grow and change on their own. Nothing was fixed, and nothing was certain — which left plenty of room for him to work.
A loud, piercing crack echoed over the sounds of crashing blades, drawing Loki’s attention towards the subway station. An invisible dome was coming into view, outlined by cracks of green light that looked heart-wrenchingly familiar. A group of three ragtag vigilantes were fighting back a group of variants in front of the dome, protecting whoever was trying to break through it, and beyond the flashing blades and glowing purple cards, Loki could see a familiar silhouette.
Sylvie.
Loki bolted towards them. The machine had to be down in the subway, and if Cassandra Nova was controlling it, it stood to reason she would’ve put up some kind of barrier. Yet, here was Sylvie, pushing herself to break that barrier, and even though cracks were spreading, Loki knew it wouldn’t be enough. He darted around a bus, and there she was, blonde curls floating from the strength of her magic, her face reddening from the effort of battling Cassandra mind-to-mind, her mouth opening in a scream.
He surged forward, pushing past variants, slipping past pruning sticks and dodging blades, swiping and parrying his way through the fray until he was ducking under a barrage of exploding cards and reaching to grab his sister's hand.
Sylvie jumped, instinctively pulling away, but she froze when she saw who it was.
“We’re stronger when we’re together,” Loki reminded her, unable and unwilling to keep the emotion from his voice.
“You bastard,” she whispered, but her eyes were bright. A smile traced across her face, that soft and mischievous smile they both shared, and she laced her fingers around his. Together, they faced the barrier, and cracks began to form.
It shattered within seconds. Loki ducked, pulling Sylvie away from the shards of energy that crashed onto the pavement like glass and dragging her behind a nearby bus.
“Hey!” she snapped, wrenching her arm out of his hand. He opened his mouth to apologize, but was quickly shut up when she smacked him across the face.
Loki massaged his jaw, feeling a bubbling swell of affection for her. Between Lokis, the occasional act of light violence seemed to be a love language. “Ow.”
“I should stab you for that stunt you pulled,” she snapped, holding a trembling finger in front of his nose. Her eyes were glimmering with pent-up tears. “I swear, if you ever do something like that again —”
He pulled her into a hug. She went stiff at first, but soon melted into him, squeezing his chest a little tighter than necessary.
Loki smiled, his eyes prickling with tears as he rested his chin on her head. “I missed you too, sister.”
“Hmph,” she answered, sounding as though she very much did not want to admit how much she’d missed him, at least verbally. She didn’t have to. After a few seconds, she hit her limit for physical affection and awkwardly extricated herself, quickly wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket. “You’ll be sticking around for a bit, yeah?”
“As long as I can.” Loki glanced over his shoulder, around the front of the bus. “Sylvie, have you seen —”
Her eyes flickered with a devious light. “Mobius?”
His cheeks went warm, which only made her smile grow wider.
“I last saw him over there,” she said, pointing past the bus, towards where the three vigilantes had giddily switched to offense and plowed through the horde of variants to meet up with the girl in pink sunglasses. Loki’s eyes flew over them, now able to get a solid look: Elektra, Blade, Gambit, and X-23. All variants whose universes had died quickly and unexpectedly. “He brought those guys here from the Void, I think.”
“Right,” Loki said breathlessly. “We should —”
Sylvie knocked her shoulder into his, grinning. Maybe she hadn’t hit her limit for physical contact yet. “Give him a big hello, won’t you?”
Or maybe she had a special reserve dedicated towards embarrassing him.
Loki stared pointedly elsewhere. “We should probably go help him.” He gestured forward, giving Sylvie a pained smile. “Lead the way?”
Sylvie grinned, and twin knives flashed in her hands. She darted into the fray, just in time to stab and viciously knock down a variant who’d been sneaking up on B-15. Loki noticed that the hunter — maybe she wasn't even a hunter anymore, she looked like an officer now — had upgraded her wardrobe to a nice burnt orange suit paired with a green dress shirt. He'd never seen orange in green paired in that way before, and he couldn't help but approve of it, but there was no time to say so. B-15 yelled her thanks to Sylvie, and then she ran towards the steps of the subway station, flanked by a squad of armored hunters.
Loki dashed away from the bus, jamming his knife into the mechanical neck joint of a robot who’d been creeping up on Sylvie. Sparks flew as he yanked it out, and the robot crashed to the ground. A blade swung at his face and he caught it with a blur of green light, sending its wielder slamming against the bus. Something buzzed past his cheek and he twisted, throwing up a hand just as a cowboy-looking variant emptied their revolver at him and Sylvie. The bullets slammed against a flimsy green shield, but it lasted long enough for Sylvie to snatch a handgun off the nearest reforming corpse and shoot the cowboy dead.
“Huh!” She lifted the weapon, grinning as smoke curled off the barrel. “We don’t give Midgard enough credit, do we?”
Loki suppressed a wave of dread, kicking a variant aside and craning his neck to look over the fray. Still no sign of Mobius. He turned, and — shit, there was a variant sneaking through to the subway station. Her long blonde ponytail swayed as she ducked behind a trash can, guns up, ready to fire down the stairs.
Well, that just wouldn’t do.
Loki reached out a hand and focused on that variant, zeroing in on the fabric of her temporal energy. The air began to shimmer around her, ripping and coalescing into glowing green tendrils that snaked around her arms and legs. The variant let out a surprised yell, quickly whipping around and unloading her guns at Loki. He narrowed his eyes and the bullets slowed, stretching in the fabric of time. Taking care of the tree had taught him a few new tricks, and while he’d never tried spaghettification on an object, now was as good of a time as any to try. He concentrated on them a little longer, pondering the way their molecules shifted and interacted with each other, and slowly, they began to unravel.
The variant’s guns clicked. She was staring at him with wide eyes, like he was some kind of cosmic horror. Loki supposed he was.
“We’re done with that, now,” he said, and a glowing line ripped its way through the air behind her. Green light blasted through it, flooding the stairs and swallowing her up. Loki lowered his hand, allowing himself a small smile.
“Show-off!” Sylvie yelled, kicking a child-sized Deadpool towards him as she unloaded her gun in another’s face. Quickly, Loki ripped open another Time Door to the Void, and the kid fell through. They were slowly but surely making their way across the street, blasting through variants, towards that band of vigilantes.
“Mobius!” Loki yelled, snatching up a fallen Time Stick and slamming it over a variant’s head. His gaze raked the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of a brown coat or silver hair, but still nothing. His heart was pounding like a sledgehammer, and it had nothing to do with the enemies around him. Where was that man?
Something bright and purple flashed past him, slamming into the nearest variant and causing them to explode in a flash of smoke.
“You alright?” Gambit called, casually flicking another card and blasting a second variant across the street. “You’s lookin’ a bit distracted there, mon ami.”
Loki surged forward and grabbed his shoulders. “Where’s Mobius?”
Gambit let out a surprised sound, and proceeded to ramble in some kind of language Loki didn’t immediately recognize. Eventually, he realized it was the same language, and was able to catch the words, “crazy”, “subway”, and “he need a raise”. Loki dropped Gambit immediately, his heart resuming its recent habit of trying to smash its way out of his chest.
But then he looked up, and it nearly stopped altogether.
He didn't feel his knees hit the pavement, just the soft fabric of the shirt rapidly soaking with blood, and the mortal body in his shaking arms. He was vaguely aware of a red-suited figure who’d pointed a gun at the wrong man, a figure who’d dissolved the second Loki had laid eyes on them, but he barely cared.
“Mobius.”
Loki’s voice was barely even audible. His mind was crashing through a cycle of no, no, no as he tilted the man’s head upwards, watched those eyes flutter, felt his lungs wrench out of his chest as he braced a hand over the flooding starburst of dark red in the man’s shirt and tried, tried —
“M-Mobius.” The name came out as a choked whimper. Green light was flooding from his fingertips, clumsily trying to knit skin and muscle and lung back together, but blood was flowing so fast, so much of it —
Mobius's expression flickered. He looked like a man waking up from a nice dream, opening his eyes with a soft laziness. His hair had grown longer since Loki had last seen him, brushing across his forehead and soft against Loki’s fingers as he cradled Mobius’s head. Loki cursed himself viciously for never at least trying to make it to the TVA, the lines in Mobius’s face seemed to have deepened permanently in the past few months. Mobius’s eyelids fluttered, and then those lines smoothed.
“Hey,” he wheezed, the sound digging into Loki’s chest. His eyes focused on Loki, soft and blue and everything he'd wanted for the past four months, three weeks, and five days, but not this way. They were fogging over with pain, unfocused as he gazed up at Loki, but joy was dawning deep in them, soft and bright like sunrise. “Asshole,” he whispered, gentle as breath. “You made it back.”
“Of course I did.” Loki’s voice came out in a hushed, trembling whisper, feeling more as though his own chest were caving in. “Don’t talk. Save your strength, Mobius, please don’t —”
“No way.” A smile flickered across Mobius's face, and he made a strangled, wheezing sound. Loki braced one hand over the wound, and realized the bullet must have pierced Mobius’s left lung. As he sent his energy through his fingers, he could feel the way air gushed forth from the man’s chest, and it nearly strangled him.
“Please,” Loki gasped, his voice guttural. “Stay — just staywith me, Mobius —” His hand shook over the wound, his mind running wildly to try and find a solution. He only knew how to heal in theory, and it was showing. No matter how much energy he poured into the wound, urging it to heal, he simply didn’t know how it was supposed to. All he could do was ease the amount of pain Mobius’s mind perceived.
Mobius’s lips twitched, his gaze as soft and grounding as always. He was gazing up and smiling, even as blood flecked his pale lips. “I'm not going anywhere.”
“Out of the way!” snapped a shrill voice. Sylvie came tearing through the dying battle, her face drained of color. She crashed to her knees next to Mobius, her hands shaking, her eyes wide. “Wh-what happened?”
“Gunshot,” Loki choked out, the word a weight coming up his throat. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Mobius’s face, growing paler with every second. He was going into shock. All around them, lights were flickering, bursting erratically like the patterns of Loki’s mind as he cursed himself. “Sylvie, I can’t — I can’t —”
“Shut the fuck up, yes you can,” she snapped, her voice guttural but laced with the same, reality-slipping panic.
“I can’t, Sylvie, I never learned how!” he burst out, his voice breaking completely. He’d never learned healing magic. He’d never had to be responsible for someone else this way, not even when he’d fought alongside Thor. A sob was clawing its way up his throat, shaking his lungs, panic pulling all the air from his chest as Mobius’s breath grew more and more ragged. I’ve failed, he thought. I’ve failed again. I can hold entire worlds in my hands, but I can’t save him, I can’t —
Something moved in the corner of Loki’s eye. His neck snapped upwards, and the variants who’d been regrouping to attack promptly dissolved into swirling tendrils of black and red. Temporal energy was running thick and fast, making it dangerously easy.
Wait.
Temporal energy.
Loki’s gaze snapped back to the man in his arms. He pressed his hand over the wound, his eyes fluttering closed as he focused on the bullet that had lodged itself three inches into Mobius’s chest. He’d seen a magician do something like this in timelines over and over again. He reached out for the fabric of the timeline, threads that flowed all around him, searching through them all for the one connected to that bullet. If he could pull on it, rewind it into the past, to a moment before it had hit Mobius —
He reached for it, and his heart plummeted. That thread — it was slipping away.
“No,” Loki whispered, his eyes shooting open as panic flooded his system. He could feel the Time-Ripper shaking below them, pulling this timeline apart piece by piece. Why hadn’t the TVA stopped it yet? He glanced over at Sylvie, and he knew she could feel it too.
He was about to lose everything.
“Take care of him,” Sylvie blurted, her eyes welling with tears, and she took off towards the subway station.
“I can’t,” Loki whispered after her, his voice ragged. He couldn’t take care of Mobius. He couldn’t take care of anyone. He’d managed it for a few months, but now it was falling to shit all over again.
“Loki,” Mobius whispered, slightly strangled, but softer than ever. “It’s okay.”
“No.” Loki’s grip tightened on him, as if he could hold Mobius’s soul in his body. His voice was shaking, his mind fraying to pieces with panic and despair. “No, it’s not, you don’t understand —”
Blood flecked Mobius’s lips, but he didn’t seem concerned. His face was soft and peaceful as he gazed up at Loki, like he was content to die right here and now because he had just about everything he needed. He took a shuddering breath, his broken chest quivering, but his eyes were clear and blue.
“It’s okay,” he repeated, barely more than a whisper. His fingers twitched and brushed against Loki’s chest, his touch resonating straight through the fabric the way it always had. “You’re here.”
A strangled sob ripped from Loki’s throat. His fingers trembled as he cradled Mobius’s head, despair gripping his chest like the worst kind of disease.
Mobius just shook his head weakly against Loki’s palm, whispering, “I’m good. I’m alright. You don’t — have to worry.”
“No,” Loki whispered, the words bubbling out of him like the tears in his eyes because it was now or never. Fuck everything else. His thumb brushed under Mobius’s eye, and his next words came shaking and stammering, but bursting out of him with more surety than he’d ever known, the surety this man had given him. “I always have to worry about you, Mobius. There’s not one moment in the last few months I haven’t wanted to come find you, where I haven’t been thinking about you or trying not to think about you because it hurts so much, because I —” He drew in a shaky breath. Mobius was gazing up at him, a soft furrow between his brows. Now or never. “I love you.”
The words came out in a rush. They hit the air, and that seemed to make everything heartbreakingly real, to hear those words out loud in his own voice, with Mobius looking up at him in shock and confusion. Tears dropped down Loki’s cheeks and his silver tongue melted. He was talking, rambling, speaking without end as long as it meant keeping those eyes focused even if confused.
“I — I think I have, for a long time,” he began, his thoughts flying, desperate to cram in everything Mobius needed to hear. “And it scared me, can you believe that? You were the first person who ever really — challenged me, in a healthy way, challenged the way I thought about myself and the world around me and showed me a different way of being. I couldn’t trust anyone, but you — you knew that, and you still gave me a home. You showed me everything I’d ignored before and I — I am messed up, I really am, but you kept at it anyway. Even when I stopped being your case study, you never gave up on me, and I don’t — I don’t know how I’ve made it these past months without you.” His voice was ripping itself to shreds. “I can see the TVA, from the tree, and every time I look up at it and hope you’re looking back. I miss you. I miss hearing you talk, I miss arguing with you, I miss your stupid brown suits and the way you smile when you think no one’s looking, I miss the way you talk about jet skis and how you never give up on anyone.” His fingers curled in Mobius’s hair, and he began to beg. “Please — please don’t give up now. I miss you so much, and I love you, and I can’t lose you.”
Mobius’s eyes glimmered. His expression was shifting, every last hint of satisfaction shaken off as if all it needed was a strong wind, changing from shock into a crushing anguish that practically tore Loki’s heart out of his chest. As if what Loki had said had taken every ounce of hasty satisfaction he’d had and thrown it to the wind. Loki opened his mouth, ready to apologize, to make it better, to stop Mobius from looking like his whole world had just irrevocably fallen apart because he'd been so peaceful and now Loki had ruined it —
He wasn't nearly expecting Mobius’s fingers to curl into a fist around his tie and pull him down, crashing their mouths together.
The second their lips touched, everything else faded away. Warmth spread through Loki in a soft, comforting wave, like exhaling a breath long held. Mobius kissed him with the softness of someone who’d been waiting forever, of someone who was taking each moment with a new appreciation. It felt like finding him in a crowd: that rush of immediate ease, relief, and pure comfortable happiness that came from them being together. His mustache brushed against Loki’s upper lip, and Loki felt himself go delirious for a moment. He hooked his left arm under Mobius’s back, gently lifting him up, his fingers curled in the other man’s hair even as tears streamed down his cheeks. Mobius held onto him, taking in hungry breaths as their lips moved together, and through it all there was a want, a desperate need to keep going, to stay alive, to fight for each other and whatever future they might be able to have. It welled up hot and blazing between them, drove Mobius's fingers to climb further up Loki’s tie until he had one hand cupped around the back of Loki’s neck and tangling in his hair, the other holding onto his bicep with a renewed kind of strength —
Mobius took a breath, a strong, hungry gasp for air that he took in with surprising ease. Loki was vaguely aware of the fact that the world was now fizzing with temporal energy like a bomb about to explode, and after a heartbeat, he realized it was him. Something sharp and metal was digging against the hand he'd laid over Mobius's chest, something about the size of a —
He gasped, pulling away just a few inches to cradle Mobius’s face, and his heart quivered as he saw color returning to it. Mobius’s eyes flew open, slightly dazed at first, but soon widened in realization. He glanced down to see the rapidly receding red starburst on his chest, the blood slipping away from Loki’s hand, Loki’s fingers uncurling to reveal a warm, wet bullet cradled in his palm.
“Wow,” Mobius whispered, one hand sliding down from the back of Loki’s neck to gently take the bullet from his palm. He stared at it for a moment, watching as a stream of red mist leeched the last of his blood from the bullet and returned it to his body, the red in his shirt fading like darkness in the face of the sun. He glanced up at Loki, a smile tugging at his lips. “I'm keeping this.”
Stress, tension, shock, and the beginnings of relief resulted in a gasping laugh. “You are not,” Loki said, but his voice was weak with the overpowering wave of affection and gratitude that was washing everything else away. “I —”
Mobius was looking at him, those eyes growing brighter, smiling soft and a bit dopey and probably still in shock, making anything Loki might've said irrelevant.
He was alive.
Loki smiled at Mobius for the first time in four months, three weeks, and five days.
So naturally, it was then that the tree called him back again.
At first, Mobius had been okay with dying.
He’d been pissed off, of course, but seeing Loki there made it all better, just for a moment. The serenity, the happiness — he’d focused on that aspect. He’d had to. He remembered thinking half-deliriously that I can’t focus on the what-could’ve-been, only the what-is. Maybe
Then Loki had said those words, and everything else fell away. Horror had crashed through Mobius’s chest like a wrecking ball, anguished at the tragedy of what-could’ve-been, the realization that he, Loki, they could’ve had this. It didn’t seem possible. Mobius hadn’t been sure that he wasn’t hallucinating.
And, he hadn’t been.
Loki had kissed him back, and for a moment, that had been everything that mattered. Then, the tragedy started to wheedle in, and Mobius found himself desperately wanting more time. He’d thought that maybe he could pack everything into those last few moments, apologize for never making a move, telling Loki that he loved him too, had loved him ever since he’d sat down with him over pie and talked him through the storm of his own mind. He hadn’t wanted it to end. He’d just wanted to stay there, wrapped in that man’s arms forever.
And then, a miracle. That bullet was in his palm instead of his chest, the whole world unfurled in front of him like the joy on Loki’s face.
Mobius couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so hopeful.
Loki’s eyes flickered green, and something in his face, in the way his breath hitched, told Mobius that something was off. His thumb trembled on Mobius’s cheek, his gaze drifting off as he listened to some secret song, something only he could hear.
“Loki.” Mobius’s grip tightened on him, as if he could hold him in this universe. “Loki, tell me what’s going on.”
“The tree’s calling me,” Loki choked out, his eyes glassy. “I — I can’t stay away too long, I’ve got to —”
Mobius’s heart dropped like a stone. He blinked hard, forcing himself not to panic or do anything dramatic for Loki’s sake — Loki, who’d already sacrificed so much, who looked like a dying man watching a lifesaving cure evaporate in front of him. Mobius held onto him instead, drinking in every last detail and etching it into his mind: Loki’s eyes, the lines on his face, the way his hair curled, the rapid beat of his pulse under Mobius’s fingers, the feel of his hands, the sound of his voice.
He took a shaky breath. “Are — are you okay?”
“I —” A choked laugh escaped Loki’s mouth, and his gaze dropped down to their hands. “Physically, I think.”
Mobius tucked his hand into Loki’s hair again, cupped his fingers around the back of the man’s neck, tilting his head up for their eyes to meet.
“You’re going to come back,” Mobius said, his voice low. “You will, or I’ll send Wade and Logan after you again.”
“I will.” The words flew out of Loki in a rush, his lips tugged in a smile.
“With a boombox this time,”
Loki snorted, and that smile grew wider despite the tears in his eyes, even as he shimmered like a mirage. “I promise.”
His touch slowly faded away, the shape of him dissolving into a haze of prismatic mist. Panic hummed just under Mobius’s skin, but he kept repeating those words to himself, I will, I promise, even as Loki faded into thin air. Soon, only the faint green glow of his eyes were left, and then, even that was gone.
Mobius sat alone on the street, a bullet cradled in his palm. He tried not to think about the cruelty of it, just that last promise.
Someone gasped loudly, and Mobius hesitated before glancing in their direction. Wade had reappeared, somehow still alive and cradling that small, nearly hairless dog in one arm. Logan trailed behind him, wearing a TVA analyst shirt for some reason. Wade’s jaw was practically on the ground as he stared at Mobius and the spot where Loki used to be, his eyes wide and scandalized.
“Oh my God,” he said, loud enough for the whole street to hear. “I really hope we were rolling for that.”