Closing In
TW: Violence, Blood
Kevin and Sean are tiny whirlwinds, in the best way.
But what’s undeniable is their affection for their father, and the reciprocal. Thankfully, dinner is way better cooked than the afternoon pancakes, and for the first time in ages, Loki ate a stomach-full. Spaghetti, they call it. Turns out he works much better with spicy food than with sweet.
He has particularly taken to Sean, his love for snakes, his snarky sense of humour despite being ten years old.
Now, when the boys are tucked into bed, Loki sits around Mobius, B-15, Sylvie, and OB on the clumsy table, their faces grim. The room is lit by the pale yellow light of the dusty lamp, contained within the closed silk curtains. B-15 clears her throat.
”He just disappeared.”
”What do you mean? He can’t disappear after nearly destroying countless timelines.” Loki snaps.
”He figured out we’re tracking him.” Sylvie mentions, her head between her hands. “It took a long time for me, because I was young. You guys have a flimsy tracking system.”
”I’m still working on a device that can see through illusions.” OB murmurs from his perch over the most shaky chair. It wobbles, and the inventor winces. “Mobius, I can repair the table for you, if you want.”
”By all means.” Mobius huffs.
”Do you have any idea where he was whilst I was in the TVA?” Loki questions, turning to Mobius and B-15.
“He was definitely in when you were there.” B-15 replies gruffly. “But what’re you gonna do then?”
”I can Timeslip, remember?” Loki reminds them. “Even if you didn’t see it, I can. Maybe, if you do remember where he was. I can get there and execute his past self.”
”No.” Mobius speaks up, and the God turns to him.
”Mobius-”
”I can retrieve his location from Mobius or B-15’s memories.” Sylvie pipes up.
”No.” Mobius denies, more firmly this time. He looks to Loki, his eyes wide and pleading. “You can’t mess with time any more than you already have. It’s dangerous.”
Loki turns to Mobius, the cogs in his head turning. Suddenly, an idea sparks into his mind. “I can just Timeslip to the moment this Variant tried to destroy Yggdrasil! It won’t even be that far back in time. And then I’ll catch the guy.”
”Loki. Don’t.” That’ll prevent us from seeing each other. Everything that’s happening now will be erased.
”Mobius.” Why are you defending on these small moments when you have a lifetime of joy?
“He’s right, Loki. What’re you gonna do when this Variant’s super close to you. We don’t have a scope of his powers. The Tree was protecting you.” OB warns.
”But I’ll be fine.” Loki protests, but Mobius makes another sound of denial.
Loki frowns, but the analyst is incessant, shaking his head slowly. At last, the God sighs. “Okay. We’re not doing that. Explain how we’re going to catch the Variant, then.”
“He’ll strike again, of course.” Sylvie says, leaning her elbows on the table.
“Wha- you plan to wait till he does that?” Loki snaps.
“I can ask around the Hunter team, gather data from his past.” B-15 offers, even though it’s clear that won’t serve much benefit. The room grows silent, the group out of options. Loki buries his head onto the hard table, Sylvie plays with her fingers, and OB tinkers at the foot of the table.
In the end, they decide to break their meeting, promising to share their new findings later. They go to their respective locations using their Tempads. When the last of the orange doors closes, it leaves only Loki, Mobius and the now-fixed table in the room.
”You wanna get some sleep?” Mobius offers, his hands crawling to his hips.
Loki isn’t sure if he would be able to sleep, after all this, but he gives the analyst a tentative nod. After all, it has been a long day for him, and Loki doesn’t feel physical strain like Mobius does. Mobius needs, and deserves, as much rest as he can get.
And so they retreat to their respective bedrooms, Loki’s being on the second floor next to where the kids are asleep, and Mobius’ being a floor below. They maintain a comfortable silence the entire time, one that’s always been the norm between them.
*****
It’s past 2AM, Earth time, and Loki’s still twisting in the sheets, unable to catch a wink of sleep.
The bed is large enough to hold his tall frame, and the soft comforter is rolled up to his chin. Despite the cold, Loki is sweating, and the liquid clings to his moistening face. He is curled in a foetal position, incredibly tired, but still aeons away from rest.
It is then that he feels the stinging pain in his head.
First, it’s so faint it’s unnoticeable, but then it builds up till his head is pounding. Loki rolls from one side to the other, groaning in pain. He begins to wonder if Midgardian painkillers would work for him. But he has no idea what to take, and he isn’t too keen about waking Mobius up.
His hand twists into the sheets. Consciousness flows in and out of him, thrumming with the ache in his head.
And then it seizes him.
So sudden, so unexpected, like slamming into a wall.
Loki’s entire body convulses, and a low, guttural moan escapes his lips. His arms spasm, and they dig into the poor bed. His legs are stretched taut, his head trembling. Loki tries to move, to breathe— but his muscles ache, freezing in place. It falls over him in lashes, the fear. And then, slowly, Loki loses consciousness entirely.
Loki can still feel his convulsing body, but he can’t see anything. His vision is occupied entirely by dots of red light, teetering in an out of vision. Then the lights open up into an image— an illusion.
An illusion he didn’t create. One that’s being forced into his mind.
Loki sobs, trying desperately to move, to feel something, but his senses are overtaken by the image of a darkened room, cluttered with machinery. He hears a steady whir, the slam of metal on metal. He appears to be moving, even though he’s frozen in place.
And then he sees a Tempad in his peripheral vision, before an orange door opens up before him. The illusion takes him forward, into a burst of bright light. Loki tries to wince, to close his eyes, but even facial mobility is taken from him.
It’s a desert.
Panic seizes his heart. He knows this place.
The illusion takes him creeping along the sand. Loki hears the wind, fake wind in his ears, the fake sand under his feet, the fake sun in his eyes. And then a real tear runs down his cheek, where he’s still suspended in darkness. Who- or what- is doing this to him?
Loki freezes entirely when he sees himself.
He watches himself lie haphazardly in the sand, break free of the muzzle trapping his mouth, and pull himself to his feet. He watches himself hold up the glimmering Tesseract. He watches the illusion drag him forward to face himself. The person- whoever’s head Loki is in- pauses and looks the past Loki up and down.
”Who are you?” The illusion Loki huffs, clutching the Tesseract tighter.
The first punch takes both Lokis by surprise.
The Loki in the desert falls on his back, and the Loki in the bed flails desperately, his mouth forcing a pitiful sound. He watches a beam of red light envelope his past self. He watches himself be burned, bruised, and beaten badly.
The illusion Loki is propped up by magic, hit by a jolt of electricity, and slammed to the ground. Through all of this, he refuses to let go of the Tesseract. He’s forced up again, his head lolling. This time, the person cuts a slash into his abdomen. Illusion Loki moves to crumble to the floor, but is deliberately pulled up, the blood staining the sand.
More punches are struck to his face, and the Loki in the bed groans, trying to move, to buck away, anything. But his body has lost all control, and he’s forced to see himself be tortured physically until the Tesseract finally drops into the sand.
Loki sobs desperately, watching his past self crumple forward in a heap of blood. He watches the person in the illusion pick it up, heaving a malicious laugh. It is the most cruel sound he has ever heard. And then the person turns, without even a second glance at the bleeding man, exits the dessert.
And slowly, Loki begins to come back to himself.
His vision returns in spurts, and then the feel of the crumpled sheets, and then the sweat dampening his face. The dark room swims in front of him, his limbs still taut, still shaking. His breaths come as desperate heaves.
He forces the breaths out of his burning throat.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
His wrists hurt from bending at impossible angles, and his head throbs. Loki eases the mobility into his frozen muscles. He forces himself up, but his head feels so heavy that his shoulders don't seem to be able to carry his weight.
Cold tears stream down his face, dripping into the sheets. He straightens his aching wrist. His mind is reeling, the darkness ebbing and flowing from his vision. The walls of the bedroom seems to close in on him.
Loki attempts to stay quiet, to hold his fervent sobs and whimpers back. He doesn't like the idea of startling the sleeping family.
He's shaking so violently he has to dig both his hands into the sheets to right himself. He grabs the comforter and wraps it around himself, pressing a hand to his chest, his eyes sore from crying.
The sight of his own body covered in blood is painted before his eyes.
Loki buries his face into his own lap, biting his lip to muffle the cry that threatens to tear from his throat. Stay quiet, he tells himself. C'mon, be quiet. You're better than this.
His haphazard breaths are his only companion in the dark room. His eyes are snapped wide open. It doesn't seem like sleep will come to him anytime soon. Loki silently rocks himself, attempting to calm his aching body and racing heart.
Suddenly, his stomach lurches, and he wraps an arm around his abdomen. However, when he feels that he can no longer hold back, he rips himself from the sheets and darts to the attached bathroom.
Loki empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He makes much more of a racket than he expected to, through. The bile splashing into the toilet bowl leaves a harsh taste in his mouth. For a long time, Loki lurches into the toilet, shaking wildly. Tears spurt from his tired eyes.
At long last, he flushes the toilet and leans his head against the plastic seat. Loki whimpers, digging his hands into the ceramic structure.
There is a rap on the door. His head jolts up.
"Loki?"
But it isn't Mobius. It's Sean.
The warm voice is frayed in concern. "Are you okay? Should I call Dad?"
"No!" Loki struggles to keep his voice steady. "Don't call your Dad. I'll be out in a minute."
"Sure. I'll wait for you." The child says kindly from the other side of the door.
"Don't." Loki instructs. "Go back to sleep, Sean."
"But Dad always sits with me when I'm sick." Sean says innocently. Of course Mobius is a wonderful father.
Finally, Loki coaxes his trembling legs into a standing position. He hobbles out of the door, weakly undoing the lock. On the other side, he sees the little child, wearing blue pyjamas, looking up at him with big brown eyes.
"Did you throw up?" He asks, a hint of childish amusement in his eyes.
"Yes." Loki stammers, gripping the doorframe for support.
"Oh." And then Sean's eyes scan him in an almost sceptical manner. Loki winces, moving to lie back down before he fell. But he's stopped by a hand on his left knee.
"Are you...crying?"
"It's fine, Sean." Loki snaps.
"It's okay, I cry when my stomach hurts too." Sean confesses, his voice low with embarassment. "Does your stomach hurt?"
"I-" Everything hurts. "Yeah."
"Don't worry, I'll call Dad." Sean asserts warmly, turning to the door.
"Don't!" Loki stops the kid with a hand on his shoulder. Immediately, he sways, so he lets go of Sean and digs his hands into the wall.
Truthfully, at this moment, he wants nothing more than to sink into the analyst's warm arms, but he knows he shouldn't. He can't be the one constantly prickling Mobius' life. He is happy without me around. Let him be happy.
"I- we won't want to wake your Dad up, right?" He reasons.
"Well, Dad says never to hide pain. He says to talk it out." Sean says proudly.
Of course he does. "It's just...we've had a long day, and he needs some rest. You do, too." Loki murmurs.
"Oh." The child's face falls. "Alright."
"Go to sleep." Loki moves to shuffle back onto the bed.
"Wait!" Sean grips his elbow with a hold so adorably loose Loki almost smiles.
"I know something that'll make you feel better. I'll be back." With that, the kid scampers out the door.
Loki rolls his eyes, before hobbling the rest of the way to the bed. He plops down on the warm, soft mattress, curling up into a fetal position, letting out a low whine. His mind is fogged in puzzlement. He has no idea what just plagued his mind.
Sean pops his head into the room after five minutes.
"Loki!" He says excitedly.
"Wha- keep your voice down!" Loki scolds softly.
"Sorry." Sean comes closer, and Loki realises the kid's holding a hot water bag and a bottle of drinking water. He comes up to the bed and tosses the bag at Loki.
He keens at its warmth, and he's glad that there's only the kid in the room with him.
"Hold that to your stomach. Helps with the pain." Sean advises.
Loki obliges, bringing the thing to his abdomen and curling his body around it. It feels surprisingly good, a little ball of warmth against his body. It feels comforting.
"And drink this. Dad always makes us drink water when one of us throws up. He says all the water in your body is drawn out." Sean thrusts the bottled water in his hand.
The God widens his eyes at the kindness, and takes the bottle with shaking hands. His sore throat springs to life as the liquid drizzles down to his stomach. He drinks fervently, his throat bobbing, and when he puts the bottle down, half of it is already drained.
And Sean is watching with amused eyes.
"Sleep now, Loki." He smiles.
Loki nods. It feels good, being cared for, even by someone as small as Sean. He presses his head back into a pillow, and he can't hold back his smile as he feels the sheets being draped over him. A tiny hand slowly pats his head.
"You sure you don't want me to wake Dad?" Sean asks, his voice soft.
"No." Loki says, but his voice is much gentler this time. He turns his head to the child. "I'd appreciate it if this would remain a secret between us."
"Ohhh." Sean's eyes glint. "Our secret?"
"Yes." Loki smiles.
Sean considers for a moment, before nodding slowly. "Alright."
The child holds our his fist, and Loki looks at it, confused, for a second.
"Bump your fist against mine." Sean prompts.
"Huh..." Confused, Loki reaches out his own balled fist, and Mobius' son lightly pushes his own, tiny knuckles against the God's.
"That's a first bump. Good night!" With that, the kid skips out the door.
Loki sinks into the sheets, clutching the hot water bag, feeling much lighter than he did before. He can't help but notice Sean's similarity to Mobius: gentle, caring, nonjudgemental. He relishes in it.
Sleep finally does come to him, in fits and starts, and Loki finds himself dissolving into a delirious bliss.