A Friend
Loki
By some blessing from Valhalla, Loki just so happened to keep his clone operational in his sleep. No one had noticed anything, and he could go right back to disguising himself as Odin with no suspicions whatsoever. It was perfect.
But he still hated it. He was still so sick of having to act like the Allfather. He’d thought that, by going down to Midgard, he could get some relief. That one little day off would be enough of freedom’s euphoric air, and it would last him for a good few years, at least. He’d be fine for a good, long while, and when the time came, Loki could pick another fun planet to go to. He’d find another little crack in the dimensions and slip through, just as he’d done Midgard. It would be perfect.
This was what he kept telling himself for an entire week. Loki really made an effort to convince himself of that lie, but no matter how much he repeated it in his head, no matter how strategically he rationalised it to be true, he still couldn’t believe his own lies. He didn’t want to go to another planet. He wanted to go back to Midgard. And he especially didn’t want to wait three more years to do it. He wanted to go right then because there was no way he could wait three whole years. And that was coming from an immortal god. Three years, in his lifetime, was supposed to be nothing.
That child. The Spiderling. The Avenger in-training. Peter Parker. He was the biggest thing Loki couldn’t get out of his head.
Every morning, when he cast the illusion of Odin over himself, he could hear Peter’s soft voice telling him that he was going to get sleepy. At every meal, when Loki pretended to eat the food he knew the Allfather liked, he could see the Spiderling shaking his head and telling him he was getting too skinny. And every night, when Loki laid in Odin’s empty, enormous bed, alone, he could hear Peter trying to convince him to fall asleep, in order to replenish his seidr and make the next day at least a little less draining. But above all, there was the constant nagging, the tiny, invisible pull on his sleeve, and Loki could picture the Midgardian child, blinking up at him, and telling him that he truly must- that he absolutely had to tell Thor that he was still alive.
It’s not that Loki hadn’t had those thoughts, either. He did have them- every day, too. But, somehow, Peter Parker’s voice was a lot more difficult to ignore. And he’d only met him once. The fact that the Spiderling was so observant ordinarily would have petrified him. But it didn’t. He might even like the child.
That was why, exactly six days later, Loki had called some security council meeting to order, announced that he was leaving to secure trade relations with some realm or another, and he wouldn’t be back for a few days. As Odin, he instructed his counsel to keep things in order and make sure no wars happened by the time he got back. And then, Loki had gone back to his room- but not the Allfather’s room. His actual room. Loki went to Loki’s room. He bathed in his own chambers and finally snatched up his own hair products again. He got to pick out his own clothes from his own wardrobes, to lay in his own bed again, and just take in the serenity of- not orange, not gold, not red, not white- but emerald, pine, silver, blue, and black decorations.
Curtains, drapery, sheets, duvets, carpets, tinted glass windows, his own collection of trinkets he’d gathered over thousands of years: everything was exactly as he’d left it, because, as Odin, he’d made some fake speech about preserving Loki’s memory by perfectly preserving all of his things and blah blah blah…
It was ridiculously sentimental and sappy, but it had done the trick. About the only perk of being Odin was that everyone listened to him no matter how much of a moron he behaved. But, to be fair, the Allfather had always been moronic, and for millions and millions of years, the people of Asgard listened to him. In fact, Loki rather thought he was doing a much better job at being king than Odin ever was. He’d have fun here and there, but he was responsible, peaceful, organised, and- the best part was- he actually listened to what the people wanted. Asgard seemed to love Loki’s Odin much better than they’d ever loved the real Odin.
That was how he justified packing a bag and slipping away, through his secret paths between realms, leaving Asgard and going straight down to New York again. Boredom was how Loki justified using a strand of Peter’s hair (left on the sleeve of his suit) for a tracking spell, and exhaustion was how he justified breaking into the Spiderlings’ home, through the very high window (it was several stories up) and onto his bed, where he promptly took another very well deserved nap.
It was the sound of creaking footsteps outside the closed bedroom door that snapped him back into consciousness. Loki opened an eye as the doorknob turned, and when the door opened, Loki gripped the pillow tighter, green light travelled down his body, and he was disguised as Peter Parker by the time the footsteps fully entered the room.
Loki sat up in bed, prepared to play the Spiderling as best he could, adopting his mannerisms and posture while he stretched, giving himself a moment to recall the exact expressions Peter’s face made-
But it was only Peter- the real Peter- and now there were two Spiderlings staring at one another, needlessly.
“Oh,” Loki sighed in relief, grinning as he reverted back into his own form. “Hello.”
The Spiderling dropped his book bag onto the hardwood, gaping.
“I apologise for momentarily stealing your identity,” Loki said, only a touch of sincerity in his tone. “It could have been anyone at that door, so I did have to take some precautionary measures.”
More silence.
“You have a terribly small bed, but I slept rather well. You did want me to sleep, yes?”
Peter, in a startling burst of motion, kicked his bag further into the room, sending it skidding across the floor while he slammed the door shut, bolting it immediately behind them. Then, he went over to the window, which Loki had left open, and closed it, quickly drawing the blinds down, too.
Peter slowly walked back to him, and Loki cocked his head, vaguely amused at his attempts to hide them from any potentially prying eyes. Finally, the Spiderling spoke. “What… are you doing here?”
“Threatening you,” Loki lied, rolling his eyes like it was supposed to be obvious. “What else would I be doing here?”
The Spiderling shrugged, but his face was still torn through with shock. “Napping.”
“Well, I-” He frowned. “No. That’s beside the point. My primary goal was to ensure your silence.”
“Why’d you wait a week, then?” Peter challenged, kicking off his shoes and unzipping his jacket, the same red one he’d been wearing the first time they met. “That kinda gave me plenty of time to tell somebody. It’d have been the smartest to kill me in the alleyway.”
Loki opened his mouth to make up something else, but Peter was already smiling and shaking his head. He didn’t seem surprised anymore, like he knew something again, and Loki still hated feeling clueless to whatever it was. He didn’t care for feeling out of control, and statistically, the feeling shouldn’t have been possible when dealing with one so small. To make matters worse, the Spiderling came and sat down on the bed next to him, casually.
Unnerved, Loki scooted away, hugging his satchel to his chest and pushing himself into the corner of the walls.
Peter pointed to his satchel. “What’s in that?”
“Nothing,” He slapped the intruding hand away, defensive. But Loki felt a bit immature doing this, so he eventually muttered, “Clothing. But it matters not.”
The Spiderling dropped his arm and scanned him like he could see everything, and Loki couldn’t help retreating further and further into the corner.
“So you’re staying here for a while?” Peter went on asking questions, just as unbothered as he always was. “Why’d you really come? I know it’s not because you want to threaten me, so you can stop lying about that, Mr Loki- you know it doesn’t make a ton of sense, right?”
Loki searched the room for anything dangerous, useful, or both. He spotted the square of ceiling that opened into the attic and squinted. Something was off about it, but he hadn’t quite placed what.
During all this, Peter hadn’t stopped speaking. Loki gave up on the attic for a moment, to shoot the Spiderling an annoyed look.
“I suppose, unless you were going to kill me, then disguise as me to avoid getting caught… but that’s not smart, either. If that’s your plan, then you probably didn’t sleep as much as I told you to.” Peter had started bouncing his legs, something he seemed to have a habit of doing.
Last time, that leg movement had put Loki to sleep a few times. For an entire hour, too- which still irked him. No, he hadn’t slept because he’d been too busy being Odin and trying to sleep in that horrid bed. There was no way he was going to sleep there. But with a three or four day holiday, where he didn’t even have to use up his magic with a clone- Loki was already tasting the sweet taste of revival. But that was precisely what the strange child had told him to do, and agreeing with him would be horribly humiliating.
Just to regain some dignity, he opened his mouth once more, but Peter still continued talking.
“See, you still wouldn’t need to bring a bag of clothes if you were going to disguise as me anyway, and I’m pretty sure the God of Mischief wouldn’t openly reveal his plans like that, so that’s another reason I know you’ve gotta be lying-”
Loki growled, pressing his hands over his ears. “By Odin’s beard, enough!”
Peter was smiling at him, infuriatingly.
“Do you ever stop talking?”
Peter bobbed his head, enthusiastically. “Definitely. I’m actually pretty quiet in school, it’s kind of awkward, but I’m trying to prove a point right now, so…"
“And your point is?”
The Spiderling didn’t answer him. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his mobile phone, and began tapping on the screen. Loki scooted himself right back over to Peter, hovering over his shoulder while knots tied in his abdomen. When Tony Stark’s picture flashed over the screen, however, he drew a dagger and for the third time pressed it to Peter’s throat.
“What are you doing?” He scowled, reaching for the phone with his other hand, trying to pry it out of Peter’s grip.
Peter just held the phone away from him, and though he missed the first few times he tried, he eventually managed to press a button, and the phone began to ring. “It’s okay, you’ll like it.”
“No, that’s Stark, and he does not like me, therefore I do not like him.” Loki continued to try to reach for it, with no regard for how his knife’s blade pushed against the Midgardian’s neck each time he did so. “What is it doing? Make it stop. Are you signalling him? Trying to set the Avengers on me?”
Peter wheezed a little bit and jerked, the first signs of a struggle. “No, none of that! You’ll see- but you’ve gotta get off me first- please, I promise it’s fine-”
And then the device spoke, in the Man of Iron’s voice. “Hey, kid- how was school?”
“G-good-” The Spiderling choked, as Loki kept him still. “Mr Stark, I was wondering if I could ask you a favour?”
The speaker’s slightly static sound came through, giving Stark’s voice much of the quality that it possessed when he wore the suit. “No harm in asking unless it’s illegal. Well. There might be a few exceptions- and are you losing your voice?”
“Yeah, I’m- I think I’m coming down with something really bad, Mr Stark.” Peter’s soft, chestnut eyes flickered back to his as he spoke, still fighting to get the words out.
He was lying. Loki felt his grip beginning to loosen around Peter’s neck, yet not quite enough to set him free.
“What do you need? Medicine? Soup? Books? Where’s your aunt May?” Something strangely like concern was in Stark’s tone, something almost… caring.
He swallowed, the knots of fear turning into knots of guilt.
The books I’ve sent you. Do they not interest you?
Is that how I am to while away eternity? Reading.
Frigga had brought him books, pulled from the astronomy and fiction shelves. And every day she would send him warm soup, tea, and sometimes, when she could sneak it away, his mother sent him puddings. But, Loki had to remind himself, he wasn’t her son. He was responsible for her death, and he’d denied her as his mother just before she’d been slain by the Dark Elves.
It was all bringing up too many memories- the things that Loki only let surface when he was in Odin’s bed and he couldn’t sleep at night. He felt his eyes sting.
“No, it’s okay, we have stuff here-” Peter panted for a moment, squirming. Loki loosened his grip further, but he remained impassive in letting him go. “She's working right now, but she'll be home soon. It’s just that I wanted to do something really nice for my aunt May this weekend, to surprise her for working so hard to take care of me, but since I’m feeling so sick, I can’t-”
Peter coughed, beautifully convincingly, and glanced back at him again. He didn’t know where the Spiderling was going with pretending to be ill, but it seemed like he wanted Loki to notice his efforts.
“I can’t do all the stuff with her that I wanted to.” The Spiderling finished his sentence, looking relieved that he’d thought up a decent ending to it. “And I don’t wanna get her sick, either. So, I was wondering if you had any recommendations, Mr Stark- I want her to have a good time somewhere she’ll really-”
“On it.” Stark’s voice interrupted Peter in the middle of his lie, right when Loki thought he could figure out where it might have been going. “I’m going to call her up right now and tell her that you wanted to surprise her. She’ll have a whole resort, a suite, she can go get her hair done, her nails done, get a massage- whatever it is your aunt likes to do, and you can stay home and get better. I’m thinking three or four days. How does that sound?”
Peter’s face broke out into an enormous grin, and he looked positively delighted. “That’s perfect, Mr Stark- you’re so generous- thank you so much. You don’t need to do all that, though-”
“Trust me, kid.” Tony Stark’s voice spoke again, a particular note to it. “It’s my pleasure. You take good care of your aunt, and I think I’ve said it before, but I was never like that at your age. She deserves it, and you deserve to feel that satisfaction, too. So, I’m happy to do it.”
Loki had, without realising it, fully let go of the Spiderling, his blade vanished and Peter now clutching his device in both hands, still beaming into its screen.
“Wow- thank you so much again, Mr Stark, you’re really the best-”
“I really am, aren’t I?” Stark sounded like he was smiling. “Alright, feel better and let me know if you need anything.”
“Alright, I will- thank you.”
“Later, kid.”
“Bye!” Peter pressed a red button at the bottom of the screen, then re-pocketed his phone. He turned fully to him. “Now you can stay over.”
Loki, towards the end of the conversation, had slowly shifted himself back into the corner of the room, and there he sat, his emotions and thoughts all waging war on each other in his mind. It reminded him of Asgard’s wars of old, the wars that brought nothing but glory and title, of fear and power, all of it dancing about the hierarchical crown of pride. He felt a bit like that.
“I didn’t ask,” Loki murmured, the red of the call’s termination still burning in his vision.
Peter stood up from the bed, stretching himself out and touching his fingers to his neck. Loki noticed him wince at the small cut and his guilt only intensified. He dropped his eyes to his satchel, still in his lap, picking at his nails.
“You didn’t really need to ask,” Peter said. “The only thing I really want is for you to stop acting like you’re going to kill me. Or like I want to hurt you, because I don't. I honestly just want to be friends, Mr Loki.”
At that word, he looked back up, alarmed. “Friends?”
“Yeah, friends.”
Loki tried to detect the Spiderling for any traces of a lie. There were none. “You’re saying that you… want to be my friend?”
“Yeah, I am.” Peter’s mouth pulled up on one side, and he opened the bedroom door, walking out and beckoning with his hand. “Come on, Mr Loki, we’ve got to make a plan before my aunt May comes home to grab her things.”
He was standing before he knew it, satchel dropped neatly by a nightstand as Loki followed Peter out of the room. Warmth was slowly, hesitantly, flooding his chest. It was one of the closest things to happiness that Loki had ever had for a very, very long time.