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They had done it.
Loki held the Time Stone in his hand, fingers clenched to breaking. Relief threatened to buckle his knees, but he held on.
Held onto the last string of his mind, ready – overtired, desperate – to be done with it. (Once more.) Held onto his dagger as the Other collapsed from it, a bloody hole in his heart. (Please. Let it be over.) Held onto the Time Stone and onto hope, for it was the last in their hunt – the final piece to make everything right again. (He couldn’t do this anymore.)
(Not without Anthony.)
Chest torn asunder, metal crushed. Eyes that had once sparkled at him, lifeless.
The memory plucked at that string, frayed it gently. Soon. Just a bit more. It would all be over soon.
Only they remained standing, all of Thanos’s minions felled. Loki staggered back. He turned; looked over the battlefield.
Desolation. All around, bodies lay – there was no ‘them.’ Only he remained.
A nightmare. Darkly amused (fraying, fraying), Loki gave a scraping near-laugh. His palm was on the ground – so was he.
All he, they, had fought for was in his hands. With nothing else left.
No matter. No matter, they’d start over anyway. They would all come back – it was alright.
Alright.
Alright.
(It was not.)
Eyes unseeing, skin cold. “Anthony.” No response. No response, ever again.
Tears streamed down his face. Another day; fingers stretched to Anthony’s side of the bed. Nothing – no one. Another day; he turned to the one who knew him best, and found him gone. Another week, another month; he woke to the cold and stayed frozen, warmth lost forever.
Anthony.
“Loki”; spoken carefully.
He whirled around, dagger at the ready, Stone spelled away. It was part of their plan, even were he to die – better have them lost forever than fall into wrong hands again.
It was Bruce.
Tears blurred his face anew; Loki couldn’t care. There was only one thing he cared about, one thing he desired:
Let it be over.
This wretched existence of blood and loss, let it end. In another life – the next one, or this one set new – he’d be with them again.
Mother.
Thor, gone to dust.
Anthony... his breath hitched, a pained noise escaping.
Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe everything would be different; it could go wrong in so many ways. In theory, they could’ve done this a million times already.
Even so, he wanted only one thing: for it to be over.
Bruce considered him gently. His gear was bloodied and torn, and still he looked somehow soft – not belonging in this nightmare.
“Are you...” He seemed to think better than to ask that question. “Do you... want me to do it?” He mimed snapping his fingers.
“No,” Loki replied quickly; had he been holding the Stones, he would’ve clutched them like a child its late mother’s keepsake. “No, I... please, let–” He got hold of himself. “I will do it.”
He didn’t say it, but suspected it screamed from him regardless: He couldn’t do it. Couldn't go on. If this didn’t work, he couldn’t carry the burden of – anything. Even waking another day would be too much.
So cold.
Bruce agreed with a hum.
Loki took breaths to steady himself, then pulled from his dimension the Time Stone, and the gauntlet Anthony had made. It cracked his heart wider.
Anthony gestured to the Mind and Space Stones on the gauntlet. “Isn’t it kind of ridiculous – you tickle a bunch of pop drops, and half the universe goes ‘poof’?” He gazed at them in a half-pensive, half-considering manner, and clicked his tongue. Suddenly, he turned to Loki. Grinned. “I wonder what they taste like– obviously I’m not gonna try, come on–” his brows raised– “but aren’t you curious now too?”
Loki laughed wetly, past joy cutting into him. For a senseless, buzzing moment he considered testing it – so he’d have something to report to Anthony, if they met again.
Nonsensical; they wouldn’t. Not like this – their memories, they, would end here. Anthony had already. (Fraying. Cracking.)
And Loki would follow him.
He set the Time Stone into the gauntlet; felt it take hold. He looked up at Bruce; held his gaze. Goodbye, friend.
They exchanged a final nod (Loki had scarcely had a shield-brother truer than him), and then, he closed his eyes.
There had been endless discussions, but no one could say what exactly would happen. Yet, they had to try. Once more – another time; shall the die be recast; the Norns weave their tapestry anew. Wrongs erased, and lives brought back as they ought to.
Erased... he would be. As would the wonderful, sunlight-warm thing he had gained in the after... or his memories of it.
Anthony himself was long gone.
He felt overburdened, and long due a rest – like a wanderer one step before his home, he breathed in deeply, for it would soon all fall away, and free him.
Bittersweetly, he lingered for more beats of his aching, cracking, straining heart–
Anthony’s lips on his. Warm, dry. He hadn’t known how much he’d wanted this.
“If I kick the bucket–” “You’re not going to,” Loki cut in. “Yeah, never going to die ever, none of that mortality stuff here, no sir,” Anthony answered sarcastically. Loki bit his tongue, surprised at how much it hurt. He listened silently as Anthony said, “Anyway, if... I want you to have DUM-E. And U.”
The two Captains had fallen to the Reality Stone, and though they had won it in the end, Loki didn’t see Anthony. No, he couldn’t be. He– a crackling in his ear. That voice, worried: “Lokes? Talk to me, sweetheart, you alright over there?” Anthony was alive. Loki saw him. Here. In his arms. He held him, and held him, and held him.
A warm hand on his face, waking him. He hummed tiredly, questioning. Didn’t manage to squint an eye open in the end. A chuckle flowed into his ear and to his heart. Warm. “Sorry. Go back to sleep.” A caress, slow. To his face, his hair. Loki sank back into slumber.
His fingers moved. A tear slipped from his closed eyes.
(Unravel. Let us make it right.)
(Let me see him again.)
Goodbye, Anthony.
He snapped.
Suddenly, he stood somewhere else.
It took only moments for him to recognize it as Anthony’s tower. Him, in his old armour. The Scepter, in his hand.
No.
Why had he come back?
He couldn’t do this.
Steps, and he couldn’t look up. It was Anthony – not the Anthony he had known.
He couldn’t do this. (Fraying, cracking.)
No one would believe him. Not even Thor would trust him. And Anthony– (cracking, crumbling. Not the end. Why was it not the end?) – Anthony thought him the enemy.
He wanted to disappear. Those eyes assessing him coldly, when they had once been so warm – he couldn’t, couldn’t–
He should’ve let Bruce do it.
A single moment (crumbling, fraying), he considered taking a dagger to himself and ending it all.
No, he couldn’t. The chances were better with him around, weren’t they? They’d fought for this.
Couldn’t; couldn’t.
Tears, again. And that voice, soft as he remembered it: “Loki.”
He looked up through a wet film; blinked it away. Was this a dream?
Anthony stood a careful distance away from him, bracelets on his wrists. Loki’s stomach turned. He had thrown him through the glass the first time.
His mouth opened, and he wanted to call out. Couldn’t. What if he did, and received no response again?
Those eyes – resting on him carefully, considering.
He knew those eyes. Just as they did him.
Recognition sparked in them, and Loki fell into warmth.
“Sweetheart.” Hushed; too soft. Careful, of him. It made Loki’s wounded heart hurt even more.
Anthony spread his arms, and Loki rushed to him. Enveloped him. Here. Alive.
Sobs tore out of him, breaths hitching. His armour was in the way; off. Solid. Warm. Anthony held him tightly, and Loki held him back.
Held him, and held him, and held him.
A hand cradled the back of his head. It was gentleness he never thought he’d feel again.
“Did it take long?” Anthony asked quietly.
Loki’s heart creaked. He shook his head. He could’ve endured months, years – decades more if it meant he’d see him again.
He pressed Anthony to himself, willing any space between to disappear. Alive. No more days with smiles turned to thin air; no more waking up to emptiness and cold.
“I’m here,” Anthony soothed, hand moving slowly. Petting him.
So he was.
After a long while, Loki moved back. Not much – just enough to see him.
Anthony was smiling at him, and Loki simply looked. Took in the sight of him. Alive. He was hungry, greedy for it.
Suddenly, Anthony’s smile ticked up a bit. He pecked Loki. There was a smug note to his brows, eyes so gentle. “Knew you’d miss me.”
Loki gave a wet, disbelieving laugh. He could scarcely believe this was real. How he loved this man – loved his light heart and his gentle hands; his fire.
Just then, the elevator pinged.
Loki was in front of Anthony in a blink, armour on, dagger ready. He wouldn’t allow it to happen a second time.
Bruce emerged, naked but for a torn pair of trousers. He saw Loki.
Another pair of eyes he recognized – it was his shield-brother.
Relief weakened his legs for a moment.
“Brucie bear!” Anthony came forward, and Bruce turned to him.
Loki saw his relief in Bruce’s eyes, looking at Anthony. At this younger, less battle-worn version of him – though he supposed they all were.
“Good to see you, Tony.” His voice spoke leagues of it.
“I know – isn’t it always?” Anthony laughed, and Bruce’s face softened; lost some of the strain Loki hadn’t been aware of before. He could feel the same happening to his own face.
The two shared a hug.
Loki grasped arms with him, grateful to the point of overwhelm.
They could do this.
The windows burst.
Loki whirled around; it was – Thor.
A bellow. “Loki!” He hesitated at the three of them standing together, in loose formation. Those eyes, he recognized as well: older, more weary. Grown.
Thor walked towards them; glanced at Loki unconsciously shifting closer to Anthony. His voice was grave. “Much has happened, I see.”
Alive.
The memory of his body dissolving, dust floating away, flashed across his mind.
“Brother.” His voice was rough.
Thor looked at him; smiled. Arrived and pulled him into his arms.
Loki let out a soul deep breath and hugged his brother back.
They could do this.
He returned to Anthony’s side; saw in his eyes the same anticipation.
Once more.
They could do it right this time. All the people he’d never gotten to meet – Anthony’s friends, JARVIS, he’d heard so much about them – all the ones he’d lost along the way; they were all back. Here.
He took Anthony’s hand, felt him grip it back. Hope flared in his heart. He smiled, slowly.
Once more, dearest.