Chapter Text
Loki liked to go up to the tower roof at night-time.
In the shroud of darkness, he would look out at the stars. In a way, it reminded him of the Bifrost. While it wasn’t exactly a welcomed memory, it reminded him of the truth.
He’d step up to the side and look down at the street below, barely visible from the height he was at. The sounds of New York were quiet up this high. His empty stomach would do flips seeing the drop, the blood would rush to his head and he’d step back.
Perching on the side and letting his boots dangle down was how he’d end up, contemplating, thinking. Letting the intrusive thoughts in.
The Allfather had decided a fitting punishment would be for him to serve his repentance on Midgard, in the company of his brother's idiot friends. Though he had to admit, if just to himself, that he’d grown a soft spot for the fools. Not that they paid him much mind.
He saw two shadows swoop onto a nearby rooftop, and knew it was Hunin and Munin watching over him, because while he was still at the tower; technically he was outside.
Nodding to the ravens, he would lean back, lay on the ground with his legs still sat over the edge, looking up at the sky, the clouds obscuring the beautiful stars, moving with the pull of the earth. Stars had always comforted him.
Now, he held mixed feelings about them, since falling into their dark grasp.
His thoughts would turn to the bad times. To being found by the children of Thanos. To being tortured, harmed, treated like nothing. Their words hurt as much as their daggers had, and being forced to have the mind stone connect with him to the point where he didn’t know his end and its beginning… His mind still asked how nobody had noticed, how had nobody seen? He wasn’t himself during the attack, he was made to bring the Chitari, to attack New York. Yes, the stone held onto his need to prove himself, to show he was more than some frost giant that Odin had stolen and kept for himself as a bargaining chip. But he wasn’t in control more than e stone feeding off of that need. It had escalated it, intruded on his mind as he’d then done to Agent Barton, to Doctor Selvig, and the others.
But, of course - his mind would supply - nobody would notice. Nobody would listen if he told them exactly what had happened. None of the Avengers believed him, despite knowing that the sceptre controlled minds. Who was to say that the stone didn’t also control its wielder?
Well… despite it happening that way, who was he to ask the others to believe it? To believe him? As far as they cared to think, he was simply the stupid younger brother of Thor.
Too power hungry, too reckless with not a care for another being in the nine realms.
It had been playing on his mind recently. The effort he was putting in to show that he wasn’t that person. That he had also been attacked and tortured by Thanos and his children, forced to attack the planet his brother loved simply because it was the only other place his mind went to besides Asgard.
Being around the tesseract had made it worse. The space stone inside had whispered to him, almost trying to make its own connection as the mind stone had. He didn’t want to know what that meant. And yet here he was, trying to help the others find his sceptre. Something he knew would send his mind spiralling, something he knew would try to make its way back in. And who knew if he could stop it? Would he let it willingly? Would it take over with him having no knowledge?
If it happened again, he had no doubt the Allfather would have him executed. Perhaps he deserved it.
The rooftop was a place he could get lost in his thoughts, and still, he made his way up there at night when he couldn’t sleep. Haunted with images of the things he’d done.
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“Where is Loki?” Thor boomed as he walked into the main lounge. It was the early hours of the morning, and Thor had been trying to find his brother to talk to him about an upcoming mission, yet he wasn’t in his room or in the library Stark had made for him to skulk away in.
“No clue,” Natasha shrugged, half asleep as she looked over one of her reports for Fury. “You think he snuck out?”
Thor shook his head in response. “I am unsure… I do not think he would have done, though I cannot find him.” He frowned. Had his brother been sneaking out without him knowing? Surely the Allfather would have informed him of such and asked him to fix such behaviour.
“He’s on the roof.” Tony simply stated from his spot on the floor in front of the coffee table, fiddling with something the god couldn’t think to try and comprehend. At the silence in the room, the billionaire looked up. “What? He does it most nights.” He shrugged, defensive of knowing what the god of mischief was up to. Though he didn’t blame them; he was the one who took the most convincing to even let Loki stay with them to begin with. He was still complaining to this day, though it had turned more to jest now.
“Why? What does he do up there?” Thor’s brows furrowed. He would have thought Loki wouldn’t want to be that high up, he struggled with the idea of falling from things since the whole incident at the Bifrost.
Tony shrugged in response, already seemingly over the conversation. “Sits there. Sometimes for hours.” He waved his screwdriver around while he talked, before getting back to work, already back in work mode.
The god thought over it for a moment, before heading back out of the room. He could always talk about the mission in the morning, if his brother wanted time to himself.
Time went by. The remaining members in the lounge trickled out until it was just Tony left. He stayed for another hour before he realised he was alone. “J, when did everyone leave?” He asked his AI.
“About an hour ago, sir.”
“Huh…” He mumbled. “If I’d known that then I would have moved down to the workshop.” He stood, stretching his back from his awkward seating position as a thought occurred to him. “Where’s horns?”
JARVIS took a moment before he replied. “On the roof, sir.”
Shaking his head, Tony sighed. “Still? Right, thanks, J.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Guess I better tell him to go to bed.” He huffed, heading for the elevator. “How did I end up babysitting a homicidal alien?”
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“Alright, Prancer, time for bed.” He called out as he stepped onto the roof, heading toward the other man. His steps slowed after a moment though.
Loki didn’t respond, in fact, it didn’t seem as if he’d heard him at all. The night was quite still for this time of year, so it wouldn’t be the wind.
Once he got closer, he recognised Loki’s look. Far-away eyes, unaware that anyone else was there… He’d been in the same position. “Ah, shit.” He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. How did he get stuck doing this? Maybe the others were right about him staying up too late.
He stepped closer, trying not to scare him, since he didn’t want him to accidentally fall off of the roof. As much as they didn’t get along, he knew Thor would hurt him if anything happened. “Loki.” He spoke once he was next to him, kneeling down as Loki continued to lay there, staring up at the sky. “Hey, Loki.” He tried again. This time, the god flinched.
Blinking a couple times, he spared a glance to the other man, who watched him carefully. Though it didn’t seem Loki was fully seeing him. And it was then Tony noticed the other man’s bloody hand. “What happened?” He asked warily, his eyes flitting from the hand to the god’s face.
“The stone…” Loki whispered, his voice hoarse. “It’s inside…”
Tony frowned and was quick to move Loki’s hand when he realised that the blood was from his own skin. The god had scratched open his arm with his nails. “Shit! Ok, no, no stones here.”
Loki tiredly closed his eyes as Tony looked at the damage. The god's arm was bloody around the wrist, as if he’d actually been trying to rip something out of his veins. His other hand had blood dried around and under the nails. “Ok, come on, I can’t make fun of you while you’re like this.” Tony tried to lighten the mood. “Wanna go inside?”
Loki contemplated this, glancing back to Tony with tired eyes, seemingly coming back to himself now. It was the first time Tony might find himself believing what he’d said about the whole New York thing. “Perhaps…” Loki mumbled. He blinked his eyes, and a blue glow had overcome them for a moment. “It’s calling to me…” He whispered, before clenching his eyes shut again and trying to put his nails back to his wrist.
“Nope, ok, come on, let’s go in.” Tony told him sternly, making sure to keep a hold of his arms so he couldn’t scratch himself raw again. He stood, seeing Loki do the same. “You don’t do this every night, right?” He asked as he led the way inside.
Loki took a moment after the man had dropped his arms before following on shaky legs. “No. I simply got lost in my thoughts.” He answered dismissively, already coming back to himself now that someone else - and someone who had made his time here difficult - was with him.
“You’re up here a lot.” Tony reminded him. “Not something I need to mention to Thor?”
Loki’s scowl said it all. “My oaf of a brother does not understand, Stark. I ask you not to worry him over nothing.”
Tony nodded, he got it. He dealt with anxiety and a lot of problems after New York. It was the reason he was so harsh to the other man all the time. While he didn’t treat him awfully anymore, he was only really cordial at best. And, even he could admit, perhaps his ‘jests’ and ‘jokes’ were only framed as such to protect himself from his true thoughts about what Loki’s attack on New York had done to him and his own psyche.
“I won’t mention it.” He mumbled, folding his arms as they stepped into the elevator. He glanced to the god as they made their way down the floors. “Trouble sleeping?” He asked after a moment of silence.
Loki flinched, and hoped Stark hadn’t seen it. “Sometimes sleeping takes us to the past,” he admitted sharply. “A place I do not often wish to visit.” He added softer.
Tony got that. Seemed he and the god had more in common than he thought. “Well, I can understand that.” He sighed. The elevator seemed to be going slower than normal. A thought flashed through his mind that perhaps JARVIS was doing it on purpose to make sure Tony looked after the other man. Damn AI…
“Look, I don’t sleep very often, either. If you’re ever struggling…” He sighed, not believing he himself was saying this. “The workshop is open to you. You can come down so you don’t have to be alone. Could use a bit of help with stuff when Bruce passes out.”
Loki smirked at that, looking down at the floor for a moment. “You are offering me company?”
Tony shook his head. “Just a place to hang out.” He quickly responded. “But, yeah, I guess if I’m down there or Bruce is down there then… yeah. I guess.”
The elevator dinged on Loki’s floor and the god went to step out, before stopping and turning his head to face the other man. “Thank you, Stark.” He told him honestly, before exiting the space and heading to his room.
“No problem…” Tony muttered to the empty elevator once the doors were closed, before he glared at the roof. “Thanks, J. Good to know you’ve got my back, buddy.” He spoke, sarcastic as he rolled his eyes.
“Just helping you make friends, sir.”
“You’re a little shit, you know that?”
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Loki’s normal routine upon going back to his room was to lay in bed and struggle to sleep, before getting back up and heading into the bathroom. Tonight, he skipped the first step, pulling off his jumper as he headed in, looking over his bloodied wrist as he went and locking the door behind him.
Despite having a lock on his main door and a spell set up to tell him if anyone broke the perimeter, he could never be too careful; not after everything he’d been through.
“Careless…” He reprimanded himself, before beginning to clean the wound and get the blood from under his nails. He normally didn’t lose himself so easily, though he knew it had been building for a while. With back-to-back missions recently, and his brother forcing him to spend time around the mortals that hated him in the hopes he’d win them over, he had barely had time to spend up on the roof and organise his thoughts. And to let himself fall into his bad habits.
Once this wound was cleaned, he sank to the floor, running a hand through his hair and rubbing his eyes. He was so tired… being lost in his past always exhausted him, yet he couldn’t sleep. He struggled to begin with, but the memories, the fears that overtook him when he did, made him unable to bring himself to try most nights.
He watched the door for a moment, before moving his hand in a fluid motion, opening his dimensional pocket and summoning his favourite, ornate knife from it.
When the perfectly-balanced blade landed in his palm, like a greeting from an old friend. Letting out a smooth breath, he turned it over in his hands. Thinking over Tony’s words offering solace for a moment, he pushed them to one side and placed the blade to his arm, dragging it across quickly and fluidly.
A sharp gasp ripped itself from his throat and he closed his eyes, feeling an ounce of relief wash over him for a moment. But it wasn’t enough.
Being so long without this, he had a lot to catch up on. So many pent-up emotions and pain that he needed to let out as the blood poured from him. So, he got to work. His markings were more precise after the first one, as always. His forearms were littered in messy, large scars, crossing over each other and smearing together. He was shocked that Stark hadn’t noticed, though perhaps he’d only seen the blood and focused on that. Thank the norns…
His upper arms were more methodical, clean rows of scars, straight and planned, used to give him as much relief as possible.
The first time he’d tried it, he was a young teen in Asgard. He was struggling with his fight training. It didn’t matter if he was excelling in his academics and his magic training with Frigga. Thor was a warrior, and Loki was simply his weak little brother, who used smarts, tricks and sorcery to win instead of brutes and force. He’d been so frustrated that he’d taken his anger out on himself as tears streamed down his cheeks. It calmed him, cleared his mind and he realised it was something he actually had control over.
Through the years, it was an on and off thing. Sometimes, he’d go years without. Others, he’d not be able to stop for months.
When Thanos had ‘saved’ him, and held him captive, when he’d had to deal with the actions and words of the group that tortured him, he’d turned back to it to feel as if he had any control over himself. Eventually, it turned into a desperate attempt to get himself out of this, to finish himself off and not have to go through it anymore.
The bonding between himself and the mind stone was more painful than anything he’d known, and it left him wanting to rip his skin off. Ending it was his only way out at this point. He had nothing left, his family hated him, the Allfather had proven he was simply never going to be the same as Thor in his eyes, and now he was stuck, being tortured into attacking a planet under the misconception of leading and ruling it.
Since being forced to spend his days at the tower, every night Loki would harm himself. When able, of course. He never would when around the others, never would when away on missions unless he knew he could get away with nobody knowing. He didn’t need pity, he didn’t need people treating him differently. He didn’t need people who didn’t care about him knowing and then pretending to care for the sake of feeling like they were decent people.
The only experience he had with it now was Stark seeing him claw open his wrist. The billionaire didn’t seem to have changed his opinion, yet he figured if there was anyone in the tower that wouldn’t change the way he acted for anyone else, it would be Tony. Though the other man hadn’t seen his scars, what he did to himself to try and help him sleep at night and make the itching in his brain stop. He figured if he did, then things would change. Not that he ever would let others know or see. That night was a fluke, nobody normally joined him on the roof. Nobody normally even knew he went up there. How long had Stark known…?
So Loki took out his anger, his pain and his fear onto himself, because it was all he knew how to do. Sometimes it was the knife, slicing into his flesh and feeling the blood bubble up to the surface and spill out over his pale skin. It was mesmerising to watch sometimes. Other times, he would call on his magic. He could create blue flames that burnt cold when used, like salt and ice, and he would push the flame to his body, feeling it burn. The same went with boiling showers or freezing baths. Though he tended not to use the baths very often, since it made his skin change, his markings appeared, and reminded him that he wasn’t who he’d been told he was.
He tended to stop eating when stressed. He wasn’t sure he’d even had a full meal since Thor was sent to Midgard. Even before then. He just couldn’t bring himself to when upset or stressed, but through the years, it became another way to control what happened to him.
That had begun when he was young and didn’t understand his feelings about himself. Some days, he felt as if his skin itched. His reflection in the mirror held terrible feelings, yet he didn’t understand why. It was something he’d always kept to himself once he’d figured it out, but magic had allowed him to explore his gender and lack thereof. Some days it changed, others he’d know for sure, sometimes he felt like none fit him. Yet he didn’t tell anyone. If he was spotted as female one day, people simply assumed it was some form of trick or magical thing they didn’t get.
Loki kept a lot to himself, and he indulged in his coping mechanisms when possible, because it was all he’d had, all he’d ever known to help him.
Hurting himself was a distraction from the worlds hurting him.
And Loki was fine with going it alone.