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[ Stephen leans out of the way of that gently swatting hand with absolutely no difficulty, taking Loki's wrist instead as he waves and using it to lead his hand toward the glass of water on the nightstand. ]

And you're drunk. Have some of this.

Okaaay.

[ He drains the glass, water dripping down his chin as he gasps for air once done. ]

Do you go through a lot of disasters? Back home? I do. I had the Infinity Stones for a hot minute not so long ago. [ Shaking his head, nope, didn't enjoy those much. Not after what he used them to see. ] All the disasters here feel extra personal. Do you think so?

[ Slumping on the bed, he tucks an arm under the pillow. ]

Are you okay after ... ? You looked bad on the bench. When you visited me.

[ It's not that he isn't interested in Loki's life. It's that Loki's wasted and they've navigated helplessness enough times in their short time knowing one another that he doesn't want to muddy any waters when he has the option not to... so Loki talks about deeply personal things, about time spent in his father's belly and nightmares and Nightmare and the kid and the other one and Stephen Strange is quiet.

When Loki changes the subject around to shared experience, and then to him, it's almost a relief. Almost, until he remembers he doesn't really want to talk about that either. ]

I'm fine now. [ As fine as he ever is, experiences packed up in boxes and shoved up on shelves to be dealt at an unspecified later that may not ever arrive. ] And you're looking solid enough. Congratulations.

[ Nothing too personal. But there's a gap between the bellies of fathers and the root of a problem that's laying right in front of him, so he doesn't hold off from asking - ] Did something happen?

Happy your magic is back.

[ Wagging a finger at Strange to cement the sentiment, Loki looks down at his own hand and thinks for a moment. It's a struggle to sit back up with folded legs but he manages it, holding onto the pillow, and he offers Stephen his hand. ]

I can show you, if you care to see. My words are soup, [ hah! ] no Silvertongue here. Maybe a vodka-tongue ... appletini-tongue.

[ Stephen eyes the offered hand with mild trepidation. If encouraging conversation was ill-advised, surely engaging in memory-adjacent magic is even less so... But there's an active determination in this that lands differently to the unhappy chatter of an inebriated god.

So, helplessly afflicted with lifelong curiosity and a penchant for making truly excellent choices, Stephen reaches out to take Loki's hand and find out what's wrong. ]

[ As his hand clasps Stephen's a burst of green magic (messier than Loki's usual elegant spellwork) clamps their grip together and the memories begin with a swirl away from reality ...

A beaten Loki, five or so years younger, holds his broken arm as Thor berates him in front of a crowd of Asgardians, walking away when Loki pleads for him to listen — The chair has him strapped down half-naked as the Old Man jeers, the mouthpiece holding down Loki's tongue is the worst, then he sets Loki on fire from within and he can't even scream as he thrashes, falling into his own mind as his eyes burn and vision blackens —

Loki sharing out the Infinity Stones to Kamala, Emma Frost, Logan, a team trying to keep the universe together. He disappears with the stones when they need them, seeks out the Truth about his existence, and ends up staring right through ... something. It makes him choke on a laugh — Similarly, Freyja chokes on her blood as Loki rams a poisoned dagger in her back, stabbing his mother. He hushes her as she drops, checking over a shoulder to make sure no one saw. "You should stay out of this war, mother," Malekith will kill her on the field of battle if he gets the chance. Best she lies sickening on a deathbed until Loki can triple-cross the dark elf and stand by his mother — The chance comes once the War of Realms arrives on Midgard. The Jotnar have taken North America, Laufey towers like a skyscraper over a recovered Freyja, reaching for her until Loki steps in with sword upraised. He is the only person Laufey would prefer to murder over Asgard's queen and he does it, grabbing Loki and stuffing him in his enormous mouth, teeth crushing Loki's spine and legs as Freyja screams in horror —

It's like being torn apart slowly, by Nightmare and by reality. In Laufey's guts Loki sees himself digested, his limbs swimming in acid, and he sees his first ancient Viking self, then the Boy, then Loki the Necrogod, Loki the All-Butcher, and his arm is floating in front of him as his face falls off — Laufey crashes to the ground as Laeveteinn slices him open and Loki steps out of his father's viscera clutching the Casket of Ancient Winters, no longer in pieces. He pulled himself together, he didn't want to die like a villain when his was the best chance to save North America from his father —

He sits on a throne made of ice, bored. Ale casks and jugs litter his dais. Not the god of lies or mischief or stories, just a king. A little king of nothing. He refuses to be only this — Karnilla is easily swayed to accept his help. The three little black babies are beautiful and strong as she feeds them on godfood, nurturing a new pantheon, but they are innocents and Loki helped her take them from their pregnant mother, he owes the little goddesses a debt. He winds one of his own hairs into their fate, creating an All-Father role. They will need help one day — Managarmr the enormous wolf swallows him down as he screams, kicking at his grandchild's fangs and yelling, this is insane for happening again, and the two-souled wolf spits him out reluctantly. Gods, he hates being eaten! —

It's not Jotunheim, it isn't cold or boring. It's like Midgard with the magic cranked all the way up and at first he loves it, he revels in how much fun he has with the other skyfallen. People from home don't react as he expects though and timelines are skewered, the multiverse is tossing variants of heroes his way. Stark has lost (or never owned) the amiable chatter they last shared, Strange is callous (fair, he supposes, Stephen is a dick) so Loki decides he will grab the metaphorical Casket from the broiling belly of this situation: he creates an omniversal map from the universal designations, it will help lead them home when the time comes, he will not have it said he did nothing — Eros's fingers are in his blood, moving his jaw, turning his eyeballs, and when set aflame for defying the bastard it's almost a relief. I can burn and burn, you fucker. Only he doesn't. Strange saves him. Strange, whom he almost cursed with horrid intent — Peter is gone and Loki's heart hurts and he wants to scream and ravage this realm and — Peter is back, his arms are warm and he says he loves Loki no matter what he has done, and Loki has never had anyone say that — The Boy wants him dead, wants his life. He always will. It is not his fault. That is the rage which comes with being wrongfully murdered, but his was never a lasting role to play and he cannot remain the best of all Lokis if he grows up to join them — The world is a massive fog. He can see people when they near and tell where buildings may be, but it's like being erased has dulled all his senses. The Boy? He could not have done this, as much as his darkest desires would wish it. There is a street Loki cannot walk because he starts to unravel even further. His phone sends texts that vanish before they reach their destinations. Being dissolved in Laufey's gut was more endurable than this madness, this is why any other Loki would go insane — Stephen sits next to him and Loki doesn't want him to leave. What if Loki vanishes? Stephen looks like a fragile mortal. We can't have that, not if I must die —

Thor doesn't believe him about Jane, that they are amiable. He doesn't believe just as he didn't believe Loki on his knees in Asgard after beating him up, Why can't you trust me, brother? Thor prefers the Boy, naturally. He loved him so much — Tony is still indifferent. Loki feels like a rabid dog occasionally allowed out for a walk if he can help the Avengers. His map was stolen by Stark so he improves on it, hoards it, he shares nothing any longer — Stephen saved him from burning and sat with him. Loki fashions gifts to express the gratitude he feels, he doesn't care if Thor is mad. Thor has many friends and Loki has so few. Even less who respect him. So he weaves golden thread only he knows of and carves new enchantments into Jarnbjorn under the full moon, under the midday sun, forcing it to appear at any time of day when summoned — Doctor Strange does not need these trinkets but they are all Loki has —

The boy still wants him dead. Thor must agree when forced to choose between them, anyone would. Peter will one day be pulled away to a far-off Earth, out of reach — Loki is so tired of fighting for the right to exist when he is either targeted or unwanted — Sometimes he really needs a drink —

I am Loki of Asgard. I am. I —

... The spells ends and he falls back on the bed, unconscious. Exhausted. ]

[ Loki slips out of consciousness and Stephen drifts back into his own to find himself sunk to the edge of the guest bed. He sits there for a while, staring out at the wall, letting what he's just seen come back to him in fits and starts of memories not his own.

Eventually, he stands. Fills the empty glass with water with a twitch of his fingers, lifts Loki with another gentle gust of magic so he can pull back the cover and set him down on the bed again, sheets now free should the god need extra warmth in the night. Last, he paints a sky of softly blinking stars and swirling nebulae into the empty air of the room, company for Loki if he drifts awake amongst his sleep, charmed to become blue skies when he's ready to wake in earnest.

That done, and with one last troubled look over a man whose apparent youth is such an easy and effective distraction from the reality of him, Stephen turns to go. He leaves the door open. Some dreams are best not caged in with their dreamers. ]

[ Sleep takes him into a dreamless repose, snoring softly and only moving to drag the covers around himself in a toasty cocoon. It's when he wakes around ten in the morning and blinks at a fading magical vision of stars that he feels the first twinge of a hangover, wincing as he sits up. The enchantment overhead slowly mirrors a sunrise while his mouth feels like a hedgehog died in it, rough and dry.

His green shirt and black jeans are crumpled when he gets to his feet, boots pinching a little from overwear through the night. This is a very Strange-ish room and when he checks his phone it confirms how he ended up in this unfamiliar bedroom; not that his hangover is being kind or letting him remember much more.

I have to stop texting Avengers when I'm smashed.

First Tony, now Strange. Third time's a charm, he prays it won't be his brother.

Loki doesn't have the wherewithall to so much as summon a hairbrush so he makes his way downstairs in the direction of the kitchen, ruffled and shielding his eyes from bright lights. He hopes the fridge isn't chained shut like in the Sanctum ... ]

Anybody home?

[ The fridge isn't chained shut, and the kitchen once Loki arrives in it has the faint aroma of bacon cooked recently but not so recently that there's anything left on the stove. The house is quiet, surprisingly peaceful in spite of its nature, so when Stephen emerges from the living room, patting a hardcover book in his hand, his journey across the entrance hall toward the kitchen is an audible breach of the peace.

He stops in the doorway, giving Loki a brief once-over, and immediately comes to the most obvious conclusion. ]

Good morning. You look like hell.

[ He doesn't look that bad, but he does look like a man regretting his hazy night-before. Which means putting on a mild if shit-eating smirk and asking exactly zero questions about how Loki's feeling on the subject of any of the 300 horrible memories he shared with the class last night. ]

For someone who has never been to Hel, I would debate that with you on principle.

[ His stomach growls loudly and he sniffs, inhaling the lingering scent of bacon. Loki's voice cracks a little, cleared with a cough and light teasing. ]

Did you eat breakfast without me? Doubly rude. [ But fair, the sun seems high outside the window. ] Point me to a café and I will be on my way.

Mn, sit down.

[ Casual as Stephen strolls into the room and drops his morning read on the counter, opening draws and drawing out frying pans with a wave of his hand. It's an easy task, the kitchen radio flickering on to serenade them with whatever the tail end of the breakfast show has to offer while Dr. Stephen Strange heads to the fridge for more bacon. ]

Juice?

[ There's already a full glass sitting on the kitchen island, you're welcome. ]

[ He gets a cooked homemade breakfast? Consider his butt sat and the juice sipped. ]

Thanks.

[ Some of the condensation off the glass is used to rake his hair back into something resembling order. ]

Where, ah. Where's the boy?

[ Without any delay, the sound and smell of sizzling bacon fills the kitchen afresh. ]

School. Pancakes or croissant?

[ The kid goes to school? Willingly? Yikes. ]

Mm. Croissant, please.

[ Is he having a bacon croissant cooked for him? He is too hungover and easily impressed, if so. It's nice and peaceful in Stephen's kitchen, Loki's lashes droop as he covers a yawn. ]

I appreciate you picking me up last night, by the way. I live with three do-gooders who would have undoubtedly done good and berated me for getting into that state.

Speaking as a doctor, I find it's more efficient to leave the hangover to do the heavy lifting. They're welcome.

[ Which is also to say, in a roundabout way, Loki's welcome. And would you look at that, somebody's putting a fresh-this-morning croissant into the oven to heat through a little while he finishes off the bacon. Don't get used to it, but appreciate it while it lasts. ]

How's the head?

[ He appreciates a free breakfast a great deal! The most important meal of the day is sacred. ]

I always forget that you are in fact a real doctor. I can tell you weird details about Asgardian biology, if you like. It's wacky stuff.

[ Rubbing his head when Stephen asks about it, he huffs a somewhat chagrined laugh and shrugs. Sips his juice to stay as unobtrusive at the table as possible. ]

I'm alright, bit groggy. Feels like I walked through Muspelheim and snorted a load of sulfer.

[ A glimpse into Asgardian biology does actually sound up his street, but his attention moves along with the conversation to the state of Loki's head and the memory of the evening before.

He could leave it. Just leave it, not know one way or the other, knowing just as much about him and saying just as little about any of what he knows. But he can't imagine having any of the more difficult parts of his life sitting remembered inside another person's head, and he has so many of Loki's now...

Whether it's better to know or not is the question. Before Stephen can get to answering it, he needs to find out if that decision is even in his hands. ]

Well then, lesson learned. [ Until the next time. ] Remember much?

[ Trying to keep that as light and unloaded as possible. It's not a half bad job given how loaded it actually is. ]

I remember I tried to drink all the green shots at the bar ... and might have asked you to join me? Oh! And that your portal was incredibly bright when you picked me up.

[ Stephen's assessment of how much it takes an Asgardian to get drunk was on the nose, and a lot of alcohol evidently means a lot of forgetfulness even in in godlings. Loki finishes his juice and heads to the fridge to get some more, flashing Stephen a genuine (if somewhat tired) smile. ]

Please don't tell me if I came onto you, just accept my apologies if I did. Your nickname amongst the young superheroes must have stuck in my head.

Edited 2022-06-06 17:03 (UTC)

—What? [ That's an effective derail. Does he want to know? Second thoughts, no, it's probably best that he does not - ] No. You didn't.

[ Which leaves him with The Dilemma. Pushing it off for a few minutes more, Stephen focuses his effort on finishing up breakfast: slicing the croissant, adding the bacon. ]

You don't want to know.

[ He is in agreement about that, not only because he's the one who spread the nickname around and got it to take root. Loki doesn't want to ruin the morning.

Resting his head against the fridge as he sips his new juice, he watches Stephen making breakfast as feels a smile widen at the domestic sight. It's welcoming. He doesn't feel like he's imposing. ]

May I make use of your shower before I head out? I smell like the bar.

Sure. I'd use the bathroom on the second floor landing if you don't want the kid complaining that you've used his shampoo.

[ Would the kid in fact complain that anyone had used his shampoo? Unknown. It feels like the kind of spatting that wouldn't be entirely out of place with the two of them, depending on the day.

Plating up now, he finally carries the finished article to the island and sets it down for Loki when he's ready to come and eat. Taking a seat on the opposite side, Stephen lifts a couple of satsumas to hover in the air and begin peeling themselves, mostly as a distraction so he can bring himself to broach another subject - ]

Nothing else?

[ Remembered, he means, but it's not specific, easily open for misinterpretation. Vague enough that it might buy him another couple of seconds to change his own mind. ]

[ He sits and starts eating, only glancing up when asked Nothing else? Bit weird, that. A brow arches as he blinks at him, swallowing a mouthful before giving an awkward shrug. ]

This morning or about last night?

[ Both seem likely, Stephen has never hosted an Asgardian to Loki's knowledge and he really can't recall the end of the evening. ]

[ That is a resounding no. There's a long moment of non-response as Stephen watches him in return across the table, the deliberation in the slight pinch of his expression balanced out with purposefully resolved eye contact out to achieve something as close to neutral as he can muster.

But the pause alone makes it too late to backtrack now. ]

Last night.

[ He probably shouldn't have taken his hand. Hindsight, as it ever was, is a wily mistress. ]

[ The fork clinks as he lower it to his plate, sitting up a little straighter. The lightness seeps from his expression, replaced with an older brand of concern and suspicion. ]

Stephen, [ everyone has level voices here today, ] what did I do?

[ Another, longer pause. But there's nothing for it. He does at least have the good grace to look sorry, to stop the growing peels from twisting in the air. ]

You showed me what was wrong.

[ All of it. Or at least everything left swirling around in his head amongst the daze of the drink. ]

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