cv (ephemeras) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-02-25 00:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | gwen stacy, loki, norman osborn, plot: switch |
Who: Sam, Neil!Goblin, Louis!Loki
What: Angry Norse god brothertimes
Where: Flash's and Gwen's doomed!apartment
When: Recently
Warnings/Rating: Creeperness
Louis left Anton behind and tried to collect his thoughts. He felt calmer, but he couldn’t be sure how much of that was him, and how much was this strange thing he’d taken on. Magic still crept through his flesh, sinuous and prickling. It was a constant struggle to resist the urge to use it, countered always by the question of why should he bother? What did it matter? It was a losing fight anyway, and the consequences had to be outweighed by promised power.
He needed to find Neil, and he used that goal to divert his own attention. Louis knew that Neil had been strange on the journals, that something was wrong, and it made him fear the worst. This person, whoever they were, had make him drink to drown them out. Sam had said as much. Now that Neil was on this side of things, who knew how that influence might affect him? What damage it might do? He feared more for the people Neil might come into contact with than for Neil himself. Louis could shut out Loki’s voice now, an exhilarating perk of being on this side of the door. But what if things weren’t the same for Neil?
The journal at his side chirped, and he stepped off the street into a small alcove. He was taking as many side streets as possible, avoiding the main thoroughfares. He was still wearing Loki’s regalia, now his own. He had nothing else, and he was trying not to use the magic, even to disguise. People on the street recognized the armor. They recognized him. He’d already seen one group of pedestrians turn and run as fast as they could to get away, screaming all the while.
It would be so easy to travel some other way. There was always shapeshifting. Some dark-eyed bird of prey, perhaps, that could travel from here to there with ease. He could call up the spell to do it with a thought. He began scanning the journal, still thinking. He could use one of the portals again, too, go to some isolated place, track Neil down from there -
The entry from Sam stopped all other thoughts.
Louis was flooded first with fear, regret, and guilt. He should have moved more quickly. He should have gone straight to Sam rather than worrying about Neil. If he had - but there was no time for regretting. Cold rage rolled in, as wide and crushing as if he hardly knew his brother, as if he was a stranger. Suddenly, it was his fault. He’d been too weak to resist, and gone right to Sam. And if he damaged her, if he cut her, bruised her, if he killed her. Unthinking, baleflame ignited at the tips of his fingers, wisping and green in the dark alcove. He looked down at his fingers, and saw that they shook under the ghostly fire.
There was no time for fear, now, not of what he might be capable of. Now was the time to teach Neil what happened when he stepped beyond the boundaries of his warnings. His eyes reflected that green back. He took a breath, and they flooded with it from within.
It was all just as practiced and simple as he’d known it would be, and stupidly, feared. He needed to find Sam. Loki had given Gwen that ring, though, hadn’t he? Sam hadn’t used it, but perhaps he’d taken it from her, taunted her with her inability to call for help. The flames flickered higher. He spread his fingers and felt for the mark of familiar magic. In his mind, there was a rippling black cloth, streaked and woven with streets and the leftover trails of old magic in a panoply of colors trailing down them. In the midst was a glowing coal, live and knowing and his. There.
He drew a sigil in the air, in a path of flame that licked but did not burn. It spat sparks, and warped, and widened out, wrapping around into a circular border. Inside there was a flicker, then a spreading pool of black. Unlike the last portal, this one did not fluctuate or leak into space dangerously at the edges. It held steady, and hummed.
Louis stepped through, and into the apartment.
There was no crash, no explosion of displaced air, just the snap of the portal shutting behind him. He saw the ring immediately, but it was alone in the bedroom. In the next room, down the hall, there were sounds.
Louis stepped out into the hallway and walked down into the living room. He didn’t much look like himself in Loki’s dark armor, his eyes burning green, his face a mask set in hate.
The scene in the living room wasn't anything out of a fairy tale.
The apartment was small, cramped in the way that kids could afford, and with a mishmash of cheap furniture and clutter that didn't make sense. It felt, in a word, young, and the girl struggling in the living room matched the setting to a tee, even if it wasn't actually hers.
Sam was terrified, but she'd intentionally made the post to MJ, Flash and Peter public in the hopes that Lou would show up. And, yeah, it was a risk, because there was no fucking proof that Louis wouldn't be as fucked up by Loki as Neil was by Norman-Goblin-whoever he was just now. But it was her best fucking bet, because she couldn't count on anyone but Louis to keep from killing Neil, from hurting him too fucking badly. She didn't know Peter Parker for shit, and she was pretty sure Flash would lose his crap if Gwen got hurt, and he had that Venom thing going on that might be able to control the robotdoc. Yeah, no, Louis was her only fucking chance, and so she'd risked it.
And maybe it had fucking worked. She only managed have a sentence before Neil caught on.
She'd tried to run. Fuck, but had she tried to run. She'd gone for the front door instead of the bedroom, the ring forgotten in her immediate need to get the fuck out. But it had been pointless. Neil was stronger, faster, and he'd caught her before she'd managed to turn the doorknob. The scene Loki walked in on was minutes later, after Neil had subdued her by strangling her until the world went black, and then letting her come out of it again.
Her phone was across the room, and she was a broken doll on the threadbare couch, black panties and a nothing wifebeater torn off one shoulder. Her socks had been lost ages ago, strewn across the floor with her skirt and Neil's shirt. Neil was sitting there, shirtless, typing at people with one hand, thinking her adequately subdued, and he wasn't wrong. She was bruises around her wrists, and the red on her throat was already threatening to turn dark and angry. There was blood on her shoulder and shirt from the bite to her ear, and there was blood on his jaw from her teeth. Her mouth was red and swollen from his teeth and his kisses, and she looked dazed and young.
Until, that was, she heard steps in the hallway. In a last ditch effort, she jumped up from the couch and tried to run toward the footsteps, even though she knew it was probably fucking fruitless with Neil so close. She didn't call for help, because fuck that. "Don't hurt him," was what she managed. She wanted a hit so bad she could taste it, and she couldn't close her eyes without confusing him with Micah, but she didn't want him hurt.
Neil had quite enjoyed the public nature of Sam’s post, since he--it, the thing inside him, Goblin with a tiny bit of Norman tossed in--delighted in mocking the little do gooders and the teenagers who so bravely tossed their threats and vows of vengeance if Sam should come to any harm. Pathetic, all of them. Half of them posed no danger at all to him, and the rest... well, he wanted the not-Spider to come. The teenager and his big black monstrosity might be an issue, but as long as he could get to his suit first, he was confident he could hold his own. No one could take him down. No one. And if they tried, he’d do to them what he so wished he could do to Sam. He could hurt her. He could torment her. But killing her? No, he was at his limit there, though he refused to acknowledge why and made it out to be a personal choice instead, to keep his pride intact.
But then, then she had to go and try to send an SOS out to Louis. Oh yes, he knew who Louis was, the brother with tension, who also happened to have a Norse god living upstairs who's bad side he really, really wanted to stay away from. Goblin feared practically nothing, but nothing concocted in a lab could rival a god’s power; it knew that. Norman knew that. Hell, Neil knew it too. But he’d cut the girl off before she could give a location, and he thought that would be enough. He didn’t even think that the ring could be used as a tracking device; a costly mistake.
So he’d lost his temper. Bad things happened when he lost his temper; Sam was learning that the hard way now. Once she was subdued, though, bloody and bruised, he was calmer, a shirtless monstrosity with a grin that seemed alien on Neil’s features and a bright gleam to his eyes that couldn’t have been natural. Everything was going according to plan... but the footsteps in the hallway, now that wasn’t right. He planned to be long gone and back at Oscorp before anyone showed up here. “Where do you think you’re going?” He lashed out and caught her wrist with one hand, tugging her back towards him; she was his bargaining chip, and if someone had come to rescue her, he was keeping her close. Literally.
He rose from his seated position just as Louis appeared, and his eyes widened in what was undoubtedly surprise. No, no, this wasn’t part of his plan at all. This was wrong. This was bad. It occurred to him then, faced with steely hate, that Louis very likely had Loki’s power, which did not bode well for him. You’re finished, Neil told him, hysterically gleeful, and Goblin-Neil frowned. “He won’t hurt his brother,” he muttered, but trapped inside his mind, Neil just laughed, and it was then that he realized counting on Louis playing nice for his brother’s sake might not work out. Huh. But then the surprise was gone and his grin was back, all bravado and careless confidence as he stood and regarded the newcomer. “Come to join the party, huh? Sorry, but I don’t like surprises.” No suit, no weapons, but he still had his strength and speed, and hell, he’d turn whatever was available into a weapon if it meant staying in one piece. While having Louis kill his own brother did have a sort of poetry to it, he wasn’t really in the mood to die just then.
Whatever 'tension' there had been in Louis before, there was none apparent now. The situation had merited a complete embracing of his new being, merged whole and complete, and the barriers had fallen completely. And if he had been angry before walking into the room, seeing the state Sam was in created a whole new breed of fury. His eyes widened a touch as she tried to break toward him, with her bruised body, purpling mouth, and scarlet neck. He'd been strangling her. He saw his brother grab her by the wrist and yank her back like she was his property to keep close and abuse, and he nearly saw white.
Louis didn't think. Sam's plea fell on deaf ears, and he gave Neil, Goblin, whatever he was calling himself, as much regard as an insect about to be crushed. Goblin had hardly finished speaking before Louis lashed out with an invisible strike, a harsh shove of invisible force that rocked the air in the room, hard enough that to slam Goblin into the opposite wall and drag him up off the ground. It was a brute force lash of power localized on Goblin, to strike him back and force him to let go of Sam's arm. He could do better, and he could do more subtle, but that would require conscious effort, and his only thought in that moment was to get him away from Sam, and to punish like the hand of god.
Nothing could have prepared him for the sheer amount of force Louis was capable of wielding with practically no effort at all. Goblin’s real power lay in a physical fight, which was why Spider-Man or Venom would have been ideal. But he had no magic of his own, nothing to block whatever god crap Louis lashed out with; if he couldn’t get close enough to hit the guy through a wall, he was screwed. He couldn’t even dodge the attack, because there was no way to see it coming. Hell, he’d barely even finished talking, and while he tried in vain to fight there was really no point at all. The force was more than he could withstand, and all he managed to do was leave a mark of fingers and nails along Sam’s skin as he was propelled backwards and his hold on her was violently broken. But Goblin made no sound when his back met the wall, keeping the screams of pain internal, sounds no one would hear, and when he finally did open his mouth it was laughter that came spilling forth. Gasped, broken laughs, utter madness, despite the fact that he’d just been slammed and dragged up against a wall.
He could take this. Whatever Louis dished out, Goblin could take. So could Norman. In the end, it was Neil who would suffer most, so he laughed and laughed, until the sound tapered away and his expression twisted into something ugly and snarling. “Is that the best you’ve got?” Any rational human being would know better than to sneer at an angry man with god-like powers, but he wasn’t going to beg. He wasn’t going to plead. No, this asshole wasn’t going to get the satisfaction of breaking him, but he was welcome to try.
Sam held back a scream when those nails clawed against her skin, and she lost her footing and fell to the ground with a grateful sob. She should run. Fuck, yeah, she was so running for it. Gwen could ride this shit out in Las Vegas. There was no way she was sticking around here for-
But then she heard that laughter, that completely fucking insane laughter, and she turned her face toward the man that had been slammed against the wall. He sounded like Neil. He didn't, but he did, and yeah, she should hate his fucking guts for not warning her about this, not giving her some fucking heads up about this, but she couldn't. He wasn't him. He was a weak motherfucker, yeah, and maybe he just didn't give enough of a shit about her to fight this for her sake, but he was still Neil. Being weak wasn't the same as being an asshole. She tried to fix on that to push aside the ache and fears that were sure to leave nightmares in their wake.
And maybe Louis with all the power of a god in his angry, judgmental hands should freak her out, but she had reached her freakout limit for the day. She hauled herself to her feet, and she put herself between the two men, bruised, just a teenager, and so ready for this fucking shit to end. "He's your brother. You can't hurt him," she said, voice a horrible scratchy thing, and fuck, but it hurt just to get that out. She glanced at the door, then back at Louis. "Just shove him out, ok? Norman can't hurt anyone over there."
She didn't look back at Neil; she couldn't. She would only wait for Louis' answer, and then she was fucking bailing herself.
"Oh," Louis said, eyes shining, "But I can." Of course he could. There was so much in his grasp, now, and he'd been frightened of it before, but now he felt nothing but the pure exhilaration of being able to exact punishment, the kind he wished he'd been able to inflict on Micah before he'd been carted away. This was a kind of confidence, a force of nature kind of power, that he'd never had in his life, and there wasn't a chance that he was going to just let Goblin walk away when he had it at his disposal. That he was in Neil's body was a distant concern. A point had to be made: that this was unacceptable, and that it would be treated in the future with the same amount of pain.
Sam was actually between them now, and Louis blinked, breaking eye contact with Goblin at last to look at her. There was something not quite right behind his eyes, something vengeful and ready to recreate every injury on Sam's body back on Neil's. So he wouldn't forget. "He said he would hunt those children down," he said, finally stringing more than a few words together at once, his voice a warning tone. "He said he would hunt you. Your girl. He would only walk back through some other door and come for you again." No, pushing him out wouldn't mean safety. It would just mean, at best, putting off the problem, and giving him a chance to get away. And Louis didn't intend to allow him that kind of relief, or that kind of satisfaction.
Something behind his gaze turned, just a little. He didn't soften, exactly, but his attention briefly diverted, and his expression edged briefly open. "He hurt you," Louis said, so angry that his voice cracked. "I am tired of watching the people I care about hurt, and being able to do nothing. I cannot let this go by." He pinned Goblin even tighter with a gesture of his hand, gritting his teeth, "Not even when it is people I care for who are responsible for it. And that thing is no brother of mine." Flame appeared in his hand again. He took a ragged breath. "You should go," he said, chin lifting slightly. "Now." Sam needed to get somewhere safe. Better yet, Gwen needed to go through, and hide. Deep down, too, there was a quiet thought - he didn't want her to see this, what came next.
Sam hated whatever was behind Louis' eyes just then. It wasn't as foreign as what looked back at her when Neil-
She cut off that thought. It took closing her eyes and, yeah, so not a good idea. She opened them almost as quickly as she'd shut them, and she shook her head. She took just a second to reach for the tattered throw on the back of the couch because, yeah, this wasn't her brother either, and she suddenly felt the need to wrap herself in something safe. That done, she started to tell him why he needed to just fuck off, put Neil somewhere safe, or let him cross, because no way was she going to let this bullshit keep happening. She was tired, she wanted a hit, and she was hurting, but fuck this.
But then Louis pulled the fucking flame card, and she glared. "No, you are not doing this shit, Louis. I talked to you because you wouldn't hurt him. Do you get that? Fuck, no, I am not carrying this guilt on top of everything the fuck else. Gwen can handle her own shit. So can the others. This is their life. Not ours. You're not a Norse god, so quit acting like one, and just get me out of here." She didn't look back at the wall, she couldn't, she couldn't, fuck, and so she just reached out a hand to cover the fucking flame with her palm. He wouldn't burn her; she knew that. Not when he was so fucking pissed off at Neil for what he had done. And maybe it was just another bad judgement call on her part, but she didn't fucking care anymore. Her expression softened slightly. "Please, Lou, I don't want him hurt," she said, voice dropping to nearly a whisper.
Pinned against the wall as he was, Goblin didn’t have much choice but to watch the disgusting little soap opera playing out before him. On the one hand, Sam was his ticket to freedom and avoiding grievous bodily harm, but on the other hand he was rather looking forward to seeing just how far Louis would go. All the worse for Neil, in the end. He was counting on it getting pretty damn painful; obviously, the fact that Neil was family wasn’t going to cut him any slack with Norse god Louis. It was tragic, really, just another tie to be severed in the aftermath and make the man more their puppet than he had ever been before. He remained a quiet observer for a while, a perpetual smirk on his lips, and his eyes brightened when he saw the flame. By then, it was getting a little hard to breathe, but that wasn’t enough to shut him up. “I think someone’s gone on a little power trip,” he remarked, voice tight as he fought to get the words out. “So what’ll it be, Lou? Do as the lady says, or give in to all that anger and roast me and your useless brother alive?”
Sam predicted right. When she put her hand over the fire licking up Louis' hand, he pulled back a little, instinctively, and the flames flickered up across her palm like a ruffle of cold wind but did not burn. He stared back at her.
Internally, Louis struggled. Letting Goblin go now seemed tantamount to sanctioning what he'd done, what he intended to do if he was given another opportunity. Louis finally had the chance to actually act against someone who had wronged someone he cared for. How could he back away? Sam was pleading for him, though. She was actually begging him. He'd never seen Sam beg for anything since he'd known her. He had stopped it from getting any worse, hadn't he? She was safe, and she would be going forward.
Goblin began to speak again, and his attention snapped back to the figure of his brother, the shape without the presence, pinned against the wall like a specimen under glass. Anger flared briefly again on his features, and then cooled. "There is no 'trip' about it," he said. "Just power."
The flames faded away. He set his mouth, his posture a strange, unearthly display of confidence, different from his usual countenance as midnight to morning. "And I can think of no better display of that power than to let you walk away. You know now how easily I might catch you, pin you, and kill you if you ever touch her again. Or anyone else in my family, for that matter. That is restraint, and I promise you, it takes me much more energy not to kill you than it does to separate your head from your shoulders and hang it from my belt as a prize." He smiled, and it was so unabashedly vicious that his teeth might as well have been sharp. "And don't expect to get away with trying again if things go back to the way they were. Then you'll have Loki to cope with, and he knows better than anyone what I'll do to him if he lets anything you slide. Understood?”
Sam didn't hear most of what Louis said. All she focused on was the fact that Lou was letting Neil go. That was all that fucking mattered. None of what Neil was saying mattered anymore. He wasn't Neil, she reminded herself. He wasn't Neil. She shook her head, and she managed a muttered, "thank you," to Louis, along with a, "let yourself out," which was pretty fucking decent for her, before she turned for Gwen's bedroom. Once there, she slammed the door shut, and she slid down along the wood. She wouldn't come out until she'd heard the door close twice, and until it was completely fucking quiet, and no one would talk her out of it. She just needed to breathe.
This, what Louis was offering, wasn’t freedom. Not really. He knew that. One wrong move and he’d have an angry guy with Loki’s power on his tail all over again, which was the last thing he needed. And Norman, he didn’t need any trouble from Loki himself either. But, see, Goblin was specific, and nowhere in Louis’ conditions did he hear anything about leaving the city, of Gwen’s ragtag group of friends, alone. Fine, he’d lay off Sam and Gwen and whoever the hell else was in the guy’s family; no one he cared about. As for Neil himself, well, he was pretty sure the poor bastard was on his own from here on out. But Spider-Man, and the redhead, and the football player with the nasty side? Yeah, they were still his. He glared down at Louis, reluctant to agree, but not stupid enough that he failed to recognize that he should make the most of this opportunity. He’d let Norman have some time in Vegas, but he’d be back, god or no god. He wasn’t done here.
“Understood.” He practically spat the word out from between gritted teeth, and only spared Sam a brief glance before she disappeared into the bedroom. Right now, all he cared about was getting down and out.
Louis watched Sam head for the bedroom with a brief, vague sense of dismay. Then it faded, and he returned his attention to Goblin. His hand fell to his side, and Neil dropped down from the wall. "You may go first," he offered, polite as could be, extending a hand toward the door.
Neil hit the ground with a muffled grunt, the impact sending him forward onto his hands and knees, and Goblin scowled up at Louis for a few seconds before warily climbing to his feet. Fear, no, there was none of that, but there was a fair amount of suspicion; as though he expected one final something once his back was turned. “Gee, thanks,” he muttered, all thick sarcasm, and he moved towards the door at an angle to avoid showing his back. He realized, belatedly, that he was still shirtless, and he stooped to pick up his discarded shirt (never once breaking his line of sight) before reaching for the doorknob. He had to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything else, but for once, he managed.