Loki (fiorvalr) wrote in noexits, @ 2022-01-22 18:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread/narrative, marvel (tv/movies): loki laufeyson, marvel (tv/movies): stephen strange, → week 029 (michael) |
MICHAEL | DAY 4
This time was different. This time, it was much more personal. And while Strange kept reminding himself that the Stephen in his memory was not him, he still succumbed to guilt and horror of those actions. This time, Strange had been directly responsible, and it worried him that he could make the same mistakes in this life. And while the doctor freely gave advice as to what people ought to do to take care of themselves, such as when Natasha was presented with the same circumstances, he tenaciously neglected his own well being. He could handle it. He was stronger. It was that sort of thinking that concerned the Cloak.
It was ridiculously easy to slip out of Strange’s rooms without him noticing. In the hallway, the Cloak swiftly flew around, even going down to lower floors, in search of the first person it thought Strange might open up to.
Loki was in a dark place as well, but Loki was born in a dark place. He’d grown accustomed to the shadows and the misery and the overbearing burden of painful feelings and memories. He’d built an entire personality around it. Or, more accurately, a personality illusion meant to look as though he could handle it. And, for the most part, he could. But he had his moments. Nevada was one of them. New York another. Sakaar. Not to mention all of those petty expressions of anger when he was younger. When he and Thor would sneak down to Midgard and unleash their own brand of chaos upon the unsuspecting mortals. Good times. But not exactly healthy times. Not for Loki anyway. Because he just got worse. And now he was trapped in a very tiny microverse with very little room to move or be himself. Or be alone, which was something that Loki had always cherished. His privacy. That was the hardest thing about the Void for the God of Mischief. Not having a space that was inherently his. It made it hard to think. And it made it even harder for him to not lose his mind.
But he was doing better than expected. And as infuriated as he was about this Michael and Janet showing up with their lies and their promises, at least he was himself. He wasn’t in someone else’s body or living someone else’s life. And he was alive too, which was always something to be grateful for these days. Thus the impending Loki storm was put off for another week.
Provided, of course, that no unsuspecting event set him off.
Loki was meandering the corridor on the ground floor when the Cloak came whipping around the corner. He stopped and quirked an amused brow. It had been a while since he’d seen that troublesome piece of fabric flapping about on its own. Curious.
“Shouldn’t you be draped around the shoulders of some arrogant bastard?” Loki grinned. “If you’re looking for a new master, you’re welcome to my shoulders.”
The Cloak stopped short and insofar as a cloak could stare, it stared at Loki with what could be described as consideration. When it first arrived, it had asked Loki for help to find Strange, but was met with hostility and anger, Loki wanting to forcefully take it for himself. Loki’s comment about a new master told Cloak that desire was still there. At least this time he was inviting instead of grabbing, so …progress?
After a moment or two, Cloak began to fly away… Loki was probably not the best person to help… but then it came to a sudden halt. Maybe he was? Another moment of consideration, and it rushed directly toward Loki, latched itself upon his shoulders, lifted him off the ground, and without warning, swiftly carried him up the stairwell to the fifth floor.
They arrived at room #505 where Cloak paused long enough to raise the corner of its fabric to reach for the knob and open the door so they could continue onward. It then brought Loki to Strange’s room, where again it opened the door and YEET shoved the God of Mischief inside, releasing itself in the process and slamming the door shut.
From Stephen’s perspective, he heard a commotion in the living room, but apathetically took another sip from his glass of rum and coke and continued to stare blankly out the window. The sudden appearance of Loki, however, could not be ignored. He rose from his chair and was able to catch a glimpse of Cloak before the door slam.
“What?!” Scowling, confused and annoyed by this unwelcome distraction, he automatically blamed it on Loki. “What’s going on?” he demanded to know.
Loki was halfway through rolling his eyes at the Cloak’s dismissive attention and sudden decision to fly away when it swept back through the corridor and attacked him. Okay, maybe attack was a strong word. But Loki only had a split second of panic before the Cloak rushed at him, picked him up off the ground, and began hurtling him back up the stairs to the fifth floor. And then—
CRASH!
Loki hit the floor of Room #505’s small living quarters, tumbled, rolled, and landed upside down, stopped only by the sleek Ikea-styled sofa at the far side of the room. Fairly certain he inadvertently broke a cheap Lack model side table. The type made out of corrugated cardboard with a fake wood finish. It made a nice little pile of splinters somewhere under Loki’s left arm. And then—
The yelling.
Loki rolled over onto his stomach and slowly sat up on his knees. Cue a frustrated hair flip. He shook his head, temporarily disoriented, and peered up at Doctor Strange. Dazed and confused was a good start to describing his expression.
He’d have to have a conversation with that dumb rug one day. This was not the way a relationship was supposed to progress. Unless the Cloak was a sadist. Then maybe this was flirting. Loki would file that thought away for later.
“How the bl—” Right. Profanity was limited this week. “How should I know? I was merely minding my own business when your secondhand scarf decided to pick a fight with me!”
Only a slight exaggeration. Then Loki crawled to his feet and gave Strange a suspicious onceover. Was he drinking? In the middle of the day? “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you lurking about in days. Did you finally get tired of looming your ego over everyone?”
Convinced that Loki was guilty of something, Stephen glared down at him and was ready to start leveling a slew of accusations, but decided he’d much rather kick him out than waste any more time. Instead of answering Loki’s question, he set his glass upon the windowsill and marched over to the door, but when he tried to open it, he found it sealed. Stephen rattled the doorknob again more aggressively, then realized Cloak was on the other side keeping it closed.
“Open the door,” he ordered the Cloak in a growl, his already thin patience being tested. He tried again, but the door didn’t budge. Angrily, he pounded on the door with his fist. “I said open the door!” Nothing.
“FORK!” he shouted in a burst of rage, not caring about the censor. He was already a mess, having gone unshaved for a while, his hair uncombed, wearing slacks and a t-shirt that was rumpled from having been slept in since he hadn’t bothered to change, what to speak of taking a bath. Stephen stood fuming, but then he caught sight of Loki out of the corner of his eye and was reminded that he was still there.
Taking a steadying breath to compose himself once more, he passed Loki without making eye contact, grabbed his glass from the sill and opened the window. “Out!” he demanded, using his free hand to point, keeping his face focused downward, refusing to look at his unwelcome guest. All he wanted was to be left alone, and was frankly embarrassed by his state.
Loki watched in pure—and quite honestly humbled—shock as Strange stormed through the room and began tugging on the door. The shouting and the attempts at swearing also left Loki considerably dumbfounded. Granted, he didn’t stand there with his mouth gaping open like a fish, but he didn’t hide his surprise. He just remained still, like a piece of furniture, until Strange turned his frustration on him.
This was not the Doctor Strange he was familiar with. Not that Loki thought he was an imposter, although that was always a possibility in Derleth, but this was a very far cry from the composed sorcerer who often looked him dead in the eye and then waved him off with a portal. This man was broken. This man was at the end of his control. And this man smelled like liquor and unwashed socks.
“I beg your pardon?” Loki scoffed. “I am not crawling out your window like some kind of secret lover you’re too embarrassed to take home to meet your parents. I am a god and you do not talk to me like that.”
Which under any other circumstances might have come off as rather humorous coming from Loki. But not this time. This time he actually had a point. Because he hadn’t done anything. And while he might have deserved some things, he didn’t deserve to be yelled at by a drunken wizard.
Instead of leaving, Loki sat down on the sofa and crossed his legs at the knees. “Also you owe me a dinner date and I won’t tolerate being treated like trash. Not when you’re the one who smells like a garbage heap. Many people can pull off the scruffy look, Stephen, but you are not one of them. So, spill it. Why is your wardrobe so pissed at you? And why are you hiding in here with a bottle of cheap liquor while the rest of us are dealing with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?”
It had been ridiculous to think Loki would leap out the open window on command like a trained dog through a hoop, but Stephen’s mind was too agitated to think straight when he made that demand, He considered using a spell to yeet Loki in the same rude manner that the Cloak had yeeted him in, but that still wouldn’t solve the problem… the problem being Loki’s inquisitive (nosey) nature, which would never give Stephen peace until he had an answer.
He dramatically rolled his eyes, then closed them as he took another breath to steady himself, one so deep that his shoulders noticeably rose and fell. When he spoke, his voice was measured and firm. “If I tell you, will you go away?”
Shutting the window, he went to the other side of the room to his dresser, where an open bottle of rum and a 2 liter of Coca-Cola was waiting. Even though the furniture had been changed, and the Ancient One’s portrait was introduced, thankfully the stash he’d gathered and kept in his room since their trip to New York City was still there. As he topped off his drink he said, “A few days ago I woke up to memories of an alternative Stephen Strange in another universe.”
He didn’t expect Loki to be satisfied with such a short explanation, but Stephen could wish, couldn’t he?
“I make no promises,” Loki said in response to Strange’s first question. What he decided to do depended entirely on what the good doctor told him. Loki was by no means a therapist. Nor was he the best listening ear. But he knew crazy when he saw it. And he knew desperation. And he knew darkness very well. Like a close friend. And if he sensed any of that in Strange’s response, then he would stay. Because he knew how dangerous people with power could be. He himself was a dangerous person with power, after all. So he was intimately aware of the threat.
Loki crossed his arms over his chest and watched with a stern eye as Strange poured himself another drink. Did he approve? It didn’t matter. Loki was neutral on the topic of inebriating substances. Did he think it was a good idea? No. Did he think it was concerning? Yes. Did he think it was his place to pass judgment? Absolutely not.
After all, the last time he’d gotten angry and depressed he’d leveled half a city. He had no right to talk.
Alternate memories. Okay. Different, but not entirely unbelievable. Loki had memories from other Lokis as well. The Supreme Lokian Leader. Vampire Loki. They didn’t have him wallowing in despair.
He didn’t budge from the sofa. “And?”
Stephen’s hands shook as he poured. That wasn’t unusual, since the damage done to his nerves left them permanently unsteady. It was only at times of high stress when the quivering became as pronounced as it was now, and the more Stephen tried to keep his hands under control, the worse it became. He hoped to shield Loki’s view with his body, turning around only after he’d set the bottles down and had lifted his glass to his mouth.
That’s when he caught sight of Loki’s face, and Stephen immediately started to look this way and that, the same way a cornered animal would when searching for an escape. His gaze finally settled upon his bed, and he went over to sit upon the mattress.
“And it was bad. Really bad.”
Damn it! Why couldn’t he disassociate himself from the memories as he’d done before? What the hell was wrong with him? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that his flesh crawled when he remembered the way his alternative self’s body stretched and distorted into an unrecognizable monster. It wasn’t just a memory, though… he swore he could feel it, along with the amazing surge of energy he received each time he absorbed each new and more powerful entity. Unconsciously, he started rubbing his forearm with the hand that didn’t hold the glass.
A wave of determination arose, one that stubbornly told him that he not only could talk about it, but he’d be able to in front of the person who he least wanted to know. He needed to prove it to himself. Squaring his jaw, he continued in a stoic tone of voice, “Despite repeated warnings not to reverse an absolute point in time, this Stephen took to dark magic to get the magical strength necessary. The spell was cast..” He paused, almost too horrified to continue. When he did, his voice cracked, “... and it all began to crumble.” But he immediately pulled himself together to finish. “The entire universe, everything, everyone, was destroyed. Except for him, trapped in a dimension…” he looked around the ceiling, the walls, the floor, “... no bigger than this room.”
There. He’d done it. Tears were misting in his eyes, but it was done. Stephen took another long drink and hoped Loki was satisfied, expecting to hear taunting insults from the god for how stupid he was behaving.
And Loki had many insults. He had a plethora of them, saved up over centuries. And there was no lack of fuel to the fire that was the Sorcerer Supreme. Well, Sorcerer sans Supreme. Loki had heard a rumor. One that he’d intended on taunting Strange with during their impending dinner date. But that would have to be pushed back to another time. Because while Loki did want to tell Strange how stupid he was behaving, he was smart enough to know that he shouldn’t. Not now. This was not the time.
His expression remained staunch after Strange finished telling the story of what was ailing his mind. Loki purposefully held back his urge to loosen his expression. He kept himself stoic and unreadable while his mind processed the best response. Because he knew his response could lead to one of three possible outcomes. The first, he angered the unstable sorcerer and unwittingly unleashed an already ticking time bomb on Derleth. The second, he annoyed Strange and got himself thrown out the window. And the third, arguably the best option although not the easiest to come by, he said something that allowed Strange to accept a truce between them. Which could then allow Loki to help him. If Strange was willing to accept help.
Wouldn’t that be a small miracle?
A long pause fell between them. Then Loki uncrossed his arms and legs, taking on a more casual position on the sofa. “It’s a delicate balance having immense power and equally strong emotions. It’s why I’ve never put much stock in the idea of heroes and villains. When someone has the capability of controlling or commanding so much of the world around them, a simple seemingly insignificant decision can tilt the balance. It can topple everything. It can create or it can destroy. But the aftermath is always the same, regardless of whether you believe yourself to be good or bad. Despite whether you think or know your choice was right. It only ends one way. Guilt. Remorse. And an unfathomable loss.”
Loki looked down at the floor. Granted, he’d never destroyed an entire universe. At least, not that he was aware of. But he had destroyed many lives. And while many people—Strange himself included, perhaps—wouldn’t believe that to be comparable to the story of tearing apart everything, Loki knew how easily things could have been different.
He could look back and see the exact moment when he could have been the one wielding all the infinity stones. And if he had been more aware of his actions at that moment, he probably would have done it.
The stones could have been his. The gauntlet could have been his. The people, the power, the planets. Everything could have been his. And then he might have been no different than this other Doctor Strange.
“There’s nothing anyone can say that will ease your pain. But I think you know that. You’ll either come to understand this other version of yourself and use his mistakes as a warning. Or you’ll succumb to the grief of his atrocities. Those are the only choices any of us have.” Loki paused. “But…”
Loki leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and turned his gaze up to Strange. He didn’t show him pity. He wouldn’t insult the man that way. But there was a glimmer of sentiment in Loki’s eyes. A kind of understanding. From one villain to another, so to speak. “...There are people here who can help you manage the pain. If it’s too much of a burden for you and you fear that you might act rashly because of it, then you should consider allowing someone else to take some of that pain from you. At least until you can carry it on your own.”
Which was—surprise!—Loki’s way of offering Strange a temporary reprieve. Not a magical cure-all. But something like a mystical Band-Aid. An offer to take on some of that torment until Strange could process the memories he’d been given.
Loki began talking. And talking. And talking. And, oh my god, did Loki love to hear the sound of his own voice! Stephen wasn’t in the mood to hear a lecture, especially from the God of Mischief. Internally he rolled his eyes at the soliloquy, but he was still level-headed enough to suppress his knee-jerk reaction and actually listen to the core of what Loki was saying. Even though the first part really felt like Loki’s backhanded way of chiding those who accused him of being a villian, there was painful truth in his words, and he rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand.
Stephen could cognitively understand he was different from his other self, that these memories ought to serve as a cautionary tale about using sorcery in an irresponsible way… these reminders were what prevented him from slipping into madness. His current problem stemmed from the same thing that the dark Stephen suffered from: ego. The idea he could handle this all on his own when clearly he was in over his head, the need to prove to himself and others that he was superior. Both Natasha and Mobius had expressed their concern and kindly offered their company, but Stephen dismissed their kindness out of pride, and now look at him. When they were alive, the Ancient One did their best to point out these blind spots in Stephen’s character, both in this universe and the other. Their portrait hanging on the wall of his bedroom felt like they were watching and condemning him for his failures, but really he was judging himself.
But…
Loki’s but drew Stephen’s attention. He instinctively knew that Loki wasn’t just offering a shoulder to cry on. Curiosity, more than anything, motivated him to finally make eye contact, and when he spoke, his voice was devoid of accusation. “What are you suggesting?”
Well, Loki couldn’t help but be Loki. Even when he was trying to help someone else. Even when he was trying to be a good guy. That didn’t change the fact that he was ludicrously melodramatic, absurdly over-the-top, and, yes, that he adored the sound of his own voice. But that was the Asgardian in him. Odin had been the same way. Thor, too, in a less poetic and dimwitted manner. And once one threw Loki’s ego into the mix, well, there was really no stopping certain personality traits.
Ah, look. Interest. Finally. Loki grinned.
“I’m offering to take away some of that pain for you. Just remove some of that excess grief and emotion so that you can focus your mental efforts on better understanding the information you’ve received from these new memories. You know, take away the distracting hurt so you can analyze the situation from a more critical perspective. Without all of the heartache.” Loki raised a hand, flicking his wrist to create a glowing green flame in his hand. “It’s a simple spell, really. An enchantment of sorts. But without interrupting any of the memories or the knowledge you’ve gained from this other reality. It’s like cutting out the problematic entity. In this case, your feelings of guilt or self-loathing over what this other Strange has done. Then, once you’ve dealt with the problem or have reestablished your ability to maintain your control…”
Loki nodded to the glass of alcohol that Strange was still nursing.
“...then you can have them back.” Loki paused. “If you want them. If not then, well, I’ll just keep them.”
Stephen had a remarkable poker face, so he was able to keep a cool expression even though all sorts of warning bells and sirens were metaphorically going off in his mind. The grin alone was enough to throw up caution signs, but Loki’s explanation of the spell amped it up a thousand times more. Everything about the spell flashed BAD IDEA in bold, capital letters.
However, Loki was helping Stephen in a way that he perhaps hadn’t intended or expected. What better way to distract an intellectual like Dr. Strange than to present him with something else to ponder besides his own woes? And there was a lot to ponder.
The first thing he thought was of Loki’s recent development, claiming to forget a huge chunk of Fandral’s time in Derleth, including their rocky relationship that culminated in a cringeworthy apology by Fandral on his knees in front of everybody including Loki’s mother, followed shortly thereafter by his disappearance. Loki’s persistent claims that he didn’t remember any of this were too bold to be a lie, even for him, and for a hot minute Stephen wondered if the memory loss had been either Derleth’s doing or based on madness. Now, he seriously started to wonder if Loki had tampered with his own memory using a spell… not this particular one, but something similar. It was a theory he’d have to test. At the very least, he’d speak to Natasha about it, later.
Another consideration was that of building trust. It didn’t take a genius to tell that Loki desperately wanted to be seen as something more than a bad guy, in spite of the mischievous and wicked decisions he made, both in his universe and in Derleth. Giving permission to Loki to hold on to something as personal as one’s pain ought to make a decent amount of progress on the path of healing. The way Loki was now concerned for Stephen’s sanity and what he might do if he broke, was exactly how Stephen worried for Loki and the consequences that might happen if he lost control.
Deep inside, Stephen wanted to be closer to Loki, even friends. But suspicions ran deep, and if he was going to agree to this idiotic idea, he wasn’t going to jump into it blindly.
Narrowing his eyes, he asked, “Where exactly will they be kept? And would you be able to tamper with them? What happens to them after the reset, and what are the long term effects?”
Ah, all good questions. But the one about the reset was the most prudent. Because Loki couldn’t answer that one. He didn’t know. He didn’t know if magic or spells could be transferred through the resets. That would be an experiment in and of itself.
Loki tilted his head thoughtfully from one side to the other, considering each of Strange’s questions careful. “Any sturdy object with a lid should suffice. A jar would be good. A shoebox would do in a pinch, but it’s not as reliable. An Erlenmeyer flask with a stopper from the laboratory would work well. Technically I could probably transfer it to another person, but that could result in other problems. If these emotions have brought you to this state then there’s no telling how someone else might respond. Pity good ol’ Steve Rogers isn’t with us anymore. He might have had enough surging goodwill and humanity to handle it without losing his mind. Alas!”
Loki raised a finger as though to say ‘just a moment’. Then he stepped over to the window, cracked it open enough to create a green glowing portal on the other side, and reached an arm through it. There was some rattling on the other side, followed by a crash of breaking glass. Then Loki pulled his arm back out of the portal, flask in hand. He closed up the window and set the flask on Strange’s night stand.
“I suppose I could tamper with them, but I won’t. If I wanted to do something to your mind I wouldn’t need your pain to do it. I’d do it during the spell itself, when you’re compliant and trusting.” Which was not Loki’s intention, but that was still a risk on Strange’s part. Because he could have been lying. “I can’t account for next week. I haven’t tried to do any magic like that with the intent of it surviving the reset. It may not hold. You might wake up with the emotions returned to you. But that would also tell us something we didn’t know. As for long term effects, well, that varies from person to person. I wouldn’t suggest waiting too long to put them back in you because you might get accustomed to not having that pain. But these will just be the emotions you received from the other Strange’s memories. Not yours. This is the pain he felt. His agony. His grief. I guess technically, if you didn’t want them, we could just get rid of them.”
Loki shrugged. “But that’s assuming the reset doesn’t return them to you anyway. There are a lot of unknowns.”
He grinned. “But that’s the fun of it, right?”
Stephen didn’t have any psychic abilities, but the way his eyes were now riveted on Loki, you’d think he was attempting to read his mind. Actually, Stephen was trying to spot any hint of duplicity but damn it, Loki was a sly one… a master of lies. In any case, had Stephen consented to the spell too quickly, Loki probably would be the suspicious one. It was a game that kept them both guessing. At the mention of Steve, Stephen’s expression shifted to an expression of long-suffering resignation. Yeah, yeah… we know… you don’t like Steve Rogers. Next, please?
Considering what sort of container he had readily on hand, Stephen’s first thought went to one of the empty bottles of booze he’d collected on the floor at the foot of his bed, but that wasn’t dignified. Next thing he knew, and before he could protest, Loki was at the window reaching through a portal. Hearing the crash earned Loki another long-suffering stare.
“I could’ve done that without breaking anything,” he said, as a matter of fact. “You’re enjoying this far too much.” Stephen knew why - Loki was getting the upper hand and was going to milk it for all it was worth. He wondered if Loki even appreciated how much trust this was going to take on his part. “I want Cloak present to be a witness.”
On cue, the Cloak opened the door and came through, shutting it from behind. It was aware of what was happening, and it turned to Stephen as if to say, You sure about this? Stephen’s unspoken reply was accusatory: You’re the one who brought him here in the first place.
Stretching his limbs to set down his glass, he settled back down on the mattress. “Do it,” he said, sounding less like permission and more like a dare.
“Again, where’s the fun in that?” Loki said in response to Strange’s stuck-up matter-of-fact dismissal of Loki’s method at retrieving the flask. It’s not like Rick was around to yell at him for making a mess in one of the science rooms. Were there even any scientists left to care about a broken glass—or three? Eh. Loki didn’t care. If someone wanted to shake their finger at him later they were welcome to. He had more important matters to attend to.
Like convincing the illustrious Doctor Strange that he could help him.
Which was not to say that Loki wasn’t trying to help. He was. He truly was afraid of what could happen if Strange lost his mind. Hel, the story of this other, darker version of Strange was enough to make Loki really concerned. Derleth was a small place, especially in the Void. There was no telling what could happen if Strange became so overwhelmed by his emotions and his angst. Loki had the same concerns about others, as well. He’d been watching Wanda cautiously from the very beginning. But so far she seemed to keep her melodrama contained. Loki had also been keeping a watchful eye on himself because, well, he was an unpredictable trash fire. But it was much easier to focus on others.
Of course, it was also something of an experiment. Loki was curious. He wanted to know if his magic would work on the Sorcerer (sort of) Supreme. He wanted to see if it would last beyond the reset. And he wanted to know if Strange would actually go along with it.
And then there was the opportunity to take a peek into the brain of Doctor Strange. What Loki would ever turn down that chance? Not this one!
Loki raised a brow when the Cloak whooshed back into the room. He gave the cosmic cardigan a warning look. “Don’t interrupt me. I might accidentally melt his brain.”
Smirk. Wink. Then Loki moved over to stand in front of Strange.
“I’ll do my best not to look at anything I shouldn’t. Try to focus solely on the more difficult emotions that came with his memories. Fair warning. This might feel a little … intimate,” Loki said. He placed one hand on Strange’s head, fingers gently pressing against his right temple. The other palm he flattened over the good doctor’s chest, just above his heart. He scrunched up his face. “Also, for future reference, stick to straight vodka when you’re trying to get plowed. It doesn’t give you halitosis.”
Loki took a deep breath and closed his eyes. A hazy green glow emanated from his hands. There were no words to this spell. Asgardian magic—the sort that Frigga taught him—rarely required incantations or elaborate ornamentations. Most everything Loki could do required little more than closeness, touch, and open mental windows. Although not all were necessary. But the fact that Strange was a willing participant should have made it even easier.
There was a brief pause when Strange wouldn’t have felt anything apart from a vague tickle that crept beneath his skin. Then the glow intensified, almost as though it were reaching into him—body, mind, and soul. It would have been like having all of the air pushed out of his lungs after a fall. A sudden jolt to the insides as Loki delved deeper through those mental trenches where those new memories, and their coinciding emotions, lay hidden. Loki focused on the ones that appeared the most plaguing. The ones that stood out, red and burning, atop Strange’s older, more hardened feelings. The ones he’d grown accustomed to. Like the loss of his surgeon's hands.
For Loki it was like swimming through an ocean of memories. Nothing showed up in any particular order. And while he wasn’t trying to look too deeply, he did occasionally see something in the mental waves that caught his attention. Seeing, however, wasn’t the hard part of this spell. It was feeling. And Strange had a lot of feelings. So did Loki. So he had to bite back his own in order to move forward with the spell.
Plucking out all of the pain wasn’t as easy as Loki had anticipated. The new memories, and their associated emotions, had begun to weave themselves into Strange’s old ones. They were still visibly separate, but there were places where the new and old were forming something different. But Loki did his best, focusing on the most traumatic and unforgiving pain, and slowly pulling it out like thin strands of shimmering hair until the green glow in his head turned a brilliant vermillion. Then he carefully drew it into the flask and closed it up with the stopper.
Loki dropped his hands away from the sorcerer, a little more breathless than he anticipated, and gave Strange a serious look. He wasn’t certain how much he’d managed to get. “How’s that?”
The flippant way Loki was behaving made Stephen almost feel like changing his mind, but he’d come this far, there was no turning back. He just gave Loki one last intense look before shutting his own eyes and settling into a meditative position, hands resting on his forelegs. Breathe. Calm. A light touch on his forehead, though anticipated, made him flinch. Loki’s fingertips were gentle, soft, and surprisingly cold. Not in an icicle sort of way that was uncomfortable, but still noticeable, even through his shirt when Loki placed his whole palm on his chest. Irritated by his own distraction, he settled down again. Breathe. Calm. Because as a doctor and a surgeon, he knew it was easier to treat a patient when they were relaxed. And right now, Stephen considered himself Loki’s patient.
Breathe. Calm. Feel the tickle. Recognize the spell was beginning. Dismiss the sudden anxiety that crept into his thoughts Am I going to regret this? Release. Breathe. Calm. Meditation. That’s what he did. Controlling the senses. Just recently, he’d successfully quieted his violent werewolf instincts during a full moon using meditation, so why couldn’t he rid himself of the emotions that were…
“UHHH!” Stephen exhaled loudly when Loki plunged into his memories. His eyes flung open, pupils rolling to the back of his head, no longer seeing the outside world but rather his vision had shifted within. His hand raised by reflex, almost grabbing tightly to Loki’s wrist, but he stopped himself - Loki’s warning about accidentally melting his brain might be in jest, but then again it might not. Interrupting somebody in the middle of a spell often resulted in disaster, so he let his hand fall to brace himself against the mattress. Once the initial shock wore off, his hold slackened, then let go. Breathe. Calm. Granted, it was harder than before, but he did it. He’d been through much worse situations before, he could get through it again.
Stephen was able to follow Loki’s progress through his mind, passively observing what Loki saw. He had more memories besides this single lifetime. Using the Time Stone, he’d experienced death over and over again in various horrible ways by Dormammu, so many Stephen had lost count, but the memory of each one was still there. He witnessed 14 million + alternative ways of defeat while fighting Thanos, accumulating to thousands of years worth of memories, some of the differences being minor, other huge mistakes, and some of them almost succeeding until things went to hell again… until he finally reached one where in the end Tony had to sacrifice himself to make it happen. And this newest batch of memories? They had Stephen using dark magic to summon mystic entities, each progressing in greater strength for the sole purpose of absorbing them into himself and gaining their power, a process that lasted over a hundred years.
These foreign memories of a Stephen that was different but oh so relatable… they haunted him more than any of the others. Donning the role of Sorcerer Supreme was a huge responsibility, especially for somebody who was still pretty much a novice. He hadn’t been practicing sorcery for long before the Ancient One passed and not only made him their successor, but also the caretaker of New York Sanctum and the protector of the Eye of Agamotto along with the Time Stone. His misery resulted not only from witnessing the downward spiral his other self took to the dark side that ultimately led to the utter collapse of an entire universe… it was how terrible Stephen felt about not living up to the Ancient One’s expectations of him, of failing. Stephen was able to understand the temptations to abuse his power because he’d had them himself, it was why he felt the need to confess to Frigga what he’d done as a stand-in for the Ancient One. When his alternative self howled out of despair inside a prison of his own making, Stephen’s soul echoed in anguish.
Watching Loki untangle the threads of his memories was interesting, not unlike the delicate work he’d done as a neurosurgeon on people’s brains. It was such a mess, Stephen briefly wondered if Loki would be able to do so… but much to his relief, it was done. He felt the spell end, and he blinked his eyes as his vision returned to normal. He looked up at Loki, jaw slackened, with an expression that could be described as admiration. Sweat had formed on his brow, his hands were involuntarily quaking, and he was a little dizzy… but… after a moment’s consideration, a little test of self evaluation, Stephen could answer, “I’m okay. I’m good.” He looked around his room, grounding himself in this reality… and was fucking impressed.
“Shirt.” He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt a tear stream down his cheek.
The horrors that Strange had experienced were more emotionally penetrating than Loki had anticipated. He did a good job of holding his own, of keeping up that cocky self-assured illusion, but underneath he was more rattled than he wanted to admit. It was the seemingly limitless permutations necessary to defeat Thanos which first hit him the hardest. Loki didn’t talk about it much, but the memory of the Mad Titan’s hand around his throat, fingers crushing his windpipe, never went away. It was the first thing he thought of every morning of the reset. Every time, without fail, he awoke with a start. He awoke gasping, stuck to the sheets in a cold sweat. Those fleeting, flickering moments of the darkness after his death lingering in his thoughts alongside the brutal agony of having the life choked out of him. And to see that gruesome figure of his nightmares brought back to life in Strange’s memory pierced Loki’s soul.
You will never be a god. The memory of his own voice, cracked and wheezing, cut through his mind. In the end, he was right. Thanos was gone. As was the torture and misery he’d plagued upon the entire universe. Not without its consequences, of course, but the heroes prevailed. As heroes did. And Loki served his purpose. His sacred purpose if the stories Sylvie and Mobius told were to be believed. He saved Thor. That’s all that mattered.
Always a pawn in someone else’s story.
But there was something else in the sorcerer’s mind that stuck with Loki. Something he hadn’t expected. Beneath the monstrosity that this alternate Stephen Strange had become was something he hadn’t explained to Loki when he told his story.
Love?
The absolute point in time.
But not just any love, if that’s indeed what it was. (And Loki wasn’t quite sure that he would recognize that emotion if he felt it.) A deep burning obsession that surpassed all things. It loomed over the other Strange’s desires, his passions, his career, his destiny as the Master of the Mystic Arts, his duty to humanity, his hopes, and ultimately himself. To think that one woman was capable of creating such an ache in a powerful man. And yet at his center, at his very core, there was a vast cavern. An emptiness filled with loving rage. Somewhere in another world, one woman was enough to push the most powerful man in the universe to the edge of everything. And back again.
Loki had never felt anything like that before. He didn’t even know something like that could exist outside of fairy tales.
He took a deep, centering breath and pushed those feelings to the back of his mind. He had to exude composure. He couldn’t be affected by this. He was Loki. He wasn’t supposed to be sentimental. Certainly not for his enemies.
And yet, there he was. Helping.
“Good,” he said. He flicked his wrist and a small silk handkerchief appeared. He held it out towards Strange. A friend might have offered some reassuring words. Maybe a hug. A pat on the shoulder at the very least. But they weren’t really friends. They were just stuck in a Void together. Loki nodded to the bottle on the nightstand. The emotions swirled and sparkled, dancing feverishly against the glass. “Makes a nice night light.”
He glanced back at Cloak, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not going to throw me out the window now, are you?”
Stephen was doing the mental equivalent of poking a tiger with a stick, going back through these new memories, testing to see if he was going to get an emotional response like before. But… nothing. His feelings for them were calm and objective. What Loki managed to do with the spell perfectly accomplished what Stephen had been failing to do with alcohol. And he could see how addictive this sort of thing could be, using magic to dull the pain. To make one forget. It brought him back to Loki and his failing memory of Fandral, and Stephen wondered if he could detect whether or not he had used magic on himself.
Noticing the handkerchief for the first time, Stephen frowned at Loki and refused the gesture by pushing it away with his hand, firmly, but not in anger. More irritation than anything. He stood up and taking two steps away from the bed, he reached for his glass and decided… no. He didn’t need it any more. If anything, he ought to drink some water.
Loki called his attention to the bottle, so Stephen picked that up, instead, lifting it to eye level to closely inspect its curious contents. A physical manifestation of one’s feelings… interesting. “I’ve got to give credit where credit is due,” he muttered, fascinated by the way it sparkled. “Your surgical procedure is excellent.” A glance in Loki’s direction. “Don’t let it get to your head,” he added, knowing full well it would.
The Cloak remained hovering, observing everything. It had lurched forward when Stephen reacted initially to the spell, but upon seeing that the sorcerer wasn’t in any danger, it fell back. Now, with Stephen behaving more like his usual self, the Cloak seemed satisfied. It turned its collar toward Loki when addressed, but instead of making any sort of reply, it flew over to Stephen and placed itself upon his shoulders where it hung like an ordinary garment.
“Thank you.” Was Stephen directing this to the Cloak or Loki? It was hard to tell, and done deliberately. “How do I return the memories to my mind?”
Loki made a face when Strange refused his handkerchief. The fabric dissipated in his palm, transforming into tiny pieces of silken ash that Loki brushed away with a wave of his hand. Was he annoyed? A little. But any frustration on his part was quickly foregone when Strange offered him a compliment. No, actual praise. And it went directly to his head before the sorcerer could say otherwise.
Loki straightened his posture, the sudden picture of smugness. Even his grin spread across the entirety of his face. One might have thought he’d just been crowned King of the Universe by how conceited he looked. Because he knew Strange meant it.
“Of course it’s excellent,” Loki said, flipping his hair back over his shoulder with a sweep of his hand. “I’m a professional.”
And he was. He just didn’t get the opportunity to show off his magic. Little tricks here and there. But nothing of real substance. He may not have been the greatest practitioner of magic in the multiverse, but he was raised by one of Asgard’s most prestigious and well-respected witches. And she made certain her son could compete with his favored brother.
“You’re welcome.” Perhaps the sentiment wasn’t directed towards him, but Loki would take it anyway. He glanced at Cloak and gave that infuriating piece of fabric a wink. Then he turned his focus back on Strange. “Just undo the stopper. They’ll return to the person they belong to. Like seeks out like, so to speak. But it’s best to be sitting down when you do it. It can be something of a jolt.”
Loki made his way towards the door, pausing just under the frame. A hazy tug from the other Strange’s heartache lingered in his thoughts. It left a tightening sensation in his chest. He felt as though he should offer his condolences, but that wasn’t this Strange’s pain. Not really. Not yet. In the end he shook it off.
“You still owe me a dance from months ago, by the way,” he said to Cloak. Then he looked at Strange. “And you owe me dinner. You’re off the hook this week because of the limited choices. But I won’t forget. And I expect to be impressed.”