It had felt like the most dreamless night.
Nothing for the senses to perceive, just a pitch-black void, wide, engulfing, consuming. Paralyzed inside a casket, six feet beneath the feet of the one who'd lowered him there. Only, he wasn't dead.
Humans considered death the irrevocable failure of the body, wrongfully taking the heart for the most decisive influence. But one could live without a heart, modern technology had gotten there. The brain however, was the true mainstay.
Death is the death of brain activity. Where there is no brain, there is no life. It was easy, therefore, to mistake this state as death. It was far worse than that.
Being left with just so much consciousness left as to perceive the lack of sensation, this painful, maddening void - it was a perverse form of cruelty. So there he was, Tom, with what was left of his consciousness, at the verge of going mad.
Thoughts began, left finished, were forgotten. A never-ending circle of words, incoherent, all screaming and yet saying nothing at once. Darkness dancing around him, drowning him, he had no arms and legs to fight or run. He would've screamed, but he didn't find a voice to.
It was impossible to tell time. Nothing indicated if a minute had passed, or a year.
Like a streak of mercy seemed the pain which suddenly overcame him. A sensation, something to hold on to, orientation. Where there was pain, there was consciousness. Tom knew then, he was still there, and not dead. Where there was pain, there was flesh.
Another sensation. Freezing cold, so cold, it burnt. Where there was pain, there was skin. The world regained its unyielding pull, gravity drew his blood downwards, he could differentiate up and down.
His lungs unfolded. Precious air filled his chest deeply, until he could no longer expand. Much like a man who'd barely escaped drowning, chained by the feet to the unreachable bottom of the sea. Underwater only a second ago, he found his knees against wet soil now.
Tom's eyes darted from one point to the other, desperately searching for something meaningful, attempting to see through the water film covering his eyes. His left hand stung like hell. A short laugh of bliss. He was back, the darkness faded to light. Where there was light, there was life.
"Tom." He heard his own voice call him. "Tom, you need to listen."
Tom raised his gaze, still on the ground. His surroundings took defined shape, color. Before his knees a pool of golden liquid. Behind it, Loki. In his arms - Xenia. Limp, pale, with a hideous gash marring her throat. The source of the golden blood in which he had been bathed. If he hadn't been so ecstatic about being alive, it would've frozen the blood in his veins. A nightmarish sight.
Edward. It all came back, flooded his mind. Frigga, their mother. The fight. Edward was gone, and now Xenia, too - and in between all of it, a blank space in his memory. Tom outstretched his hands to rip her away from the monster. He flinched immediately.
His left hand was mutilated. Covered with blood, the flesh seemingly torn off violently. Two fingers were completely missing. Maltreated stumps remained. The bleeding was still active.
Hatred smoldered inside him, hotter than a hundred suns. Loki's unsettling green eyes sparked it off. They way he held Xenia's corpse, cradled to his chest almost like a baby - was he mocking her, him? Tom, too, had gotten past the point of inhibition. He had but his own body to fight, a slightly bent rod lied not far to his side. Loki perceived Tom's intention a split-second before he himself knew it. A fast flick of his wrist, and the rod was hurled off, deeply into the forest.
"Only once." Loki spoke up again. "Only this once. Listen to me. Things have changed."
"Aren't you right."
"I did not lie when I told you we needed each other. More than ever."
Tom clenched his fists and stepped closer to Loki's kneeling figure. "Then you wouldn't have tried to kill us."
"You look very much alive to me."
"Oh, another failed murder attempt against me! I should be thankful!" He scoffed, it sounded completely unhinged. Tom hadn't notice how he was yelling at an unusually calm Loki. His body sore, his voice slightly hoarse, he was a wreck. Another laugh soaked in contempt. "You lie to my face, while Xenia's body in your arms is still warm."
He wouldn't just leave her like that, it would've been unworthy. She'd had a life, people who loved her, and overall - her sacrifice brought Tom back.
"I had no choice - "
"I won't have it! I know you, Loki! I know you always think you can't help it! It's your greatest lie."
Tom turned away. "You think you alone loved mother?" His voice was infiltrated by grief Loki knew all too well. He had to admit, they shared their love for Frigga, too.
Another unearthly breeze blew between them, swirling up some withered petals from the soil, releasing an eerie energy both of them had yet to experience. The forest all round them sighed sorrowfully. A raven crowed far away. Xenia's body became softer and lighter, almost as if not affected by Earth's gravity anymore, before disintegrating into a million particles, carried off by the very same breeze.
"No." Loki answered after an unbearable pause, gazing after Xenia's soul. "It is time we both recognize, we are not the same."
"You can shove that excuse right back where it came from."
"Not an excuse." Loki rose from the ground. "I am plagued since childhood and you know it, you judge me from the highest apex of your privilege and condemn me when I fail to be as perfect as you."
"You can't be seriously trying to make me pity you."
"I don't want your blasted pity!" Loki shouted, equally furious and exhausted. "I yearn for understanding, for the slightest grasp of what I live through every single day. Mother knew, and Caroline - she saw the good and beautiful in me. All you ever wanted was for her to hate me."
"You called it, Loki. You can't pretend to love someone while constantly disregarding their freedom."
"She often fails to see what is best for her."
"You're even more arrogant than I thought."
"Well, aren't you perfect." Loki repeated, darting the most contemptuous looks at his soul twin, passing by. A hint of sadness resonated undeniably. "Must be so easy to talk, being you."
"And yet I'm not the god."
Loki's gaze snapped back to Tom, devastated, wrathful, venomous. It lacked the usual murderous rage, he was far beyond that, even after a jab so hurtfully true. He stepped closer to Tom, to the point he could almost feel Loki's freezing breath. So there they stood, like an image and its negative.
Only had they ceased to be opposites a long time ago.
Loki was tired of killing, he didn't even want to kill Tom if there was any way around it. And Tom, he wanted nothing more than to spill Loki's blood and and end the only person to ever stand between him and his wife. But Loki's words had shaken him. The angry prince had never presented himself so vulnerable in front of him. Things had changed, so much they both knew.
The soft yet piercing cry of a baby cut the silence, making both their heads turn towards the mansion. Tom risked a brief, horrified glance at Loki, before running off to the source of the sound. When he arrived back at the library, he gasped.
The traces of fight were there, but somebody had attempted to reestablish order. The rose petals came back to his mind, they'd been of a stale brownish color. A baby was crying, it meant Caroline had given birth. How long had he been stone?
When Tom pushed the doors open, Loki was already in the chamber comforting the crying baby. His jaw dropped down a couple of floors. He didn't know what was more shocking - the sight of a baby with a full head of black, silky hair, or his greatest enemy - looking like the most peaceful person on Earth. It made Tom forget that the baby's mother lied only a few feet to his left.
Tom stepped closer, more cautious and unsure than ever. He took one of the clean cloths lying neatly on a pile and wrapped it tightly around his bleeding left hand. All the tension of their outside confrontation had fallen off. The baby whimpered in Loki's arms at first, but starting cooing at last. Without looking up from the infant, Loki spoke. "He is mine."
At no point did Tom intend to deny that. The proof was visible, sensible. A unearthly aura surrounded the child, he was a magical being.
"He's yours." Tom confirmed softly, giving Loki a meaningful nod. The latter sensed his son was in no dispute, that Tom recognized this was a child conceived in love by Loki and Caroline. The beauty of him made Tom forget the ultimate proof of betrayal.
It took Loki an immense amount of willpower to make the next move, a lot of fighting against the bloodthirsty demon. But he could pull through with it. "Tom - "
It must've been the first time he'd ever said this name, so naturally, so organically, without contempt.
"Would you... would you like to hold him?"
Tom couldn't suppress another gasp, it was all too good to be true. He didn't reply, simply reached out. His arm brushed against Loki's as he put the baby in his arms. It electrified his very soul and his knees almost threatened to give in despite the child weighing practically nothing. So much history and sacrifice weighed on his tiny shoulders, of which he had no idea.
The infant's magnificent blue eyes looked around, way too curious for his age. Despite this being undoubtedly Loki's child, he resembled Caroline. Could he tell the difference between them? They had the same smell, same face, and at this stage he was too young to distinguish colors. "He's... beautiful."
"That he is."
"Does he have a name?"
Of course Tom knew about the whole Araziel-thing, but this changed Loki gave him hope that after all that's happened, he would choose an untainted name for this innocent creature.
"I did have a name for him, but..." Loki shook his head, seemingly trailing off. "It seems unfitting now."
"Caroline would've named him Edward, so much we know."
Loki shook his head again, this time more firmly. "This version of the future is gone, faded to bitter a taste of a nightmare."
"He has contributed a great deal to this." Tom contradicted. "He deserves to be remembered despite all of the horror."
"Very well, what would you suggest?"
"Nathaniel Edward... Laufeyson."
"No, none of that. He does not need to inherit my burden. I want him to be pure of my sins and shortcomings. He shall carry her lastname."
Tom rocked the baby gently, smiling for the first time in forever as he sneezed the cutest sneeze he had ever heard. "Nathaniel is not Asgardian, but I figured you'd want something close to what you originally had in mind."
"Nathaniel seems a worthy name. When Caroline awakes, I will suggest it to her."
Tom chose not to reply. Something in Loki had changed, and yet he was still the same. No amount of sudden kindness could hide that he was still after Tom's wife, trying madly to make her his. Loki had not, would not give up. Consequently, there was only two versions this could go: Loki died, leaving Caroline to Tom, and vice versa. Both could never possibly know how the future was really about to unfold.
It came back to Tom's mind, the actual reason why he was there and others were not.
"You need my blood." He stated, handing little Nathaniel back to his father. To Tom, it was already the final name. "That's why you brought me back. You still need me."
Loki sighed, before meeting Tom's eyes. He had expected them to be accusing, and yet they lacked any intention to resist. "That is true." He admitted, equally sober, putting his cooing son back into his crib. He nudged the dangling toys gently, filling the air with soft soothing sounds.
"Then there is no time to lose."
---
The fabric of Tom's shirt was already in a dire state. As it resisted him trying to push the sleeve upwards, he simply tore it apart. None of them had the nerves for something so annoying. Loki was already there with the antiseptic agent and the needle in his gloved hand.
Tom actually let out a laugh; it was so absurd. This man had tried to killed him on multiple occasions, and most certainly planned to kill him for good once Caroline was awake and fine. So why was he bothering to be sterile? Infection was right now at the bottom of the list of the most imminent threats to Tom's life. Loki furrowed his brows, but didn't comment.
Tom sank back into his seat, closing his eyes, hoping for a moment of peace while Loki worked on his arm. He had big bold veins, it was most easy. He still winced at the brief prick of the needle.
"You have to drink. You have already given a unit of blood, you might faint."
"And that would bother you so much, because?"
Loki shoved the full bottle into Tom's chest, not caring if he caught it or not. "Because I would have to get you back on your feet, so we can continue. And besides, killing you by hypovolaemic shock is truthfully not my modus operandi."
"Well, you could open it at least since I got to crank out blood out of this maltreated arm of mine."
Once again without comment, Loki took the bottle, opened it with a swift movement and held it in front of Tom's face. He just stared disbelievingly back at him.
"What is it, you want me to feed you now, too?"
"It really gets under your skin, doesn't it?" Tom retorted suddenly. "That whatever you may want, you just can't afford - or can't manage - to kill me. I'm the only one who's still in your way, I'm the living, breathing proof of your ultimate failure. And you bother to disinfect my arm."
"For on thing, she needs you, not I. But I would do anything, anything, for her life, even if it meant bringing you back, out of all people."
Loki sat down in the armchair opposite Tom, contemplating, waiting. "And for another, the living, breathing proof of your ultimate failure lied in your own arms just moments ago."
Tom hesitated for a split second, unsure of how to react. Part of him wanted to smash in Loki's perfect teeth, the other deemed it better to simply leave it there for now.
"Well." He breathed. "Seems to me you've become Loki, the God of Truths?"
"Reality is often disappointing, so much I agree to. I have come to realize, however, that it does not change, simply because we refuse to acknowledge it."
"So you weren't lying out there?"
This time, Loki hesitated. "Concerning what?"
"This... drive, coercing you to do harm."
"You out of all people should know it best. You have access to all of my memories before the separation, how can you disregard that?"
"Simple, I don't." The answer came quick as a shot. "You said it, the vast majority of my mind is the same as yours. I had thought that I had it, too, that I'm just determined enough to fight it."
Loki laughed bitterly, rubbing his sore eyes. When was the last time he'd slept?
"Thomas, if you were truthfully burdened with the same demon as me, you would not be able to carry yourself like that. Righteous, ever so composed, perfect."
"Stop calling me perfect, I'm not." Tom pressed his lips together, not even paying attention to the blood flowing out of him. He was sensing a headache, but after all that's happened, it could've been from anything. He sipped some water.
"Of course you are, you moron. You are me... without the horror."
"The horror isn't inevitable as you try to make it seem. You can choose against it, Loki. You've done if already, for a while... I guess it became too bothersome for you."
"Bothersome." Loki spat. "I would wish to call it 'bothersome'. It is excruciating."
"What if I told you that I'm hell-bent on killing you. Would you still call me perfect?"
"That remains up to you to prove."