"Is she awake?"
"I don't know-"
"Poke her," comes another voice, whispered close, "Go on - yea, poke her!"
Ouch.
Ouch, ouch, ouch.
In the half-blacked-out haze of disorientation, pain is really the only solid thing you're aware of - the rest of your existence is just barely-there at this point. Like a wisp floating in the dark. Just there, but not really.
However, a persistent poke, poke, poke is quick to drag you out of the depths and solidify the fact that, shit, you're alive.
You inhale sharply as your head bobs back.
"Oh, shit-"
"Language!"
You snap your eyes open.
You suppose, now, that there's nothing in this universe that could have prepared you for the sight before you. No. No, not even a god damn funhouse of mirrors - because even then, each reflection was you. Not...
Not this.
Not a gaggle of... you's? You plural? Us? We?
, you come face to face with the childhood visage of yourself.
She offers a girlish, toothy grin.
Your mouth parts and the horror remains. As you inhale, you try to stamp down a more immediate sense of panic and instead, swivel your gaze to the person beside you at the small, four person kitchen table.
Then, the man. You, actually, but if you were a lanky, tall man with a pile of curls on his head - and even he seems non-exempt from the mischief of the younger you; while he smiles at you, you can only squint critically at his lab coat. It's singed, torn
"Hi," he says warmly.
You blink. "Hi...?"
Then, trilling.
"Language," comes the snide chirp from the young girl at the head of the table as she forks her sad looking microwave dinner - you know that purple tray well. It had been your constant companion during many family movie nights.with your family.family.that was not a family.
You blink between the trio - sorry, quartet - with growing horror. If that was even possible. But it is. Because this is...
This is a nightmare.
You tug at the straps on your wrists tying you down to the wooden chair as you swallow down a strangled groan.
skip >.........
you escape from there with the kid.
You point the rear-view mirror at her.
The teenager in the passenger's seat scoff. Her red converse are on the dash, knees bent. Her hair flies around her in the wind, and she leans her arm out the open window.
"Yeah," she nods, "And usually they don't make it."
"Why's that?"
"Because they go out looking for their Loki's."
Your skin runs cold. You spare her a look, hands on the wheel.
"Great. That's awesome. Super good to know."
She shrugs, sitting up. "Stop looking like I just sentenced us to death - it's fine. We'll be fine-"
"That's some good ol' teenage invincibility you got there-"
"I can't live my whole life in that house!"
You shut your mouth as she leans back.
You wet your lips, swallow down the bubble of a retort, and nod. Because, in some way, she's right. She's a child, sure, but a child whose life has been stolen right from under her. One little mistake, and the TVA came along. And so, she won't have a life. Only... this.
The Void.
"What brought you here?"
She's quiet for a while. She nots her arms around herself. Then, she shrugs.
"dad and mom stay with us"
Your head snaps to her; your eyes are wild with confusion. "What?"
"dad , mom and irina"she replied" that was my nexus event"
"why not them " you asked .
" i dont know" she replied again
Skip >> . . . .>
The girl laughs. Then, she laughs some more.
And then you laugh.
In the open windows, you ride along. And you laugh.
And, all over again, you miss home.
And oddly, you miss Loki.
Maybe not so oddly, actually.
Because, in truth, he was the closest thing you had to home. He was your friend - a friend tip-toeing closer to something more, but you weren't ready to admit that. Or, had you? In the kitchen? Had that flown out?
Sadness washes over your face, and the girl in the seat next to you notices.
"Do you love him?"
You swallow roughly as the van rolls by the crater outside Stark Tower.
You inhale, exhale, and then shrug.
"I will," you say, "Someday."
"You believe that?"
"It's easier now," you mumble, running your thumb across your bottom lip, "Now that I'm seeing the man he can be."
"I've heard Loki sucks."
You laugh.
The teen manages a smile.
"Sometimes," you say slowly, "But... He's believed he has to be the villain for the longest time. He's only now starting to understand he can be whoever he wants."
"Is that why you want to destroy the TVA, then?"
"Not exactly," you reply as you eye the horizon, "That's a longer story. With more Lokis."
"I've got time-"
You slam on the brakes.
The teen grunts.
You lean forward over the steering wheel.
On a far hill, well beyond the ruins of New York, is a pack of people.
At the front of the pack, you spy a set of horns. Horns you'd know anywhere.
Teen-you gasps, pointing. "It's the great migration. The lasht dandelion..."
You snort at the reference, having nearly forgotten about that childhood favorite of a movie. "Shut up. Come on. We'll go on foot, try and see where they're off to - with any luck, maybe my Loki's freshened up his leadership skills..."
"Isn't that, like, the antithesis of a Loki?" she asks as she climbs out the passenger's side. "Leadership skills?"
You lock the van.
Right?
That's normal.
Totally.
"You might have a point."
And she does.
Because you end up trying to catch up to the chattering herd for a while; long enough to get the gist - and that the group of people were trying to find some sort of underground spot where supposedly the ruling Loki resided. There were mutterings of a double cross, a triple cross, and plenty of boasting by the man in the horns.
and from behind the helicopter your'd both perched behind, you share a nod with the teen.
This sounded promising. Must be a hide-out.
So, the two of you haul it open." i'll go first"
The entire room has gone silent.
The teenager turns, bumping into you, and then promptly lets out a startled little "oh god, hello" as she raises both hands.
Before you is a sea of Loki's.
Christ alive. There are a lot of Loki's. And Loki's with knives. And spears. And suddenly, it seems as if you and your teenage friend have interrupted something.
Short Loki, Round Loki, Blue Loki, Goatee Loki-
"y/n''
And suddenly, there is a body connecting with yours.
There are arms around your waist, and those arms have dragged you upwards, spinning you - and almost immediately, you know it's him. It's Loki. It's your Loki, too, from the all too familiar brown of his TVA uniform. From the way he smells, from the way he holds you.
It kicks the air right out of your lungs, and your can't help the yelp that escapes you; but you hug him back and bury your face tightly into the crook of his neck. You know it's him. You know that touch, and that tepid breath, and that bated expression when he pulls away.
His hands find your face.
Blue eyes meet yours and it's like a hearth fire.
His breath escapes him.
"Hi," you offer, grinning.
"Hello," he says back, breathless; his expression is heavy with pain, and you can see the worry ebbing away, "I thought I lost you."
Your heart clenches.
"No," you whisper, "I found you."
"Plenty of me, it seems," he mutters, knocking his forehead to yours, "Arguably too many."
"Yea, well, me too," you pull away and raise your chin, "This place is weird."
"Well, isn't this sweet."
It's lower. Rough. Boastful and cunning. And, it comes from the one in the suit, the one in the horns. He looks like your Loki, but you take note of the... tasteful campaigning memorabilia adorning his lapels.
"I don't remember asking," you bite back as you step forward.
He narrows his eyes. "My, my, love. It's me. Mind your manners. Or, don't. I have no problem punishing you later."
You hear the teenager scoff behind you. "Gross."
You roll your eyes at her. "Don't make it weird."
"Me?" she asks, pointing at herself, "He said it-"
The man's face falls. "It wasn't weird, I was simply-"
"It was," both you and the teen confirm before you continue, "It was a lot, actually."
Loki clears his throat. It's a hidden laugh.
"Are we done here?" you ask loudly, ignoring the self-proclaimed President's shrinking ego, "What was even going on here?"
Frankly, you wish you almost didn't ask.
Because... Well, Loki see, Loki do.
The others weren't kidding when they said Loki's were dangerous - and as your Loki takes your hand, you can sense the white-hot embarrassment rolling off him, especially when aforementioned alligator ends up ripping off the aforementioned President's hand, and then the room of Lokis descends into chaos.
You reach for the teenage version of you who is watching, slack-jawed and half-impressed.
Your savior is an older man, one who looks at you long and sad, before creating a swirling, emerald portal.