Chapter Text
Loki’s eyes were locked on the bright flashes of color flickering above Mother’s palm. No matter how many times that she demonstrated, he was always mesmerized. And despite her reassurances that he could learn to do the same, because she believed that he could do anything, it was hard to believe it himself. Mother and her magic were almost as beautiful and fascinating as her skill with a blade. How could he ever live up to that?
But he wanted to try. He wanted to live up to Mother’s faith in him. He wanted something that was his.
Loki was just starting to learn how to use his heavy and dull training weapons, but he was constantly being compared to his brother. Both Thor and Father seemed disappointed that he wasn’t picking it up quite as quickly. He was trying his best. But even if he did occasionally succeed enough to match Thor, it wasn’t as impressive because his brother had already done it first.
Magic would be different though. All Thor could do was some slight static that might cause a small shock, but mostly made his hair frizzy when he got upset. Loki was going to do magic like Mother and everyone would be so impressed. Maybe Thor would be better at almost everything, but Loki would find a way to be good at magic. He would make Mother and everyone proud.
Except it wasn’t nearly as easy as it looked to use magic. He’d wanted to surprise Mother and had practiced all night. But he’d barely managed a couple of sparks despite working on it until his head was spinning and aching. And now he couldn’t get anything to happen. He just held his hand out, glaring at his palm as no fireworks appeared.
Dismissing her own bright display, Mother slipped her own hand under his and asked gently, “You overdid it, didn’t you? Practicing away from my supervision?”
“No, of course not,” he lied quickly.
The look in her eyes made it clear that she didn’t believe his words. She never fell for his lies. Mother always seemed to know. But she gave him a small smile anyway.
“There are different ways to use magic and different sources to draw that power from,” she said, cupping his hand between her own. Her hands dwarfed his smaller one. “Energy is energy, even if it comes in different forms and can change between them. And what is magic but another type of energy to be used? Some people rely on external sources to draw upon for magic, sometimes even dangerous ones. But we rely on less fickle and more reliable sources, Loki. Your magic comes from yourself. It is a part of you like bone, muscle, and blood. Training and practice will increase your skills, strength, and stamina the same way that it would your body during combat training. But it is also possible to exhaust yourself by pushing yourself past your current limits. Then you have to wait until your strength recovers.”
Biting his lip briefly, Loki asked, “But what if you can’t wait?”
He halfway expected her to talk to him about the importance of patience. Adults always seemed to talk about patience, honesty, and princely behavior. Even Thor occasionally got told that he needed to practice such things. But after a moment of careful consideration, she nodded slowly.
“There may come a day when you have need of your magic after exhausting your usual reserves already. Just as your brother may need to fight while already injured. Life is not always willing to wait for better circumstances.” Letting one hand drift up to his shoulder, she said, “Energy is energy, regardless of the form it takes. In the right circumstances, your magic can be briefly rekindled by powerful emotions fueling the strength that only the truly desperate can reach. It won’t be easy and it won’t endure long, but it can be done if your need is great.”
“Powerful emotions?”
“Overwhelming rage and hatred. Fear for your life or for those around you.” Leaning forward, Mother pressed a small kiss to his forehead. “Love. All of them overwhelming forces capable of the impossible, my child. Never underestimate any of them. Especially the last.” Smiling indulgently at him, she added, “Though perhaps a desperate attempt is not necessary for a firework display. It is best saved for a greater purpose.”
Thinking to himself briefly, Loki asked, “Like turning something into a frog?”
“I do not think you will be learning that spell today. Perhaps when you aren’t tired and already annoyed with your brother. I would prefer you not to try turning Thor into a frog.”
Loki smiled apologetically even as he giggled. He wasn’t too surprised she figured out his momentary idea. Mother always knew. Maybe he could save the trick for another day.
“Since we won’t be having our magic lesson today, how would you like a story instead?” she asked. “Something with great battles, magic, and distant lands?”
In some ways, it made sense for the new Multiversal War to take place in the strange dark realm past the end of time and outside of it that He Who Remains once claimed as his domain in the aftermath of the previous one. Not in the exact same spot; there was no Citadel in sight. But they converged to fight on a cluster of crumbling remnants of shattered worlds and asteroids. Perhaps the rubble of He Who Remains’s original timeline or an ancient civilization that transcended time before their destruction. Regardless, it created a scattered and disconnected battlefield that made more uniformed tactics difficult for both sides.
The enemy? Numerous Variants of the man, just as he warned before Sylvie killed him. They called themselves the Council of Kangs. Most of them also brought armies of various natures. Some robotic, but others were people. Many not that different than the TVA. Those forces swelled their numbers and gave them disposable bodies to throw at the opposition.
And while the Minutemen provided a decent number of volunteers to face those forces, most of their allies were heroes recruited from the numerous timelines. Some that Loki recognized from New York, but others that he didn’t. Many of which recognized Loki or at least one of his Variants, but far fewer of them seemed comfortable with his presence during the gathering of the troops.
There was at least one version of Thor, trailing behind him a young girl carrying a large axe and who seemed quite comfortable with the idea of violent combat. And that version of his brother kept watching Loki with a grieving and yet hopeful expression that did complicated things, making something in his chest twist and ache. Loki did his best to keep his distance from Thor before the battle commenced because he didn’t even know how to approach that emotional knot.
When the inevitable battle erupted, it was chaos. Those that could fly were the most maneuverable around the various chunks of solid ground, but portals from the multiple Dr. Stranges and other Sorcerer Supremes flashed across the numerous floating islands of broken worlds. Lightning and energy beams lit up the supposed sky the same way that the branching timelines above them did. And across every surface raced members of the TVA. Defending the timelines by pruning their opponents and sending them to face a ravenous Alioth.
Loki left the various minions and recruited armies to the others. He targeted the Variants of He Who Remains directly, regardless of the numerous names that they adopted. He’d studied each one that the TVA had identified previously and he knew how dangerous they were. He was better suited for the task than someone like B-15.
Though she did get one with a Time Collar and another with the time dilation effect of her Time Baton before he lost track of her.
His magic and his experience with combat gave him an advantage over some. The Council of Kangs were deadly and dangerous opponents, making any mistake potentially fatal, but he had to see it through. Loki had to be there on the front lines to ensure that no one as dangerous as He Who Remains ever rose to that level of power and control again. That threat was the same reason why Sylvie reluctantly fought somewhere else on the scattered battlefield, refusing to risk losing her new peaceful life despite her previous disinterest in being involved.
But through it all, even as the chaos made it hard to keep track of everyone and the fighting divided their forces across numerous floating chunks of land, Loki kept a close eye on Mobius. If he had his preferences, Loki would have never let his friend near the battlefield. Even with the refresher courses that they forced him through long before the war erupted, Mobius wasn’t a fighter. But he was once a Hunter, long before he was an analyst. And that was close enough to volunteer with the others, or so he claimed when he stepped forward with a stubbornly-set jaw and a standard-issue black TVA armor across his chest. They couldn’t convince him otherwise. All that Loki could do was keep watch for his friend and hope that his own flashier green armor, cape, small horned crown, and magic would make him a more attractive target.
But while Loki occasionally needed to throw a dagger or fling an opponent away when Mobius seemed to be getting overwhelmed, he held his own well enough with his Time Staff, a longer version with a sharpened end for better combat use. His rusty skills were revived a little and his endurance brushed up from those refresher courses. Just enough to keep him from dying or giving out immediately. And that reassuring observation allowed Loki to focus more on his own fighting.
Because it quickly became a long and grueling battle with little relief. The Variants of the man, regardless of what they called themselves, did not go down easily. Illusions, animated shadows, and the more strenuous forms of telekinesis were all employed alongside his more traditional combat skills. Loki needed every single one of his tricks to deal with the wide variety of Kangs, Pharaoh Rama-Tuts, Imortuses, Victorex Primes, and Nathaniel Richardses. Their skills, weapons, armor, and abilities were too varied. He was needing to push himself in ways that he rarely did.
He didn’t know how long the fighting had been going on by now. Nor where they’d ended up in relation to where they started at the beginning of the battle. All that he knew was that he and Mobius were currently without any allies on a larger and rugged chunk of land, the dark stone forming jagged boulders and even a large archway that loomed over them. It was too easy to be cornered or to stumble if someone was careless. Most of the current forces around them were robots with an inner blue glow and faces that reminded Loki slightly of the Destroyer. They were the troops of the Variant that previous research identified as the Centurion.
That was who Loki was currently fighting as Mobius, still going despite clearly wearing out, pruned at the robots until they vanished in a shower of gold sparks. The Centurion wore the same face as He Who Remains and Victor Timely, but was completely bald with a metal plate on his scalp. His armor matched his robots; segmented by thin horizontal lines with a blue-purple glow to them. His main weapon of choice seemed to be a variation of a halberd. An razor-thin axe-like blade on one side, a curved spike on the other, and a sharp blade at the very tip, it held more versatility than a simple spear. And the faint blue-purple glow from the metal and the way it left an impressively-deep gash in the stone when it sliced through one of Loki’s illusions told him that it was a far more sophisticated weapon than it first appeared.
But as dangerous as the halberd might be, it was a long two-handed weapon best used against a distant opponent. At close range, Loki’s daggers were far more lethal. And the man certainly couldn’t match the centuries of experience that Odin had Gungnir or even the various Einherjar who preferred using a spear. Loki understood how to fight someone with a polearm. He knew where to look for potential weaknesses and vulnerabilities in the man’s techniques. The duel between them would have been over more quickly if Loki was not already fighting off the effects of exhaustion. Both physical exhaustion and magical.
He couldn’t remember the last time that he used nearly every spark of magic. It must have been when he was a child, his endurance and strength not as built up yet. But the lightheaded feeling and the almost ache as he tried to draw on more was still recognizable. The physical exhaustion accounted for his clumsier footwork and slower reflexes though.
He knew he could win this. He knew that he was capable of defeating this opponent, regardless of how dangerous. Loki just needed to win before his exhaustion could fully claim him.
Daggers scraped along the metal pole with loud screeches that set his teeth on edge. He stayed too close for the Centurion to bring the sharpened end into play. But the man was also decent enough at blocking and wore enough armor to keep Loki from landing a fatal blow. They were in a fast and brutal stalemate that could not be maintained indefinitely. A mistake from one of them was guaranteed; it was only a matter of time.
A shout of pain and he glimpsed Mobius hitting the ground. Loki broke off immediately, falling back to a position near him. There were no allies in sight and the ranks of remaining enemies were quick to close in to corner them against a larger boulder. It took only a heartbeat to collect every shred of the bright magic left within himself and unleash it in a violent blast. Flinging the Centurion and his robots backwards hard while also slamming into the looming stone archway.
Cracking and crumbling stones turned into a crashing cacophony. The archway collapsed, rocks falling, striking, and burying the robotic forces beneath. It lasted for several moments, Loki crouched over Mobius defensively through the destructive chaos, before the rumbling finally fell silent again. Only then did Loki reach cautiously for Mobius.
“Are you hurt?” asked Loki, nearly as breathless as the man panting next to him.
Shaking his head, Mobius said, “Just had the wind knocked out of me.”
Loki managed a faint smile. Considering how long they’d been fighting and how many threats from across the multiverse that they’d faced during that time, Mobius had done well. Of course, while the man had always been able to figure Loki out, Mobius had a knack for surprising him.
He doubted that either of them had much left to fight with, but at least he didn’t see any immediate threats left in their area. Their craggy chunk of land was peaceful and quiet in the aftermath of the fight. Perhaps if they found the rest of the TVA volunteers or the Avengers, the battle would still be ongoing. Though hopefully it was moving towards the end. Maybe they had finished before Loki and Mobius and were trying to track them down.
A pessimistic thought pointed out they could all be dead, leaving Loki and Mobius as the only ones left to defend the multiverse. But he highly doubted it. If it was true, the Council of Kangs would already be descending on them.
As he pulled Mobius upright, Loki wobbled slightly as his head spun. He hated to admit it, but he didn’t think he could keep going. That last trick might have been too much. Whether or not the Multiversal War was over, it certainly was for him.
“Are you all right?” asked Mobius.
“Of course,” he answered breathlessly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Rolling his eyes slightly, he muttered, “Silly question. What was I thinking?” Mobius wiped his brow before rubbing his shoulder with his free hand, the Time Staff dangling limply in the other. “I don’t know about you, but we mere mortals might need a moment before we go looking for more trouble.”
“I suppose a chance to catch your breath won’t hurt.” Trying to spot a rock that looked somewhat comfortable, Loki teased, “Though we might have to forego any pie during this break.”
Chuckling quietly, he said, “You really should give the key lime a chance. You might actually like it.”
“I am not eating anything that looks as green and radioactive as Dr. Banner’s alter ego.”
Time was such a strange thing in that place outside of it. A moment seemed to stretch on towards eternity. Loki saw Mobius’s weary, but amused eyes as he tried to devise an appropriate response. He saw the smile tugging at his mouth. He saw something bright, warm, and nameless in the man’s gaze despite the grim circumstances.
And then the moment shattered as a sharp blade erupted from Mobius’s chest.
“No,” shouted Loki, shock and horror hitting hard.
Mobius produced a wet and broken sound as the weapon was yanked back out of him. He fell to his knees, revealing a bleeding and battered Centurion behind him. Coated in dirt and dust. His halberd now streaked in blood.
Mobius’s blood.
Fury, hatred, another scream, and magic that he’d believed was already exhausted practically exploded out of Loki. Bright green power that slammed into the wounded Centurion. Both sending him flying and scorching the armored figure. Something sizzling and smoking crashed down further away, certainly dead this time, but his opponent was no longer important to Loki. His world shrank down to the bleeding figure that he flung himself towards.
“I’ve got you,” whispered Loki frantically, landing on his knees in front of Mobius and his hands already moving. “Let me see.”
The TVA armor, useless to stop the halberd and now in the way, was torn off by desperate Asgardian strength. The white shirt beneath it was already staining crimson as Mobius wobbled. Loki’s cape came off and was quickly wadded up to press against his back, where the wider head of the weapon would have left the larger wound. He apologized as Mobius gasped in renewed pain, but he had to stop the bleeding. Loki’s other hand pressed against his chest, the warm and sticky sensation of the soaked fabric doing nothing to calm him.
“You’re going to be all right,” he whispered shakily, leaning forward just enough to rest his forehead against Mobius’s as he kept the man upright. Laying him down would only allow gravity to help speed up the bleeding. “I can fix this.”
The lie felt heavy and bitter on his tongue as Loki glanced at those pained and dazed eyes. His head throbbed sharply and he didn’t want to risk standing upright because everything was already spinning somewhat. His magic was essentially used up. And healing magic was never his strong suit. There was a solid permanency to it that didn’t come naturally to him. Mother tried to teach him, but he couldn’t match her skills and certainly not that of Lady Eir’s poultices. Especially when he didn’t have the magic left to attempt it.
But it was Mobius. It was his heart beating against Loki’s palm, rapid and irregular as a panicking rabbit. It was his ragged and struggling gasps filling the air. It was his life’s blood staining Loki’s hands and the stone below. It was his pale face watching Loki with complete faith and trust. They were alone, separated from any other allies. There were no other options. Loki would have to do it.
Anger and hatred had been enough to fuel a brief spike of strength to dispose of the Centurion, but Loki now reached for fear. His fear of failure. His fear of being left alone. His fear of losing Mobius.
Loki might have made some more friends since his initial arrival to the TVA and he certainly treasured them, but Mobius was the very first person that Loki could honestly and truly call his friend. He was precious in a different way than the others. And Loki had believed that he’d lost Mobius once already when he was pruned right in front of him. He could not bear it a second time. That fear was enough to bring a faint green glow to Loki’s hands as he tried to knit back together torn flesh.
“It’s all right,” whispered Loki, closing his eyes to concentrate and to combat the tears trying to escape. “I can fix this.”
Except he could only summon up brief flickers of power at a time. Pulling at energy that left him panting and shaking, using his mounting fear to turn that strength into the magic that he lacked. Tiny bits of progress that barely made a difference to the deep gash through his back and out his chest. But he couldn’t maintain it. He couldn’t hold onto it. And healing magic needed more time. Loki needed to keep it going.
Because the bleeding probably wasn’t slowing down from his efforts. And with their faces so close, practically sharing the same air, Loki couldn’t miss how labored and choked Mobius’s breathing sounded. So he tried again and again to drag enough strength up to maintain the healing spell.
“I’m sorry. I can do this. Just hold on, Mobius. You’re going to be fine,” he whispered raggedly.
Loki tried frantically to remember every lesson that Mother ever taught him. About healing. About drawing power from strong emotions when his normal source of magic was exhausted. Because he had the fear. He was more terrified by the failing heartbeat beneath his fingertips than anything else in his life.
It just wasn’t enough.
He tried to deny it. He tried to push that doubt away. Because failure was not an option.
Except weren’t Lokis destined to always lose?
Even with his eyes closed, Loki could see the brief flares of green light from his repeated attempts. And he could tell when he finally stopped managing even that much. Everything spun briefly when he opened his eyes, dizzy and his head practically splitting open, but his sight settled on Mobius’s pale face and dulling eyes.
“I’m sorry.” Loki’s throat was almost too tight to manage the words. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Mobius.”
Those dull eyes momentarily focused as the man fought to remain conscious. But Loki didn’t see fear or disappointment. A little sadness, but there was no blame in those eyes. No blame for Loki’s utter failure and what it meant. And that was enough for the tears to finally fall down Loki’s cheeks.
Blood in his mouth and struggling for breath, Mobius rasped, “‘S okay. ‘S not… your… fault.”
Something flickered in those fading eyes. A decision made. And despite mostly being limp and supported only by Loki, he managed to tilt his head up to meet Loki’s bowed face.
A brief tickle of his mustache before Loki felt the man’s lips on his mouth. The faintest brush, easily dismissed as accidental if it wasn’t for the determined and deliberate feeling of the act. A purposeful motion when he didn’t have the strength left to spare for it. The tamest and most chaste kiss that immediately stole Loki’s breath away from the sheer unexpected shock of the gesture.
There was no denying that it was a kiss. Not a forceful distraction like Sylvie once gave him. Not the lustful lead-up to sex where arousal was the goal. A kiss that— it was— He—
As Loki’s normally clever mind stuttered over what just happened and the implications of why, he wasn’t prepared as the body in his stiff arms tried slumping. It forced him to try stabilizing the collapsing figure, blood-sticky hands fumbling to lower Mobius to the ground. His blood-soaked cape fell away from the gash on the man’s back in the process. Mobius’s face was slack and, as Loki’s shaking hand returned to the wound on his chest, the stumbling heartbeat had grown silent.
“No, no, no,” he begged, shaking his head slightly as his voice cracked. “Mobius.”
He couldn’t be gone. Mobius couldn’t leave him. Especially not immediately after that unexpected kiss without any explanation or why or what it meant or anything. Just abandoning Loki with questions and a wretched heartbreaking pain as if he was the one skewered instead. Why would Mobius kiss him as he was dying. Why—
Because Mobius loved him?
The idea was almost as unexpected as the kiss itself. Yes, a kiss was not a gesture of romantic affection on all worlds and in all cultures, but it was in enough of them. And such feelings might have contributed to Mobius’s initial aggression to the idea that Loki seemed to be forming a connection to Sylvie back then. Claiming it was breaking his reality. And why in more recent times, he seemed almost relieved when it became clear that Loki and Sylvie would only ever be complicated friends. Maybe it would be arrogant to consider it even by his standards, but Mobius being in love would fit.
But yet Mobius chose to never say a word about those potential feelings? Only risking it as a kiss good-bye, when it would no longer matter? Not giving Loki a chance to respond or figure out if he returned those feelings?
Did Loki love him? He didn’t have much experience to draw on when it came to being in love. Sex, yes. Love, however…
“But nothing ever…”
“…real.”
He didn’t think that he’d ever considered Mobius as anything more than his dearest and closest friend. The extent of which he still sometimes struggled to admit. But crouched on the cold stone beyond the end of time, shedding tears over his silent body as blood dried on his hands, Loki knew that he couldn’t lose the most important person in his life. And that he would try anything to save him.
What else could he call that except love?
One hand returning to the still chest, Loki reached to cup Mobius’s face with the other. The gesture smeared a little more blood on his cheek. Ignoring his pounding head and the way that he nearly lost his balance as his surroundings spun in the attempt, Loki leaned down to where Mobius lay like a corpse.
Because he was one. Or at least on the cusp of being considered a corpse. How long after a heart stops until it becomes impossible to deny that there is nothing left?
Loki had nothing left to offer. He’d drained himself of all his magic and then some. Brief flares from fury and fear weren’t enough. There was no reason to keep trying. There was nothing more that he could give to this man who would soon only be a memory.
“I… I think I might. Have an idea what he’s capable of.”
“I’m Agent Mobius, by the way.”
“That’s not how I see it.”
“You’re gonna take my job if I’m not careful.”
There was no reason to keep trying with nothing left. And yet Loki would find something within himself to give regardless.
He gathered together those memories and those feelings. Not completely good, but not wholly bad either. Anger, frustration, annoyance, amusement, excitement, reassurance, comfort, worry, joy, hope, hurt, grief.
Love. A real love of some type.
Loki held it in his aching chest as he leaned down. Tears fell as he pressed a gentle kiss to those lifeless lips, filling the gesture with everything that he was feeling. And with an uncomfortable sensation as he pulled at anything within himself, Loki coaxed the warm glow of magic back into his hand and into the deep wound under it. Silently begging the spell to work and not fail again.
Why couldn’t he have better rationed his magic during the battle somehow? Why couldn’t he have made certain that the Centurion was dead before he lowered his guard? Why couldn’t he have realized what Mobius felt before it was too late? Why didn’t he try kissing Loki before he was bleeding out in his arms?
“Do you believe you deserve to be alone?”
“You could be whoever, whatever you wanna be. Even someone good. I mean, in case anyone ever told you different.”
“Thanks for the spark.”
Eyes closing in concentration, Loki knew that his magic was doing something within Mobius’s body. It was more progress than before. Loki tilted his head slightly as he tried to coax warmth into Mobius’s lips. Desperate hope and instinct guided him to tease those lips open as he deepened the kiss, breathing more magic into the silent figure under him.
Loki ignored the stabbing pain and ringing in his skull, his body shaking, the rough and uncomfortable pounding in his chest, and the sickening feeling that he was drawing on energy that he shouldn’t because he needed it. It wasn’t important. He needed to keep going.
He couldn’t lose Mobius.
“I understand and we’ll get to that. In order to do that, I need a Loki Who Remains.”
He needed a Mobius who remained.
Loki maintained the kiss, pouring magic and all of his love into the act. But the slack and lifeless lips of an unresponsive Mobius tainted any pleasure that might have been found in different circumstances. The metallic taste of blood and the salt of his own tears were impossible to ignore. It felt like a parting kiss more than anything. But he kissed the man in the hopes of guiding him back.
“You’ll make it back.”
Everything had narrowed and faded leaving only the feeling of Mobius’s unresponsive lips and the silent chest under Loki’s fingertips. Nothing else in the entire multiverse mattered. And yet Loki almost missed the first weak flutter against his palm. And then the second, still too weak and slow. He was too engulfed in exhaustion, grief, desperation, and focusing on forcing love-fueled energy into Mobius.
Then he felt the sudden gasp against his mouth, startling Loki into breaking off the kiss as his eyes flew open and the green glow evaporated.
Unfortunately, his vision immediately tried to gray out as everything that he’d been ignoring slammed into him. Loki barely managed to control his collapse enough to fall next to Mobius instead of on top of him, though his hand remained draped on the man’s bloodstained shirt. He blinked rapidly in a failed attempt to clear his vision. But everything stayed dark and blurry.
His heart seemed determined to break through his ribs, pounding rough and hard. A lot like his headache. And it felt like he was trying to breathe through a thick pillow pressed to his face. That struggle was more difficult than it should have been. But he could feel Mobius’s chest rising and falling under his hand and that seemed more important.
Alive. He was alive. Loki didn’t lose him. He made it back.
A blurry shape moved in his darkening vision. Worry and anger at himself briefly flared. They were still technically on a battlefield. The enemy forces from the rest of the Council of Kangs could have found them. He had to protect Mobius. But as Loki tried to shove himself back upright, his body refused to cooperate. The most that he managed to do was to raise his head and to tighten his fingers into Mobius’s ruined shirt.
Except when the figure kneeled next to him, his failing sight finally managed to identify it as a child instead of a threat. He knew her. The girl who was with Thor, though the name seemed to be slipping away from him. As was his grip on consciousness. She yelled something over her shoulder, but he couldn’t hear it over the dull roar filling his ears. She reached for him, but the encroaching darkness swallowed him before he could feel her small hand.
Maybe she could get help for Mobius…