the truth hurts worse ...

the truth hurts worse than anything I could bring myself to do to you
Marvel Cinematic Universe; Loki & Odin, gen; sort of a missing scene near the end of Thor: The Dark World

He should not be here.

He should not be here, on Asgard, in the palace that was never his home and always his prison before his keeper stopped pretending, the place where his mother (yes, of course he will claim her, now that she is gone and he sent her killer to find her, monster who can do nothing but hurt the ones who care for it) was struck down, where his once-father told him he should have died centuries ago.

(Oh, yes. Of course he should have. Of course. He agreed then and he agrees now but what manner of man actually flings such words at someone he once called his child?)

The glamour is good—of course it is, his illusions are always good—but he’s still shaky, the barely healed wound still throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He should be anywhere else—somewhere quiet where he can recover properly and decide what he will do next, now that he has once more failed to die. Thor believes him dead and perhaps that is best; it is impossible to say what Thanos believes, but if being impaled and coming so close to death that even Thor could not tell the difference has gained him an advantage against the titan, Loki would be a worse fool than ever not to seize it.

But instead he is here, in front of the Allfather’s throne, where he stood last in chains with an eternity of imprisonment stretching ahead of him, risking the same or worse, because he has to know.

“There is no sign of Thor or the Aether,” he says. “However…we found a body.” The wound itches under his illusion.

Odin turns to look at him. “Loki.”

“Yes, my king.”

The Allfather sighs, looking inexpressibly weary, and for an instant Loki thinks— “He turned on Thor, then. I cannot imagine why that reckless boy thought anything else would happen.”

Loki stiffens but keeps his voice appropriately respectful. “He appeared to have been run through with a large blade, my king.” And then, because he cannot let this stand and he will fabricate evidence if he has to, “From what we can determine, we believe he fought at Prince Thor’s side and died defending him.”

“Indeed?” the Allfather says. “Interesting. That is a better end than I had hoped for, if you are correct. At least he was useful for something at the last.”

“Yes, my king,” Loki says automatically. Useful. Why should he feel anything at this confirmation of something he has known since that day in the vault, perhaps for most of his life? He should not. Of course he should not. And he should leave, now that he has his answer, before anything happens to prevent him. Instead he hears himself say, “Would you like to see the body?” Impossibly foolish, but he can fake that too if he must, and perhaps if Odin sees—perhaps then—

“Hah,” Odin says. “No. Dispose of it as you see fit, as long as you are discreet and thorough. The sooner this is all forgotten, the better.”

Loki bows, gut clenching. The wound in his chest aches. No funeral. No recognition. No hint of regret or grief for the monster he pretended to love.

He did want to know, after all. Perhaps this is better.

It doesn’t feel better.

Over the roaring in his ears, he abruptly realizes Odin is still speaking: “…prepared to deal with my son, if he returns.”

Loki straightens. “My king?”

Odin makes an impatient noise. “Malekith has the Aether now, does he not? Thor disobeyed my express command, committed treason, turned my own gatekeeper against me, and gambled the entire Nine Realms on a mad scheme doomed to failure—all because he was too smitten with a mortal wench and too convinced of his own abilities to listen to reason. If somehow he does still manage to thwart Malekith, he will expect to be hailed a hero, and he will learn that he no longer needs to obey me. This, I will not tolerate.”

Well, yes, that is all completely true, but given what Thor told him about the Allfather’s refusal to listen to counsel, it is also not entirely fair. Thor’s plan was far from perfect and ultimately it failed, but it was a good deal better than Odin’s, which apparently amounted to “make a last stand against Malekith that will kill countless Asgardians and, most likely, end with Malekith in possession of the Aether.” At least Thor’s plan had a chance of success without wasting additional lives.

“What would you have us do, my king?” he asks carefully.

“Arrest him, of course, and take him to the dungeons,” Odin says. “The moment he sets foot on Asgard, I can once again strip him of his powers and his ability to wield Mjolnir, and then he should be no trouble for you and your men to subdue. I cannot realistically make the example of him that I should, but if he is kept in the dungeons for a time and made to watch his friends suffer for the folly into which he led them, he may yet learn to temper his impulses.” He considers for a moment, and Loki says nothing, because he can think of nothing to say; his mind seems to have gone entirely blank. “If Thor does not return with the mortal woman, a few of you will have to fetch her.”

“And…what would you have us do with her?” Loki asks.  

Odin shakes his head. “Thor’s warrior friends are too well-known and too formidable in their own right to keep as hostages against his good behavior for long, but the mortal will serve my purposes nicely. She is fragile enough that Thor will be forced to take any threat against her seriously. Foolish as his attachment may be, it also seems to be genuine, and if the mortal’s wellbeing depends on my son’s good behavior, he will be unwilling to test my patience.”

This is to be Thor’s reward, after all he has done for Asgard? Loki supposes he should really feel a little triumph at this, to see that Odin values his true son only as a tool as well, but all he can see is Thor’s grief-stricken face as his brother died in his arms, his stubborn refusal to give up, his awful hope on Stark Tower, the way he approached the Destroyer so long ago to offer his own life in exchange for the people he was determined to protect.

Even then, when he refused to admit it to himself, Loki knew Thor had changed. Now, confronted with Odin’s coldly calculating manipulation of his own son, it is blindingly obvious.

Thor has changed. Odin has not.

Loki is a monster, and he always was, even when he didn’t know it, even when he tried not to be. Perhaps he deserves everything that has happened to him. But Thor, for all his faults, is and always has been at heart a good man, and he does not deserve this.

Truly, he is not sure what he can do, but he knows that Thor does not deserve to be used in such a way—honest, noble, well-intentioned Thor, whose love should not be turned into a weapon against him. Not like this. Not by an old tyrant determined to maintain his grasp on absolute power at the expense of his people and his child.

Still cautious, Loki asks, “For the time being, is there anything you would have us do with Prince Thor’s friends?”

“As long as they are secure and kept in isolation, no; anything done to them will heal quickly, so it is best to inflict damage primarily when Thor is there to see. I think, however, that once the mortal woman is acquired, I will order Thor to choose one of his friends to take the blame for this entire catastrophe. Some public response to this little rebellion must be made, and executing one of his companions for treason will make the rest more manageable.” Odin sighs and begins to turn away. “I do wish Thor had not involved them in this; they are all fine warriors. But once again, he forces my hand, and whatever it takes, I will bring that boy to heel.”

Something molten seems to explode in Loki’s chest. It is not his wound, though it sears as his heart starts to pound; it is simple, white-hot rage.

“No,” he says, dropping the illusion. “No, you will not.”

Odin raises Gungnir, his face thunderous, but he is old and fueled only by his love for his own power. Loki is wounded and exhausted and shaking with the same fury that drove him to victory against the monstrous creature that killed his mother. There is no contest. Seidr explodes from him, shock waves knocking Gungnir from Odin’s grasp and sending the old king to his knees.

Loki stalks closer, hands raised, power streaming from him like a corona, and Odin stares up at him in outraged disbelief, struggling to rise against the magic pinning him in place. “You dare—”

“Yes, I dare,” Loki says, and he laughs. “You should not have threatened my brother.”

Odin slams a jolt of seidr past the edges of Loki’s shield, and he feels the wound in his chest crack open again and begin to leak. He barely notices, still advancing. Odin’s expression twists. “You should have stayed dead.”

“And when have I ever done what is expected of me?” Loki asks. He is full almost to overflowing with power, and he knows exactly what to do with it.

“Then I will simply have to put you down myself,” Odin says, “on your knees, where you have always belonged,” and Loki feels him summon Gungnir, feels him prepare a blast that will rip Loki’s mind inside out with agony.

Not so long ago, those words would have undone him. Now, he smiles and hits Odin with every last scrap of power he possesses, and the king collapses into the Odinsleep.

“No, Father,” Loki says in the sudden silence. “No.” He is utterly drained and trembling now with fatigue, but this—yes. This is triumph.

He has enough seidr left to cloak Odin where he lies unconscious and to cast another illusion on himself, and then he climbs the steps in front of him and sinks down onto the throne. He will catch his breath, and tend to the wound nagging at him, and then…then he will figure out what to do next.

And when Thor returns to Asgard, Loki will be waiting to give him the welcome he deserves.