word count -> 2.5k

plot summary -> wandavision but it's lokiy/n

a/n -> angst!! oh my god so much angst literally all the trigger warnings there's death and blood and grieving and it's all just a lot

thank you Rosemills123 for this prompt imagine getting me writing you win !

...

'This should be fun.'

The last full sentence you'd ever spoken to him.

He can see you now, stood before him, brimming with energy and nerves and enthusiasm, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Impatient. Always moving, never still.

Upon seeing the creatures you'd been dispatched to kill your expression had changed, nervousness switching to resilience, enthusiasm to determination.

The others had all been there of course. His brother. Stark with his obnoxious suit. The green one. Loki abhors thinking of them now, with only the possible exception of his brother, reluctant to remember even what they looked like, let alone their names.

'This should be fun,' you'd said, your eyes shining with fervour as you scanned the oncoming targets. Stark had made one of his remarks, and Loki remembers feeling his chest tighten with affection as you'd laughed, carefree.

He'd always found himself having to physically stop himself from removing you from danger. Shoving you behind him, through a portal, away, safe, where whatever it was you so loved throwing yourself at recklessly couldn't hurt you.

They always used to joke about your recklessness, how you'd be the first one to go. The thought of it makes him feel sick now.

You'd practically flown into battle, ahead of everyone as usual, wanting to have the first say in how things were going to go. Loki doesn't remember feeling particularly worried about this; he's used to you being stupid, but he'd also been used to seeing you coming back to him at the end. Limping and covered in your own blood, yes, but nothing that he couldn't manage.

That day, it became something that he couldn't manage. It wasn't a long fight, maybe about fifteen minutes or so, but it was a hard one, and at the end of it he'd stood catching his breath and looked around for you. You were supposed to have been making some funny comment to Stark, or calling for him to heal a wound, or someone else's wound.

You were not supposed to have been lying on the floor, poisoned, and bleeding out. You weren't supposed to have been dying.

Really dying.

He remembers thinking that as he'd stood over you, not moving quickly enough because for some reason his limbs had seized up and his brain wasn't thinking half as fast as it usually was because there was a lot of blood on the floor and your eyes weren't open.

He remembers crouching next to you and seeing someone holding your hand, and hearing a voice telling him urgently to do something and thinking don't you think I would be if I could?.

He remembers too much and suddenly he's back there, living it again as he has countless times already.

He tries to heal you, and your eyelids flutter and open briefly, and when you look at him your eyes are so full of pain and fear that Loki stops breathing.

'It's okay. You're okay, you're fine,' he can hear himself speaking from far away, hear his shaking voice and see his hand smoothing the hair back from your forehead but in reality it's like he's floating and alarms are going off in his head and he doesn't know what to do.

Thor is trying to move you but Loki pushes him away roughly, trying to heal you again and why isn't it working? He thinks he says this last part out loud, maybe shouts it. He knows why, it's poison from those things, and it's in your veins, trying to take you from him.

Your breathing is getting shallower by the second, and he tries healing you again, again, again, until his vision goes blurry and his head spins.

'Loki, stop.'

Your voice sounds incredibly small and weak, and he squeezes his eyes shut because this isn't happening, it can't be happening, not to him, not to you.

'It hurts,' you gasp, your voice scratching its way free of your throat and Loki thinks I know, he's hurting so much that he thinks he might die right along with you. Because it's happening. You're dying. He feels it.

So he pulls you close to him, answering your whimpers of pain not with magic that heals but instead with magic that soothes and calms, and he feels your muscles relax, watches through blurry eyes as you look up at him and feels his heart break, actually break when he sees how scared you are.

'I don't... want to go,' you manage, and Loki hears someone sobbing behind him which fills him with inexplicable rage because they can't be feeling a fraction of the pain he feels, their mortal body would surely break apart and fold in on itself from the anguish.

The rage is instantly quelled by an unbearable wave of grief and yet he's still talking to you, holding you, murmuring quiet words of comfort and reassurance even as your blood stains his clothes and your eyes take on a faraway look which tells you that you can't see him anymore.

He's certain his heart stops beating with yours.

'Y/N,' he says, but nothing happens, he can't speak, can't move. You've gone awfully still, but your blood continues to seep steadily onto the ground, onto him, his hands, staining his skin.

It occurs to Loki that this cannot possibly be happening, because not twenty minutes ago he'd been stood by your side watching you laugh and you'd been so alive. You can't just be gone, not just like that, there's too much of you.

There's a strange buzzing noise in his ears; he swallows and blinks and tries to get rid of it, tries to draw a breath. He still can't move. His heart, which had seconds previously seemed to have ceased working, now starts hammering inside his chest, beating against the inside of his ribcage as though trying to get out, towards you, closer to you.

He's acutely aware of noise around him, voices, people, nothing that matters. He's starting to panic a bit, and the thought makes him panic more because he doesn't let people see him showing emotion unless it's you, and you're...

Loki gasps suddenly, a tight pain in his chest alerting him to the fact that he hadn't been breathing. He looks up and realises that Thor had been sat on your other side the whole time, holding your other hand. He's still holding your hand as he looks over at his brother, cheeks wet, loss and pain written plainly across his face. Loki wonders if he looks anything like that.

He wants to leave because more people are arriving now and he knows they'll want to take you from him and he doesn't know if he can let go and then he'll have to talk to people and it's all just moving too fast. He could do it, he could just teleport the two of you away right now and not have to deal with any of it, not yet.

That will only prolong the pain says a voice in his head, and it sounds a bit like you. He's suddenly aware that he'll never hear your voice again, and the awful, gut-wrenching feeling in his chest grows and builds until it's dangerously close to being absolutely, completely unbearable.

He needs to be alone, but he won't leave you. Not until he has to.

Thor reaches over and places your hand gently on your abdomen. Your fingers are curled slightly from where you'd been holding on to him, and Loki realises with a jolt that your other hand is clasped tightly in his.

'Loki,' Thor says gently, and Loki can only close his eyes and give the tiniest of head shakes.

'We have to move her,' his brother says, his voice reduced by grief to barely more than a whisper. Loki knows, but that means looking back down at you, and he doesn't even know if he can do that, let alone let go of your hand, or stand up or walk, or carry you.

It's started to rain; the sky is crying and Loki can only agree.

'Where?' he manages, and his voice doesn't sound like his.

'The tower,' Thor replies, and it takes a minute but finally Loki nods. With Herculean effort he forces himself to look back down at you and almost falls to pieces. Your face is still turned to him, your eyes hideously, irreversibly blank.

Thor reaches across slowly and, when Loki doesn't stop him, closes your eyes with the utmost caution, as though he might still be able to hurt you. It's better. Loki can almost pretend you're sleeping this way.

It still takes him another minute to remove his hand from yours. He can't remember if he'd grabbed you or vice versa but it feels intrinsically wrong to take his hand away from yours.

Somehow he gets you in his arms. Somehow he stands up; he thinks Thor might have had to help him with that part. And then he's walking, trying very hard not to blink, not to look at the way your arm hangs uselessly in the air as he moves you, not to look at anyone or anything apart from Thor's back, in front of him.

Then he's in the Quinjet, and Thor points to the medical table. Loki puts you down, almost mechanically. He's put you there so many times before, in varying states of disarray and pain, ready to do whatever it takes to heal you.

Not this time.

Now that he's not touching you anymore, he can feel the haze of shock more clearly. He thinks that it's the only thing from keeping him from destroying everyone and everything around him and then himself for not keeping you safe.

Seeing your lifeless body feels so horribly wrong, like seeing the night sky with no stars or moon, or listening to a song with no melody.

Suddenly he has to get away. Thor will make sure you're kept safe.

Loki turns and sees the others. They look torn apart, numb. No one tries to stop him as he stumbles past them and vanishes.

He sits up suddenly, not wanting to remember anymore. But memories of you are all he has left.

It's been three days. It still hurts the same, if not more. He hasn't eaten, hasn't slept. He knows he'll only wake up reaching for you, and he won't be able to bear it when his hand finds nothing but an empty bed.

No one's tried to speak to him since, not even Thor, but he's heard them talking.

'What do we do with him? She is... was, the only reason he's here. And he's dangerous, we know what he's capable of...'

Thor had been arguing his case vehemently, but Loki can't help but agree with Stark and the others. He is dangerous. It scares him as well as them, because no one knows what he's capable of more than him. Shock lingers around him, protecting him from the worst of the pain, but not for much longer.

He's waiting to break, and he expects it'll happen soon. He doesn't want to be here when it happens. He wants to be away from Thor, away from everyone if he can help it, but better to be around people he doesn't know and care about than people he does.

Suddenly he's up, moving as though in a trance. If he stays in this room for one second longer he'll surely go insane. Teleporting from the tower is absolutely against the rules, but he can't find it in him to care.

So he teleports once. Twice. And again, and again, and again, going through the motions, letting his mind go blissfully blank for a while.

It's about ten minutes before he gets tired. He has no idea how far he's gone, or where he might have ended up. There are houses, and it's snowing. No one is about.

The cold which settles over his skin is welcome to him, and then before he can help it he's remembering again. The last time he'd seen snow he'd been with you.

'Catch,' he hears you say.

The snowball hits him square in the chest, and he reacts only by turning to look at you slowly, taking great pleasure in watching hilarity turn to anxiety as you watch him brush the snow from his coat and then flex his fingers.

He remembers laughing and laughing, your nose, red from the cold, scrunching up in that adorable manner, you beginning to shiver and stealing his coat because 'why do you need that?', snowflakes in your hair, happiness.

Now, the white landscape in front of Loki blurs as his eyes fill, tears burning hot against the icy coldness of his cheeks. Everything is white, until everything is black when it becomes too much and he screws his eyes shut.

He feels himself breaking, and lets it happen. And then everything is green.

...

'Loki?'

His eyes snap open.

You're there.

Concern in your eyes, you reach for him, and he feels your touch and doesn't understand. The great hole in his chest carved out by grief over your loss is still there, and yet here you are, snowflakes in your hair and all.

'Y/N,' he tries to say, but yet again finds himself unable to speak, to move.

Your hands grip his shoulders, and he's surely dreaming.

'Loki, people are looking,' you say, throwing a nervous smile over your shoulder at some passers-by.

Suddenly able to move, he reaches out and pushes some hair back from your face. Images flash across his mind of you, bloody, laid across his lap, but they're somewhat blurred, and before he can think about it too much they're gone.

You still look confused, so he pulls you to him, and your body fits against his perfectly, as it always has. One hand on your back, one in your hair he breathes you in, and practically feels the hole in his chest shrinking, affection for you swelling in him and disguising the hurt.

Chaos magic.

He hears the voice in his head, and ignores it, pushing it away and concentrating on the way he can feel your heart beating, the rise and fall of your chest against his as you breathe.

'This is very romantic and all, but can we start walking back? I'm cold,' you say, your voice slightly muffled against his chest.

Worry flares in his chest.

'Back?' he asks, and you pull away in order to look up at him.

'Home,' you say, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Somewhere, in the total depths of his mind, Loki knows that this is absolutely wrong and he should stop this immediately. But the rest of him knows that he can't.

So he smiles at you.

'Okay,' he says, and you take his hand to lead him home. 

part two?? lmk