Always Mine (An MCU Fanfiction)

34. When the Mask Fell

Casey's P.O.V.

Perched on the palace balcony railing, I spotted a familiar figure streaking across the Asgardian sky. 

A flash of red.

A spinning hammer.

Thor.

Excitement surged through my tiny body so hard I nearly tumbled off the railing. After four years of being trapped in Asgard and transformed into a sparrow whenever anyone approached, Thor's arrival felt like my first real chance of escape. Even if he didn't know it was me. Even if Loki had gone out of his way to keep me hidden. No voice. No way to explain who I was. No way home.

I launched from the railing and followed Thor as he landed near the palace and strode toward the entrance. Slung across his back was a strange horned skull that looked heavy enough to crush a cart.

I chirped loudly and swooped past his head.

Thor glanced briefly at me.

No recognition.

Not that I expected any.

To him, I was just another bird.

Still, I kept following, refusing to leave his side.

As we crossed the city, Thor's attention was drawn to the enormous golden statue standing proudly in the plaza. Loki's statue. Even as a bird, I hated the thing. It towered over everything, helmet horns gleaming in the sunlight.

"What the hell is that?" Thor muttered.

I landed on a nearby post and chirped unhappily. The statue always made me feel like Loki was watching. Which was ironic, considering he usually was.

Ahead, a crowd had gathered around a stage. Another play. Another dramatization of Loki's "heroic" life story.

I circled above the audience. I'd seen enough rehearsals to know exactly how this would go.

Too much dialogue. Too much self-praise. Not enough honesty. 

Nicole once told me after reading Loki's mind. Beneath all the lies and tricks, there had been genuine remorse. Real loneliness. He had wanted acceptance. A family. A place to belong.

Someone else had manipulated events surrounding New York from behind the scenes.

That didn't erase all the terrible things Loki had done. It made everything more complicated.

The performance concluded to thunderous applause. Everyone cheered. Everyone except Thor. And me.

The disguised Loki lounged comfortably nearby, pretending to be Odin while basking in the attention.

I fought the urge to fly down and peck him.

Hard.

"Father," Thor greeted suspiciously.

Loki visibly stiffened. "Uh, my son, Thor, has returned! Greetings, my boy," he proclaimed theatrically. 

Scattered applause followed.

I chirped in disgust.

"It's an interesting play. What's it called?" Thor wondered, trying to be casual and not let the suspicions be obvious.

"The Tragedy of Loki of Asgard. The people wanted to commemorate him." Loki answered.

I fluttered my wings. The title was a mouthful.

"Ah, indeed they should," Thor nodded. "Well, I like the statue. A lot better looking than he was when he was alive, though. A little less weaselly, less greasy, maybe."