3 Times Loki forgot Wanda was a Kid, and 1 Time He Didn't.

A/N - I'm sorry. I'm not even going to try to excuse myself.

I got writer's block but I had plenty of writing time, which sucked. So after a boring week of no inspirations at all, I just decided to go ahead and start a new fic, as you can see above.

The next update is coming ALOT sooner, I swear. I'm having more fun writing this, in all honesty, but I may come back and finish that other story later.

And on a happier note, THREE MORE DAYS UNTIL INFINITY WAR! I'm going to see it on opening night, and God I'm so excited. And scared.

Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Loki need a distraction.

His thoughts were getting far too near a subject he preferred avoiding, AKA Thor. And it was a subject that tended to get brought up all too easily. His advisors were confused and perhaps a little suspicious of Odin's refusal to speak about his oldest son, but Loki did not want to hear a word about Thor. And generally, Loki got what he wanted.

He had been king of Asgard for two years. Two whole uneventful years. In all honesty, Loki expected his ploy to be discovered after six months, tops. But Thor—the only one likely to see through the disguise—was scarcely back on Asgard, and everyone else in the Realms were either dim-witted or too afraid to challenge Loki.

But being king had taken its toll on Loki. No wonder the old man was always so boring and dull and ancient, hell, after another couple of decades Loki would probably be like that.

The thought of Loki not being Loki was, quite frankly, alarming. So after making preparations for a couple of months, Loki had taken a month off, much to his advisors' dismay.

And where should he go? That was the question. Getting drunk in one of the many taverns in Vanaheim and falling into a hotel bed with a pretty young girl was more of Thor's thing. Dancing with death and going on reckless adventures, flirting with the masters of the Dark Arts and jumping carelessly between tears in reality sounded very fun and invigorating, but it was too dangerous. Loki wasn't going to undo two years of hard work in one month of foolhardy stupidity.

Midgard, then, seemed like the next best option. A simple spell kept him from being recognized, and in the beginning he'd wanted to go just because the thought of just being there, in front of the Avengers' noses but unable to be identified was far too amusing for words. But now, Loki had discovered that Midgard was refreshingly amusing and full of the strangest little gadgets and things. He'd manipulated a couple of people and produced wads of fake currency, and it wasn't long before Loki had his own apartment in the state of New York.

It had simply been a week, and Loki was already charmed by this Realm that was considered backward by all the others. The people were far more interesting to talk too, and in Loki's opinion, far more intelligent than most people on Asgard. Asgardians were slow and lazy—they had a millennia ahead of them to evolve and grow. But humans were more brighter and energetic, making more use of eighty years than Asgard in eight hundred.

All in all, Loki began to seriously reconsider which Realm he should be ruling. This planet would be so much more better in so many ways than Asgard was.

But its people were more defiant, too. They had strong wills, a fierce sense of pride and freedom and a fiery spark in them that Loki loved. They would never bend to his rule.

Asgard, though, dulled in comparison. Loki wanted desperately to just hide out here for another century, from Thor, from the Avengers, from Asgard, from Thanos, just enjoying life and taking things easy.

Yet ruling a boring, dreary realm was better than not ruling anything at all. If not for anything, Loki told himself, keep doing it just for the look on Thor's face when he realizes it was me the whole time.

So Loki made up his mind to enjoy his limited time here as much as possible. And he did, experimenting with 'ice cream' and 'pizza', marveling at the 'iPhones' and shamelessly flirting with every girl he met.

Now, Loki was sitting inside a crisp little coffee shop/bakery, eyes scanning the dainty sets of chairs and tables for a gullible girl to amuse him. The only young female in there was a olive-skinned girl with serious eyes, are fixated on a thick novel that Loki probably would've been found reading. But Loki didn't want to have an intellectual conversation right now, and anyway, he tried to avoid the clever-looking people for fear of being discovered. No, now he needed to flirt and act absolutely charming and ridiculous.

There was a hunched over person who proved to be a girl after a quick glance of her body shape. She was dressed in baggy sweats and an evan baggier sweatshirt with the hood pulled all the way up, staring out the window as though determined to be utterly unnoticeable.

Loki loved a challenge, and he made up his mind that he was going to make her loosen up. He eyed her for a few minutes, and while a waiter was taking her order, Loki stood up with fluid grace and picked his way over to her table.

"…mocha," the girl finished. She was facing away from Loki, so he couldn't make out her features.

Loki blithely stepped around the waiter and slid into the seat across from the girl, not giving her a place but allowing her to size him up. Loki snapped his fingers in front of the startled waiter's face.

"And I'll have whatever the lady's having," he said, voice cultured, smooth and rich with the faintest hint of an accent. For some inexplicable reason, women here loved the sound of his voice, especially when he would murmur in a low, seductive purr with green eyes intense. But Loki played the card multiple times, especially when ordering a lunch, and women came to him like moths to a light.

The waiter looked slightly flustered, but nodded his assent. "Right away, sir," he said, and he hurried away like a frightened rabbit.

Lazily, Loki elegantly arranged his limbs, smoothing down his slicked back hair and drumming his long fingers on the table.

Then, then Loki allowed himself to meet her eyes. She was attractive, he supposed, with sharp cheekbones, eyes the color of the ocean and full red lips. Her edges, though, were softened, giving him an impression of a youthful girl, but the serious, quiet look in her eyes told him this was a girl who had seen far more than anyone her age should have.

All her hair was stuffed into the hood of the sweatshirt, but a stray, mousey brown lock fell over her face. With any other girl, Loki would've tucked it behind her ear as an icebreaker, but he felt that this girl would rather slap him across the face than giggle and blush prettily.

The strangest thing was that she resolutely did not meet his eyes, but stared at an invisible spot on the table dully, like a prisoner stubbornly refusing to answer an interrogator.

Very well, then, Loki could play this game too. He stared directly into her eyes, pinning her down with the weight of his gaze.

Yet the stubborn thing refused to speak. The urge to speak was too much, and Loki admitted defeat when he said, "So, is this a normal occurrence for you? A dashing, hot young man comes to you and tries to talk, and you just say nothing?"

Norns, Loki would be humiliated if she said nothing. But she did.

She let out a dry bark of laughter, still refusing to look at him. "Do not flatter yourself," she informed him in a voice clipped with a lilting, pleasant accent. "You are not dashing, hot, or young. One thousand and twenty eight years is decidedly not young at all."

Loki stiffened instantly. "Wha—" he started, because she had known his exact age!, but she was raising her head and finally met his eyes.

A quick motion threw her hood off, and thick chocolate-colored tresses tumbled out. "Oh yes, I know who you are, Loki," she said with a crooked half-smirk. She sighed. "And here I was hoping for a quiet cup of coffee to myself—but I suppose an Avenger never gets time off."

Loki didn't bother wondering who the hell she was, but instinctively teleported the two of them to a dark alley, quickly casting a spell on all the people in the coffee shop and another spell around the two of them in the alley. There was a hundred percent chance of a battle, and Loki didn't need witnesses to go call the rest of the Avengers.

The spell was quick and very powerful, but Loki was used to teleporting himself at such great speed over such great distances, so he only stumbled a few steps, but the girl had fallen to her knees.

But if she was on the Avengers, Loki knew better than to be chivalrous and fair at the moment. He threw up shields around himself, choosing to wait and see what her fighting ability was rather than to charge with knives and find out the hard way.

Turns out, Loki made the right choice. A few seconds later, she was rising up, blossoming balls of scarlet fire under her feet, causing her to rise.

Well, shit. The girl possess telekinesis abilities.

Her blue-green eyes that Loki had considered pretty glowed with a red-hot tinge, and bricks that were lying in the alley were rising up behind her swarmed with the red energy, looking absolutely ridiculous but Loki knew that if she hurled them all at him, well, there goes his shields.

Unfortunately, the girl did, and Loki absorbed the impact as he rolled, instantly rising to his feet. Loki's lips began to move wordlessly to form an incantation, but he knew after he started that there would be no time to finish.

He was floating off the ground, and with a wicked smirk, the girl mercilessly rammed him over and over again against the side of a building, then dropped him.

Delirious though he was, head spinning with body aching like hell, Loki knew better than to land on his feet. Somehow or other, he managed to roll again. This time, however, the rise to his feet was no longer quite as graceful.

She was doing through the mind, Loki managed to think through the hazy cloud that was in his mind. So to defeat her—attack her at a close range. From what he had seen, she had absolutely no hand-to-hand combat ability at all.

The trouble was getting to that close range. She was inexperienced, too, in comparison to Loki's many years of studying the art of fighting. He needed to use that.

With a flick of his wrist, Loki threw a dozen daggers at her head in rapid succession. She would dodge them, but it would take time and effort.

And it did. As quickly as possible, she batted away dagger after dagger, but by then Loki was already inches away from her. While she was distracted, a small knife in her upper arm had her screaming in agony, and a well-placed kick to the back of her knees had her down.

Fiery energy flowed around Loki, swirling around his arms and legs, trapping them in place. Another strand pressed against his mouth, preventing him from casting a spell.

Face contorted with barely suppressed pain, the girl snarled at him, standing up slowly. Loki already knew struggling was futile, so in order to not look like an idiot he remained still. From what he knew, the Avengers were terribly soft-hearted and the chances of this girl killing him were extremely unlikely.

But what she was going to do was far worse.

With steely resolve in her eyes, she tapped his forehead.

And before Loki could think, the two of them tumbled freefall into Loki's memories.

~A gentle rustling of cool skirts~

~A young boy's voice, "Come on, Loki! Jump, I'll catch you!"

~"Never doubt I love you."~

~"Know your place, brother!"~

~Pain, confusion, betrayal~

~"So I'm no more than a stolen relic?"~


~"No, Loki."~

~Pain, oh god the pain. Blood, so much blood…~

~A green skinned assassin….a hot kiss…~

~"Is this what you want, Loki?"

~"Have I made you proud, mother?"~

~"The words of a single guard, pain and loss…~

~"You must be truly desperate…to come to me for help.~

~"I didn't do it for him."~

~Two monotonous years of ruling…~

~Screams, fire, blood, death~

~Burning fiery pain, the destruction of everything~

~A single name….Thanos.~

Loki screamed.

"How dare you!" Loki screamed again, tears spilling involuntarily down his cheeks. "You—fucking witch!" Voice high, hoarse, and choked with sobs, Loki cursed her in about a dozen different languages, each curse more hideous and obscene than the last.

As for the thrice-damned witch herself, she had a resigned, grief-stricken look on her face, lips half-parted and eyes compassionate. But Loki did not want her compassion, no, he wanted her death.

Well, maybe not death, no, Loki would do something else.

With a wicked, sadistic gleam of satisfaction, Loki stretched his fingers as far as they would go and tapped the witch's forehead.

~A devastating bomb, reading Stark Industries

~A young boy—Pietro Maximoff~

~Hunger, thirst, a bitter desire for revenge~

~Pain, so much pain….~

~A small, glass cell~

~A stack of wooden building blocks~

~Vibrant red blossoms of springing from her hand~

~A simple tap into the Avengers' memories~

~An alliance with Ultron quickly falling into ruin~

~"…but if you step out that door, you are an Avenger."~

~Screaming, a pain in the heart so intense it could rip one apart~

~The broken, bullet-ridden body of her brother~

And this time, Wanda Maximoff screamed.

Loki watched her wild eyes open, beads of sweat on her forehead.

And with another scream, scarlet bursts exploded, knocking Loki and Wanda backwards. They tumbled into the ground, lying flat on their backs, catching their breaths.

For about ten minutes, neither of them spoke. They lay together, catching their breaths and trying to recover from that awful ordeal they had to go through just moments before.

Finally, Loki spoke.

"We do not speak of this," he said through gritted teeth. "To no one. And if you say one word to Thor…"

"I won't," the witch swore, "if you keep your part of the deal."

"I will," Loki promised. "….Wanda," he added uncertainly afterwards, sending her a quick sideways glance to see if the first name basis was fine. He hoped it was, because Loki didn't really have a last name he went by. Laufeyson or Odinson were awful surnames and Loki didn't go by either of them.

Silence again. It took another ten minutes before either one of them attempted to struggle to their feet. But they managed it, and soon the two of them were sitting up, leaning against the wall.

"You could use practice," Loki said suddenly, and he could sense Wanda's momentary surprise. "It's true," Loki insisted. "You tend to focus too much on one thing and lose attention of everything else. You also need close combat training. That, paired with your telekinesis, will make you a formidable warrior."

"That all sounds wonderful," said Wanda, tone low, "but I don't exactly know how to do all that. I'm fine."

"I can teach you," suggested Loki unexpectedly, in an attempt to divert their attention from the huge herd of elephants trampling around them. "If you swear to let me sit on the throne of Asgard until I get discovered."

Wanda said nothing, but just hunched over. Loki gave her a poke in the side. "So, are you still with me?" he asked, and then froze.

Her whole frame was shaking, and when Loki gently pulled back the curtain of hair hanging over her face he was alarmed to see she was crying.

"Wanda," he said, at a loss for words, and suddenly he realized that she was just nineteen, not even allowed to purchase alcohol for herself.

She was just a child.

And she'd just had to experience the pain of losing her twin brother all over again. Loki was not exactly 'comfortable' but used to this emotional pain, as one of Thanos' favorite things to do was toying with Loki's emotional attachments to Frigga, Odin and Thor.

But Wanda had gone through none of that. Telling her 'Suck it up, Buttercup' wasn't going to help, and with a vague sense of horror Loki realized he was going to have to comfort her.

Feelings warring between guilt (she's just a little girl, Loki, why put her through that emotional trauma and rummage through her memories?) and self-justification (She did it first, anyhow, and I didn't know she was just nineteen when I did it), Loki awkwardly scooted closer to her.

Unsure of what to do, Loki squirmed uncomfortably. A hug was a huge hell no but just words wouldn't work, so Loki settled for a gentle pat on the back.

"Er, it's okay, Wanda," he said, lips twisting at the ridiculousness of it. The Silvertongue himself, at a loss for words in the presence of a crying female.

Loki moved his lips to form the words, but they simply wouldn't come out. Loki hated saying this, but he had to make himself do it. Come on, Loki.

"I'm…sorry," Loki said at last reluctantly, words ground out all choppy and uneven.

Wanda gave a nervous laugh that bubbled out of her throat. "No, I'm sorry," she said, hastily wiping away at her face. She forced another laugh. "Jeez, look at me, crying like a teenager all over the genocidal maniac who tried to take over the world."

Loki winced at her description of him, and her weak attempt at humor. "It's fine," he said, for lack of better things to say. A pause. "I understand, you know, what it's like." He hesitated. "To lose everything you love."

He chuckled without mirth, the sound bitter and harsh. "Of course, you would know that already," he said without thinking.

Once again, Loki cringed, this time at his poor choice in wording. So did Wanda.

Loki conjured up a wad of tissue and handed it to her, staring at the ground as she wiped her face. He wanted to say something, anything, because words were familiar territory for him. But he understood that I'm sorry or any offer of condolences just made the person feel worse, so he remained silent.

"That's not a bad idea, though," said Wanda abruptly, eyes still red, but otherwise she looked fine. "You, training me." She hesitated. "And yes, I swear I will let you stay on Asgard's throne."

Loki nodded, pleased that he now had something to amuse him. "I'll contact you."

Wanda didn't question it. "Okay."

"Back to the coffee shop for you?" Loki asked, and when Wanda nodded, he flicked his wrist and she disappeared from sight.

When Wanda left, Loki rubbed his hands together in glee. He had a lot of planning to do.