"He doesn't need to disembowel anything!" Loki yelled at the closed door. "He can think them dead! He told me so himself! And why the fuck does he tell you these things? Hasn't it occurred to either of you that he could just fucking ask Ezra? And ... and ..." And what? What else was there to say? Way would the fucking door care?

"And I don't want anything to do with any friends of yours anyway!"

He threw the oil paints and paintbrush into his hammock, grabbed his favourite book of the moment and decided to spend the rest of the day in bed. He wasn't going to cry, though and if he was, it wouldn't have anything to do with John. Loki didn't cry over humans. He was going to cry, because Odin had left him. That was what he was going to do.