Loki went with the motion without fight or protest, his arms going around Puck and head to the Fae's shoulder. Tight, clinging, although still aware that his strength was greater than a humans. He didn't want to break the other, just--needed the stability, and to cling, for the moment. The support. There was so much that Loki had not dealt with yet. Had simply had no time or space TO deal with, nor felt safe enough to show just how deep the wounds ran. Even when telling Sky, or Gamora bits and pieces of the tapestry, Loki had not let them see just how painful it had been and still was.

"I'm a replacement and stolen relic, a tool for the Allfather." Murmured quietly, a bit brokenly. "...but he claimed to be proud of us. He said sons...." Loki needed to believe he'd heard right, that his fault or not--that he wasn't completely wrong.